The Last Legionnaire

by Paul Fraser Collard

  Jack looked northwards. He could see little of the terrain on the far side of the ridge, save for another village perched high on a hilltop far in the distance. He could only guess that Napoleon would send more troops in that direction, the fight for the ground to the northern side of the ridge forming the French army’s left flank. With Solferino in the centre, and the great plain on the right, Jack got a sense of the ground that he believed would likely see a battle in the coming days. The enormous swathe of land looked serene and peaceful in the morning sunshine, but if the armies did fight, the beautiful countryside would be devastated.

  ‘It’ll be a bugger of a job to shift all those bastards off that ridge.’ He gave the verdict solemnly.

  ‘I do see what you mean,’ agreed Ballard.

  ‘Their men will still need to stand. It all comes down to that at the end of the day.’

  Ballard nodded. ‘Let us see what else we can see, shall we?’ He gestured for Jack to follow him to the other side of the tower.

  ‘Goodness me, would you look at that?’ He had not placed Jack’s field glasses to his eyes for more than a few moments before he made the exclamation.

  Jack did not need the fancy glasses to make out what had caused such a reaction. As far as the eye could see, the roads were clogged with men and the materiel of war. The French army was simply enormous, with great columns of men, horses, artillery wagons, limbers, commissary carts and ambulances stretching back for miles.

  ‘So the Austrians are being bold.’ Ballard had seen enough. He lowered the field glasses and handed them back to Jack. ‘And therefore there will be a battle. If the French numbers, and their estimates of the Austrians’ strength, are accurate, it could be the biggest battle the world has ever seen.’

  Jack stared at the huge French columns. He could not contradict Ballard’s claim. Nothing he had ever seen had been on this scale. If the Austrian army was as vast as the French horde, the forthcoming battle would indeed be cataclysmic in scale.

  ‘We shall have our chance.’ Ballard came to stand nearer to Jack. ‘You can do what you were brought here to do.’

  Jack could feel the wash of breath on his cheek. His commander was uncomfortably close.

  ‘Do not let me down again, Jack.’ Ballard lowered his voice, speaking barely louder than a whisper. ‘You must get the boy away. He will be in dreadful danger.’ His words caught in this throat. ‘You must find him and you must keep him from harm!’

  Jack felt a chill at the back of his neck. Tens of thousands of men were marching to their deaths. And he would have to take his place in their ranks.

  The French army awoke long before dawn. It did so quietly, the men silent, and the sergeants and corporals limiting themselves to hoarse whispers as they made sure their troops were ready. Even the musicians’ instruments were mute, the army rousing itself without any of its usual fanfare.

  The men drank a hasty morning coffee before leaving their knapsacks behind. Many looked wistfully at their belongings, their worldly goods abandoned save for a keepsake or memento kept for luck. To a man they wondered if they would see them again; how many knapsacks would be left in the heap unclaimed and free to be rifled through by those left alive?

  ‘Good hunting, Jack.’ Ballard offered his hand. It was still dark. The only light came from their campfire, and it left much of their faces in shadow. The two of them were standing alone underneath the black flag of a first aid station. They had spent the night in one of the buildings that had been requisitioned as a temporary hospital for the following day. One of the pair of French surgeons assigned to the station had arrived in the early hours, demanding that they vacate the space that would shortly be used to shelter the wounded.

  Jack was forced to switch his mug of coffee to his left hand so that he could shake his commander’s hand.

  ‘You know what you are about?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jack sipped at the coffee, wincing at the bitter taste. He wanted to be away and put an end to the interminable waiting.

  ‘Good. Keep close to Palmer.’ Ballard felt the need to repeat the plan that he had outlined the night before. ‘When the moment is right, you can change into your new uniforms. Find our man. Stay at his side, then get him out of there as soon as you can. I don’t care how you do it. Just bring him to me here.’

  Jack looked around him, making a mental map of the place he would need to find later that day. ‘What happens if you have to retreat?’

