The Fields of Death (67 page)
Read The Fields of Death Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
The men laughed again and someone shouted out, ‘Long live Napoleon! Long live France!’The cry was taken up instantly.
Napoleon raised his arms and shouted with theatrical anger. ‘Quiet, you fools, or you will scare them off! Is that what you want? Or do you wish to show those cowards how Frenchmen fight?’ He paused a moment until every tongue was still. ‘The great test of the campaign is upon us.’
He was about to continue when a cannon sounded from the massed formations of the allied army. An instant later there was a terrible roar as the enemy guns opened fire and the concussion ripped through the air. Spouts of earth lifted from the ground and a shot passed close overhead with a deep whirr.
Napoleon cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, ‘To arms! To arms!’
The gunners and the infantry rushed to their positions and a moment later the first of the French guns replied, crashing out as smoke billowed back through the embrasure. Napoleon climbed down from the caisson and hurried across to the rampart, and cautiously looked out through a wooden-framed viewing slit. An enemy column was quickly advancing along the side of the Great Garden towards the earthwork. Napoleon called over the captain commanding the nearest battery and pointed out the Austrians.
‘See them? Let them have some case shot.’
‘Yes, sire,’ the captain grinned, and turned back to give the order to his gun crews. They adjusted the angle of their guns with handspikes and loaded the thin tin cases filled with iron balls. When the sergeants indicated that their weapons were ready the officer raised his hand, and then swept it down as he bellowed the order to fire. The guns kicked back with the recoil and the embrasures were briefly lit up by the jets of fire leaping from the muzzles. Then the view was obliterated. Napoleon hurried across to an empty embrasure where he could see, through a swirling veil of smoke, the damage done by the battery. For the first twenty paces of the column hardly a man stood. The rest had been mown down and lay dead and wounded, spattered with blood. An officer standing to one side waved the following men past the mangled bodies and the column rippled round them as it continued towards the defences. The smoke still hung about the battery so that they fired their next shots blind, but even though one gun merely succeeded in blasting the branches of some trees in the Great Garden into a shower of shattered twigs and leaves, the other guns struck home, carving more gaps through the oncoming column.
‘Sire!’
Napoleon turned and saw Berthier approaching. He backed away from the embrasure and strode over to his aide. ‘What is it?’
‘The Guard has arrived, Sire. They are marching through the city now.’
‘Where is Ney?’
‘He is here, with Marshals Mortier and Murat, sire.’
‘Murat? What is Murat doing here?’
‘His cavalry is on the road to Dresden, sire. He rode ahead for orders.’
‘Very well.’ Napoleon made his way back across the interior of the fort to the entrance, facing towards the city, where the horses were being held for the Emperor and his entourage. The three newly arrived commanders stood waiting with St-Cyr.
‘Gentlemen, we’re in for some hot work,’ Napoleon announced. ‘The enemy have launched a full-blooded attack. St-Cyr, you take charge of the defences. Hold them off. Ney, Mortier, Murat, you will take one third of the Imperial Guard each and form a reserve, Mortier to the left, Ney to the centre and Murat on the right. You are to have your men ready to move at an instant’s notice. But you are not to act without orders, unless the enemy break through the line in the suburbs. Then you may use your own discretion. But don’t overreach yourself. Eject them from the city and fall back to your original position. We cannot afford to throw away any men unnecessarily. Dismissed.’
When the three men had mounted their horses and galloped back into the city, Napoleon took a last look around the largest earthwork and then, satisfied that it would hold the enemy at bay, he and St-Cyr led their entourage back to headquarters in the cathedral. The sound of artillery and the lighter crackle of musketry echoed along the entire length of the old city and Napoleon pointed up at the cathedral tower.
‘I have to see what’s happening. Where are the stairs?’
St-Cyr showed him to a small doorway in the corner of the nave and, telescopes to hand, the two began to climb the steep spiral steps winding up inside the gloomy stone interior. Breathing heavily and hearts pounding, they emerged into the belfry with its high arched windows affording fine views in every direction. To the south the city was ringed with banks of smoke as the guns of both sides continued to blast away at each other. In between the enemy batteries, and on either flank, the columns of enemy infantry advanced on the defences behind screens of skirmishers, who did their best to provide enough covering fire to keep some of the defenders’ heads down and put them off their aim. As he slowly tracked his telescope across the line Napoleon was gratified to see that St-Cyr’s men were holding their own.
