Young Bloods

by Simon Scarrow

  The redcoat officer shouted an order that was instantly swallowed up by the roar of a massed volley as flames stabbed out from the British muzzles and they were obscured from view by a thick bank of smoke. The volley swept through the French line like a hailstorm and the air around Napoleon was filled with the sharp whip and thud of musket balls as they shot past or struck his men. The head of a man in front of Napoleon snapped back and dissolved into a messy pulp of bone, brains and blood that splattered across Napoleon’s face and chest like hot rain. Then came the gasps and cries of the victims, and as Napoleon wiped his face he saw that scores of his men were down and the rest looked at the carnage about them in horror.

  ‘Fire back!’ he shouted, and those still possessing the wit to act, snatched cartridges from their pouches and began to reload. From the line of redcoats came the sound of ramrods rattling down barrels. As they prepared another deadly volley the fastest loading of the Frenchmen fired back, an uneven ripple of pops with the occasional fizz of a misfire. Then the second enemy volley crashed out and more Frenchmen buckled over and crumpled to the ground. A handful of men at the rear melted away, creeping back towards the ramparts. As soon as Napoleon saw them he charged over to the nearest man.

  ‘Get back! Back into line!’

  The man looked at the young officer as if he was mad, shook his head and scrambled desperately through the embrasure, knocking aside the hand that Napoleon thrust towards him. Napoleon stared after the man, his heart sinking and for the first time he felt the icy hand of mortality upon him. That he might die here, on this muddy, corpse-strewn rampart when there was so much still to achieve, appalled him. If only there were reinforcements. Where the hell was Carteaux? Then beyond the rampart, over by the French trenches, he saw a column of men marching across the open ground to the fort. It would still take them some time to reach the ramparts. Too long. Napoleon swallowed nervously, aware that there was only one chance left to him now.

  He ran forward, pushed his way through the line and called out to his men, ‘Carteaux is coming! We have to charge! Charge now, before they can fire again.’

  They looked back at him in astonishment.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ he cried. ‘To be shot down like dogs? Charge! It’s your only hope!’

  Lieutenant Junot took up the cry and some of the sergeants and corporals and the braver of the men joined in. The French line rolled forward in a ragged wave, the men screaming in battle frenzy as they rushed forward towards the silent ranks of the redcoats. In amongst them Napoleon shouted too, feeling his lungs strain with the effort as he was carried on by the men around him. They were almost upon the British when the third volley crashed out, right in their faces and many more Frenchmen were cut down in the billowing bank of smoke that filled the air. The survivors rushed on to the bayonets of the enemy and Napoleon found himself face to face with the grizzled face of a veteran, teeth bared, as he thrust at the lithe shape of the French officer. Napoleon ducked down as the bayonet stabbed over his head. When he glanced up the redcoat was stumbling back, with a pioneer’s axe buried in his neck. A huge figure in blue thrust past Napoleon, yanking back on the haft of the axe before turning to look for another opponent.

  In the bank of smoke, men hacked and stabbed and clubbed at each other with feral fury. Napoleon backed away and looked towards the rampart, willing the reinforcements on. As long as the redcoats were forced to fight hand to hand they could not unleash any more of their terrible volleys.

  ‘Forwards!’ Napoleon shouted over the din. ‘Carteaux is coming!’

  Then he heard the familiar call of trumpets and his heart soared for an instant, before he knew something was wrong. Something he would never have expected. He strained his ears, and then the sound came again, carrying across the mêlée with unmistakable clarity.

  ‘The recall!’ a voice cried out close by. ‘They’re sounding the recall!’

  ‘No!’ Napoleon screamed, his heart clenching up in a knot of pure rage. ‘No!’

  ‘The recall! Fall back! Fall back!’

  Already it was too late to stop them.The silhouettes of men in the smoke swept past Napoleon, running back towards the rampart.Then they were all fleeing and there was Junot at his side, grasping his sleeve.