  ‘Then we shall stay close to MacMahon’s headquarters. Find that and you will find us.’ Ballard’s reply was clipped.

  Jack nodded. He saw Mary busy around the fire. ‘You’ll keep Mary safe?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Whatever happens?’

  ‘Of course.’ Ballard glanced across at Mary. ‘She is a fine woman.’ He looked back to meet Jack’s gaze. ‘Whatever happens to you, she will be taken care of.’

  Jack’s eyes narrowed as he heard something change in Ballard’s tone. But it was not the time to wonder at the goings-on in his master’s mind. ‘What if we cannot get him out?’

  ‘You must. You have to find a way.’ Ballard scowled at the notion, then took a deep breath. ‘This boy is important to his family. Our sponsor needs him back. We cannot let him down.’ He fixed Jack with a hard stare. ‘And you have been well rewarded for your efforts, or have you forgotten?’

  ‘No.’ Jack refused to let the memory of the burning gin palace into his mind. Ballard had taken him from the gutter, and had given both him and Mary a future. It had come at a price. That price was currently in the ranks of the French Foreign Legion. ‘What if we don’t get him away? Or if he’s killed before we can get to him?’ He watched his commander closely as he asked the questions.

  ‘Then there is no need for you to return.’

  ‘I see.’ Jack drained the last of his coffee. He understood well enough. Without Fleming, Jack had no name and no access to the money deposited in his real name. Mary and Billy’s future would look as bleak as his own. He dug deep for a smile. ‘Do you always get what you want?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Ballard smiled at the notion. ‘I make sure of it.’

  Jack was given no chance to reply. Behind Ballard’s back he saw Palmer get into the saddle. The major had been able to requisition three horses from MacMahon’s headquarters; one each for Jack and Palmer, and one for Fleming. Palmer beckoned to him. It was time to go.

  ‘I’ll see you later, then.’ Jack tossed the dregs of his coffee to one side.

  Ballard did not answer. Mary came over to take his mug. He could see the concern on her face, her lips showing white as she pressed them tight together.

  ‘Look after my Billy.’ She cradled Jack’s mug. ‘You bring him back safe.’

  It’s a battlefield.’ Jack understood her pain, but he would not lie. ‘I cannot promise you that.’

  Mary glanced at Ballard, who was watching a column of French infantry march along the road close to the aid station. ‘Yes you bloody well can.’ She hissed the words through gritted teeth. ‘And you will.’

  Jack held her stare. He saw her fear. It was no small thing to let her child go with the two men. But someone needed to look after the horses when Jack and Palmer went to get Fleming.

  ‘He’s a bright lad. He’ll stay out of trouble.’ Jack would not tell her what she wanted to hear. He had already broken enough promises to blacken his soul for all eternity. He would not add to it by making another he could not be certain of keeping.

  ‘Mary.’ Ballard had turned back and now placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘William needs to do this. He is not going to fight. He will just look after the horses. Jack will see that he is left somewhere safe.’

  ‘I will.’ Jack saw the interplay between the two. It was not like Ballard to touch anyone, let alone a woman. He wondered how much he had missed.

  ‘He had better.’ Mary allowed Ballard’s hand to rest on her shoulder, but its presence did not lessen the emotion behind the glare that she sent Jac
k’s way. ‘If he doesn’t come back, then so help me, Jack, I will track you down and throttle you with my own bare hands.’

  ‘I hear you.’ Jack felt his anger start to rise. He swallowed it with difficulty. It appeared half the damn world was making demands on him. Doing his best to ignore the twin stares he could feel boring into his spine, he went to find Palmer.

  Jack sat easily in the saddle, Billy’s warm body pressed close against his back, the boy’s arms clasped tight around his middle. They had three horses, but a childhood in the rookeries of east London was not one that gave a lad the opportunity to learn to ride.

  Palmer rode at his side, the two saddlebags containing the uniforms of the French Foreign Legion strapped behind him, and the lead rein of the spare horse held loosely in his left hand. Whether Fleming would ride it, or would simply be draped across its saddle, was yet to be discovered.

