Read The Fields of Death Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
The Fields of Death (39 page)
‘No army has ever attempted such a campaign, sire.’
‘Then the fame and glory we shall win will be all the greater, Davout. Think on that.’ Napoleon looked round at his officers to gather their attention for his concluding remarks.
‘As I said, our aim is to destroy the Tsar’s armies. If they refuse to fight then we will occupy Moscow and St Petersburg. Either way, the Russians’ will to continue the fight will collapse and we will have our victory. Marshal Davout is right. Nothing like this has ever been attempted before. Once it is over, the whole world will know that there is no limit to what the armies of France can achieve. We will finally be able to enforce the Continental Blockade to the utmost. I predict that within a year, England will at last be starved into submission. When that happens, gentlemen, then this war of wars will be at an end, and France, our France, will hold dominion over the whole world. In years to come, you, and all of our soldiers, will be able to tell your grandchildren about the day you entered Moscow at the side of your Emperor. Think on that as you ride to join your commands.’
He sat down, and an instant later Ney was on his feet, thrusting his fist into the air as he called out,‘Long live Napoleon! Long live France!’
Jérôme rose and repeated the cheer, along with the others. Even Davout eventually rose to his feet and joined the cheering, but Napoleon saw the concern and doubt still lingering in his expression. Davout was wrong, he told himself. With so many men at his command, so many fine officers, the best cavalry in Europe and enough artillery to equip a fleet, how could there be any other outcome than a triumphant victory that would eclipse those of every other general throughout history? Napoleon eased himself back in his chair and smiled.
Chapter 25
Arthur
Badajoz, 6 April 1812
‘This time we’ll have the place,’ Arthur concluded as he finished surveying the three breaches that had been opened in the wall between two of the most powerful bastions of Badajoz. The new siege guns had proved their worth and in the space of two weeks the heavy shot of the twenty-four-pounder cannon had battered down the defences of the outlying fort of Picuriña before being turned on the formidable walls of the town itself. ‘Those breaches will be practicable before nightfall.’
Somerset took a last long look through his telescope before he lowered it and nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Shall I issue the orders for the attack to take place tonight?’
‘Indeed. Tonight.’ Arthur’s cheerfulness faded. This was the point of greatest risk and loss of life. All sieges built towards it - the assault - and even if the assault were successful the cost could be heavy. Still, the army was in high spirits, and had been so since the start of the year when Arthur had led them back into Spain to take the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo. Despite the gruelling cold of January, the army had besieged the town efficiently, digging the approach trenches, constructing batteries, smashing down the walls and assaulting the fortress in the space of ten days. All at a cost of six hundred casualties, a fifth of whom had been killed, including General Craufurd. Arthur had felt his loss keenly. Although Craufurd had been a prickly character, and prone to occasional acts of rashness, he had been an inspired commander of the Light Division. There were too few officers like him in the army, Arthur reflected. Men who could make the difference in an assault on a fortress as powerful as Badajoz.
The capture of Ciudad Rodrigo had been rewarded by elevation to an earldom back in England, while the Spanish junta had conferred the title of Duque de Ciudad Rodrigo upon him. More important, the army’s success had prompted the government to promise more reinforcements, especially the cavalry that Arthur had been pressing for since he had taken command. The first of seven fresh mounted regiments had already joined the army and the others would soon arrive. With a strong force of cavalry Arthur would be able to operate against the French with far more flexibility. No longer would he be tied to fighting defensive battles on terrain that negated the enemy’s superiority in cavalry. Now his army could go on the offensive and risk battle in the open.
But that was work for the future, Arthur reflected. First he must take Badajoz. He raised his telescope to inspect the fortress once more. The side facing the open ground to the west and south was protected by a formidable wall, and other defences put in place by the garrison commander. General Philippon was a veteran, some years older than Arthur, grey hair tied back above a lined face with piercing brown eyes. Arthur had met him briefly at the opening of the siege, when he had approached the fortress town under a flag of truce to demand its surrender. Philippon had emerged from the main gate, by the river, to decline the demand and Arthur, according to protocol, had reminded the defender that he would be able to come to terms until such time as a practicable breach had been opened in the walls of Badajoz. After that the fortress would be assaulted and, according to the customs of war, the defenders would be at the mercy of the British soldiers.
