CHAPTER 45: THE EAGLE OF AUSTERLITZ (PART 3)
In the meantime, he and Vanhoeven had hastened the preparation of their comrades, mostly thanks to his comrade, as no one really took seriously a young man of nearly seventeen whose only notable fact was being the apprentice of their superior. Montebello, in particular, took great pleasure in taking his time to finish attaching essential elements to his saddle, not only because he enjoyed infuriating poor Harry but also because he cordially hated Vanhoeven. However, the sight of Pajol made him stop quickly, and although he was the last to be ready, he challenged his rival with a look not to mention anything to their superior.
"Set an example, Montebello," Pajol reprimanded as he passed by. ... and sighed in frustration, while Vanhoeven didn't hesitate to smile mischievously.
"Lannes' infantry will leave first," their colonel informed them as he mounted the horse that an aide-de-camp had prepared and brought for him. "We will position ourselves behind, ready to charge in support of our comrades as soon as Murat gives us the order. Forward, gentlemen!" Heading towards the regiment, Pajol was soon at the head of a good thousand cavalrymen, including Harry, as they headed back towards the woods. The infantry was already deploying, some regiments taking the paths leading to their objective, while others spread through the forest, forming a long, perfectly straight attack line advancing rapidly. At their head, the commanders led them towards the scene of the confrontation, their uniforms shining with wealth in the daylight that was now rising. It must be a little past eight o'clock by now, but already, cannons on both sides were busy eliminating any enemy target within range. The march would take them several more minutes, but this delay would allow them to effectively and coordinatedly deploy the different regiments, battalions, and squadrons that would soon face the allies. The 4th Hussar Regiment stood slightly to the right of the formation, a few dozen meters from the blue uniforms of the infantry, who continued to advance through the trees without flinching when a branch cracked or the explosion of a cannonball hitting the ground could be heard. Other cavalry regiments followed on either side of their position, forming a second line behind the first, but their role would be limited to observation for now before they could truly intervene.
In their red uniforms, Harry's comrades were likely to be ideal targets for the enemies, but this realization didn't even cross his mind. With adrenaline rising, Harry only thought about the imminent deadline. The one who wished for action just the day before was about to be served! Beside him, Vanhoeven, who was leading a small squadron again, was not much different, but it was difficult to guess who outdid the other between apprehension and excitement. This feeling must be shared by many men around him, and as they approached the famous plain, and the explosions intensified, tension rose another notch.
Soon, by an order that spread like wildfire from one end to the other of the cavalry line, the latter stopped right in the middle of the woods, leaving the infantrymen on foot to continue their way to the East.
"We will have to maneuver effectively to succeed in bringing ourselves against our opponents in full gallop," Harry said, looking at the numerous trees still blocking their path.
"Just follow me, and everything will be fine for you," Vanhoeven replied. "If you slow down or show any difficulty in bypassing these obstacles, those behind you might suffer." Harry nodded, his gaze fixed straight ahead as the first echoes of the fighting could be heard. The Russians and Austrians must have been in the plain for a long time, but led to the same place at a run, the French had managed to catch up and prevent them from having complete control over this vast space. Now... it was up to each soldier's abilities and skill to prove themselves on the field, and this included each soldier's ability to handle their rifle and hit the target accurately.
The wait seemed long to him, but ten minutes later, Harry could clearly hear the first rifle shots tearing through the plain, and the soldiers shouting their rage and eagerness for a fight, letting out powerful cries. In the face of an imminent confrontation, the most primitive instincts of man seemed to finally emerge, and Harry felt that it was the hope of thrusting his bayonet into a man unfortunate enough to serve in another army or unlucky enough to be of another nationality that motivated men to meet their counterparts and eliminate them. He himself was looking forward to it; at least, he wasn't tempted by the call of blood looming before him. Instead, the idea of proving his worth to his superiors, of excelling in a world where men could overcome all difficulties or disappear, perhaps even inscribing his name in legend through a heroic act, motivated his presence here.
"When I tell Jules and Nicolas about this, they won't believe it!" he thought, already imagining his return to the academy.
Certainly, he would probably be the center of attention at his school in the days following his return, but for now, he was just a soldier like any other, waiting for the order from his superiors to charge, while a few hundred meters away, his infantry comrades served as cannon fodder for enemy cannonballs or were pierced through by enemy rifle bullets.
