Read The Fields of Death Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
The Fields of Death (17 page)
The orderly returned with a lump of hard cheese, some bread and a jug of beer. Napoleon did not care for ale and only sipped at it as he forced himself to eat.
Shortly after six in the morning, Bernadotte’s division of Saxon soldiers began their attack on Aderklaa. Napoleon abandoned his meal and called for his horse. Ordering Berthier to accompany him with a small escort of staff officers and lancers from the Imperial Guard, he rode forward to view the action more closely.
Marshal Bernadotte was close to the front, encouraging his Saxon infantry forward as they were met with a withering hail of fire from the Austrian defenders. The enemy had made good use of all the defences prepared by Bernadotte’s men only hours before, and fired from behind walls and loopholes in the houses on the edge of the village. Even so, the Saxons advanced steadily, the leading battalions closing ranks as their men were whittled down by enemy bullets. As he watched, Napoleon could see more enemy forces approaching from behind the village. He willed Bernadotte to throw his men forward, before the Austrian defenders could be reinforced.
There was a final flurry of musket fire at point-blank range before the Saxons charged home and attacked the enemy with bayonets. Napoleon raised his telescope, and through the dispersing gunpowder smoke he caught glimpses of the bloody close-quarters skirmishing on the outskirts of the village. A gallant young officer urged his men over a garden wall. Several men went down like skittles as they burst through a gate, straight into the muskets of the men waiting within. Two men were helping a comrade with a shattered leg to the rear. A sergeant smashed down an Austrian soldier with the butt of his musket before reversing the weapon and thrusting his bayonet home into the enemy’s throat.
Napoleon lowered his telescope. Bernadotte’s attack seemed to be succeeding. Once the village was back in French hands, then the rest of the army’s assault on the Austrian line could begin. At last, the morning’s crises had been contained. He turned to Berthier.
‘The moment Bernadotte confirms that Aderklaa has been cleared of the enemy, send the order to all commands to begin their attacks.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Berthier nodded, and then glanced past Napoleon with a curious expression.
‘What is it now?’ Napoleon grumbled, turning round.
The Saxon columns entering the village had halted. On either side, flowing back round them, were the men from the leading battalions. Some of the officers and sergeants tried to stop them, but were quickly thrust aside or knocked down as the Saxon troops fled. Napoleon raised his looking glass again and saw more flashes of gunfire and smoke amid the buildings, then the green of Austrian uniforms, and over them the standard of Austria, waving from side to side. A volley smashed into the leading ranks of one of the Saxon columns stalled just outside the village. That was enough to break their wavering spirit and they too turned and ran. In a short space of time the entire Saxon division was on the run.
A horseman raced out ahead of the fleeing infantry, cutting diagonally across their path and straight towards Napoleon and his entourage.
‘That’s Bernadotte,’ said Berthier, lowering his telescope. ‘Must be trying to cut ahead of his men to rally them.’
‘Ah, leading from the front, as usual,’ Napoleon sneered. ‘Even in retreat.’
Berthier glanced at the emperor and spoke quietly. ‘Sire, the marshal is a brave man, even if he is inclined to self-aggrandisement.’
‘Inclined to it?’ Napoleon smiled coldly. ‘Why, the man is utterly devoted to himself.’
Berthier seemed about to respond, but thought better of it and clamped his jaw shut instead.
They watched as Bernadotte reined in his mount in front of a group of soldiers and began to berate them, thrusting his arm out towards the village. A handful of those closest to the marshal stopped and regarded him briefly before warily turning aside and hurrying on after their comrades. Bernadotte called after them, then spurred his horse into a gallop to attempt to get in front of his men again. Ahead of him the plain was covered with thousands of his Saxons, the foremost of whom were coming close to Napoleon and his staff. Berthier turned to the commander of the escort and ordered him to send his men forward to screen the Emperor. The lancers walked their mounts up and halted ten paces in front of Napoleon, in a loose line, and lowered the tips of their weapons. The fleeing Saxons began to flow to the sides to avoid the new danger. Marshal Bernadotte stopped a hundred paces away and drew his sword, turning on the Saxons.