  The two men and one boy sat watching the French army prepare for the battle. Jack was impressed by what he saw, the troops going about their business without fuss. The long columns marched well, the ranks ordered and precise, the faces of the soldiers hardening as they made ready for what was to come.

  Other than the sound of an army on the move, all was peaceful. In India it was called the hawa khana, the breathing of the air. The quiet moments before battle were a time for prayer and for ritual, for the final taking of a breath before the struggle to stay alive began. Jack was reminded of another dawn, on another day. Then he had been at the fore, his place at the side of the commanding general dictating that he would be in the front ranks of the fighting. Now he would advance behind the attack, biding his time and waiting for the opportunity to strike.

  The army marched in darkness, shrouded in mist, the thud of boots hitting the ground the only sound disturbing the still air. Jack waited patiently for the men of the Legion to pass by. He did not bother to scan the massed ranks to see if he could locate Kearney or Fleming. There would be time enough to find them once the fighting began in earnest. Instead he looked to the east, searching for the first trace of dawn, and for the start of the day that would see many of those in the ranks marching past him left broken on the ground.

  The first sounds of distant fighting came from the direction of Solferino, where the initial French attacks were taking place. The men of II Corps were marching south on the road that ran along the foot of the ridge to take up a position on the French army’s right flank. Every head turned to the left, even the eyes of the sergeants and the officers drawn to the telltale echo of combat. Nothing could be seen, the distance too great and the watery light of dawn too dim. Yet each man, veterans of the campaigns in North Africa and the Crimea, could picture all too well what it was they heard.

  Jack, Palmer and Billy did their best to keep close behind the Legion. Twice they had been turned back, the staff officers galloping between the French regiments ordering the civilian observers away from the fighting. Both times the orders had simply been ignored, but they knew they were pushing their luck. Eventually they would be kept away more forcefully, so they would soon have to find a convenient spot to change into the uniforms Ballard had secured for them.

  Billy squirmed for the umpteenth time, his warm body fidgeting against Jack’s back. Jack did not berate him for it, allowing the lad his excitement. It would not last. There would be time enough for the boy to feel far worse emotions, the reality of the sights and sounds found on a battlefield bearing no comparison to any boyish dreams of glory he might be nurturing. Jack would rather he was not there, but Ballard had insisted. At some point they would have to dismount, and the horses were too valuable to abandon.

  ‘You all right, lad?’ Jack whispered the question over his shoulder.

  ‘Course.’ The reply was quick.

  ‘You do as I tell you, or so help me I’ll tan your damn hide. You understand me?’

  ‘Yes, Jack.’ The boy’s contempt for the unnecessary warning was obvious. ‘When will it start?’

  ‘Soon enough.’

  ‘It had better. I’ve had my fill of being pressed up against your sweaty arse.’

  ‘Watch your tongue.’ Jack tried not to laugh. ‘You’re not going to see any of it anyway.’

  ‘That ain’t fair.’

  Jack twisted in the saddle so he could look at Billy’s face. The boy was scowling. ‘A battle isn’t the place for a child.’

  The scowl deepened. ‘I ain’t a child.’

  ‘You think you’re a man?’

  ‘I think I could fight. There’s boys my age with those Frenchies.’ Billy nodded towards the drummers buried in the heart of the column.

  ‘They don’t fight.’

  ‘They might.’

  ‘No, they just shit in their breeches and run away.’

  ‘You don’t want me to see anything just so my ma don’t scold you.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Jack acknowledged the truth of the statement. ‘But you’ll see plenty that you wish you hadn’t, believe me.’

  ‘I ain’t bothered. I’ve seen bad things before. Like when old George the sweep had his belly slit open by that whore. Those guts of his were bright blue and he sat with them in his lap like they were that little dog Maggie had for a while.’

  ‘I don’t care what you’ve seen. Your ma wants you out of the way, so that’s where you’ll be.’ Jack smiled at the lad’s belligerence. The rookeries were a hard place, but they did not compare to the battlefield.