‘We’ll use four divisions for the assault,’ Arthur announced to his officers at the midday briefing. He was standing before a detailed map of the town’s defences pinned to the wall of the tavern that served as the army’s headquarters, and now raised his cane and pointed to the south-eastern corner of the walls of Badajoz.‘Alten’s Light Division and Cole’s Fourth Division will assault the breaches at ten o’clock tonight. At the same time there will be two diversionary attacks.’ He pointed out the eastern sector of the town. ‘Picton’s Third Division will cross the Rivillas stream, climb the cliff to the east and attempt to escalade the castle. The walls there are sufficiently low to enable our ladders to reach the battlements. Meanwhile, on the other side of Badajoz, Leith’s Fifth Division will assault the main gate. Leith?’
‘Sir?’ General Leith leaned forward.
‘The enemy have mined the approaches to the gate. Your fellows will need to be careful. Let the enemy explode the mines before you close on the wall, understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Arthur looked round at his officers. ‘I fully expect that this will be a much harder nut to crack than Ciudad Rodrigo. We can expect a greater number of casualties, but it is important to bear in mind the strategic purpose of this operation. With Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz in our hands the initiative passes to our side for the remainder of the campaign in the Peninsula. As you will know, Bonaparte is almost certain to attack Russia later this year. It is my conviction that he is about to make a mistake that may well be the turning point of the long war we have been engaged in. His campaign in Russia will exhaust his armies, and if we are lucky he may be defeated on the battlefield into the bargain. Our intelligence has shown that the best French formations are in the process of withdrawing from Spain in order to swell the ranks of the Grand Army. Gentlemen, this is precisely the opportunity I have been waiting for and I intend to seize it as firmly as possible. With the frontier fortresses in our hands, we will take the war to the French on our terms from now on.’ He paused. ‘Let that prospect fill your hearts and stiffen your sinews for this night’s work.’
His senior officers clapped their hands on the table to applaud the sentiment and then Arthur raised a hand to quell the racket. ‘Any questions?’
There were none, and he dismissed them to return to their commands and prepare for the attack. For the rest of the afternoon, until dusk, the divisions assigned to the attack rested in their bivouacs. The siege batteries shifted their fire to fresh sections of the wall in the faint hope that the defenders would think that the British required more breaches before launching an assault. Arthur doubted that Philippon would fall for such a ruse, but it was worth trying.
From the terrace garden of the tavern Arthur scanned the lines of the Light Division with his telescope and saw that some of them were reading, a few - more literate - were writing letters or diaries, and most were sitting in loose circles around their camp fires cooking up the daily ration of meat and biscuit into a thick broth. A handful of men had produced fiddles or flutes and were entertaining their comrades with jaunty tunes. Arthur was pleased. The men seemed to be in good humour. Then his gaze caught a small group of men, a hundred or so, kneeling before a chaplain, heads bent in prayer. Those were the volunteers of the Forlorn Hope, the assault party. They would lead the attack in an almost suicidal attempt to rush the breach selected for the Division and hold it open until the follow-up troops arrived to break into the town.
As he watched, Arthur could not help wondering at the nature of men who would volunteer for such a task. To be sure, there were rewards for those who survived. Promotion for the officer, sergeant and corporals, and the privates who distinguished themselves. But with the odds so stacked against them, those men would have to be so desperate for promotion that they valued it above life itself. Then there was the darker possibility, Arthur realised. Some of those men might be motivated by a lust for blood, a sickness he had seen in a few soldiers during his career. They craved battle and found such elation in the experience that it became an addiction, until death or a crippling wound cured them. If there were any men like that in the assaulting units then God help the people and garrison of Badajoz when the walls fell, Arthur thought, shuddering.
