CHAPTER 69: THE ONSET OF WAR
The distant cannonade echoed, mingling with the furious war cries of thousands of infantrymen gathered around the small town of Schleiz. The noise was barely perceptible, masked by the dense forests of Thuringia and Franconia, lost in the outskirts of the Kingdom of Saxony, where Harry cautiously advanced with the rest of the cavalry. It was already long past sunrise on October 9, 1806, and wisps of smoke could be seen beyond the tops of the tall conifers.
Beside him, Nicolas and Juliette were visibly tense. However, unlike them, this was Harry's second campaign. His friends looked particularly anxious, their sharp eyes scanning the surroundings so quickly that their vision seemed like a continuous streak of green and black amidst the scarlet uniforms of the rest of the regiment. Vanhoeven stood before them, resuming the same role he had played in the Battle of Austerlitz for Harry. Unlike the others, he appeared confident, almost distracted, as the troop continued tirelessly advancing northward.
Nevertheless, the Prussians were only a few kilometers away at best. Judging by the musket fire from all directions, the fighting had been underway for some time, and it was impossible to determine which side had the upper hand. Instead, they trotted on and on, an activity they had been engaged in for a good week, covering much of the German states and Bavaria.
War had indeed resumed, as Talleyrand had assured him in their last meeting, just a few months after the signing of the Treaty of Pressburg, ending the conflict between the French Empire and part of the coalition in Europe. Now, it pitted the French Empire against the Kingdom of Prussia and its few allies. King Frederick William III and Queen Louise had dared to issue an ultimatum to the emperor twenty-four years prior, ordering the withdrawal of French troops from the German states they occupied.
Moreover, the Prussian monarchy had long feared the expansion of French land borders toward theirs by creating multiple satellite states and allies to France. The emperor had rewarded his close associates and top marshals by establishing numerous small duchies and principalities on what was once the Holy Roman Empire. Marshal Murat and the emperor's sister, Caroline, were designated Duke and Duchess of Berg and Cleves, Bernadotte as Prince of Ponte-Corvo, and Talleyrand as Prince of Benevento.
With the recent conquest of the Kingdom of Naples, given to his brother Joseph, the creation of the Kingdom of Holland with his brother Louis at its helm, the marriage between his stepson Eugène de Beauharnais and Augusta of Bavaria, and that of Jérôme Bonaparte and Catherine of Württemberg, Napoleon seemed to be recreating what appeared to be "the Grand Empire of the West" on the territory that was once Charlemagne's. He had united the conquered German states in a new Confederation of the Rhine, led by the Archbishop of Ratisbonne, though it was essentially a puppet for the emperor who truly directed this new confederation.
This gigantic state, now stretching from the Kingdom of Holland to Naples in its length and from Brest to the banks of the Oder in its width, deeply concerned the rest of the European monarchies. However, Prussia was the first to unmask itself and launch into a new military campaign, rightly furious to learn that Napoleon intended to take Hanover from them and return it to the English in an attempt to pacify their relations.
The armies were thus in battle formation, explaining Harry's presence and the rest of his troop in the heart of Bohemia and the Kingdom of Saxony, allies of the Prussians. As the three columns led by the emperor's marshals advanced irresistibly northward, their final objective was hardly concealed: Berlin.
"Easy there," Nicolas muttered beside him as he stroked his horse's flank. "If someone had told me that right after graduation, I'd be sent to the front so quickly, I'm not sure I would have believed it," he added discreetly towards his best friend.
"Such is life," Harry sagely replied, surprised himself at how quickly time could pass.
The speed was such that he hadn't been able to send a single letter to Talleyrand about the movements of the French troops, as he had requested. This first skirmish was not planned; the two armies unexpectedly met on a terrain where neither had truly had time to prepare. However, one had to make the best of a bad situation and respond to the enemy's provocations with well-placed sword blows.
"At any rate, those fools from the 57th must be having a good laugh," grumbled Nicolas with a pouty expression. "You'll see; they'll boast about being the first to face the Prussians!"
Earlier that morning, a part of the army had a slight clash on the Saalbourg bridge, now south of their position. By surprise, the 57th had assaulted this small passage and caught the German garrison off guard, who perhaps thought they were facing the bulk of the French army. Without ceremony, they scampered away without causing any casualties.
Soon, the forest seemed to thin, and a vast plain stretched out before them as they emerged from the woods. The sound of combat intensified, mixing the shouts of foot soldiers with the explosions caused by gunpowder or the bullets of muskets whistling through the air, piercing the uniforms of the soldiers in front or grazing the trunks of trees.
"At a brisk trot!" ordered Marshal Murat at the forefront.
Immediately, the speed of the horses increased, but the real charge was not yet in order. On their left, the town of Schleiz began to show the first signs of a blaze, and several thatched or tiled roofs already released thick, billowing smoke. The fighting seemed to have reached the heart of the small city, and in the distance, Harry could see the French divisions streaming through the city gate, charging the fleeing enemy companies.
"It's almost time," muttered Nicolas with a heavy voice.
