Everything they can do, my officers and I can do at least as well, but we also have to lead and plan and take care of them. Our training was twice as difficult as theirs and yours shall be harder than your men’s or they shall no longer respect you. No officer should ever be in a position where his men are more capable and professional than he is. Do you not agree?”
El Coronel Quintana was an hijodalgo, a son of a member of the extensive nobility of Spain. The influence of his family had placed him in his rank with very little effort on his part. He had seen no active service and, if he had thought about it at all, the training of his squadrons was something best left to his junior offices and senior sergeants.
When his general had suggested that these famous Avispónes be persuaded to pass on their expertise to his men, he had thought it an excellent way of improving the fighting ability of his squadrons before they actually had to do any fighting. Moreover, without him having to do anything but observe what they were up to.
Now, he had been placed in an impossible situation by this Scottish heretic savage and he realised that he was going to have to make an important decision, one that could affect the rest of his career.
Then the full horror of the situation struck him when he realised that there was no decision to make. Coronel MacKay should be called Coronel MacHiavelli for the way he had staged this in front of General Santocildes. He could not refuse to co-operate without losing his honour. The thought flashed through his mind that his general had been complicit in this trap. He dismissed the thought as quite dishonourable.
He became an adult in the next few seconds. Having accepted that there was no decision to be made, he made a decision. He would agree to do everything that MacKay wanted. After all, it was only for three weeks and, of course he would show them that he was better than his soldiers and junior officers.
“Of course I agree, Señor General, how could I not? In the next three weeks, my officers, my regiments and myself are yours to command as if we are new recruits. They shall all answer to me, if by that time they are not better than those who would teach them.”
MacKay had known that there could only be one answer if Quintana was bright enough to think it out. He was, nevertheless, impressed by the way he had accepted the inevitable. He smiled his pleasure, taking care that his eyes were looking at Santocildes.
He strode forward with his hand out. “Generously said, Coronel. Let us hope that our relationship after three weeks shall be as friendly as it is now. Believe me, we shall not be friends for the next three weeks.
Please have your men parade in two hours, ready to move off on campaign. You shall need rations for one week. We shall provide after that until your army catches up with us.”
Quintana left to get ready and MacKay spoke to General Santocildes. “I shall try and return him to you undamaged, Señor, should we be fortunate enough to meet any of the enemy. In the meanwhile, one can be hopeful that he learns that an army is intended to fight and kill, not just to provide ceremonial entertainment for gullible citizens.”
“His father is an old friend of mine, General MacKay. He is not a bad young man, as far as I can judge, but he has never had to do anything for himself. Only make him believe that his soldiers are his children and his responsibility. All the instruction you shall then give, shall be but a welcome addition to the success you shall have achieved.”
“I hope to hand back a cavalry unit, Sir, that you may take pride in. Their training shall be in the hands of Captain Cholmondeley and his British company. Major Gonçalves and I shall make life uncomfortable for the special troop of officers.
Should you agree, my Spanish company shall march with you and continue to instruct your grenadiers and skirmishers when you bivouac each night.
My Portuguese Vespãos are to go ahead and be your eyes and ears. Captain Richter is in command. Please feel free to give him instructions and requests as if he were under your command.
Finally, Señor, are you able to find in your stores, twenty or more pairs of stout shoes?”
The general’s eyes bulged. “A somewhat unusual requirement, General. Please do satisfy my curiosity.”
“They are for your cavalry officers, Señor. All the troopers are already suitably shod, but the officers have fine riding boots. They shall cripple them when they have to run and believe me, Señor, they shall be doing a lot of running.
* * *
There were over twenty thousand men in the Army of Galicia under the command of General Santicildes. When garrisons and sick were taken into account, the general had done very well to get half of them together in one place for his expedition against the weakened French forces in the north of Spain.
Weakened in terms of numbers. A year ago there were over a hundred thousand French soldiers to occupy, pacify and control the provinces north of Madrid, from the frontier with France as far west as the Asturias.
Seepage of troops to help with the conquest of Valencia and to reinforce areas where guerrilla activity had been troublesome, had reduced Marshal Bessières’ command to little more than sixty thousand. It had forced the temporary evacuation of the Asturias and if the sick list was anything like that in southern Spain, Bessières’ effectives were less than half what was needed for him to do the job properly.
The most he could afford at the moment, was to occupy the principal cities in the region and put small garrisons into all sizeable towns within areas that could be leeched of supplies to keep his army fed. Most of Spain was quite unable to support more than the local indigenous population.
When Santocildes’ army moved slowly out of Galicia, across the mountains at the western end of the Cantabrian Chain and then through the mountains of León, it would find the first small garrison in Astorga, the next, twenty five miles east, in León the provincial capital and the third at Benavente, forty miles to the south.
It would be moving along the same, restricted roads that Sir John Moore had been forced to take to get to La Coruña in the depths of winter, when saving his outnumbered army from Napoleon and Soult.
