The Fall of Bonaparte
Part 1
Henry Fox watched through his monocular as the first line of 18-iber Howitzer cannons fired. One volley of the cannon was directed at softening the Frontline of the French Militia. A smaller, secondary volley targeted the Generals and elite hussar that were behind the frontline, reinforcing troops. Killing them was the key to destroying the morale of the French. Jeanne Napar, Fox's second-to-command, audibly gasped as a cannon ball tore through a Hussar's mount and came crashing into half a dozen other men. Horses were sent wildly sprawling, trampling any troopers in their way. Fox tore his gaze away from the battlefield and stared at his slightly taller counterpart.
"You've been hit?" questioned Fox.
"No?"
"Then Shut up, lest you embarrass me in front of my men!" Fox turned back to the monocular.
"Oh, and one more thing Sergeant..." Fox glanced at Napar again.
"Yessir?"
"Have your Line Calvary advance on their West flank." Fox pointed westwards at a group of retreating militia. "Your orders are to execute the last leaders left on this battlefield. That is all"
Napar hesitated. "...Yessir"
"Is something wrong Sergeant?" Fox leaned forwards and wiped the first of many rain drops off his monocular. "Nothing sir, It's just, are you sure it's wise to fight in conditions as bad as these. Misfires are a certainty." Fox turned once again to look his accomplice in the eyes. Napar flinched, expecting his commanding officer to strike him.
"The conditions are the same for the enemy, Sergeant. The ground shook as another Howitzer volley was fired."I will be leading all four regiments of our own force into the fray."
Fox's warm breathe was visible in the freezing cold temperatures set upon by the rainstorm above them.
"People will die, Sir."
Fox thought the sergeant looked frightened at the thought. Fox simply said
"Yes, people will die. However we must fight onwards, no matter the losses. Paris will succumb to our forces. Napoleon's empire will fall!" Immediately Napar's expression changed from fear to solitude.
"I hope to god you've still got it Henry" Fox and Napar shook hands. Not as high ranking officers of the British army, but as brothers-in-arms fighting a war that in the desperate years to come, would inevitably lead to the deaths of both of them. "To victory!" they both shouted. A chorus of amen's bellowed down the ranks of Redcoat Infantry. As Commander-General Henry Fox tightly slipped his Bicorn into place upon his head, he marched into line among his fellow Redcoats and for the first time in the entirety of his goddamned life, smiled.
"Squares!"
The 45th regiment fell into several square formations as the crippled hussars made a futile last effort to halt the British forces. Bayonets raised, the redcoats spread apart in preparation of the mounted charge. White, brown and black horses fell as they charged into the infantry. Fox stood in the middle of the gore, prepared to cut down any foolish French riders. By propelling himself off a falling soldier Fox managed to launch himself head height with a charging hussar. He stabbed the sword held in his right hand into the rump of the horse whilst swinging his free hand into the face of the rider with one flawless movement. Both men tumbled into the mud as the horse galloped fearfully into another hussar. Within seconds he pounced onto the soldier. Two handed, Fox drove the sword into his heart. Feeling the grass shift behind him indicated another threat sprinting towards him. While spinning to his feet, Fox raised his sword behind his head. Hearing the satisfying clang of steel upon steel, Fox spun furthermore, flicking the bayonet out of the hussar's hands and driving the sword downwards into his mount's leg. Fox caught the musket with his free hand and spun once again to face the front of the battlefield. Now wielding two blades Fox was a killing machine. After swiftly dispatching five more horsemen, the French broke. Coincidently the rain softened, lifting the stymie on the redcoat's progress and allowing the men to witness Napar's cavalry give chase to the fleeing Hussar. As the Redcoats fell back into line they roared in victory. Today's battle had been won. Britain was one step closer to the destruction of Paris and Fox was one step closer to redeeming his honour. Napoleon's head was going to be impaled on a stake. His stake.
The cavalry had followed the Frenchmen with swift ability. The hussars had attempted to dismay the mounted redcoats by leading them through a series of tight alleyways of a populated village. Some villagers frantically climbed away not wanting to be involved in the obvious fight while others attempted to pull the men off their horses. Napar suspected these villagers to be dumber than they looked as he witnessed one villager grab a hussar's leg and yell "This is for France you cock-bits!" and continue to gnaw at his leg. They continued pressing forward hoping this dilemma would be enough to through the redcoats of their trail. When Napar was in range he fired his pistol. The noise was immense, shocking the villagers into silence. Napar's target slid off his mount, dropping onto the ground with a flat poof. The horse galloped away.
"Did you French pansies really think you could stop the Lord Majesty's by using these cretons as a distraction? Napar spat on a villager who was dangerously close to his mount. He reloaded and fired the pistol again. Three hussars remained. One hussar rode forward, his bicorn sitting sideways upon his head. His broad cheeks and thick eyebrows tightened as he spoke.
"we do not seek to defy your Lord Majesty, but to conquer her!" his accent was pure French and barely suited his small posture. Napar's men gasped at the words of heresy. Immediately Militia and Fusiliers-of-the-line bearing the blue and white colours of the Royal French Empire appeared in almost every doorway, window and alleyway in the entire village. Simultaneously several lines of hussar surrounded the redcoats. Napar raised his slouch so his back was vertical to the ground. With his head raised high he said "I'm sorry you French fool but before I kill you shall I be granted your name?" his posture tightened furthermore as the French general rode forward until his head was parallel with Napar's. Upon closer examination Napar could see and understand the frenchman's authority. One ear was missing presumably shot off in a previous encounter with an enemy. The veins that protruded from the wound until touching aa massive scar on the other side of his face was further proof of this man's will to live. "