  ‘Sir, come on!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do. Come on!’ Junot pulled him away and thrust him towards the rampart. At first Napoleon responded woodenly, every instinct telling him to turn and face the enemy, even as his legs carried him along with the others. Then he was at the embrasure, and Junot pushed him through so that he half fell, half slithered down the slope into the ditch. All around him, splashing through the mud, men were fleeing for their lives. Then he was through the obstacles, climbing the far slope and running back across the open ground towards the shelter of the battery. His breathing was laboured and he paused a moment to grab a few deep breaths and looked back towards the fort. The rampart was back in the hands of the redcoats and now they were hurriedly loading and firing their weapons after the scattered Frenchmen. Inside Napoleon felt sick at the opportunity that had been lost and the strident notes of the recall signal seemed to mock him as he shrugged his coat straight and forced himself to march back to his own lines.

  When he reached the battery he brushed Junot aside and continued marching up the hill, past the artillery camp and on to the general’s headquarters outside Ollioules. As he approached a staff officer stood up and blocked the entrance to the tent.

  ‘Let me pass,’ Napoleon hissed, breathing hard. ‘I want to see the fucker who ordered the recall!’

  ‘You can’t go in, sir,’ the staff officer replied with an anxious glance over his shoulder. ‘The general’s busy.’

  ‘Busy?’ Napoleon stared at him, and shook his head in outraged astonishment. ‘I’ll bet he’s busy. Better be writing his will.’

  The tent flap opened behind the staff officer and Saliceti stuck his head through the gap.‘What’s going on? Buona Parte?’ Saliceti frowned as he stared at the blood spattered across Napoleon’s face. ‘Good God, man, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, citizen,’ Napoleon replied through gritted teeth, and gestured wearily towards the fort. ‘More than I can say for hundreds of men out there . . . I want to see the general. I want to see the coward who called off the attack. The coward who robbed us of the chance to take the fort. I want to see the general.’

  ‘You can’t see the general,’ Saliceti replied.‘There is no general here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Napoleon asked, as he stepped closer and stared through the tent flap. Inside he could see Carteaux leaning back in his chair, his head bowed. Napoleon felt a renewed surge of anger and started forward, until Saliceti placed a hand on his chest and held him back.

  ‘As I said, there is no general here,’ Saliceti repeated.‘I have just dismissed Carteaux from his post as commander of the army. He’s failed us too many times. And now Citizen Carteaux is under arrest.’

  Chapter 78

  Major-General Dugommier stared hard at his assembled officers. ‘There will be no more mistakes, gentlemen. We will have Toulon back in our hands before the end of the year. I want to make that quite clear. I will not tolerate incompetence, nor cowardice.’

  He paused to let his words settle firmly in the minds of his audience and then stood up and crossed over to the map that hung on the wall of the inn he had chosen for his headquarters. At first Napoleon had not been inspired by the choice of Dugommier as the new commander of the army surrounding Toulon. Dugommier was from a noble family and, in his late fifties with grey hair and heavily lined face, was reaching an age when he would be better employed in an administrative role, rather than as a field officer. But the new general had quickly proved to be a professional of the old school and had personally inspected every unit under his command and rectified a number of supply and equipment problems that his predecessor had simply ignored. Despite his noble blood he seemed to enjoy the c
omplete confidence of the representatives of the Committee of Public Safety, and within days of his arrival he had reinvigorated the spirit of his officers and men. Even Napoleon, grudgingly at first, recognised the superior quality of the man. All the more so when Dugommier adopted the plan of attack that had been drafted by Napoleon.

  Dugommier tapped a stubby finger on the map. ‘Everything hinges on L’Eguillette, as the more tactically minded of you have already come to realise. Of course, the enemy is of the same mind, hence the powerful defences that they have built at Fort Mulgrave. Over the last week I have been encouraging our opponents to believe that we are shifting the focus of our attacks to Mount Faron. Hence the increased patrols, probing attacks and limited bombardments in that area. It seems that my approach has paid off, since our spies tell us that the enemy has shifted two battalions and twelve guns from L’Eguillette to the other side of the harbour over the last two nights.’ Dugommier paused and turned to his senior officers with a faint smile.‘The time to attack is almost upon us, gentlemen.’