In terms of distance, it was not far, but if his soldiers were regarded as grains of sand, they would all have to halt before passing through several hour-glasses and coming out onto the plains of León.
Richter and his Vespãos would be out of the mountains and reconnoitring in less than four days, travelling in no haste at all. The separate troops of cavalry under instruction left before the infantry and spent the first two days leading their horses at a fast walking pace until they were no longer confined by the Cantabrian mountain passes and could each spread out and do some real training.
After some initial expressions of horror, the seventeen officer probationers accepted the shoes provided from army stores and were grudgingly grateful for them after the first arduous, mountain mile.
At first, they were all contemptuously amused, if not a little scandalised when MacKay divided them into four small sections and appointed one of the wagon train Wasps to each of them as section leader.
Welbeloved had done the same thing two years ago, when he had been leading a band of Royal Marine and KGL hopefuls in an effort to turn them into officers for the rapidly expanding Hornets.
It had worked very well on that occasion, but the British and Germans had a markedly different attitude to women soldiers than the Spanish.
These four girls were all ‘wives’ of some of A Company’s Hornets and were part of what was usually referred to as MacKay’s Harem. The first group of them had been rescued, together with Juanita, now MacKay’s wife, from French dragoons who were raping them and plundering their village.
All were trained up to at least Wasp standard and followed their husbands and lovers by driving the company wagons or joining the brigade wagon train.
MacKay and Gonçalves led the way on foot and the girls stepped out in front of their sections at the same brisk pace. All the officers were young men and reasonably fit. They were also cavalrymen and in the last year, had pr
obably not walked for more than two hundred yards at any one time.
At the end of five miles, when MacKay called a ten minute halt, the only thing keeping them going at the brisk pace was the determination not to be seen as weaker than the women acting as section leaders and striding effortlessly out in front.
After ten minutes rest the next troop walked into view. They were in no better condition than their officers, but it was now their turn for a rest and MacKay gathered his troop together and started on the second five mile stretch. He really wanted them to complete the exercise and told the girls to march at ease for the next stretch.
It was now mainly uphill all the way and there were visible signs of distress by the end. Cavalry officer’s uniforms were not designed for marching and the year was approaching summer solstice. Only the altitude kept the temperature from being intolerable.
They must have felt that the next troop arrived almost as soon as they had hurled themselves down to rest at the second break. They were really beginning to feel hostile as the girls chivvied them to their feet once more. From here, the next few miles of track went mostly downhill and their spirits rose when told that they were to mount their horses for some of the next stage.
Over the next mile they trotted along relatively happily. Not everything was ideal though as many of the muscles abused during their walking were also used when riding and these seemed to develop aches on top of the aches already present.
Nevertheless, it was more tolerable but it lasted for a very short time. At the end of a mile, everyone dismounted and was shamed into following those damned women, who started running; more of a fast trot really; leading their horses again.
They did their last five-mile stretch alternately trotting on horseback and trotting, leading their mounts. Thankfully, the last mile was mounted, but when they reached the area where they were to spend the night, the first half-hour was spent tending the horses; grooming them, hobbling feeding and watering them before they could think of themselves.
This was a particularly pointed statement of intent as their mounts had always been tended by one of their men before now.
Having dealt with their horses, just as they felt that they had earned some welcome relaxation, MacKay got them on their feet. “I have just received information that a company of tirailleurs is climbing the reverse slope of that hill. We have to be in position to stop them reaching the top. Bring your carbines and ammunition pouches and follow me.”
Everybody grabbed their weapons and cartridge pouches and raced after him, to scramble and run up three hundred feet of steep, rocky slope, encouraged all the way by the shrill voices of the detestable girls, keeping pace quite easily with them. There were also the cheers of their own men, only ten minutes behind them in their grooming and who guessed that they would be running up that same hill in the near future.
Two terrible days later, from the point of view of the harassed trainees, they were into the high country between the Cantabrian and León mountains and the various troops split up and found their own areas where the Hornets could concentrate on improving marksmanship, fieldcraft and fitness. It was fortuitous that a batch of modified Baker rifles had arrived from Santiago for the Portuguese. It meant that there were sufficient numbers of Roberto’s carbines to give one to each of the officers.
Until now, none of them had carried long guns, it being considered that pistols and sword were the only weapons appropriate for gentlemen. This strange attitude did not, of course, extend to sporting guns, with which most were practised. Once they realised that these new, but well used carbines could actually be relied upon to hit a small target at unheard of distances, old attitudes were forgotten and all this persecution in the name of training, took on quite a new and enthusiastic dimension.
By the middle of the second week, without them even realising it, the physical demands made on them were no longer a problem. They could keep up with the girls without effort. Some of them could equal them in marksmanship, but their brightly coloured uniforms and tall shakos or plumed helmets meant that they could never compete in a skirmishing role.
MacKay did not dwell on this aspect of warfare. They practised it in order to become familiar with the problems that skirmishers faced. After all, they were cavalrymen and few of them had even considered the horrors that the infantry faced when fighting on foot.
