Klosentheim, the Last!

The drums of war now reach a crescendo! This being Mittelheim, it actually sounds more like a bongo solo. (Below, top) Try as they might, the Bachscuttel musketeers cannot hit the large unit of Zentan sipahi cavalry to their front. Perhaps they are intimidated by the size of their opponent's lances, or maybe the enemy seems so easy to hit that the musketeers believe that there is a catch of some sort. It's not like Mittelheim soldiers to overthink a situation, though, so it might be that there is a simpler explanation: they are terrible shots that couldn't hit a barn door if they were lying underneath it. The sipahi look on at their enemy's aim-free antics with the same look of incredulity as Bachscuttel Christmas chimps might have watching the Bachscuttel troops trying to run a tea party.

(Above) It's not all good news for the Zentans, though. Seated on his palanquin, General Taras Bulbous begins to notice the sudden dearth of friendly troops between himself and the enemy. The other Bachscuttel guard regiment, the Tchokolet-Feyer Garde, has dispatched the irregulars to their front and advance menacingly towards the Zentan headquarters.

'The enemy! The enemy!' cries the general, pointing.

'The enemy?' cries his aide.

'The enemy!' replies Bulbous, with extra emphasis.

'The enemy!' agrees his aide.

'I keep saying that!' cries General Bulbous. 'What do you think I'm saying, you moron? "Custard slice"? Come on! Let's get mobile! Get me out of here! Punch it, pig boy!'

Cursing the fact that he cheaped out and went with only the eight-slave palanquin, when he should have gone with the twelve (with spoilers and a roof-rack), Bulbous retreats! His headquarters is overrun, but the general escapes unscathed. The Bachscuttlers loot the headquarters, which seems to contain more than the expected quantity of Turkish Delight and nipple-clamps. Thankfully, the Bachscuttlers have very limited imaginations, and quickly move on.

With his irregulars now circling slowly down the waste-pipe of defeat, Bulbous is keen to save his elite sipahis. The cavalry do an about-turn and swiftly head towards safety. Imam Fatih accompanies them, removing some of their disorder with amusing tales of the time that his invitation to the palace mixed up 'Fatih' with 'Farty', which made for a surprisingly tense carriage journey with some of the other guests.

Bulbous leaves another sting in the tail for General Barry-Eylund. To make it even harder for the Bachscuttlers to pursue the cavalry, a strange marsh is discovered that wasn't on the map (above). Demonstrating the measured, reflective, and philosophical demeanour for which he his famous, Barry-Eylund launches into a tirade of apoplectic abuse, in which the inventive use of Turkish Delight and nipple clamps is merely the amuse-bouche to a longer list of anatomically challenging and definitively illegal ways in which other inanimate objects might find their way through various means up General Bulbous' backside.

(Above) Through a combination of fire and movement, the Bachscuttel line routs the infantry in the Zentan centre, leaving only a couple of disordered cavalry units to keep Bulbous' army together.

(Below) On the Zentan right, Bulbous' irregulars continue their attempts to beat the enemy off (not something that could ever be said in Fenwick, of course). But, in a sad case of projectile dysfunction, their limp volleys inflict little damage. In this case, it does matter, and they can't try again later.

Finally, with most of the remaining front line Zentan units in a parlous state, the Zentan commander offers his enemy Honours of War. Barry-Eylund, still perspiring heavily from his earlier outburst, agrees, and the battle comes thankfully to an end. A Bachscuttel victory! 

None of the participants improves their quality as a result of the battle. Zenta receives one Epic Point for fighting the battle, but expended one in order to draw more cards. Bachscuttel gains two Epic Points.

Klosentheim, the Sixth!

Guard infantry! Surely they are the pinnacle of military skill, daring, and professionalism! A paragon of combat competence! A force that the rest of the army can look up to! Or so one might think. On this battlefield, however, they are actually something that one could look down upon; in a quite literal sense, given that the Milchfrau Leib-Garde have been squashed flat by the hooves of the Zentan palace cavalry. The Bachscuttelers are comprehensively defeated (below).

To be fair, the regimental history will be able to state quite categorically that the unit did not rout from the field. But this is only because, after the comprehensive trampling that they received from their enemies, they have about the same mobility as a dining room rug, and also about the same height. The remnants are rolled up and removed from the battlefield.

Barry-Eylund seems unfazed and continues with his plan. This is because he only has one plan, and he intends to continue executing it until he has achieved victory or killed all of his men. In Bachscuttel this is known as 'using one's initiative'. (Above, top) Troops from the second line have filled the gap created by the flattening of the Leib-Garde. The whole Bachscuttel infantry line has been pushed up close to their enemies.

(Above) General Bulbous responds by applying one of the cardinal principles for success in Mittelheim warfare: if it worked last time, try it again, harder. He orders his palace cavalry forward once more in another attempt to break the Bachscuttel line. To give them a bit more oomph, they are accompanied by one of the army's clerics, Imam Fatih. Fatih has already had some experience of the Zentan style of warfare. It is a style that usually favours the bold drinking of coffee, and then sudden strikes against portions of the enemy that look quite short, weak, or preferably asleep. But this time, Bulbous is really going for it, stirrups in and clerics out.

(Above) Alas, this time it doesn't work, and the fresh enemy infantry, with their grenadiers forward, drive the sipahis back. It's a nasty situation: the cavalry are perilously disordered, the enemy infantry are levelling their muskets for a volley, and Imam Fatih has pulled something badly in his Turkish delight.