‘Cowards!’ he shouted. ‘Stand your ground! Rally to me, damn you!’
He edged over towards the nearest of his men and slapped him across the shoulder with the flat of his sword. ‘Stand! Stand with me!’
Napoleon regarded him in a cold fury. Bernadotte had not only failed to stem the tide of his broken division, he had been the cause of the debacle in the first place by abandoning the village and obliging his men to attempt to retake it, with disastrous results. He had endangered not only his men but also the army’s battle plan. Taking a sharp intake of breath, Napoleon clicked his tongue and urged his horse forward.
‘Berthier, come with me. I want you to witness this.’
They walked their mounts between the lancers and on towards Bernadotte. The moment the marshal saw them, he sheathed his sword, took up his reins and trotted up to Napoleon. He saluted as he reined in.
‘Sire, I regret to inform you that the attack has failed.’ Bernadotte swept his arm up to indicate the fleeing Saxons.‘As you can see, my men have failed me.’
‘Really?’ Napoleon folded his hands over the saddle pommel as he glared at Bernadotte in contempt. ‘Tell me, Marshal, is this the special manoeuvre you were going to use to force Archduke Charles to lay down his arms?’
Bernadotte’s mouth sagged open, and then surprise gave way to anxiety as he recalled his bragging to the other marshals the night before and realised that Napoleon must have heard him. ‘Sire, I . . .’
‘Silence, Bernadotte!’ Napoleon snapped.‘You have failed me for the last time. You are herewith dismissed from command of your corps, which you have handled with such incompetence.’
‘Sire, no,’ Bernadotte protested, but Napoleon continued.
‘You are to leave this battlefield at once. You are to leave the Grand Army before the day is out and return to France. I will decide your fate in due course. Now leave my presence.’
‘You cannot do this!’ Bernadotte blustered. ‘I am a Marshal of France!’
‘Not any longer. You are disgraced. I will say it once more. Leave my presence, before I have you arrested and taken to the rear in chains.’
Bernadotte straightened to his full height in his saddle and opened his mouth to speak, but Napoleon turned away and trotted back through his escort to re-join his staff officers. ‘Do not permit that man to approach me,’ he ordered loudly with a nod back towards Bernadotte. For a moment Bernadotte stared helplessly after Napoleon, then looked to Berthier questioningly. The latter shook his head faintly. With a tap of his heels Bernadotte turned his horse towards the pontoon bridge nearest Essling and walked his mount away, urging it into a trot after a little distance, and then a gallop - so stung by the shame of his treatment at Napoleon’s hands that he was compelled to leave the field as swiftly as possible.
Napoleon spared him a brief glance and muttered, ‘Good riddance.’
Berthier cleared his throat. ‘Is that wise, sire? In the middle of a battle?’
Napoleon nodded. ‘I could hardly afford to have Bernadotte fouling things up any more at such a critical moment, wouldn’t you agree?’ He turned to his chief of staff with a penetrating glare.
‘Yes, sire. Of course.’
‘Good. Then we shall have to try to struggle on without the tactical brilliance of Bernadotte to help us. Now then, send an order to Masséna. He is to retake Aderklaa immediately. Masséna at least will not fail me.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘And let us hope that there will be no further surprises this morning.’
Within the hour, just after the church clock in Aderklaa chimed nine, the tricolour was flying from the church tower. Napoleon had just sent an orderly forward to express his congratulations and gratitude to Masséna when a messenger arrived from General Boudet, commander of the division guarding the army’s left flank.
‘What is it now?’ Napoleon asked wearily.
‘General Boudet begs to report that he has been forced back into the Mühlau bridgehead, sire.’
‘Forced back?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘What has happened? Speak up, man!’
‘Sire, we are under attack from two army corps. We are a single division. We were driven back.’
Napoleon was about to give vent to his anger at this new frustration when the full significance of the report suddenly hit him. This was part of Archduke Charles’s plan. The enemy commander must have intended to envelop both flanks of the Grand Army, but, for whatever reason, the attack on Napoleon’s left flank had been delayed until some hours after the attack on his right. It was bad timing for the French, Napoleon reflected bitterly. With Masséna’s attention directed towards the recapture of Aderklaa, a gap had opened between the Danube and the left flank of the Grand Army. Now, Archduke Charles was attempting to seize or destroy the bridges that crossed to Lobau island. If he succeeded, then he would sever the supply lines that fed the Grand Army.