In the third week, their training schedule finished earlier in the day and they went to school. MacKay started a discussion group and put tactical and strategic problems to them and encouraged them to argue their own solutions until they started to think like professional soldiers, rather than drill-obsessed, amateur militia.
Quintana had changed too. He was still young and not quite medium height. He now had no excess weight and his moustache appeared even more luxuriant over the tightly drawn skin of his face.
Somehow, he had discovered a natural authority and on the second evening, MacKay encouraged him to take control of the discussion, acting as chairman of the group debating the situations that MacKay and Gonçalves invented.
Next day, the four sections were reunited into one troop, with Quintana made lieutenant and Major de Soto troop sergeant. They set out to operate as a cavalry reconnaissance unit, moving out of the Montes de León into the hilly country west of Astorga, the town where Richter had already reported a considerable French garrison.
They were found by Lieutenant Figueredo and his platoon of Vespãos. It would have been more satisfactory if it had been Quintana who had found Figueredo, but the Portuguese had been doing this sort of thing for longer and it was not easy to be inconspicuous in the bright colours of a Spanish cavalryman.
Richter’s H Company had been making themselves inconspicuous for the last two weeks while roaming in the area to the west of the river Esla that flowed south past both León and Benavente. Both towns harboured large garrisons of French troops and formed a triangle with the smaller garrison at Astorga, perhaps twenty-five miles west of the river.
Figueredo grinned as he reported to Gonçalves. “Regular despatches have been going back to General Santocildes, whose vanguard is now only a few miles behind you in the mountains, Senhor Major. He has requested that we do nothing aggressive to alarm the French until he arrives and we have held back from several opportunities to gather prisoners from the foraging parties that are spread out throughout the region.”
His grin became even wider as he glanced sideways at MacKay. “Do you think that the Senhor Brigadier General MacKay would authorise us to inconvenience them rather more, now that the army is so close?”
MacKay could not help overhearing and growled at Gonçalves in english. “The lieutenant knows full well that the rank he quotes is for the Spanish forces only. Colonel MacKay, on the other hand, could well be interested in what he has not yet told us. It is evident frae that idiotic grin on his face that there is some devilment he should like tae be planning.”
Gonçalves glared at Figueredo and the grin disappeared. “Do pray tell us what it is that you find so amusing, Lieutenant.”
Figueredo drew himself to attention. “My orders are to do nothing to attract attention, Sir. I am hoping that Colonel MacKay may wish to change them when I tell him that we are ten miles from the closest French garrison and that in the valley over that hill is a small town that is being stripped of most of its food, by up to two hundred French infantry soldiers with a dozen wagons.”
MacKay went back into spanish. “Two hundred men seems a lot for an area with little guerrilla activity. Have you seen many partisans around here in the last two weeks?”
Figueredo shook his head. “There are some in the Montes de León and in the Sierra de Cabrera to the south, but the general size of the foraging parties seems to discourage them from venturing too far out into the plains.”
“Hmph! You are probably correct. I seem to recall that El Charro is the guerrillero leader in León and he has taken all his horsemen west to join Wellington’s forces.
We
ll then, Fernando, as the Spanish army is now so close, I see no good reason why your fire-eating lieutenant should be deprived of his recreation, especially as it may provide a fitting climax to our short period of instruction. Let us go and talk to Quintana.”
* * *
Figueredo’s estimate was very accurate. Almost a hundred infantry of the line and about the same number of green-clad voltigeurs were marching in a leisurely fashion back towards Astorga, escorting ten laden wagons, drawn by teams of mules.
MacKay had explained to Quintana exactly what he intended to do and what part he wished the troop of Spanish officers to play. Two weeks ago, Quintana would certainly have thought twice about tackling odds of two hundred to fifty, but now he just seemed grateful that he and his officers were being allowed to play with the big boys.
The town was between MacKay and the French and they wouldn’t see the Spanish horsemen until they had ridden through the town and emerged on the other side. A lot would then depend on whether the French reacted as MacKay expected.
In order to encourage them to do so, he asked the highly coloured Spaniards to lead the way. They could not be mistaken for anything but cavalry and every French infantryman knew instinctively what to do when facing cavalry.
These two French companies had certainly studied their standing orders and their drill was exemplary, the product of hours of mind-numbing instruction by their sergeants.
Abandoning their wagons, they marched smoothly into a square formation, with a double line of twenty-five men on each side and a mounted officer sitting his horse inside, in the centre of each of the sides. The wagon drivers grabbed whatever weapons they had and scuttled into the middle of the square.
Veteran soldiers these. MacKay was impressed with the speed at which it had been done. Even if he had ordered a charge as soon as he had cleared the town, the French would have been in position in time. He had no doubt that every musket was loaded and the double line of gleaming bayonets was quite enough to deter the most reckless horseman.
Can No One Win Battles if I'm Not There Page 20
