by Todd Shryock
The battalion moved on, heading to reinforce an attack further down the line, but by the time we got there, the battle was over.
What had Karl died for, I wondered. The blank stares and dirty faces around me provided no answers.
Chapter 8
Some time after nightfall, our march came to a halt in a cold drizzle. Word was passed that the battle had been inconclusive and more of a skirmish that a deciding moment, meaning we would soon get to do it all again. We were told to be ready to move immediately, meaning we stayed in our clothes with our muskets at the ready.
The cold chilled my bones, and it took Simon almost an hour to get a meager fire going under the partial shelter of a broad oak that pelted us with giant drops of rain that collected on its leaves overhead. Each man had a couple of small potatoes and not much else, but we threw what we had in the small pot and hoped the fire would stay lit long enough to soften our rations.
Five of us – me, Simon, Jannick, Niklas and old Gebhard -- sat in silence, staring at the pot and reflecting on the day’s events. My coat hung heavy on my shoulders, soaked in rain. What little heat emanated from the fire had no chance of drying anything in the steady mist, so other than holding my hands near the flames to thaw them, I made no effort to warm myself.
“Did you ever notice the sergeant’s canteen?” Jannick said from some distant place.
“Huh?” I asked, snapped from my stupor by his question.
“His canteen. Have you seen it?” he said.
The others raised their eyes to him, wondering what he was about.
“No,” I said, glancing around, thinking it lost.
Jannick stared into the small fire as he talked, the rain hissing as it hit the flames. “His canteen has a piece of carved bone on it -- ivory, perhaps.”
“What are you talking about Jannick?” Simon asked, annoyed. “Who cares about his damn canteen?”
Undeterred, Jannick continued, his eyes never leaving the fire. “It’s a small square, centered on the back. There is a hand reaching from above toward a broken chain that lies on the ground.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, who cares?” Simon said, throwing his head back in disgust. “Shut up about it.”
“It’s God’s hand, of course,” old Gebhard said, his face covered in gray stubble. He, too, stared mesmerized by the fire, never looking away. The flames were our snake charmer and we its serpents. “The chains of death, broken by God.”
“Do you think God reached down for Karl?” Jannick asked.
Simon looked over at Jannick, gritting his teeth. “You know what I think? I think he’s probably lying naked in the same field where he fell, his soul hoping the peasants fear his ghost enough to at least throw a blanket of earth over him. That’s what I think.” He shoved Jannick hard on the arm, nearly tipping the other man over. “Stupid fuck.”
Jannick righted himself and was about to speak when Niklas cut him off. “That’s enough,” he said, his commanding voice enough to bring peace to our small party.
“God finds us all eventually,” Gebhard said, absently.
I looked at him, but he was someplace in his own mind so kept my thoughts to myself.
“I heard the sergeant died at the hospital of his wounds,” Gebhard added. “His back was broken in half.”
Niklas shook his head in disgust. “His back was not broken -- half the battalion saw him walk up the damn hill with some assistance. Thanks to Henri here, the man will most likely fully recover.”
Simon looked up at me and scowled. “Why’d you save him for? Huh?”
No matter what I said, I knew it wouldn’t be the right answer.
“Because we don’t leave our own behind on the field, no matter who they are,” Niklas answered for me. I was greatly relieved.
“We left Karl behind,” Jannick pointed out, earning another hard shove from Simon that pushed him completely over this time. Jannick rolled to his feet, ready to fight, Simon rising, anger flashing in the orange flickering light.
“Enough!” Niklas said, standing up to emphasize his point. “Sit down, the both of you!”
Both men slowly returned to their soggy seat upon the matted grass and resumed staring at the fire, Simon added another small piece of wood, which was nearly enough to extinguish the fire. I watched with great interest as the flames clung to life, the rain hissing around them, before finally emerging triumphant, if no bigger than before.
“I don’t care,” Simon said, continuing the conversation. “One of us or not, you should have left him as soon as you saw who it was.”
“I can’t say I disagree,” Jannick added. “No one would have blamed you.”
Simon looked up at me from across the fire. “But we’re blaming you now for saving him.” He forced a smile, but I knew that behind it was resentment. Maybe I should have left the sergeant there to die, but who am I to decide a man’s fate?
“No one likes Zorn, we get it,” Niklas said in an attempt to end the conversation before it got any worse.
“If I were given the chance … ” Simon said, pausing as he looked up. His eyes widened, causing the rest of us to turn around.
Zorn was standing just outside the firelight. How long he had been standing there, I did not know. When he saw us, a sinister smile crossed his face and he shuffled slowly closer to the fire. He was still in pain but managed to hide most of it from us.
“Yes, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m still alive,” he said. “I can tell by the looks on your faces what a disappointment that must be to you all.”
I still wasn’t sure if he had heard our conversation as he slowly looked around the fire, taking each of us in.
“Weber!” he snapped.
Niklas stood, apprehensive. “Sergeant?”
Zorn held out his hand. “We’ve gone long enough without a corporal in this company. You did well today.”
