Surviving Borodino

by Shaun Parker

bodies.

  Whilst scavenging the battlefield Yakov had indeed found a treasure trove of wines and fine preserves, they were in a chest that had not been looted. In adjacent chests he also found clothes and items from a dressing table which included an ornate mirror. Yakov had wept for days after seeing his reflection. No longer was he a handsome young man. He was hideous and disfigured. His pride and joy was his thick curly hair which had now been replaced with burnt, cracked skin. His ear was just a mangled stump and his eye was black and shrivelled.

  Yakov was quiet because he was weeping over the insults from Jean. He had crawled onto drier ground and was laying on his back, through his tears he gazed up at the deep blue sky. He wished he could fly. Fly away from this half-life and back to the woods where he could hide away for the remainder of his broken life.

  Jean slowly made his way to the congregational fire pit to join what was left of his comrades. This fire pit had been dug by hand and the earth built up around it to help keep the ground water from filling it up when it rains. It had been populated with twisted pieces of metal and iron as there was always some water in the hole and the wood that was scavenged and burnt was thrown onto this raised bed of metal.

  Fires were only possible when there were no signs of Cossack activity but the need to get dry and warm for some of the day now outweighed the danger of being discovered. Of course, most of the scavenging Cossacks were looting French supply routes and any sutlers wagon trains that they came across.

  After the battle the French army had encamped in Moscow hoping to see out the winter. Soon they discovered that Moscow was as barren a city for food and shelter as any desolate tundra would be at this time of year.

  Jean reached the fire pit, ahead of his fellow soldiers. He eased out of the chariot and pulled some kindling towards him from the scruffy pile that had been gathered the day before. Gathering wood and collecting water were now the principle tasks of each day. As for food, they were still catching a few rats each day as they fattened themselves on the rancid bodies of horses and men.

  In the early days after the battle horse meat was easy to cut and cook but soon the meat had turned foul as millions of flies eagerly laid their broods. There were days when you could hardly hear anything above the buzz of bloated flies, at times they resembled a dark swirling mist. Carcases of horses and men seemed to come alive again as the taught skin moved to the energy of billions of maggots writhing for space underneath it.

  As these carcases swelled and burst, out would pour enormous pockets of foul gas. When scavenging, they learnt to be very careful with their movement so as to not break the skin of any decomposing body lest the stench be expelled in close quarters. Crows and rooks eagerly feasted on all manner of carrion and had become belligerent and stubborn. Smaller birds gorged on the maggots and at times the noise of the squabbling became quite distracting.

  Jean shifted nervously. Last night had seen quite a frost due to the clear skies and the temperature had plummeted. He was surprised that his comrades had not shown up at the fire-pit yet. Shuffling to the edge of the banked earth with some kindling he had picked up, Jean saw a motionless bundle of rags and instantly he knew it was François.

  Dropping the kindling, he crawled round to his check on his friend but François was dead. There was an unwritten rule that everyone should get back to their respective shelters before sunset to preserve the wood and also to shelter from the elements. François, it seems fell asleep by the fire and then froze to death as it slowly died back. At some point in that twilight period between unconsciousness and death he had moved his legs too near to the heat and had cooked them to the bone.

  Jean was a little sad but was also relieved. François had been suffering with terrible gangrene and had been emitting a most dreadful stench from his bandages. For him, death was a release from this hell on earth but the Palais Borodino now had one less member.

  Suddenly, there was noise to his left. Anxious to avoid another rock on his head Jean turned quickly ducking as he did so.

  “Hey Jean, you are looking a little nervous this morning.” There was no mistaking that gravelly voice as Philippe’s. Despite still healing from two broken legs, Philippe was still the most able bodied person among them. He was completely dedicated to Jean as it was Jean’s skills that had saved his legs by resetting the bones and making his leg splints.

  “So what has happened my friend? Looks like you have a bad head and what the heck happened to François?”

