From this brief discussion of Napoleon’s frontal and double battles, we pass on to describe his ideal type of action—the “norm,” the true strategical battle. This form of Grand Tactics was employed on numerous occasions between 1796 and 1813, and it can be said to provide the real “moment of truth” in Napoleonic warfare. Like his favorite strategical maneuver, his ideal battle centered around the concept of an enveloping attack, designed to shake the enemy’s nerve and to induce the weakening of his main battle line at a preselected, critical point. As Napoleon continually emphasized: “It is by turning the enemy, by attacking his flank, that battles are won.” He never saw fit to change this fundamental belief (save, perhaps, at Borodino); for this was the means of creating a breach in the enemy’s battleline for reasonable cost, and “the breach once made, the equilibrium is broken and everything else is useless” (for the enemy commander). Associated with the enveloping attack, which created the opportunity for total victory, as will be seen, was the concept of (in Camon’s phrase) le coup de force or the master stroke, which transformed the opportunity into actual victory. For real success, the concept relied on exact timing and perfect coordination. Finally, there was the organization and coordination of an effective pursuit, designed to destroy what was left of enemy cohesion and of his power to offer further resistance—the concept of exploitation. These three concepts, therefore—envelopment, breakthrough and exploitation—formed the main elements of the Napoleonic strategical battle. Everything else was subordinated to facilitating these three successive stages in a battle.
The sequence of a typical strategical battle would often follow this pattern: on the report of his cavalry screen that the enemy army was massed in its immediate vicinity, Napoleon would order the nearest major formation (usually a self-contained corps d’armée) to make contact with the enemy and at all costs pin him down in his present location, thus providing a fixed point on which the rest of the French army could concentrate. Thanks to the superb flexibility of the Napoleonic system of moving corps over vast distances in a loosely drawn but carefully coordinated formation, it mattered little on what point of the compass the foe was discovered. If ahead, the advance guard would engage; if on the left flank of the line of advance (as in the Jena campaign), the nearest corps (originally on a flank) would be designated the new advance guard, and the whole pattern of French formations would undergo a smooth adaptation to meet the new situation as the whole army wheeled towards the point of crisis. The first act of the Napoleonic battle would thus begin.
The corps d’armée system, besides permitting this fine degree of maneuverability and adaptation, also permitted a single corps to take on several times its own number of enemy troops for a certain period. For each corps had its own components of infantry, cavalry and guns, and was, in fact, a miniature army. Very often, the apparent weakness of the French force immediately engaged tempted the enemy to rush forward to achieve its destruction. This “bait” worked at Jena on October 13, 1806, when the Prussian Hohenloke believed that he was dealing with merely an isolated flank guard of Napoleon’s army when Marshal Lannes crossed over the Saale to occupy an exposed position on the Landgrafenberg, and consequently moved up his men in leisurely fashion to gain an easy victory on the morrow—by which time a much larger French force had materialized. It worked even better before Friedland (on June 13 and early June 14, 1807) when Bennigsen snapped up the bait provided (once again) by Lannes’ apparently exposed and hopeless position, and rushed his Russian divisions over the River Alle into a very compromising battle position in the confident belief that no French formations were within supporting distance of his intended “victim.” However, Napoleon knew that his corps, with their proper complement of infantry, light cavalry and guns (both divisional and in corps reserve), could stand their ground and hold out for at least a day, heedless of losses incurred, until neighboring formations could be rushed up by forced marches.
Before this delaying period was exhausted, the nearest supporting corps would be arriving on the scene to reinforce their embattled colleague, and the enemy general would find himself, to his surprise, involved in an escalating battle of attrition against ever-increasing numbers of French troops. Again his natural reaction under these circumstances would be to commit reserves into battle in an attempt to retain his initial superiority and gain his victory before the opportunity finally disappeared. This was exactly what Napoleon desired—the early absorption of the foe’s supporting formations. And so the crescendo of the frontal battle would gradually grow from an occasional rumble of guns and rattling of musketry to a continuous roar of explosions as more and more infantry divisions, supported by divisional artillery and corps cavalry formations moved into action to pin, hold and pare down the enemy army; if necessary special reserves (to be distinguished from the general reserves retained by the Emperor for crises or the coup de grâce) would be sent in to reinforce the French line.
All this while, concealed behind a screen of cavalry and unseen by the preoccupied enemy, the troops of Napoleon’s enveloping force would be hurrying toward a designated spot on the enemy’s flank or rear. As speed was clearly a vital consideration for this move, a great deal of this operation would be entrusted to formations drawn from the cavalry reserve supported by horse artillery, although powerful columns of infantry would also be involved. Napoleon habitually gave command of this crucial operation to his most trusted subordinate, for everything depended on the arrival of these troops at exactly the right place at the right moment if the effect of its intervention was to be decisive. Incidentally, the Emperor would before this juncture have determined which enemy flank to turn by considering the lie of the foe’s natural line of retreat; whichever flank lay nearest to this was the one he moved against. However, at Eylau he attempted a double envelopment (Ney from the north, Davout from the south), although this failed to materialize owing to the delays encountered by the former in reaching his designated assembly position.