Niklas looked down. A pair of corporal’s stripes rested in his palm.
“I expect to see those sewn on your uniform by morning,” Zorn said.
“Corporal?” Niklas stammered.
“For now,” Zorn said. “Until you do something stupid, or drink yourself out of them like old Beck did.” Gebhard looked at the ground, his hands trembling slightly, water dripping off his fingers.
“Thank you, sergeant,” Niklas said.
Zorn scowled, turning his attention back to the group. “You’re all here tonight because of discipline. You overcame your fear of death to do what was needed. Those who were disciplined formed together in larger groups until we were able to drive off the cavalry, just the way you were trained. Those who were cowards ran and were cut down.” His gaze turned to me. I wanted to scream that Karl was no coward, but my courage abandoned me and I looked away.
“The only way to take boys and make them into men is to instill discipline in them, to put them in a position that when death comes calling, he chooses to move on rather than deal with the likes of you. I’m not here to be your friend, nor do I want to be. My job is to keep our crown prince’s army together, and by driving the fear and temptation from you, I’ll do just that.”
The sergeant slowly turned his head, daring any man to speak, but each of us looked away rather than challenge him.
“We break camp early. Get some rest.”
And with that, he disappeared into the night.
Niklas turned the stripes over and over in his hand, as if wondering if they were real.
“You better start putting those on,” Simon said, testing our potatoes with his bayonet. Satisfied they were soft enough, he began spearing them and tossing one to each of us, laughing as we juggled it from one hand to the next to avoid getting burned.
Niklas caught his potato with one hand and gently tossed it with one hand until the drizzle cooled it enough to hold it. In a few bites, it was gone, and he had his needle and thread out shortly thereafter.
“He’s right you know,” Niklas said as he finished stitching. “Discipline saved us. We did
what we were trained to do.”
Simon waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t start on that.”
“Our instincts were to run, but we didn’t,” Niklas countered.
“What does Zorn beating us with a stick have to do with that?” Simon asked, his mouth hanging open.
“A lot, actually,” Niklas said.
“Oh, I see, you get an extra stripe on your sleeve and now suddenly you and Zorn are lovers? Is that it?” Simon asked.
“The stick toughens us up,” Niklas answered. “We fear the stick. But when we face the enemy, we have little fear, because we have learned to manage it.”
“Thanks to the stick?” I asked.
He looked at me and nodded. “Thanks to the stick.”
Unconvinced, Simon shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll shove that stick up his ass, then he’ll know fear.”
The rain picked up, and the fire sputtered. Simon attempted to stand over it to save it from the rain, but the water won out over the flames and the fire hissed out, leaving a slowly smoking pile of wood in the dark.
“Well, at least we got our potatoes cooked,” Jannick said.
By the sound of it, Simon pushed him over again, but there were no sounds of a further scuffle.
We sat in silence, each a dark shape around the extinguished fire, alone in our thoughts and our misery.
“I miss Karl,” I said, feeling as if I was talking to myself in the darkness. “He didn’t deserve his end.”
“Who does?” Jannick said.
“Zorn,” Simon angrily added. “He deserves all that befalls him.”
“Let’s get some sleep,” Niklas said, knowing the constant cold and rain would make it a long, restless night. “Huddle up together for warmth.”
One by one, we moved together, our shoulders touching the man beside us and another man sitting between our legs until we were a giant soggy mass hoping to glean some hint of warmth from each other.
“If the Austrians don’t kill us, the weather will,” Gebhard said as if sure that was what would happen.
“Go to sleep, private,” Niklas said, issuing his first order as corporal. “All of you.”
Chapter 9
We marched early, the morning cold clinging to our bones the way our damp clothes clung to our bodies. The damn drizzle went all night, not that it mattered. Sleep was out of the question.
We huddled together, miserable and coughing all night, dreaming of a warm fire on which to warm ourselves. About the time I fell asleep, the bugles sounded and the drums beat, so we fell into line, took roll call, then waited.
A wagon was brought up and the men spent some time stretching out a canvas tarp from the back of the wagon across part of the road.
“Going to be a busy day,” Simon said.
The glumness of his voice matched all of our moods, for it was an ammunition wagon and we were being told to take sixty cartridges – the most we could carry. We lined up in double file and slowly paraded past the wagon, pausing to fill our cartridge boxes on our hip. Once loaded, we moved out from under the protective tarp and back onto the darkened road to rejoin our comrades.
Up and down the hills we went, dragging our wet, miserable selves along, our joints aching and our stomachs rumbling. The rain finally petered out, but if we had collectively wrung out our coats, we would have flooded the valley below.
We marched in two files, one on either side of the road, leaving the center open for wagons and horses. No one said a word, even as the sky started to lighten, and no amount of drumming could lift our spirits. The whole day was breaking with a sense of dread, and all of us knew the action today would be hot and heavy.
A few hours after daybreak, we were told to form up in column and keep moving. The two files quickly melded into a solid mass of men fifteen across and tramped on. Occasional musket fire rang in the distance, and we could see units on parallel roads marching in the same general direction.
