Fire and Sword r-3

by Simon Scarrow

  Napoleon listened for a moment and nodded. ‘Tellnitz. Send someone to find out what’s happening.’

  As Napoleon stood waiting, the firing intensified all along the line, and when the first reports came in it was clear that the enemy was indeed mounting a powerful attack on the French right.Within an hour word came that Tellnitz had fallen and the village of Zokolnitz soon followed.

  Napoleon nodded grimly as Berthier told him the news.

  ‘We must retake those villages. The Goldbach has to be held for a while longer. Long enough to draw in more men from the enemy centre.’ He paused. ‘How close is Davout now?’

  ‘His light cavalry is already supporting the men defending Tellnitz.’

  ‘What about his infantry?’

  Berthier flicked through the messages he had received until he found the most recent one from Davout. ‘His lead brigade, under General Heudelet, should be close to Tellnitz by now.’

  ‘Then send Heudelet forward to retake the village, and hold it at all costs.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Almost the moment Tellnitz was retaken a fresh assault was launched against the French, and though Heudelet reported that his men had fought heroically they were completely outnumbered and forced to give ground, so for the third time the village changed hands. But Napoleon’s attention was fixed on the Heights. The mist and fog were slowly beginning to lift, revealing more of the slope, but thankfully still concealing Soult’s two divisions, whose general had come up to the command point in person to receive his orders. Above them the enemy continued to reinforce their attacks on the right of the French line. Napoleon watched carefully, his mind rapidly estimating the speed with which the enemy columns were crossing the battlefield to join the assault.Then he turned to Soult and gestured to him to come forward, indicating the Heights opposite.

  ‘I want your assault force to attack in the direction of Pratzen, understand?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘How long do you think it will take them to reach the crest?’

  Soult looked over the rising ground in front of his two divisions and thought quickly. ‘Twenty minutes, sire, maybe less.’

  Napoleon looked up the slope and estimated the timing for himself. It was too soon.The enemy must be given as much chance to commit himself to the right of the French line as possible. Raising his telescope, Napoleon trained it on two large columns of Austrian troops marching south along the Heights. He watched them for another quarter of an hour before he snapped the telescope shut and turned to Soult. ‘Go now. Move as swiftly as you can and strike the enemy hard.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Soult saluted. ‘You can depend on me.’

  ‘I know.’ Napoleon punched the marshal lightly on the shoulder. ‘Go.’>

  Soult hurried to his horse, mounted and rode down into the mist. All was still to Napoleon’s immediate front. Over to the right the firing had intensified once again as yet another enemy attack was thrust home. Napoleon nodded with grim satisfaction. There were sure to be heavy casualties in Legrand’s division, but it was necessary if the enemy were to be lured into the trap he had set for them. A trumpet blared out from the mist at the bottom of the slope and a moment later the deep rattle and boom of drums announced the advance of Vandamme’s and St-Hilaire’s divisions. There was something quite otherworldly about the shouted orders, beating of drums and throaty roars of ‘Long live the Emperor!’ when there was still nothing to see. Then the first spectral shapes began to emerge from the mist, the dispersed screen of skirmishers advancing ahead of the main columns. Perhaps a hundred paces behind them came the colours of the leading units, followed by the dense mass of infantry striding up the slope. Sunlight glinted off the gilded eagles atop their standards, and the bristling mass of bayonets, and the men cried out again,‘Long live the Emperor! Long live Napoleon!’

  ‘They’re cheerful enough,’ Napoleon mused.

  ‘So they should be, sire,’ Berthier replied. ‘Soult saw to it that they had three issues of spirits before they formed up.’

  ‘Three issues?’ Napoleon shook his head slightly. ‘God, I pity the Russians and Austrians once those men get in amongst them.’

