The Generals r-2

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Where is Admiral Perée?’ he demanded.

  ‘The admiral sailed for Alexandria yesterday, sir,’ Berthier replied.

  ‘Why? I gave him orders to take Desgenette’s patients on board.’

  ‘The admiral said he could not risk having any plague victims on his ships. He also said that he must leave before the Royal Navy blockaded the port.’

  ‘Damn the admiral to hell,’ Napoleon muttered in fury as he gazed at the men slumped in the shade along the quay. The transfer of the sick and injured from Acre had exhausted the patients, and those assigned to help them. Only a small number of them could be found berths in the vessels that remained in the harbour.

  ‘Tell Desgenettes to have the worst cases loaded on to these ships as soon as possible. Those who are too sick to move, and those who are least likely to recover, are to remain in Jaffa. Tell him that they must be dealt with humanely after all.’

  Berthier looked at him curiously but Napoleon just shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll understand the order well enough.’

  As the last ships put to sea Napoleon and the rest of the army began the march south along the coast.The wounded who were forced to walk did their best to keep up, and for the first few days their comrades did all that they could to help them along. Then, as exhaustion, hunger and thirst began to take their toll on the men, the weakest were left to fend for themselves, and the tormented cries of stragglers taken and tortured by the enemy haunted the men gathered round the campfires each night. The army trudged into Gaza on the last day of May and filled their canteens and haversacks with the remainder of the rations as they steeled themselves for the crossing of the Sinai desert.

  By day the Sinai was smothered by blistering heat that sapped the very last dregs of energy from the men as they limped forward with cracked lips and parched throats. Those of the injured who died were unceremoniously pitched into the sand and left to feed the carrion that swirled in lazy circles as they followed the army across the wasteland. Discipline became as fragile as the bodies that depended on it, and the hostility of the men was evident in their glares and the bitter tone of their muttering whenever Napoleon and his staff rode by. So Napoleon gave up his horse to help carry the wounded, and ordered his staff to do the same, and they walked the rest of the way, alongside the straggling columns of their men.

  At last, four days later, the first soldiers arrived at Katia, under the horrified gaze of those watching from the walls of the fortified village. The men of the army that had invaded Syria were barely comprehensible as they croaked their requests for food and water, and when these were brought to them they tore at the food and drank like wild animals.

  As Napoleon watched them emerge from the desert and sink down in the shade of Katia’s buildings he had little doubt that the army bore the brand of defeat. Nearly two and a half thousand had died in battle or of the plague. A similar number were sick or wounded, and would not be fit to serve again for some weeks, if at all. Over a third of the army that had set out in high spirits to carve a swath through the Turkish empire had been lost, and would not be replaced.

  That much was clear now. There would be no fleet sent from France with reinforcements. Napoleon and his army had been abandoned by the Directory, something the men would realise soon enough. And when they did his authority over them would be tenuous at best. Napoleon had no desire to let Egypt be the end of his career. The future, his future, lay back in Europe. The question was, how could he justify leaving his army and returning to France?

  As he pondered this question, Napoleon let his shattered army rest for several days. Uniforms were cleaned and patched.

  Weapons were issued to those who had lost theirs and the men set to polishing their buttons and whitening their cross belts in preparation for the triumphal entry into Cairo that Napoleon announced to his men shortly before the understrength battalions began their march from Katia across the Nile delta to the capital. The celebrations, speeches, awards of decorations and presentations of swords and prizes lasted the whole day, and then the men were issued with the very last of the wine and spirits that had been landed with the army nearly a year ago. As the streets of Cairo echoed with the shouts and laughter of drunken revellers Napoleon retired to his bechamber with Pauline Fourès.

  ‘Can’t you have someone tell them to be quiet?’ Pauline nodded to the shutters as she unlaced her bodice, and flung it across the back of a chair. ‘Thank God I’m out of that. I thought those ceremonies would never end.’