"Is it me, or has your good mood stayed at the bivouac?" Harry asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"I don't think it's the time for laughter," he replied somberly, his hand holding his raised saber trembling violently.
At that moment, Marshal Murat spoke again, and the order everyone awaited emerged from his lips suddenly but as clearly as if the duke were hundreds of meters away:
"The enemy is coming out through the North gate of the city! Charge and for the Emperor!"
"For the Emperor!" shouted the entire 4th regiment of hussars in unison.
As if thunder had suddenly struck the plain, hundreds of cavalrymen rushed toward the retreating enemy divisions, shouting at the top of their lungs. These cries, mixed with the gallop of horses, were the only sounds Harry could hear as they descended upon their target like an animal would pounce on its prey to grab it by the throat and tear it apart.
The Prussians, powerless against the charging force, tried to flee as quickly as possible, attempting to slow their pace with sporadic volleys that rarely hit their target.
In no time, the cavalry was upon them, and the first rows were already cutting through the blue uniforms of the Germans as their bayonets nestled into the sides of the horses. Several men quickly fell under the blows of the French soldiers, or were violently knocked off their feet by the force of the impact and trampled by the horses' hooves.
Harry had the opportunity to eliminate his first opponent in this way, but the action was so swift that he didn't even have the chance to memorize the face. Around him, it was mostly the flank of a horse, uniforms of blood-red, and sabers raised in the air before striking their targets, while under the hooves of their animals, blue and black attire continued to spring up like mushrooms as their owners agonized in the mud and blood.
Suddenly, a sound resembling a hunting horn echoed, and the next moment, new adversaries appeared on similar mounts. Blue uniforms mingled with the red ones as the Prussian cavalry entered the fray and engaged in the multiple duels presented to them.
One of them quickly descended upon Harry, attempting to strike him directly in the chest, but he missed by mere inches when our French hussar fully lay on the back of his horse to evade it.
Barely recovered, Harry took hold of his horse's reins, rushed towards the German, and clashed his own saber with the one who had tried to kill him. The two men engaged in an unforgiving duel, oblivious to what might be happening around them. After some time, Harry managed to gain the upper hand, and his saber found its way directly into the face of the other, cutting him deeply. Harry wasn't sure if the man was still alive when he saw him fall from his horse, blood streaming profusely from his wound. However, what he could see nearby offered no reassurance; the blue uniforms seemed to be in the majority now, and several comrades had already fallen in battle. Others, less fortunate, lay on the ground with a gaping wound in the stomach, arm, or leg, writhing in pain and narrowly avoiding being crushed by a horse's hoof.
"Retreat!" someone shouted a few meters away.
Harry wasn't sure where the South might be at the moment, but he chose to follow the companions who were already rushing in a direction. Along the way, he dealt saber blows to two German hussars that hit home. Soon, he extricated himself from the mass of riders to flee toward the forest... only to come face to face with the 5th regiment, which, in turn, was charging towards their enemies.
"Good grief, will we ever stop constantly changing direction?" he inwardly cursed upon hearing the same hunting horn that had signaled the charge earlier.
The 4th and 5th regiments then merged to form a single mass of flesh and fabric, rushing towards the German cavalry. The new attack still had its effect, and if a minute before the Prussians dominated the scene, the sudden French reinforcements shook their defense, forcing them to retreat in turn. Harry, like the others, pursued them relentlessly, delivering saber blows here, shooting at sight there, intentionally charging on foot enemies to knock them over with his horse... and all without a shred of mercy.
Despite the arrival of the German hussars, the infantry had managed to flee relatively unscathed towards the forest in front of them, and already the cavalry was taking the same direction in utter disorder.
"Gabriel!" Juliette called out from behind him as she trotted towards him, part of her face stained with blood.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a concerned tone.
"It's not mine," she informed him to reassure him, running her hand over her skin. "But I got my first cut," she added, pointing to a tear on her right arm from which a small amount of blood was flowing. "Fortunately, Colonel Vanhoeven was there to save me."
"It wouldn't have happened if you had stayed attentive to what was happening around you," he interjected, approaching them.
"I was looking for Nicolas," she explained sheepishly. "Have you seen him?"
"Not since the first charge," he admitted, now genuinely concerned about the fate of their mutual friend.
But they had no further opportunity to worry as Marshal Murat, still resplendent in his golden uniform, sounded the resumption of the pursuit. The troop was already rushing again in the direction taken by the Prussian cavalry, now several minutes ahead of them.
Once again, they entered the woods, and the dense and tangled vegetation made any gallop impossible. The fallen leaves were already crunching under the horses' hooves as not a single word was spoken.
While advancing, Harry wondered if the battle, short as it was, had already ended, or if a new contingent of several thousand men awaited them at the forest's exit to cut them to pieces. Similarly, he pondered the outcome of the battle they left behind, whether Schleiz had been effectively taken or the risk of being surrounded by their enemies. In these circumstances, it was so difficult to know what was happening elsewhere on the battlefield that he felt on the verge of becoming paranoid.
"Some movement, straight ahead!" shouted an officer, pointing with his hand to a relatively dark space between the trees.