  The two divisions cleared the mist and climbed the slope up to the Heights at a brisk pace. Too brisk, Napoleon thought. No point in reaching the crest out of breath and unable to fight.As the two divisions approached the Heights the skirmishers exchanged fire with the first line of enemy soldiers. Tiny puffs pricked out along the edge of the Heights before the Austrians disappeared behind a bank of smoke as they fired a massed volley. A moment later the sound, a sharp rattle, carried across to Napoleon’s command post. Calling one of the orderlies over to him, Napoleon rested the end of his telescope on the man’s shoulder and watched as the skirmishers fell back around the advancing divisions. The right hand division, commanded by General St-Hilaire, angled towards the village of Pratzen. As the leading troops entered the village Napoleon glimpsed, through the smoke, a small force of Austrians hurriedly trotting back along the Heights towards the village and he allowed himself a smile. Even though General Kutusov was aware of the threat to his centre he would not have time to do much about it.

  Napoleon glanced round at Berthier. ‘Now is the time for our left flank to go forward. Give the order.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  As soon as the order was received, the corps of Lannes, Bernadotte and Murat marched forward from the Zurlan. Faced with this new threat, the enemy commander dared not weaken his right to reinforce his beleaguered centre. Napoleon nodded with satisfaction before turning his attention back to the Heights.

  St-Hilaire’s division had cleared the village and was advancing on the remaining enemy forces on the Heights, while General Vandamme’s attack had stalled around some earthworks protecting a small clutch of peasant houses. Thick smoke and the darting flames of artillery pieces told of the fierce resistance being put up by the defenders. Napoleon cursed softly as he saw that Vandamme was being delayed long enough for a gap to develop between the two divisions.The right hand column had penetrated some distance on to the Heights when it was brought to a halt by fire from its front, as well as the enemy units on either side. The attack was already in danger of being beaten back, Napoleon realised. If it failed then there could be no clear victory, merely a bloody battle of attrition right along the line.

  ‘Damn,’ he muttered. ‘We need to support St-Hilaire.’

  ‘Yes, sire,’ Berthier replied, but then thrust his arm out and pointed to the slope opposite. ‘That’s Soult, isn’t it? What the hell is he doing?’

  Napoleon lowered his telescope and followed the direction Berthier was indicating. Six artillery pieces were being hurriedly hauled up to the Heights by their crews and soldiers detailed to help them. At the head of the horse teams drawing the guns was a figure on a powerful mount, who had raised his white-plumed hat and was urging the artillery teams on towards their comrades.

  ‘It’s Soult,’ Napoleon confirmed tersely. ‘And he’s doing what is necessary.’

  Soult led his guns through Pratzen and forward to the head of St-Hilaire’s division where they unlimbered and opened fire, immediately tearing great holes in the Austrian line as they discharged case shot at close range. Heavy iron balls blasted out from each gun in a tight cone that tore the stolid Austrian infantry to pieces. Their discipline wavered and they began to give way, falling back towards the town of Austerlitz on the far side of the Pratzen Heights. As soon as Vandamme had taken the earthworks from their zealous defenders he came up in support of the other division, and an hour and a half after the attack had begun French standards dominated the Heights.

  Napoleon snapped his telescope shut and called for his horse before turning to Berthier. ‘We’re moving the headquarters forward to Pratzen.’

  ‘Pratzen? But sire, what if you lose touch with our right flank?’

  ‘The men on the flank are holding their own. Once Davout arrives with the rest of his men they can retake
Tellnitz and Zokolnitz. I need to be close to the heart of the battle. Come, Berthier, we must ride there at once!’

  As the church clock chimed noon Napoleon and his staff approached Pratzen.The slope before the village was spotted with the blue uniforms of the French skirmishers who had been cut down as they approached the enemy-held houses. Once they entered the village Napoleon and the other officers had to slow their mounts to a walk as they picked their way over the French and Austrian bodies strewn across the narrow street. When they reached the church Napoleon reined in and turned to Berthier.

  ‘Set up in the church.Then give orders for reinforcements to be sent to Davout. I want Bernadotte’s corps up here as soon as possible, and order the Guard up to the Heights.’