The minutes were passing without anything happening for the regiments left behind. While dawn had given way to a threatening cloudy sky, battles raged further ahead, and they were unable to join. However, the sudden arrival of part of the high command, led by Marshal Murat himself, disrupted the monotony of the moment. Pajol immediately went to meet his superior, rightly assuming that their intervention was only a matter of minutes. However, he quickly returned to them, his face closed, without giving any orders to his subordinates. Others seemed to have more luck, as the generals commanding the regiments furthest south galloped towards them, sabers raised, ordering them to follow. The cavalrymen immediately rushed in another direction, still heading south, as if to lend support to other units stationed much further away.
From time to time, a rider came in the opposite direction towards their high command, a piece of paper in hand, immediately handing it to the marshal to inform him of the progress of the battles so that he could judge the opportune moment to attack or remain in reserve... when the order did not come directly from the Emperor himself. And then, just when Harry least expected it, Pajol was called by Murat for a brief conversation with him, as were most of the other generals dispatched for this battle. Their conversation lasted only a few seconds at most, but if earlier Pajol seemed almost disappointed not to intervene yet, the fierce look he now displayed showed that they should be prepared at any moment to charge the enemy.
"Gentlemen, get ready!" he ordered as they faced him. "At the signal from Marshal Murat, it will be our turn to play, and I hope you are well prepared!"
Cheers immediately responded as his men raised their sabers in the air, ready to engage.
"Participate in the glory of the empire and our beloved emperor by bringing him some enemy standards!" he continued loudly. "May these flags adorn the walls of his palaces at the cost of the blood of his valiant warriors! Soldiers, make the emperor proud as you will make me proud by honoring the 4th Hussar Regiment! May God grant us victory, our enemies yield to our sword blows, and may our women be wise in our beds awaiting the return of their heroes!"
Galvanized in this way, his men became even more eager and joyful, and even Harry, who was not directly affected by the last words, almost hoped now to find Daphne and spend a long time in her company. Elsewhere, similar scenes unfolded, each general rallying his men and urging them to go beyond their limits with a simple speech that hit the mark. A trumpet sound was then heard, and turning their heads in the direction from which it came, each realized that it was an escort of Marshal Murat sounding the charge. Saber in hand, Murat himself invited them to join him, and after a small acrobatic feat by his horse, he dashed straight ahead, followed by his subordinates.
"Forward!" Pajol shouted in response, raising his saber to the sky. "For the Emperor!"
War cries and shouts of warriors responded as his entire regiment, like the rest of the cavalry, embarked on a frantic charge whose goal was a few hundred meters in front of them. With a loud rumble as noisy as a storm, the horses set off, crossing the forest trying to make their way while their owners tried to maintain their balance in the saddle. Even before finally leaving the woods, Harry noticed the increasingly significant presence of wounded soldiers, carried arm in arm by comrades when they couldn't move themselves towards their camp, and who tried to protect themselves behind a tree when approached to avoid being trampled by the charge. Their progress was therefore more complicated, slower too, but with skill, everyone could pass without hindrance this slight obstacle and find themselves on the battlefield. Barely had the last tree been passed when a cannonball exploded near his position, raising a cloud of damp earth and dead leaves, but it hadn't even finished falling when he passed it, without even a glance, towards the thick smoke rising further away, continually fueled by musket shots.
Next to him, the soldiers continued to shout like the damned, weapons in hand, and for some, a wand carefully hidden in the sleeve of their uniform, pointing towards their destination. Following their lead, Harry unlocked the mechanism enclosing his in the holster attached to his arm and, pointing it without really aiming at an imaginary point, conjured a light magical shield capable of keeping rifle bullets at a safe distance from him. The almost invisible protection immediately extended in front of his horse, but he quickly saw that it would be of no use when a cannonball exploded in front of other riders a few meters to his right; Some managed to emerge unscathed, but the piece of boot passing in front of him persuaded him that others had not been so lucky. Ignoring this analysis, he tirelessly continued his path, thinking of nothing else but what was about to happen in a few seconds, of which he was going to be one of the actors, perhaps one of the victims as well, but wasn't that precisely stipulated in the contract binding him to his regiment? The risk... he was going to encounter it many more times if he survived this battle; The sound of cannonballs falling among the cavalry, the sound of bullets fired by muskets and piercing through the bodies of the unlucky ones in their line of sight, the cries, the shouts, the cries too... it was just a kind of supplement, an addition that now had no importance, as if his brain no longer assimilated only one idea, abstracting from everything else, and that idea had only one purpose: to charge against the enemy line.
"Approchez donc mes jolis que j'embroche du cosaque," Duchamps had roared before collapsing himself.
The opponent wasn't the same, wasn't on a horse, and didn't necessarily speak German, but the idea was the same, and soon, he was going to put it into action. Already, the infantry was dispersing to give them more space, and the enemy artillery redoubled its vigor to decimate them, but the gap was narrowing inexorably.