When night had fallen across the Spanish countryside Arthur, General Alava and Somerset, together with some of the staff officers, made their way up on to the ramparts of the Picuriña fort where they would have a good view of the attack on the three breaches. To the left of the fort the men of the Light Division were stealing forward along the shallow banks of the Rivillas. They had been ordered to advance in strict silence and Arthur could barely discern any sign of life in the shadows below the fort. To the right, the men of the Fourth Division had entered their approach trenches and begun to creep forward until they were halted a short distance behind the men of the assault parties.
At nine o’clock the siege batteries fired their final round, as ordered. Arthur had not wanted to risk the flare from their discharges illuminating any of the preparations for the assault. As the firing ceased there was a tense quiet that felt strange after the din of the bombardment, the silence broken only by the occasional challenges of sentries and the croak of frogs along the banks of the stream.
Arthur turned to General Alava and muttered. ‘This time you shall see us take the town.’
‘I have every confidence, my lord.’
As they waited for the attack to begin the officers around Arthur grew increasingly tense, and while some fidgeted nervously others talked in low tones until Arthur turned round to glare at them in the dim glow of the lanterns hung inside the fort. They fell silent and he turned his gaze back towards Badajoz. Torches burned along the walls and here and there he could make out the dim figures of sentries patrolling the battlements. Every so often a sentry, suspicious of some sound or movement in front of the wall, would lob a torch in a fiery arc into the dead ground and perhaps startle a dog or some other small animal.
The minutes dragged by. Arthur kept himself as still as possible, in order to set a calm example to his subordinates and ensure that his reputation for being unflappable endured. At length he discreetly took out his fob watch and angled the face towards one of the lanterns down in the fort. Almost quarter of an hour remained. Down below, within the fort, a handful of artillery men stood in one corner, ready to launch a rocket that would be the signal for the main attack to begin.
At that moment a voice called out from the direction of the trenches.
‘Pick that bloody ladder up, you lazy Irish bastard!’
Arthur felt his heart jump. Around him the other officers froze, waiting for the alarm to be given up on the wall. The seconds passed, but there was no reaction from the enemy and no more shouts from below as the frogs continued their rhythmic croaking. The tension eased and Somerset let out a long low sigh.
‘That was close. Someone should have that man on fatigues for the rest of the year.’
‘I dare say there will be time for recriminations later,’ Arthur responded evenly.
He concentrated his gaze on the approaches to the breaches, knowing that the Forlorn Hopes of each division would be creeping stealthily forward at that moment. After a delay of a minute the assault parties would begin to follow them, while those behind gripped their muskets and awaited the signal for the general attack. Arthur saw a movement in the shadows perhaps fifty yards from the breach, then another, then more, as the Forlorn Hope crawled through the rocks and scrub in front of the wall.
A French voice called out, a challenge, then an instant later there was a muzzle flash on the wall. The crack carried to Arthur a second later.
‘Up lads and at ’em!’ shouted the ensign in command of the Forlorn Hope, and figures rose and sprinted towards the breach. The cry was taken up to the left and right as the other volunteers dashed for the other breaches. Arthur turned to Somerset. ‘Kindly give the signal.’
Somerset cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Rocket crew! Fire!’
There was a brief glow as the sergeant blew on his slow fuse and then applied the end to the tail of the rocket. Sparks pricked out and then with a whoosh the rocket soared into the night sky leaving a brief trail of fire in its wake. High above Badajoz it burst in a brilliant explosion of white, and the detonation echoed back from the town walls. There were more shouts along the wall now and more muskets crackled as they saw the attackers rushing towards them. There was no need for stealth any longer and the English soldiers shouted their battle cries as they broke cover and charged for the ditch in front of the wall. Arthur felt his muscles tense as he watched the Light Division’s Forlorn Hope begin to scramble across, and then up to the debris below their breach. The walls on either side flickered with musket fire and the ensign in command dropped before he was even halfway up the pile of rubble. His sergeant went down within feet of him and then several more were cut down as they struggled over the difficult ground. The remainder charged forward regardless of the slaughter, and they too fell as they scrambled towards the breach. Not a single man from the Forlorn Hope got even as far as the tangle of abattis spread just below the breach.
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