  ‘Pauline, right now I need to give them anything I can to help bolster their spirits. After the Syrian experience, and the revolts Desaix had to deal with in my absence, their morale has never been lower.They’ve not seen France for over a year, and as things stand they don’t know when they will again. So you do as I say and humour them.’

  ‘Very well.’ Her lips opened in a seductive smile. ‘Now, can I humour you, my general?’

  Napoleon crossed over to her and enclosed her bare body in his embrace, relishing the smooth skin of her back as he ran a hand down towards her hip.

  ‘You’ve no idea how much I have missed this.’

  ‘This?’ She laughed playfully and reached a hand behind to pat her bottom. ‘Just this?’

  ‘Just that.’ He laughed, and she playfully swatted his shoulder. ‘And all that is attached to it.’

  A sudden outburst of singing rose up from the street outside Napoleon’s garden and Pauline turned towards the shutters again. ‘I can’t be passionate with that racket going on.’

  ‘Then don’t be passionate.’ Napoleon led her towards the bed and started pulling off his clothes. ‘Get on the bed.’

  Pauline raised her eyebrows in amusement, but did as she was told. As she lay bathed in the moonlight that pierced the shutters, Napoleon tore off his boots, then stockings, trousers and underwear in one, and climbed on top of her, pushing her thighs apart and penetrating her with a gasp of pleasure, and then making love to her as vigorously as he had ever done to any woman before.

  ‘I think you really needed that,’ Pauline smiled shortly afterwards. ‘I take it there weren’t too many available women on campaign?’

  ‘Not enough to go round. In any case, I was busy fighting a war.’

  Pauline was silent for a moment, before she continued softly, ‘Was it as bad as they say? I’ve heard some terrible stories in the last few days.’

  ‘They’re all true.’ Napoleon rolled off her, made himself comfortable on his side and then rested his head on her soft stomach.‘The Army of the Orient is all but finished.We can hold on for a few more months, maybe a year. But disease and the fighting will see to us all in the end. Unless we quit Egypt.’

  ‘Quit Egypt? How? We have no ships and the Directory will not send us any more.’ Pauline stroked his head. ‘Anyway, is it so bad here? I’ve never been happier, living in a palace, with a famous general as a lover. All that would be lost if I returned home.’

  ‘Unless I return to France I will not be a famous general much longer,’ Napoleon replied quietly. ‘I must get back to France. I am needed there.’

  ‘You’re needed here. I need you. Your men need you. If you left, how long do you think they would last?’

  ‘France’s need is greater.’

  ‘Your need, you mean.’

  Napoleon shrugged.‘It is the same thing at the end of the day. Or will be.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Napoleon propped himself up and looked at her with a grin. ‘I need you again.’

  ‘What a romantic you are.’ Pauline narrowed her eyes. ‘You’ve spent far too much time in the company of that lot.’ She jerked her thumb towards the shutters.

  Napoleon chuckled and eased himself on to his back, pulling her over on top of him. As Pauline felt his penis hardening, she ground herself down on him and whispered, ‘Promise me.When you leave Egypt, you’ll take me with you.’

  ‘Who said I was leaving?’

  ‘Just
promise me.’

  ‘All right then, I promise.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Now, no more teasing. Make me forget everything that exists outside this room.’

  Just three weeks after the celebrations of the army’s return to Cairo a Turkish fleet, escorted by Sir Sidney Smith’s squadron, anchored in Aboukir Bay and began to land troops. As soon as General Kléber’s messenger arrived he was ushered into Napoleon’s presence. Napoleon glanced through the dispatch and looked up at the dusty messenger.‘You are to return at once. Tell Kléber not to confront them. He is to wait in Alexandria until I join him with the rest of the forces we can spare. He is to avoid battle under any circumstances. Clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then go.’