50... 20... 10... Then the collision. The impact was violent, and Harry narrowly avoided falling off his horse as it heavily collided with the first unfortunate in its path. But before he could gather his wits, another rider struck him from behind, pushing him further into the chaos. Soon, it was bayonets that greeted him, threatening to pierce him through, and he had to contort himself to avoid them as best as he could. With his saber, he began to counter and push them back as much as he could and, if possible, to retaliate against the attacks. However, he quickly realized that on a horse, mobility was less than on foot, and apart from slashing and countering everything in his path, his movements were limited. Faced with an enemy soldier threatening him with his bayonet, he could only dodge, retreat, or move his mount in such a way that it would be the horse getting stabbed rather than him. Despite his efforts, he managed to strike a few enemies whenever one of them was within reach of his weapon, but in the midst of these uniforms of various colors, he still had to be careful not to attack an ally... Or not to be mistaken for an enemy by his comrades. In the melee, the uniforms became indistinct shapes, colors flashed before his eyes like lightning, and the men became moving targets that shifted, wriggled, and moved so fast that he had to decide in a fraction of a second whether or not to sword them, not to mention the few soldiers who, thinking they were well protected and at a sufficient distance, still had the luxury of shooting at the riders in plain sight. If one of his servants had been there, for sure, the term "beautiful mess" would fit perfectly.
A sudden, sharp pain brought him back abruptly to the reality of this situation. Lowering his gaze quickly, Harry saw the blade of a bayonet deeply embedded in his left ankle, blood already streaming from it, while its owner, an Austrian line infantryman, looked at him with a furious expression, jaws clenched, as he now enjoyed pushing his weapon even deeper into his opponent's flesh. Swift as lightning, Harry leaned slightly towards him, and with a swing of his own sword, he severed the arm holding the rifle before, with an unexpected kick, his horse turned around, delivering a blow with its hoof right to the man's face. The man hadn't even touched the ground when others were already walking over him without knowing whether he was still alive or not.
"No harm, Bourbon?" Vanhoeven shouted from close by.
"I'll manage!" he shouted back as the smoke spread further over the battlefield.
"Stay close to me in that case! We'll support each other!"
Guiding his horse into the midst of the melee, Harry wasted no time continuing to slash, impale, and eliminate any form of danger around him without worrying about attacking some men from behind; After all, it was either him or them, right? Setting aside his qualms, he continued his work of death without flinching, blood soon staining his uniform and face as his sword struck here at the head, there at the stomach, elsewhere in the back or arms. Time passed, but no one paid attention: after all, who would look at their watch in such a moment? All Harry saw was a heap of living or dead men that seemed ever more numerous and others who came back to the charge in the middle of the corpses. Apparently, their regiment still held the neck, at least it seemed so judging by the brief analyses he made with just a glance, but it was impossible to know if the situation was evolving in their favor: allied or enemy artillery could do a lot of damage, and falling cannonballs didn't care whether they hit comrades or opponents. The explosions continued, as did the cries, but even though he was tempted to dismount to continue his fight on foot, Harry still preferred to stay on his saddle, finding it strangely comforting and secure to be sitting on the back of a horse.
"Bourbon, with me!" Vanhoeven shouted as the regiment regrouped.
Harry nodded immediately, joining him at a trot. He saw that Pajol was still at the forefront, his face stained with blood and his uniform in some places torn and cut. He himself couldn't be much better, but as soon as he had that thought, his superior set off again, this time towards the forest held by the coalition forces, while through the fog, new enemy units came charging at them—units that seemed terribly familiar to Harry, having encountered some of them a few hours earlier: Austrian cavalry with uniforms as dazzlingly white as their infantry.
Galloping in the midst of men and corpses, the hussars charged towards them, and Harry decided to use his pistol for the first time. He pulled it from its holster, waiting for the right moment when, close enough, he could make a single shot count on the best target available. His choice quickly fell on the first man, much older than him, who must have experienced more wars but was quickly brought down by a single shot. The two waves of cavalry then collided, each seeking to kill the other with their sabers as they penetrated deeper into the enemy formation.