Even though charging under such conditions was challenging, the marshal raised his saber again, sounding the assault against the enemy lines. Once again, the forest seemed to tremble, shaken by the hundreds of horses moving in the indicated direction, while the few unlucky animals present tried to flee in all directions.
There was indeed a new column of Prussian infantry, accompanied by a cavalry escort and, as far as Harry could see, two cannons. The Germans seemed extremely surprised by this sudden attack, and while the foot soldiers quickly tried to form a line of muskets to support the impending clash, the cavalry quickly beat a hasty retreat. The impact was once again brutal, and at the first breaches in the line, the Prussians abandoned their positions and fled as fast as they could. The cannons, not yet armed and positioned, hadn't even fired a single shot.
"Surrender, and nothing will happen to you!" Harry shouted to every Prussian passing near the edge of his blade.
Each time, the man, surrounded as he was by the French cavalry, would freeze, lay down his weapon, and raise his hands in the air, terrified. Soon, hundreds of Germans surrendered to the hussars, while the rest tried to flee in the midst of a swampy area where some unfortunate souls struggled to extricate themselves and ended up drowning.
Harry smiled with satisfaction as their opponents were gradually gathered and disarmed. The battle seemed won, and the loot was relatively substantial. It was, in any case, fewer men likely to cause them losses in the future and greater chances for them to quickly win this war.
Midday had already rung in the church steeples of the surrounding villages, and a stranger might be surprised by such a nonchalant and out-of-context gesture considering the events unfolding on this day of October 14, 1806. The weather was particularly cold, and a thick mist had settled for several hours now over the entire Saale Valley and the Weimar plain north of the city of Jena, where a significant part of the French troops had been stationed since the previous day.
In the distance, Harry could see the city finishing its consumption as the soldiers had finished pillaging it thoroughly. The thick smoke from the fires mingled merrily with the surrounding fog. He was further north, a few kilometers away, accompanied by the bulk of the army's light cavalry, passing by the village of Cambourg that Marshal Soult's infantry had conquered a few hours earlier.
There too, the thatched roofs had not withstood the French cannons' shells, and the wooden beams supporting the houses collapsed one after the other under the force of the fires that were destroying them. Fire and war seemed closely linked in these circumstances, one never going without the other and vice versa, and to this were added some corpses and wounded along the roads, calling out plaintively for any assistance. But orders were clear, and they had to continue their route.
From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Juliette hesitating to offer help, her gaze constantly turning to the bodies pierced by bullets or bayonet thrusts. For her, the color of the uniform or the nationality of the individual didn't matter. She had to restrain herself from breaking the line and rushing towards them, even though she had only rudimentary knowledge of medicine, just like him. But it was in her nature, a good and benevolent nature far from the harshness and violence of war. At times, he wondered if Juliette truly belonged on a battlefield.
To tell the truth, it was the only thing he had been thinking about for the past five minutes, as he had nothing else to do but direct his horse at the same speed as the others. One had to occupy oneself as best as possible, and the constant cannon fire in the distance wasn't going to disturb his mind. For more than six hours now, he had done nothing but sit on that cursed saddle, his sore buttocks now from being immobile. He observed in the distance the movement of the line troops and infantry from the Landgrafenberg plateau held by the emperor, where all the French artillery was positioned, toward the one held by the Prussians directly in front of them. The clash between the corps, the maneuvers of the divisions to encircle, contain, merge, and push the opposing camp, while the cavalry remained dramatically in the background, relegated to a rather sad observer role for those who wished for more action.
Harry wasn't really the type to crave action, but having risen at dawn with the hope of shining on the battlefield, he quickly had to come to terms with the fact that today his role would be secondary. And honestly, this total absence of combat bored him deeply. A glimmer of hope for action arose when Marshal Ney, in an excess of zeal and too eager to do more, found himself in the heart of the German formation and overturned by the Prussian cavalry. However, it was not him or his comrades who were called upon to save him but the artillery. So, that hope quickly vanished.
"My ass hurts," grumbled Nicolas next to him as he rubbed his lower back painfully.
Harry sniffed at his remark but refrained from telling him that he felt the same way. Instead, he smiled slightly at the sight of his best friend, a battle companion now that he had thought lost five days earlier after their small skirmish with the Prussians at Schleiz. Indeed, Nicolas had fallen heavily from his horse upon the arrival of the Prussian cavalry, and an ugly cut on his shoulder reminded them that, a few centimeters away, it was his heart that was directly targeted. His friend had remained prostrate on the ground throughout the entire combat, miraculously escaping the weight and hooves of the horses as the rest of his troop chased the enemies through the woods. Brought back to camp for treatment, he had been immobilized for a few days to recover from his fall and the wound that would later leave a beautiful scar on his skin.
"In a few minutes, you won't have the opportunity to think about it anymore," he reassured him after a few moments. "You'll only have Saxons and Prussians within sword's reach."
"If they leave us any," he whispered painfully, making a few movements to awaken his sore muscles. "Given how things are going, they'll all be dead or prisoners before we even get there. Besides, I slept really badly..."
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