  As the messenger saluted, turned and strode away Napoleon rapped out a series of orders to Berthier to prepare the army to march immediately. They left Cairo the same day that the news had arrived, ten thousand infantry and a thousand cavalry under Murat. They took six days to march up the Nile as far as Rahmaniya and then cut across the desert towards Aboukir. At any moment Napoleon was expecting news that the enemy had marched on Alexandria, yet there was no message from Kléber and Napoleon could not help wondering if that was because Kléber was already under siege, or, worse, had already been overwhelmed. As they drew near to Alexandria, Napoleon rode ahead with his staff until they had Aboukir in view. The bay was filled with Turkish ships, and towering above them were the masts and spars of two warships of the Royal Navy. On the point overlooking the western approach to the bay stood a fortress.

  Clearly visible on its ramparts, and teeming across the narrow strip of land that linked the fortress to the mainland, were the enemy forces.

  ‘It doesn’t look as if they’ve moved since stepping ashore,’ Berthier mused. ‘There must be ten . . . maybe fifteen thousand of them. They could have taken Alexandria with ease. What the hell are they still doing here?’

  ‘I can’t see any horses,’ Napoleon said as he gazed through his telescope. ‘There’s your answer. Their cavalry must still be at sea.’

  ‘No cavalry?’ Murat sounded disappointed and Napoleon smiled.

  ‘Never mind, Murat. You will have to content yourself with the enemy’s infantry. Berthier, go back to the army and order the men to march on Aboukir.We’ll attack as soon as they are in line.’

  ‘What about Kléber’s division, sir? Shall I send for him?’

  ‘No. We can’t afford to wait. If any of those ships in the bay are carrying horses, they’ll have a chance to land them if we wait for Kléber.’

  Berthier turned his horse and galloped back towards the faint column of dust that marked the head of the French army approaching across the desert. As Napoleon continued to examine the Turkish positions it was clear that they had made extensive additions to the defences of the fortress, and dug three lines of trenches, supported by several bastions, across the neck of land, each of which was defended by thousands of soldiers. Janissaries, Napoleon surmised, if this army had been transported from Turkey.

  He lowered his telescope and shook his head. ‘It’s hard to believe that they have just sat on their backsides and handed the initiative to us. What kind of general would be so foolish?’

  ‘One who is about to be kicked into the sea,’ Murat grinned.

  As the French army deployed in front of the first trench the Turkish troops began to beat their drums and the harsh blare of trumpets sounded across the dusty open ground between the armies. Some of the enemy guns, mounted in the nearest bastions, opened fire but the range was long and the heavy iron balls merely kicked up plumes of sand and grit well ahead of the first French line. The moment the last unit was in position Napoleon gave the order to attack, starting with Lannes on the left flank. The guns of Lannes’s division advanced towards the enemy and unlimbered. Moments later the first cannon boomed out across the open ground as they pounded the embrasures of the nearest bastion. Once the enemy guns were knocked out General Lannes gave the order to advance, and with colours unfurled and drums beating the battalions of his division rolled forward.

  As the French bombardment ceased the janissaries rose up in their trenches and raised their muskets. There was no attempt to hold fire until the French had approached to within lethally close range and the Turkish troops wasted their first shots in a ragged crackle of musketry that felled only a handful of men before Lannes’s division reached the first trench and halted to pour a single devastating volley into the dense ranks of the enemy massed before them. The effect was just as Napoleon had envisaged and as the gunpowder smoke cleared in the sea breeze, he saw that the enemy had broken and were streaming back towards the second trench. The panic spread along the first line, so that General Destaing’s brigade did not even have the chance to fire at the enemy opposite them before they too broke and ran to the shelter of the next line of defence.

  From his horse Napoleon could see that the men of the second line were made of sterner stuff and withheld their first volley until the attacking columns were close. The shattering effect of their fire stalled Lannes’s men a short distance from the second trench, and they deployed into line and exchanged fire with the janissaries. As he watched, Napoleon noticed a peculiar aspect of the fight. Every so often, a janissary would leap out of his trench and race towards the nearest French body. Most were shot down before they reached the corpses, but one, faster than his comrades, raced forward, swung his curved blade down and cut off the head, which he tucked under his arm as he turned and sprinted back to his own lines. He didn’t make it. A shot caught him in the centre of the back and he pitched forward and twitched feebly on the ground.