As he watched the attack on the fort he had visited shortly before he saw the remains of the column that had been savaged by the canister fire struggling to get in through the embrasures. The ditch was littered with bodies and those who had reached the rampart were not carrying any ladders and were having to clamber up on to the shoulders of their comrades. Another column was sweeping round the left flank of the fort, hoping to make the most of the distraction caused by their comrades. A ripple of flames from the French guns on the far side of the Elbe announced their entry into the battle and roundshot ploughed through the column.
The assault reached a climax shortly after noon as the Austrians brought their guns closer to the city and attempted to blast gaps in the defences guarding the suburbs. The men in the forts took full advantage of the opportunity to lay down a devastating fire on the enemy batteries, blasting gun crews to ribbons, and smashing their gun carriages. The enemy endured an hour of the cruel punishment before withdrawing the cannon and continuing the assault with infantry. But without any scaling equipment all their discipline and courage came to nothing as they stalled in front of the French lines. St-Cyr’s men held on grimly through the afternoon and as the cathedral clock struck five Napoleon decided that it was time to launch his counter-stroke.
Climbing down from the tower he emerged into the nave and summoned Berthier. ‘The Imperial Guard’s hour has come. Tell Murat and Ney to drive the enemy back. But they are not to lose their heads. The Guard is to advance no more than a mile from the outer works, and then fall back. Be sure that they understand that.’
‘Yes, sire. And what of Mortier? Is he to be held in reserve?’
‘What, and risk the wrath of his guardsmen?’ Napoleon chuckled. ‘I think I had better deal with them myself and put an end to their grumbling.’
‘Be careful, sire,’ Berthier said, in parting, as Napoleon hurried out of the cathedral to mount his horse. He rode east through the streets whose walls echoed the roar of the cannonade and shook under the reverberation of the artillery of both sides. Mortier was waiting at the head of his men, formed up in the confines of a large market square close to the edge of the eastern suburbs. The men, many sporting fine bushy moustaches and the gold earrings that had become something of a fashion amongst the elite corps, were called to attention as their Emperor came in sight. Napoleon slowed his horse to a walk as he made his way down the front rank, scrutinising the silent faces as they stared straight ahead, muskets held at the slope, the tall bearskins making them look like giants.
‘Your men look as formidable as ever, Marshal Mortier,’ Napoleon called out as he approached the commander of the corps. ‘It would be a shame to sully such a fine turn-out by sending them into action.’
‘Don’t you dare hold us back!’ a voice bellowed from the rear of the leading battalion. ‘We’ve earned a chance for glory.’
‘And you shall have it!’ Napoleon called back. His smile faded as he turned to Mortier. ‘The Austrian attack has failed. It is time to throw them back. The Guard is to retake the Great Garden.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘And I shall be joining you for the attack.’
Mortier knew better than to question the Emperor’s judgement and he nodded. ‘It will be an honour to be at your side, sire.’
‘Then let’s be about it,’ Napoleon replied. ‘The Guard will advance.’
Mortier shouted the order and the drums began to beat the advance, a deep rhythmic rattle that echoed off the surrounding buildings. Then, at the command, the Guard began to march out of the square, down the broad avenue that led to the road leading out of Dresden towards Pirna. As they drew near to the edge of the old town, they passed the wounded being treated in the side streets and they cheered the Guard as they marched past. Now shots were flying overhead with a light zipping sound. The glass in the upper storeys of the houses was shattered and the masonry was pockmarked by musket balls. There were also gaping holes in walls and roofs where Austrian cannon balls had smashed through.
Then, as the avenue bent a little to the right, Napoleon saw that they had reached the edge of the town. A barricade lay across the road and a line of infantry, three deep, were taking turns to fire over it, then duck back and reload. Several bodies had been dragged to the side of the road so as not to encumber their comrades. A thick smog filled the open ground ahead of them, but little blooms of light marked the positions of the Austrians a short distance away, returning fire. A shot whipped by Napoleon’s horse and one of the guardsmen bent forward under the impact, and then crumpled to one side of the column, dropping his musket as he clutched a hand to his stomach.