  Leaving his staff behind, Napoleon rode on with ten men of the Imperial Guard chasseurs to a small rise beyond the village from where he could get a better view of the battle’s progress.To the left, Lannes was steadily pushing back the Russians, away from the Pratzen Heights, allowing Murat and his cavalry to charge into the enemy line, threatening to cut them in two.To the right, Napoleon saw that the enemy was still fully engaged with Davout’s corps. Even though he was outnumbered by at least three to one, Davout was holding his ground. Beyond the right flank stretched a series of frozen ponds and small lakes surrounded by marshes that hemmed in the men fighting at that end of the battlefield. Napoleon immediately saw his opportunity. Once the enemy centre was broken, then the French could wheel round and trap nearly half of the allied army against the ponds and lakes.

  Turning his attention to the east, Napoleon saw that Kutusov had only one body of men left that could still challenge the French mastery of the Heights. Moving up from the direction of the town of Austerlitz came the elite soldiers of the Russian Guard. As many as three thousand of them, Napoleon estimated. Their fine banners billowed in the cold air and sunlight glinted off their bayonets as they advanced in neat lines. Napoleon could not help admiring their brave appearance as they held their formation and marched steadily up the slope towards the lines of Vandamme’s infantry silently waiting for them. Spurring his horse on, he led his escort over to General Vandamme, who was shouting encouragement to his men as they watched the enemy approach. The general turned at the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

  ‘Sire.’ He bowed his head briefly. ‘You’ve joined us at an interesting moment.’

  ‘So I can see. I am sure your men will stand their ground.’

  ‘They will,’ Vandamme replied firmly.

  At that moment, while the nearest Russians were still over three hundred paces from the French, they suddenly let out a great roar and surged up the slope.

  Vandamme raised his eyebrows.‘They must be mad.They’ll be blown by the time they reach us.’

  ‘That may be so.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘But what they lack in brains they seem to make up for with courage.’

  They stared fixedly as the Russians came on, hurling themselves up the slope, mouths agape as they shouted their war cries. The standards jostled above the thick shivering sea of bayonets, broken here and there by a sword as the officers urged their men on. Any pretence of formation was soon lost and it seemed to Napoleon as if the French were about to be engulfed by a raging mob.

  ‘Ready muskets!’ Vandamme bellowed out and the order was repeated along the front line as the men brought their weapons up and levelled them at the face of the oncoming enemy. When the foremost Russians were little more than fifty paces from the tips of the French bayonets,Vandamme bellowed, ‘Fire!’

  A ragged volley crashed out along the front line and the enemy was instantly obscured by a billowing veil of powder smoke. A light wind was blowing over the Heights and the smoke quickly dispersed enough to reveal that scores of the Russians had been struck down, but already their comrades were leaping over them, bayonets levelled as they raced towards the French.Vandamme’s men hurriedly grounded their muskets and drew fresh cartridges from their pouches, biting the ends off and pouring the powder into their muzzles, before spitting the balls in and ramming the charges home.There was just enough time to fire a second desperate volley before the charge reached them. Once again smoke filled the air, but before it could disperse the Russians charged through and ran full pelt in amongst the French. Within seconds the front line had turned into a chaotic tangle of blue and green uniforms as the Russians fought like ferocious beasts. There was no attempt at bayonet drill, just violent thrusts of the blade and bone-crunching thuds as the butts of their weapons were used like clubs.

  The first line of Vandamme’s division reeled under the impact and for a moment it held, before the first of the Russians burst through and the line quickly dissolved into a general melee.

  ‘Your men are going to break,’ Napoleon said quietly.

  Vandamme was silent for a moment before he conceded, ‘I fear so, sire.’

  ‘Then you must hold them with the second line. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Napoleon turned to one of his escort.‘Get back to headquarters.Tell Berthier I want the Guard cavalry sent to support Vandamme at once.’