  “Well Philippe, my head took a long range rock from that Russian louse le Toto and swear I will ease his jugular vein for his trouble. As for François, well that’s just too bad and he has gone to a better place. A place we will all end up if our illustrious army does not get back here soon.”

  “But Jean, I thought that bastard le Toto was dead and good riddance, are you sure it was him?”

  “There was no doubt Philippe, sadly he is alive and well. He spoke of finding fine wines and preserves and was taunting me about it. We need to do something about him, it’s overdue.”

  “Ah the lucky Russian pig… well lets work out a plan over dinner. I will get the best silverware out and you can lay down the fire. We can eat and make plans. I have an idea where he may have found the wagon. It must be a new one that has not been plundered. I saw some carrion crows late yesterday and they must have been feeding on new horse meat. I was going to go there today to see and maybe carve some fresh meat for us.”

  Jean’s eyes lit up. Fresh meat - now that would be something. Who knows what else we may find in the wagon, he thought.

  “It will be about 45 minutes crawl from here Jean, but we must be careful. That Russian louse will still have a couple of friends, remember they have their gold to protect as well and may still have gunpowder too.”

  “Charles will be here soon Jean so let’s get the fire going. He will have some plump rats from the traps we set.”

  “Philippe! Are you telling me you sent a blind man to get the rats from the traps? That’s a really mean thing to do, he will be savaged! And when he gets back here we will pay for it all day with his moaning and bad temper.”

  Sure enough, they could hear regular cursing coming over from the area they call ‘The Pantry’. Charles was getting a real savaging from collecting dinner.

  “Well I suppose it will be fresh and his hands will be too sore to beat us,” said Philippe. They laughed heartily together as yet more expletives carried across the breeze from the pantry.

  Soon a substantial fire was radiating some welcome heat. Gradually, more of the gang turned up, eagerly awaiting the return of Charles. There was much conversation about the huge drop in temperature during the night. Once they were warmed, Philippe spoke out loud. “I guess we should move François now his feet are warm enough,” A ripple of ironic laughter went around the pit and a rope was then tied around François and he was dragged off away from the pit.

  There would be no burial for François. Palais Borodino didn’t do ceremony and its members didn’t do un-necessary digging either for that matter. No, it would be the elements and nature that took care of him and, in the end, of all of them.

  Charles blundered up the well-worn path to the camp - a big man with hands like shovels. He was cursing loudly and in a terrible temper. His hands were covered in deep bite marks and were dirty and bloody. Although Charles was blinded from a musket backfire, he could find his way around all the paths quickly and quietly. He knew how many paces from one point to another and with two able legs and two able hands he was well equipped to defend himself in close combat.

  He had already killed two Russians from the wasteland after they jumped him whilst he was out scavenging. The members knew not to antagonise him but Philippe often gave him tasks that would push his patience. Philippe was held in high regard by Charles who often put up with his antics knowing that Philippe was responsible for their survival, making important decisions that often saved lives.

  Charles pulled a sack from his bac
k and put his enormous hand inside. In a split second he had pulled out 9 large rats that were mad as hornets. Charles had not killed them but tied all their tails together with twine. In one movement, the rats cartwheeled through the air and landed on top of Philippe. In an instant, they were already biting him and squealing - it was a heck of a commotion.

  Philippe hated live rats and screamed. His hand was badly bitten as he dragged the squirming mass off his lap. He uttered a sentence that consisted only of profanities, the whole of Palais Borodino erupted in laughter and applause.

  This was the madness of their world. A world where there are no boundaries, no good, no bad, there is just existence. Soon the rats would be dead and cooking on the fire and the conversation would turn to le Toto and his hoard of wine and preserves; was it true? Did he have such a valuable cargo of refinements? Exploring this was going to take over their lives for the next two days and Palais Borodino would enter a new phase of brutality.

  Palais Borodino by Shaun Parker This is a free book so Please Please leave feedback

  Thank You.