‘Make way for the Guard!’ Mortier bellowed, then he turned to Napoleon. ‘Sire, if you please, wait here for the colour party. It will be the obvious place for the men to look for you.’
‘And keep me safe, eh?’
‘Yes, sire.’ Mortier nodded sombrely.
‘Very well.’ Napoleon drew in his reins and urged his horse to the side of the avenue. Ahead, the lieutenant commanding the company on the barricade ordered his men to cease fire and clear the way. The enemy, unaware of the new danger, continued to shoot, inflicting several more casualties, and then the way was clear, just as the first guardsmen came marching up. They passed into the powder smoke and emerged on the other side, deployed into line and returned fire with two withering volleys, then lowered their bayonets and marched on.
Immediately behind the first battalion came the colour party, and Napoleon edged his horse alongside the standards and rode out of the town, through the dispersing bank of acrid smoke. On the far side the column passed through two lines of fallen bodies, one French, the other in the white uniforms of the Austrians. Ahead, two battalions of Austrian infantry stood in line, either side of a pair of field guns, but the guardsmen did not falter for an instant as they climbed over the rubble and steadily re-formed ranks. An instant later the guns boomed out and a spray of shot hissed through the leaves and struck down several guardsmen with a chorus of sharp thuds. Napoleon watched as they closed ranks and stepped out towards the enemy. Two times the guns fired, striking down more guardsmen. Then, as they closed to musket range, the Guard stopped, readied their muskets, took aim, and unleashed a volley before their colonel bellowed the order to charge, and Napoleon watched them disappear into the smoke as they swept the Austrians away.
Having endured hours of withering fire from the defenders and failed to break into the city, the enemy had little enough fight left in them, and they hurriedly withdrew in the face of the Imperial Guard’s onslaught. By the time dusk fell, the enemy had been driven back as far as the line of villages where St-Cyr’s men had established their original outposts. Napoleon had returned to his headquarters, pleased with the afternoon’s work. There, Berthier reported that the first elements of Marmont’s and Victor’s corps were entering the city on the other side of the Elbe. Napoleon left instructions for his senior officers to join him at ten o’clock to be briefed for the next day’s battle, and then ordered a hurried meal to be brought to him. Before the light faded completely, he climbed the tower one last time to survey the enemy’s position. The camp fires flickered in a wide arc about the south of the city, but it was clear that the greatest concentration was on the line of hills the locals called the Racknitz Heights. Napoleon stared towards the dull loom in the clouds above the hills for a while and then nodded to himself.
‘It is my belief that the enemy will launch another attack on Dresden tomorrow,’ Napoleon announced to his marshals and senior generals as they sat on the pews arranged around St-Cyr’s map table. ‘They still outnumber us, but cannot be sure of our precise strength. The bulk of the two corps that arrived at dusk will not have been seen, so they will be confident of overwhelming us. However, we shall strike first, as soon as it is light. Since the centre is where their strength is, we shall feint there, and strike at their flanks. Every available man will go into our battle line tomorrow. Murat will command the right wing, Ney the left, and St-Cyr and Marmont will hold the centre. The enemy’s centre and left flank are divided by a tributary river off the Elbe, here.’ He indicated the map. ‘The river Weisseritz. There is only one bridge across the river for several miles, at the village of Plauen. Murat, if you take that, then the enemy’s left cannot be reinforced and will be at your mercy.’
Other books
El joven Lennon by Jordi Sierra i Fabra
The Dark Shore (Atlanteans) by Emerson, Kevin
No One's Bride (Escape to the West Book 1) by Nerys Leigh
Not Without Hope by Nick Schuyler and Jeré Longman
The 1st Victim by Tami Hoag
Jacob's Ladder by Jackie Lynn
Riverrun by Andrews, Felicia
The Jamestown Experiment by Tony Williams
The Punishment of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 3) by Simone, Sierra
