The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗
Never had the odds been so heavily weighted against him, Napoleon reflected. And yet he felt the thrill of the conviction that he must somehow win. Sheer force of will had led him to dominate Europe, and he would die rather than bow to lesser men.
The sound of firing increased and Napoleon looked to the east, where a regiment of Sebastiani’s hussars were galloping towards a low ridge in the direction of the guns. Beyond them, silhouetted against the overcast sky, were the vedettes who had fallen back. A twinge of anxiety clenched in the pit of Napoleon’s stomach. There was not supposed to be any threat from the east, according to the intelligence reports. Yet something had caused the cavalry screen to fall back, and Sebastiani to concentrate his cavalry.
With a dull clop of hooves Ney trotted up and reined in. ‘Seems like the patrols missed an enemy column, sire. It’s only to be expected, given how little cavalry we can field.’
‘Don’t make excuses for your officers,’ Napoleon snapped.‘Someone will answer for this incompetence.’
Ney looked at him sourly. ‘Then let it be me, sire. The men are only as good as their commander.’
‘Do not dissemble with me, Ney. Why, if I took your line of argument to its absurd conclusion, then I should be the man ultimately responsible.’
Ney said nothing for a moment, then looked back towards the ridge and spoke quietly.‘Those responsible will always be held to account, one way or another.’
Before Napoleon could reply the sounds of bugles cut through the chilly air. As the last of the French vedettes and patrols trotted back towards the main column the first of the enemy appeared. They wore the plumed helmets of cuirassiers, and the heavy coats that covered their breastplates made them seem large and formidable. Squadron after squadron appeared along the crest, and reined in.
Marshal Ney immediately halted his column and turned them to face the threat as Sebastiani’s cavalry retired to the wings of the line of infantry. The artillery was still stuck in mud on the far side of the river and Napoleon cursed the lost opportunity to give the Austrian horsemen a savage pounding. His bad mood increased as a battery of horse artillery joined the enemy on the ridge, and soon the stubby barrels of howitzers were presented to the Frenchmen.
‘Now we’re in for it,’ Ney muttered, and glanced down the line. ‘I pray that the men hold firm.’
A moment later there was a brief series of flashes and puffs of smoke, and after a short delay the sound of the enemy’s howitzers carried down the slope, sharper than the bellow of cannon. There was a burst of orange and red just above the heads of a company of infantry a hundred paces to Napoleon’s left, and several men collapsed as if slapped down by a giant hand. More shells burst above the men, or slammed down into the muddy ground, fuses sputtering before they detonated, sending a spray of mud and fragments of iron slicing through the surrounding men. As the Austrian gunners reloaded and fired as quickly as they could, the casualties mounted along the French line, and Napoleon noticed that the men were slow to close up and fill the gaps as they stared fearfully at the howitzers.
‘They’ll not stand much more of this,’ said Ney as he watched the men of the nearest battalion waver, some already edging away.
There was a loud splat nearby and Napoleon glanced sharply towards the noise. A shell had landed right in front of the nearest men, a company of grenadiers. The men flinched back, terror in their expressions as they tried to push away from the fiercely fizzing fuse burning on top of the spherical iron casing. Napoleon kicked his heels in and jerked the reins savagely. With a shrill whinny his horse turned towards the shell and galloped forward. It took seconds to reach the shell, but Napoleon was only aware of a serene stillness of mind that seemed to slow the passage of time as he took in myriad details of the line of soldiers reeling back, the impressions of boots and hooves in the soft ground, and then the ugly protrusion of black metal and sparks.
‘Sire!’ Ney shouted in alarm. ‘What the hell are you—’
Then Napoleon’s horse was directly over the shell, there was a flash and a roar that he felt as a blow, transmitted through the body of the horse beneath him. There was smoke in his eyes and mouth and his ears were numbed, and the saddle fell away beneath him as the horse collapsed, killed instantly by the explosion. Napoleon dropped the reins and struggled to rise up from the saddle. Hands grabbed his arms and pulled him away from the horse and held him up. Ney was staring anxiously into his face. ‘Sire? Sire, are you injured?’
Still dazed and with his ears ringing Napoleon looked round and saw that the blast had torn the belly and legs of his horse to shreds. Intestines, organs and blood lay spattered either side of the animal’s body. But the hapless beast had absorbed the full force of the explosion, and no one else had been hurt. Napoleon shook off the hands that supported him and adjusted his hat.
‘I’m all right,’ he announced. ‘I’m not wounded.’
Ney glanced over him and then shook his head.‘What did you think you were doing, sire?’
Napoleon had to concentrate hard before he could summon a reply. ‘The men were breaking. Besides, if I hadn’t then we’d have both been killed. It was the logical thing to do. Now get me another horse.’
‘Logical?’ Ney frowned, and then barked a laugh. ‘Sire, I swear, you have balls of steel!’
The men whom Napoleon had saved joined in his laughter, then one called out, ‘Long live Napoleon! Long live the Emperor!’
The cry echoed down the line as the men cheered to see that he was alive. Napoleon climbed into the saddle of the mount one of Ney’s staff officers hurriedly gave up, and raised his hat aloft, waving it towards the ridge.
‘There is your enemy! Here is your Emperor! Providence is with us! Advance and drive them back!’
Ney bellowed the order and an instant later it was carried down the line and the French infantry began advancing towards the ridge, cheering Napeolon’s name at the top of their voices. The Austrian cavalry had formed into lines, ready to charge, and still their guns lobbed shells towards the approaching French formations, causing further casualties. But the men’s blood was up now, and they came on, bayonets angled towards the enemy, shouting out their battle cry, heedless of the violent flashes of fire as the shells burst over and amongst them. As his men approached the enemy, Napoleon saw the gun crew hurriedly limber the howitzers and then withdraw down the far side of the low ridge. The cavalry remained, as if the enemy commander could not make his mind up what to do. Finally courage won out over caution. When the two sides were no more than two hundred paces apart, the Austrian bugles sounded the advance.
The horses stepped forward, and then moved swiftly through a trot into a canter, bits jingling and hooves thumping down in a rumble that could be clearly felt through the ground. Ney halted his line, and ordered them to prepare to receive a cavalry charge. The front line went down on one knee, bracing the butts of their muskets firmly against the ground so that the points of their bayonets faced the oncoming cavalry in a thicket of pointed steel. The rear ranks thumbed back their firing hammers and took aim.
‘Fire!’ Ney roared and the order was repeated at once as flame and smoke spat at the enemy. From his saddle Napoleon saw scores of them topple from their mounts and tumble into the mud. The rest spurred on, thrusting their straight heavy blades towards the French as they attempted to charge across the muddy ground. The second and third ranks changed places and then another volley crashed out as the Austrians drew within fifty paces of Napoleon’s men. Horses and men tumbled down, forcing others to swerve round them or draw up, creating yet further confusion as the charge was forced to halt, a scant twenty paces from the waiting infantrymen.