  Anything more he wanted to say was lost in the urgent sound of the first bugle of the day calling the column to a halt. The heavy drums followed, rattling into life. The lads had snatched away the covers that protected the instruments’ skins from the damp morning air, and now brought their sticks down sharply, beating out the time that would provide the tempo as the column changed formation.

  The men knew what they were about. To the beat of the drum the rear of the column marched outwards to form a line, the rearmost files walking the furthest, to the extremities of the new formation.

  Jack pushed ahead as the Legion’s frontage widened.

  ‘Hold up, Jack.’ Palmer had stopped his mount and the one he still led, and now he called across to Jack as he saw the first enemy soldiers emerge from the mist-shrouded land ahead. ‘You see ’em?’

  Jack had been watching the Legion. Now he peered through the fog. He saw what Palmer meant immediately.

  ‘My eye.’ He leaned to one side, letting the boy clinging to his waist have a clearer view. ‘You see those, lad?’

  ‘Blow me tight.’

  Jack laughed at Billy’s reverential tone, the lad’s bold claims forgotten the moment he clapped eyes on the enemy.

  For the Austrian army was not sitting back and waiting for the French to attack. Instead, it was advancing. Huge columns of infantry were marching towards the French army’s right flank, each one made up of a whole battalion.

  And they were heading straight for the Legion.

  The French waited for the enemy. This would be no close-quarter battle like the cramped fight in the confined streets of Magenta. Rather it would be a set-piece affair, with the Austrian conscripts packed tight in a series of columns aimed directly at the French line.

  The ground was made for such a battle. The Legion had deployed into a line at right angles to the road, facing south. The ridge of high ground anchored their left flank. In front of them was the great plain, the level terrain covered with wide fields of wheat. The Austrian infantry would have a fast and easy march as they headed northwards, with no obstacles in their way or rising ground to sap their strength.

  ‘Those things are bloody big.’ Billy stared in awe at the enemy columns.

  ‘You wait until they get close.’ Jack could not help but smile at the way the lad’s eyes widened as the Austrians emerged from the early-morning mist.

  But Billy’s eyes narrowed again as he peered at the French line. Two men deep, it looked fragile, stretched thin across the front of the enemy attack. ‘They can’t stop those bloody
great things like that.’ He looked at Jack. ‘Why are they just standing there?’

  Jack offered a tight smile. ‘That line doesn’t look much, I’ll grant you, but it will stop them well enough. If they stand.’ He had seen columns before. He had known the fear as he had watched the seemingly relentless tide of humanity surging towards him. And he had seen them stopped, ranks gutted and torn, the thin lines of British redcoats bludgeoning them to a halt with volley after volley of accurate rifle fire.

  ‘Those buggers will march to the sound of their drums.’ Jack smiled as he spoke softly to the lad clutching around his middle. ‘They’ll keep coming, and that noise, why, it won’t ever stop.’

  The columns came on, steady and calm. Drums deep in their midst beat out the tempo of the advance, the mesmeric, hypnotic rhythm driving the white-coated Austrian infantry forward through the great fields of wheat still wet from the morning dew.

  ‘Then they’ll cheer. They’ll cheer so loud that you’ll feel it deep down in your belly.’ Jack warmed to his tale. He saw the boy hanging on his every word, his eyes riveted on Jack’s mouth as he foretold what was to come. ‘Their officers will lead them on, waving their swords over their heads and shouting at the lads in the ranks. They’ll goad them, daring them to kill every last one of us. Closer and closer they’ll come, those drums beating all the while. They’ll seem unstoppable then. It’ll look like there are so many of the buggers that it won’t be possible to kill enough to make a difference.’

  The French line settled, then began to load their rifles, the commands of their officers and sergeants rippling up and down the companies as they prepared to make their stand against the massive columns.

  Jack smiled. ‘And then that fragile line will open fire, and it’ll all be over in a couple of minutes.’