Harry was quickly engaged by two riders, the latter trying to maneuver to attack him from two sides, but he responded to their blows by clashing his blade against theirs. One of them tried to deliver a direct blow to his stomach, but he managed to avoid it by leaning backward, the blade passing just inches from his collar, before he rose and with a swift stroke, sliced the man's throat. The other wasn't idle, aiming not to kill him directly but to injure him in multiple places. Harry, ignoring his own safety, removed his feet from the stirrups to move his legs sufficiently out of reach. However, his horse was now impaled in several places by the Austrian's sword. The Austrian then attempted a thrust at Harry's chest, but he skillfully dodged it by hitting his sword hard enough with his to deflect its course. Despite Pajol's recommendations, he slightly slipped his wand into his other hand:
"Stupefy!" he muttered in a low tone, pointing it at the other.
The man, though simply stunned, fell from his horse. Given the surrounding chaos, he was at risk of being trampled by some stray hooves. Checking that Pajol hadn't seen anything, Harry quickly tucked his wand back into his sleeve. Then, he spotted an Austrian flag in the midst of the fighting, attached to the back of a horse while its owner disappeared into the combat in search of a new opponent. Seized by a sudden desire to show his worth, Harry advanced toward him, ready to tear away his flag to bring it personally to the Emperor. But he had to admit that the fight was shaping up to be much more complicated than expected when his saber, aimed at the Austrian's back, was countered by the opponent.
The cavalryman was skillful with his sword, but Harry was much more cunning. Removing his feet from the stirrups again, and despite occasional pains from his wounds, he took advantage of another attack to trap the Austrian's blade with his sword and dagger. With a quick move, he managed to tear it from the man's hands and sent it flying into the air. Then, he crouched on his saddle, briefly analyzing the movement of the enemy's sword in the air. He planted his own in the leg offered by the Austrian, catching his weapon in mid-air, and plunged it directly into the man's stomach. The other hadn't even finished agonizing and slumping on his horse when Harry took the flag hanging at the back of his horse and turned back towards the place where he supposed Pajol and Vanhoeven were... before a sudden hand on his shoulder prevented him and made him start.
"I believe this belongs to me," a voice said behind him before snatching the staff from his hands.
"Montebello?!" Harry stammered, staring at the newcomer.
Montebello simply smiled, a particularly malicious smile that was so familiar to him, but he usually only displayed it to Vanhoeven.
"It's Captain Montebello for you, Bourbon," he corrected, blatantly ignoring the ongoing battle around them. "And count yourself lucky it's me: as absent-minded as you are, you could have easily been killed from behind by one of those damned Austrians. On the other hand, if I kill you now, no one will know..."
His remark sent a shiver down Harry's spine, and he didn't know if Montebello was genuinely serious or if it was part of his questionable humor.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a standard to bring to the Emperor," he said, walking away. "When I see an opportunity to shine in His Highness's eyes, I seize it on the fly, even if it comes at the expense of a little boy still young enough to be spanked by his mommy..."
And on these charming words, he quickly disappeared into the midst of the fights, leaving behind a bewildered Harry whose mood darkened as the seconds passed, realizing that his little moment of glory had just been stolen from him. Furious, he had to quickly come back to reality when again, enemy soldiers came against him with the firm intention of killing him.
Harry didn't know how long he had been there impaling, skewering with his sword and killing, nor how many men he had just taken the lives of. Suddenly, the sound of a horn echoed, and almost immediately, he noticed that the enemy cavalry was changing direction and simply fleeing in a generalized disorder. On horseback or on foot, the Russians and Austrians were retreating towards the forest, and from what he could see, it had suddenly become the direct target of the French artillery, while their own had suddenly fallen silent.
"It's no longer nap time, Bourbon!" Vanhoeven shouted as he passed by him at a gallop. "Now comes phase two of the plan: pursue and capture as many prisoners as possible!"
Those who could still move were indeed chasing their enemies, and despite the wounded they stepped or trotted over, each was now engaged in a small race through the ranks of the fugitives to outpace them, overtake them, and catch them from behind to force them to stop. Those who dared to defend themselves were simply eliminated, but for the most part, the enemy infantry was unable to shield themselves from the assaults of the French cavalry among their ranks. Following his superior's gesture, Harry did the same, thinking for the first time since the beginning of the battle that indeed, war wasn't played on a roll of the dice, and that from the sight of the pile of bodies scattered across the plain, it had come close, perhaps by a small margin, for him to find himself face down on the ground, a gaping wound to the abdomen or a limb torn off by a cannonball, while around him, the fighting continued: Dying anonymously, like all those men, clearly wasn't the fate he imagined for himself.
step into the world of PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n! Experience where tales unfold, magic ignites, and the future takes shape.
For exclusive support and early access to upcoming chapters, join us at PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n.
Note: Get the scoop a day before anyone else! Updates release on P.a.t.r.e.o.n before they hit FanFiction. Join us for free to read ahead!