‘How far have the enemy advanced?’
‘When I left General Boudet the Austrians were approaching Essling, sire.’
‘Essling!’ Berthier turned to Napoleon with a look of horror. Glancing round at his staff officers he saw that the news had stunned them. There was fear in some expressions too. He had to steady their nerves. He must set the example, or all was lost. Forcing a calm expression on to his face, Napoleon addressed Berthier. ‘We have two options. We ignore this attack and continue with the plan, and hope that Davout successfully crushes the enemy’s left flank. Or we send Masséna to block their advance, hold the bridges and then force them back.’
‘But Masséna is already engaged, sire. Besides, even if he could break contact, he would have to march across the face of the Austrians on our left. If they can bring their guns to bear then Masséna’s men will be mauled.’
‘That’s possible,’ Napoleon conceded. ‘My conviction is that the Austrians will not be able to bring their guns into action fast enough to do much harm to Masséna. Everything will depend on our speed. Firstly we must extricate Masséna and prevent the enemy from trying to maintain contact. The reserve cavalry are to charge the enemy forming to the west of Aderklaa. They must pin them in place long enough for Masséna to reach Essling and form his line there.’
Berthier nodded.
‘If Bessières fails, then our centre cannot possibly be held. The Grand Army will be cut in two. Make sure Bessières understands the danger we are in.’
‘Yes, sire.’
The situation was critical, Napoleon realised. As at Eylau, his battle line was in danger of shattering under enemy pressure. If the cavalry could relieve the strain on the rest of the army there was some chance that the line could re-form and hold off the enemy. While he watched the cavalry come forward and form lines ready to charge the enemy centre, Napoleon saw movement behind Masséna’s corps as a division from Eugène’s corps and some batteries of artillery crossed the rear of the formation and formed a line facing the enemy columns advancing along the bank of the Danube. With a nod of approval and relief, Napoleon realised that his stepson had acted on his own initiative to attack the enemy’s flank. The crews hurriedly unlimbered their cannon and loaded case shot. Within minutes the first of them was in action, belching flame and smoke as the gun carriage leaped back on the recoil. More guns joined in and soon began to tear holes in the Austrian columns passing by their front. As the enemy soldiers were scythed down, each battalion had to slow to step over the bodies and re-form their ranks, buying vital time for Masséna.
Masséna’s formations pulled back, apart from one division left behind to defend Aderklaa. As soon as they were a safe distance from the enemy, the French soldiers turned about and began to quick-march across the plain towards Essling. The race was on, Napoleon realised, his stomach knotted by anxiety. If the enemy captured Essling and moved swiftly enough, they would take the bridges over the Danube. He could see Masséna riding up and down the columns of blue-coated infantry, urging them on. Despite having had little sleep for nearly three days the men stepped out in a lively fashion, kicking up a thin haze of dust from the dry ground.
A series of sharp bugle notes pierced the morning air and Napoleon turned to see the first of Bessières’s charges ripple forward towards the Austrian centre. A line of cuirassiers trotted across the plain, breastplates and helmets shimmering as their crests swished from side to side. Half a mile in front of them the nearest units of Austrian infantry began to form squares while the gun crews trained their cannon on the new threat.
‘A brave sight,’ Napoleon commented. As the horsemen closed on the Austrians and increased their pace to a gentle canter, there seemed to be a pause in the fighting on either side of the battlefield as the two armies watched the wave of men and horses thundering over the flattened grass and crops of the plain. The brief spell was broken as the first of the enemy batteries opened fire, scouring the leading ranks of one of the cuirassier regiments. Scores of men and horses went tumbling over as if they had been tripped, and the succeeding lines had to swerve round them like eddies in a stream. More guns joined in, decimating the ranks of the French heavy cavalry. The bugles sounded again, ordering the charge, and the riders dug their spurs in, extended their sword arms and let out an exuberant cheer that could be clearly heard by Napoleon and his staff officers as they watched.
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