  Around the long table the officers exchanged excited glances. Their chance had come at last. After all the piecemeal failures of General Carteaux they were still somewhat sceptical of any plan of attack, and waited for the new commander to elaborate. Instead, Dugommier returned to the table and sat down, before nodding in Napoleon’s direction.

  ‘Colonel Buona Parte, if you would be so good as to explain the plan to us?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Napoleon had a pile of notes in a leather case on the table in front of him, but he had read over the plan enough times to have memorised every important detail, so he left the case where it was and rose from his bench and stood to one side of the map. Most of the other officers looked on in poorly concealed surprise that Dugommier had ceded centre stage to this freshly promoted commander of the army’s artillery. Napoleon cleared his throat and mentally rehearsed the sequence of his plan.

  ‘In order to unsettle the enemy we will continue small-scale attacks right along the line of their defences for the next week.’ He swept a hand in an arc around the port. ‘Our artillery will support these attacks by bombarding their main redoubts and forts.The aim is to keep the enemy guessing about our intentions so that they spread their forces across their lines of defence. We will launch simultaneous assaults along the whole front on the night of the attack. That has been set for the early hours of the eighteenth of December. General Lapoye will be co-ordinating operations to the east of Toulon. The main weight of the attack will be thrown here, against Fort Mulgrave. The night before, we will assemble twelve infantry battalions in the village of La Seyne. There will be four columns involved. The first will be commanded by Colonel Victor, the second by Colonel Delaborde and the third by Colonel Brule. The fourth is the reserve under my command, and will remain in La Seyne until it is needed.’

  ‘If it is needed,’ General Dugommier intervened quietly.

  ‘Yes, sir. If it is needed.’ Napoleon felt his face flush slightly and quickly turned back to the map. ‘The batteries of Men-Without-Fear, the Jacobins and the Happy Hunters will provide covering fire, and hopefully divert attention away from the approaching infantry columns. As soon as the fort is taken, Colonel Victor will advance and take Fort L’Equillette, Colonel Delaborde will take Fort Balaguier and Colonel Delaborde will mop up any remaining enemy forces in Fort Mulgrave. As soon as the forts are secured we will move the siege guns forward to Fort L’Eguillette and sweep the inner harbour. Cut off from the sea, it is only a matter of time before Toulon falls.’ He turned away from the map. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ Colonel Victor nodded. ‘A night attack? With three columns going forward close to each other? Sounds like a recipe for confusion to me.’

  ‘The routes will be marked the night of the attack,’ Napoleon replied. ‘My subordinate, Lieutenant Junot, will be leading a small party to lay down pegs and twine to show the way.’

  ‘Still sounds risky,’ Colonel Victor mused.

  ‘I assure you it will work,’ Napoleon replied impatiently. ‘The surprise will be complete. Now, any more questions?’

  ‘No,’ General Dugommier said firmly. ‘There will be no questions.The plan is sound and we will stick to it in every detail. All officers will receive precise orders from my staff. Gentlemen, you are dismissed.’

  Chapter 79

  The rain began at dusk and continued into the night as the men emerged from their tents and formed up in their companies and battalions before marching off towards the fishing village of La Seyne. A cold wind had blown up from the sea, driving the rain into their faces, and long before they had reached the village every man was soaked to the skin and shivering. Being small and thin, Napoleon felt the discomfort even more than the men he trudged alongside. He had left headquarters to make his final report on the preparations just after it had begun to rain.The track had quickly turned into a quagmire that sucked at his boots, and where the ground was more stony it made the surface slippery so that he had to concentrate on every step he took.

  Napoleon had not considered such awful weather when he had drawn up his plans for Dugommier, and now, as he pulled his greatcoat tightly about his shoulders, he tried to consider the possible impact this freezing rain would have on the attack. As long as this mud did not slow them down too much the attack should succeed. Besides, the rain would help to conceal their approach and the sound of their progress would be muffled by the hiss and patter amid the blustering moan of the wind.

