The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

  ‘No, Davout must be mistaken. It’s probably just a local counter-attack. Nothing more.’

  ‘His messenger says the Austrians are attacking in force, sire.’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  Before Napoleon could give further vent to his anger, he was aware of a sudden increase in the sound of gunfire to his right. He turned to stare towards the flank, unable to comprehend the obvious at first. Then he smiled ruefully. ‘Who would have guessed it? Archduke Charles has finally learned to take the initiative.’ He turned to Berthier. ‘The enemy have got their attack in before us.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘Tell all corps commanders to hold their positions, until I discover exactly what is going on.’ Napoleon listened again to the cannonade to his right and made another decision. ‘We must be ready to reinforce Davout. Send the cavalry reserve and all the horse artillery to cover the end of our right flank.’

  ‘Yes, sire. Do you wish me to order Masséna to suspend his bombardment?’

  ‘No. It may help to unsettle the enemy. Let him continue.’ Napoleon scratched his chin anxiously for a moment. The situation between the two armies had changed completely. Instead of launching a decisive attack to break the Austrians, the Grand Army was itself under attack. He dared not proceed with his original plan until he had discerned the intentions of Archduke Charles.‘I’m riding over to Davout. I have to see what is happening for myself. The rest of the army is to hold its ground and be ready to receive new orders. One other thing: have the Imperial Guard moved two miles to our right, in case I need to call on them in a hurry.’

  Napoleon saw Berthier’s brief look of surprise. The order to shift the position of the Guard was a clear admission that the Emperor was anxious about the fate of Davout and his corps.

  ‘What if it is Archduke John?’ Berthier asked quietly.

  ‘It isn’t.’

  Napoleon strode towards the white mare being held by one of his grooms. ‘Make a step!’

  The groom obediently released the reins and cupped both hands as he bent down. Once Napoleon was hoisted into the saddle he took the reins and called out to Berthier.‘If anything happens, if the enemy make any further movements, send word to me at once!’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Napoleon turned his horse away and spurred it into a gallop across the heart of the plain towards the Grand Army’s right flank. As he rode he was deep in thought and ignored the cheers of the men he passed by. Despite what he had said to Berthier, he feared that the attack on Davout might well herald the arrival of Archduke John. The right flank of the Grand Army would be vulnerable to the Austrian reinforcements.

  Ahead of him clouds of gunpowder smoke billowed across the eastern horizon, blotting out the first rays of the sun. Napoleon raced to the corps headquarters on the edge of the village of Glinzendorf, where he found Marshal Davout’s staff hurriedly packing their document chests on to wagons. The crack of muskets and thud of guns came from less than half a mile to the east.

  ‘You!’ Napoleon pointed at the nearest staff officer. ‘Where is Davout?’

  ‘The marshal has gone to the flank, sire. Some of our units broke when the enemy attacked. Davout went to rally the men.’

  Napoleon wheeled his horse round and rode on through the reserve formations of Davout’s corps until he passed over a small rise and saw the battle on the flank raging across the landscape before him. The edge of the sun had risen over the rim of the distant hills and by its light Napoleon could see the dark columns of the enemy tramping forward. They had crossed the Russbach and struck Davout’s men as the latter were forming up for their own attack. Tiny figures of fleeing soldiers were still spreading about across the plain as they ran from the enemy. The second French line had held firm and was now locked in an exchange of volleys with the Austrians. To the right of the line Napoleon could make out a group of officers, and he spurred his horse on.

  As he rode up to Davout the marshal was busy issuing orders to his subordinates to steady their men and hold their ground. Some distance to the rear Napoleon saw the horse artillery and the cavalry he had sent to cover the army’s flank.

  ‘Sire.’ Davout greeted him with an anxious look. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I thought you’d be leading the attack.’

  ‘The attack is delayed until this flank is safe. What is your situation?’

  ‘They caught us by surprise, sire. Their guns opened fire shortly before dawn, breaking up my leading formations. Then they sent their infantry across the river.’

  ‘What about their cavalry?’