  Even though he did not doubt that the enemy’s second line would cave in before the disciplined fire of the French troops, Napoleon did not want to lose any more men than necessary and decided the time had come for Murat’s cavalry to deliver the blow that would shatter the enemy’s will to continue the fight. As soon as the order was received, Murat trotted his horse to the front of the cavalry formation and bellowed the command to advance. It was as brave a sight as Napoleon had ever seen, and he felt his heart swell with pride, and only a little anxiety, as the lines of horsemen walked forward, slowly gathering pace as they crossed the abandoned first line of defence, then breaking into a trot before finally charging the enemy.

  Murat’s cavalry tore into and through the second line, scattering the Turkish forces before them. Sabres glittered in the midday sun as the horsemen hacked and slashed at the fleeing men. Fear preceded them and the Turks in the last trench turned and ran without even firing a shot. Clambering out of their positions, some made for the safety of the fortress above them; many more ran towards the beach and waded out into the surf, hoping to swim to safety. The cavalry rode after them until the sea was up to the flanks of their mounts, and all the time the riders were cutting down the men in the water around them, turning it red as the day wore on.

  The killing stopped late in the afternoon and Napoleon rode forward with Berthier to inspect the battlefield. Thousands of enemy dead lay piled in the trenches and scattered across the open ground between. Mingled with them were the French dead and wounded and Napoleon hurriedly detailed the nearest soldiers to help their injured comrades down to the dressing stations Desgenettes had established just behind the army’s original battle line. Over a thousand of the enemy had managed to reach the fortress and even now General Menou was busy reversing the defences of the last trench so that the defenders were now trapped there. As night fell, Napoleon returned to his tent to dictate a report of the battle to be sent to the Directory aboard the fast packet ship that communicated between France and Alexandria, when it could be assured of a route clear of English warships. The victory at Aboukir had smashed the Sultan’s chances of driving the French out of Egypt for the next year, or possibly two. Napoleon phrased his report with the usual glowing praise for the gallantry of the men and their commanders. It was true the French had suffered nearly a thousand casualties, but they ha
d smashed the cream of the Sultan’s forces.

  The next day an envoy landed from the Turkish fleet still anchored in the bay, asking permission to collect the Turkish wounded and take them on board the ships to carry them home. At first Napoleon was tempted to deny the request. But there had been more than enough suffering already, and he relented. As the Turkish seamen began to load the wounded janissaries aboard the ships’ boats being held steady in the surf, the envoy approached with a package of newspapers bound with string tucked under one arm. He paused a short distance from Napoleon as the guides relieved him of his sword, knife and pistol, then continued forward, proffering the bundled newspapers.

  ‘My master, Sir Sidney Smith, bids me to offer these to you in gratitude for the return of our wounded. They are the latest editions to reach the fleet, and are as current as anything that General Bonaparte’s army has read in months.’

  ‘The Directory is losing the war,’ Napoleon announced to his inner circle of senior officers: Berthier, Lannes and Murat. He had summoned them to his office as soon as he had returned to Cairo. The contents of the newspapers Smith had sent him had been carefully sifted before being circulated via the army’s official journal, and only a handful of men had been permitted to know the full details of events in Europe. Napoleon did not bother to hide his bitterness as he continued. ‘Almost everything that we gained in Italy has been lost to Austria. In Germany our armies have been beaten back towards the French border and in Paris the factions plot against each other with no thought of the men fighting and dying for France.The war will be lost, the revolution will be crushed and France will return to the tyranny of the Bourbons, unless the situation changes.’ He paused and glanced round at the others. ‘Or unless the situation is changed, by us.’