  The trooper saluted and wheeled his horse away, spurring it in the direction of Pratzen. Napoleon turned to see the first men of the front line turn and flee.The fear was contagious and at once scores more men followed suit, some throwing down their weapons as they ran for their lives. The braver hearts amongst them fought on, and died as the Russians cut them down and bludgeoned them to death where they lay. As the fleeing soldiers ran towards the second line their comrades there whistled and jeered and roughly cuffed and kicked those who attempted to run through their formation.A handful broke through and continued to run even though they were safe, and Vandamme rode up to them with a fierce scowl.

  ‘Get back into line, you cowards!’ He thrust his arm towards Napoleon. ‘Would you disgrace yourself in front of the Emperor himself, you curs?’

  One of the soldiers scurried past, hands raised protectively above his head. As he saw Napoleon he called out, ‘Long live the Emperor!’ and dashed on by, sprinting towards Pratzen. One of Napoleon’s escort angrily snatched a pistol from his saddle holster and twisted round in his stirrups to take aim.

  ‘Leave him!’ Napoleon ordered. ‘Save your bullet for the Russians!’

  Hot on the heels of the survivors of the front line came the Russian Guard, chests heaving from their uphill charge and the frantic fight with the first French line. Some, still fired by their earlier success, came rushing on, faces fixed in snarls or shouting incoherently. The volley from the second line crashed out at less than forty paces and as the smoke cleared Napoleon saw Russian bodies littering the ground in front of the French. Behind the killed and wounded the others had stopped in their tracks. Some just stared wildly at their enemies, others looked aghast at their fallen comrades.Those with harder hearts lowered their muskets and fired into the blue ranks ahead of them. Several of Vandamme’s men spun round and collapsed under the impact of the Russian bullets, while their comrades swiftly reloaded and brought their muskets up for another volley. Another cloud of smoke, pierced by bright orange flashes, billowed out and a hail of lead tore through the head of the Russian mob.When the smoke cleared this time Napoleon smiled grimly as he saw the enemy recoiling with fearful and panic-stricken faces.

  Before them, their comrades lay in bloodied heaps. A third, ragged volley sent them fleeing from the French line, back to where a line of officers stood with drawn swords, and behind them a line of impassive grenadiers with lowered bayonets. A short distance beyond the grenadiers stood a body of Russian cavalry, still unbloodied and ready to charge.As the first of the Russian soldiers slowed to a halt the officers raised their swords and bellowed orders for their troops to rally to their colours and re-form, beating the slower men into place with the flats of their blades. Force and discipline soon reasserted control and, as Napoleon watched, the Russian Guard formed into a dense column, ready to renew the attack.

  Then he sensed
the ground rumbling beneath his mount, and turning his head he saw Bessières and the first of the Imperial Guard cavalry squadrons, with a battery of horse guns, gallop over the crest of the Heights and make for the right flank of Vandamme’s remaining line. Bessières came charging towards Napoleon and slewed his horse to a halt.

  ‘Sire? Your orders?’

  Napoleon thrust his arm out towards the Russian column. ‘Charge them immediately. They must be broken at any cost. Any cost. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Then go!’

  Bessières saluted, and spurred his horse forward, pounding along behind the rear of Vandamme’s division as he re-joined his men. Riding to the front of the cavalry column, whose mounts breathed through flared nostrils and stamped and pawed the frozen ground, Bessières stood in his stirrups and raised his sword towards the heavens. He paused a moment and then swept the point down until it aimed directly at the Russian Guard. A bugle call shrilled out, and the squadrons rippled forward in a trot, hooves rumbling over the hard ground. The distance to the enemy was short and the slope lent the cavalry extra momentum as the pace increased into a gallop, and then, fifty yards from the Russians, they charged. Drawn swords glittered above the flickering horsehair crests on their gleaming helmets and then, as Napoleon and the men of Vandamme’s division watched in breathless awe, Bessières’s cavalry plunged into the dense mass of the first battalion of Russian infantry. Swords plunged down, flickered up, spattering gleaming crimson droplets, and the air was filled with the cries of men, the sharp whinnies of wounded horses and the crackle of musket and pistol fire.