  ‘No sign so far, sire. My guess is they are holding them back to mount a pursuit if their infantry break through my line. However,’ Davout gestured to the rolling smoke along the firing line, ‘we have stopped them, for now.’

  Napoleon stared across the smoke and saw more enemy units marching to support their attack. Davout was right. His corps could hold their own. But that was not good enough. Napoleon needed them to retake the initiative and attack.

  ‘Hold your position here, Davout. Once the enemy start giving ground, you follow them up and keep pushing them back. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Napoleon nodded curtly, turned his horse towards the distant batteries of horse artillery and galloped towards them. The commander of the guns, General Nansouty, was as surprised as Davout to see the Emperor so far from the centre of operations and he stammered a greeting before Napoleon cut him short.

  ‘Nansouty, take your guns over to the right of Davout’s line. You see that stand of trees along the track there?’

  Nansouty followed the direction the Emperor indicated. A mile away some poplars stretched out, shading a country road. ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘That will be your firing line. The range should be good enough for case shot. You are to fire into the enemy flank as they close up on Davout. Keep firing until they break.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘There’s no time to waste. Go!’

  As the horse guns rumbled into a trot, the chains of their traces jingling, Napoleon returned to Davout and his officers. He indicated Nansouty’s column thundering out to the flank. ‘You’ll have some support from that direction soon enough. Make it count.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  They watched as Nansouty’s batteries deployed just in front of the line of trees. The gunners hurriedly loaded the weapons and a moment later there was a flash and puff of smoke as the first gun fired, quickly followed by the others. Napoleon turned his gaze on the approaching Austrian columns and saw several men suddenly smashed aside, then some more, and soon the side of the enemy attack was marked by a trail of bodies. The Austrians’ progress slowed as the battered flank battalions halted to re-dress their ranks, filling the gaps, before tramping forward again until they were hit by another salvo from Nansouty’s guns.

  As the losses mounted Davout’s infantry began to counter-attack, advancing between each volley of musket fire. Caught from two directions, the left flank of the enemy attack began to crumble as the more fearful of the men started to give ground, falling back at first and then turning to run. For a moment the Austrian attack wavered, and then fear swept through it like a torrent. Battalion after battalion fell back, and all the time Nansouty’s guns poured lethal cones of case shot into their scattering ranks.

  Napoleon turned to Davout. ‘I’m returning to headquarters. You know what you have to do.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Then good luck, Marshal.’

  Napoleon pulled on his reins and turned his mount to race back to the west, while Davout’s drummers beat the advance and his soldiers let out a great cheer as they began their pursuit of the retreating Austrians.

  The moment he arrived back at the forward command position Napoleon sensed something was wrong, as Berthier hurried towards him with a relieved expression.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Aderklaa is in enem
y hands.’

  ‘How is that possible? Bernadotte has the best part of a division in the village. They’d turned the place into a fortress.’ Napoleon felt a leaden despair in his guts. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Marshal Bernadotte ordered his men to quit the village, sire. He informed me that he was obliged to shorten his battle line by pulling his men back between Masséna and Prince Eugène.’

  Napoleon closed his eyes briefly as he took a sharp intake of breath. The village was intended to be the base for his attack on the centre of the Austrian line. Now it had to be retaken, at the cost of the lives of many of his men. Because of Marshal Bernadotte. He breathed out through clenched teeth and opened his eyes.

  ‘Send orders to Bernadotte. He must retake Aderklaa. At any cost.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  While Berthier hurriedly prepared the orders, Napoleon dismounted. As he landed, a terrible giddiness struck him so that he had to hold on to the pommel of the saddle for fear that he might fall. He raged at his body for this moment of weakness. He knew that he was suffering from exhaustion. Ten years earlier he would have endured this without a thought, and Napoleon realised that age was creeping up on him. He stood a moment until his head had cleared and then walked carefully to the map table and sat down heavily. He snapped his fingers at the nearest orderly. ‘I want something to eat. Something to drink. Now.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  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.�
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  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.’