“Bavarians,” old Gebhard said as he marched beside me.
“What?”
He dipped his head in the direction of the men parallel to us across many fields.
“How can you tell?” I asked.
“The flags – blue and white checkers. And the coats are lighter than the French,” Gebhard said.
“They’re on our side, right?” I asked, unsure.
“Yes,” he said. “This time.”
“Bavarians tend to play for the highest bidder,” Niklas added. “But being wedged between several major countries makes you look for your survival above all else.”
“I think I’ll look after my own survival, too,” I said.
Niklas smiled, but said nothing.
We moved down the road, approaching a village, a steeple from the church and several taller buildings looming ahead. Dense columns of horses moved to our right and stopped.
“Ours,” Niklas said. “Horse jagers for sure, along with what looks like the light horse. Good fellows to have with you in a fight.”
Our column halted, waiting for a unit in front of us to get moving again. A half dozen horsemen broke off from the column and cantered toward us.
“Make way, if you please,” a mounted sergeant yelled out. “We seek forage from that barn yonder.”
The men began to make a path through the ranks.
“What do you know of our situation?” Simon called out to one of the horsemen as he came closer.
“There’s a river ahead and the whitecoats are on the other side, drawn up for battle,” he said, easing his horse across a small ditch by the side of the road and then up onto the cobbles. “There’s a bridge directly front that they’ve taken apart. Our entire army is up, so it’s going to be a hot day today!” With that, he nudged his horse across the road and into the fields beyond, following his comrades.
“That’s good news!” Jannick said excitedly. “The bridge is out, so we are probably to guard it against any Austrian incursions on this flank. Let the Frenchies do the work today – we’ve earned the day off.”
The column began to move again until we found ourselves standing in the middle of the village, ramshackle two- and three-story buildings on either side of us. The first battalion was to our front and the horsemen moved around the edge of the village to the right. An ammunition caisson for the artillery moved up, the driver cursing his animals as much as us in order to get through.
“Hey, that’s one of ours, too,” Gebhard said. “All the Wurttembergers are together at last.”
“Let us hope it is not our last day together,” Simon added.
“It’s our day off, remember?” Jannick said.
As we stood in column in the middle of the street, I noticed a single file of men coming up one side carrying long boards, hammers and all manner of work implements. As they passed, Gebhard looked at me and said, “Sappers.”
“Damn you, Jannick,” Simon said.
“I had nothing to do with that,” he protested.
“If you had just kept your mouth shut,” Simon said.
“I don’t get it,” I said, unsure of what the connection was.
“Sappers fix things,” Niklas said. “There’s a broken bridge ahead, and those bastards are going to go fix it.”
“Hey!” Simon called out to the end of the sappers’ line. “Take your time, gentlemen.”
Not long after they were gone, the colonel came riding down our line giving orders to the officers, who began giving orders for us to narrow our line – no more than ten men across.
“Probably just enough to squeeze across the bridge,” Niklas said. “I’m glad there’s a battalion in front of us.”
“Yeah, so when they fail and really piss off the whitecoats, we can try, but we’ll have to step over all the dead bodies from first battalion,” Simon said.
“It’s not my fault,” Jannick said.
“Nothing is ever your fault,” Simon said, shoving the man for good measure.
“Knock that off,” Niklas said, his corporal’s stripe
s giving him more authority than that earned from respect alone.
Zorn eventually made his way down the column after conferring with the officers. “Listen up!” he shouted. “The sappers will fix the bridge after our guns clear the enemy from the far bank and make it safe for them to work. As soon as the work is done, a whistle will blow and the two battalions of light infantry will rush across the bridge and secure a foothold on the other side, pushing the whitecoats as hard as possible to make room for more troops coming up in support. Our cavalry will follow the infantry battalions across. Under no circumstances should you stop. Let the wounded lie where they fall and men from the rear will be brought up to tend to them.”
“So if you get shot, you’ll get trampled to death before anyone gets to you,” Simon whispered.
Zorn shot him a glance, having heard something, but didn’t make any further issue of it.
“Remember,” the sergeant continued. “Don’t stop for anything.” He moved off, leaving us in our narrow column, ready to go.
I checked and rechecked my musket, making sure the damp morning hadn’t fouled my powder. As the sky continued to brighten, we shifted more uneasily, our wet clothes forgotten as we thought of what lie ahead.
My thoughts were suddenly shattered by a roar of thunder ahead that shook the ground, vibrated my innards and rattled the windows of the nearby shops.
The artillery had opened the battle.
Seconds later, the enemy responded, their own thunderous roar letting us know that they had no intention of giving up the river without a major fight. The firing became general as gunners on both sides loaded and fired as fast as they could.
I stood, nervously gripping my gun, forcing my hands to relax as they squeezed so hard my fingers began to cramp. How could we move through such noise and confusion?
Looking up, a cannonball hissed by and smashed into the wall of one of the shops, punching a hole through it and raining debris down onto the street and the men positioned further back. Soon, that became a regular occurrence, causing me to reflexively duck on more than one occasion, drawing snickers from those around me.