  When he reached La Seyne Napoleon made his way to the merchant’s house that had been chosen for the headquarters for the night’s operation. Victor, Delaborde and Brule were already waiting as Napoleon entered, spattered in mud and dripping water across the threshold. He closed the door behind him and hurried across to the glow of the fire that crackled in the grate.

  ‘You could have picked a better night for it, Buona Parte,’ Victor smiled. ‘If this rain continues then, to be honest, we’d better leave the job to the navy.’

  ‘What navy?’ Brule grumbled. ‘Useless bastards gave up their ships without a fight when Toulon went over to the British.’

  Victor shook his head sadly. ‘Colonel Brule, I was joking.’

  ‘Joking?’ Brule glanced at him guardedly. He was a die-hard Jacobin, as willing to kill for his cause as die for it, which partly explained his elevation to his present rank. ‘Soldiering’s a serious business, Colonel. There’s no place in it for jokes.’

  ‘Really?’Victor responded with a wry look.‘In which case you must surely be the exception to the rule.’

  As Brule frowned Victor turned back to the new arrival. ‘Everything settled at headquarters?’

  ‘As settled as it can be,’ Napoleon replied, trying to stop his teeth chattering. ‘The general and his staff will be on their way down to join us.Then we just have to wait for Lapoye to give the signal. He’ll fire a red rocket tonight, just after his men make contact with the enemy. We acknowledge it with a green rocket.’

  ‘What if we don’t see it?’ said Colonel Delaborde. ‘In this weather, we might not, especially if there’s a mist later on.’

  ‘A fair point,’ Napoleon nodded. ‘In that case, if there’s no signal by midnight, we might wait an hour before the columns march out of the village and make for the fort.’

  ‘If that’s what the general decides,’ Delaborde replied. ‘It may be your plan, Buona Parte, but it’s still his army.’

  Napoleon looked round and fixed the older man with a blank stare. ‘Of course. Whatever the general decides.’

  Colonel Victor clapped his hands. ‘Come now, gentlemen! No long faces. No disagreements. Let’s have a drink and a hand of cards while we wait.’

  ‘Cards?’ Brule frowned.

  ‘Yes. Whist? Or should the prospect of following the fortunes of fifty-two cards be too daunting for you, we could play vingt-et-un. ’

  ‘Ah!’ Brule’s dull expression lightened up. ‘Vingt-et-un. Now that’s a game I enjoy.’
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br />   Colonel Victor smiled. ‘How could I possibly say I am surprised, my dear Colonel? Come then, let’s play. Buona Parte, join us.’

  Napoleon shook his head. ‘Not tonight. There’s too much at stake. I can’t help thinking about it.’

  ‘It’s all in hand. The plan’s good and, besides, there’s nothing you can do about it now. The cards will take your mind off it. I find it helps calm the nerves.’

  Napoleon nodded. ‘Very well, I’ll play.’

  The men sat round a small table and as Victor shuffled and dealt the first hand Napoleon reflected that Victor was right. When an operation began then the men involved must cease thinking about all that had gone before; all that mattered was performing their specific tasks in a clear-minded way. So he concentrated on the play of cards by the other officers and noted that each had a distinct style that said much about his character. Delaborde was cautious, Brule impulsive and obvious, and Victor affected a nonchalance that belied an extremely calculating mind. After the first half-hour Victor suggested that they might play for money, just small stakes, to help them focus their concentration. For the next hour he proceeded to fleece the other colonels of the contents of their purses and would have completed the job had not General Dugommier intervened.

  The colonels lowered their cards and stood up. The general nodded a greeting and then gestured through the door. ‘Filthy night. Every track has turned into bog. It’ll be tough going.’

  Dugommier made his way over to the fire, as Napoleon had done, and warmed his hands. ‘What hour is it?’