Now came the critical problem of judging the correct moment for the enveloping force to reveal its disconcerting position on the enemy flank. For maximum effect, it was important that this should not occur before the enemy had committed all or most of his reserves to the frontal battle, and this need for accurate timing of the flank attack called for the greatest judgment on the part of Napoleon and his key subordinates. The former had to judge the moment when all enemy troops were indeed committed to the frontal battle (and with the billowing clouds of black-powder smoke obliterating the scene this was no easy matter); the latter had the task of keeping their eager troops “on the leash” so as to avoid any premature attack disclosing their presence. Then, when the exact moment had come, Napoleon would give the signal. If the enveloping attack was being launched from a considerable distance a special cannon signal would be used—say thirty guns discharged at the same instant twice in succession with a prearranged interval; if the flanking force was closer at hand (as would be the case when a tactical outflanking movement was the form of attack prescribed, as with Soult’s corps at both Austerlitz and Jena), the Emperor’ would send the necessary order by hand of a trusted aide-de-camp, or ride over personally to give the signal.
Grand tactics: Napoleon’s basic battle plan (the Strategic Battle by phases); schematic
Then the attaque débordante would spring to life. A roar of cannon away on his hitherto secure flank would cause the enemy general to look apprehensively over his shoulder, and before long the spyglasses of his anxious staff would be able to detect a line of dust and smoke crawling ever nearer from the flank or rear. This threat to his communications and line of retreat could not be ignored. The enemy general might now theoretically adopt one of two courses (but in practice only one). He could either order an immediate general retreat to slip out of the trap before it shut behind his army (although this was generally out of the question, as Napoleon would of course launch a general frontal attack against all sectors of the enemy line to coincide with the unmasking of his
flanking force and thus pin the foe still tighter to the ground he was holding); or he would be compelled to find troops from somewhere to form a new line at right angles to his main position to face the new onslaught and protect his flank. As all reserves were (ideally) already committed to battle, this could be easily and quickly effected only by deliberately weakening those frontal sectors closest to the new threat. This thinning out of the enemy front is what Napoleon termed “the Event”—and was of course exactly what he intended to happen. The curtain on the first act would now fall; the enemy was reacting as required; the destruction of the cohesion of his line, the final ruination of his equilibrium, could now be undertaken with practically a guarantee of ultimate success.
The second act of the battle drama, the decisive attack, now began to unfold. Its aim was to launch a surprise attack with fresh troops against the newly weakened “hinge” of the enemy’s hairpin battle line in such strength as to ensure a breakthrough and the rupture of the enemy army into two disconnected parts. Ready for this moment, throughout the first act Napoleon would have been secretly massing, behind the front, a masse de rupture consisting of picked troops of all arms. Ideally, this force would be concealed behind a natural feature until the decisive moment—at Austerlitz it was a combination of the reverse slope near Schlappanitz and the early-morning fog that hid the presence of Vandamme’s and St. Hilaire’s assault divisions from the eyes of the Austro-Russian staff. Very often, this assault force would be drawn up in a large square: the guns of the reserve forming the front face, two divisions of infantry (in column) forming the sides, the massed squadrons of the cavalry reserve bringing up the rear. Once again, timing was of supreme importance. The process of the enemy’s weakening his position at the appointed sector had to be completed or at least well-advanced before the main French attack could be unleashed; this was a time in the battle when Napoleon always held his watch in hand, closely scrutinizing the passage of every minute. At Austerlitz he asked Soult how long it would take his divisions to storm the Pratzen Heights: “Twenty minutes, Sire!” was the reply. “Then we will wait a further quarter of an hour,” replied the Emperor, anxious that the Russian and Austrian columns of the Allied center (the selected point of attack) should have all the time they needed to be drawn into the fierce battle raging at the southern extremity of the line. Every available man (apart from the Guard) would be held in readiness for the great attack. As Napoleon himself laid it down: “There is a moment in engagements when the least maneuver is decisive and gives the victory; it is the one drop of water which makes the vessel run over.”56
The moment having arrived, the hounds were slipped from the leash. “At his signal the massed batteries of the Guard Reserve dashed to the front at a gallop, unlimbered within 500 yards of the enemy, and proceeded to tear with extreme rapidity a hole in the opposing battle formation with case shot.”57 To this thunderous and death-dealing accompaniment (the number of guns involved varied between 50 and 112 on different occasions) the infantry columns would hasten forward, drums beating the pas de charge. Before they came to grips with the shell-torn survivors of the foremost enemy units, they would often deploy into line or the ordre mixte and plunge into the fray with the bayonet. In support of the infantry a series of hell-for-leather cavalry charges would be launched, forcing the enemy infantry to form squares, thus reducing the number of muskets they could bring to bear on the approaching French columns. Similarly, batteries of horse artillery would move their guns up by progressive bounds, to blast these inviting enemy targets from point-blank range. By careful coordination of these various components of the attack, a large hole would soon be carved through the enemy front. So important was this moment to the success of the whole battle that Napoleon was prepared to accept heavy casualties in order to achieve success—unit after unit would be flung into the fray one after another. Support formations would move up to widen the gap, and then, after reforming from their earlier charges, the pride of the French cavalry, led by the “heavies,” the cuirassiers, carabiniers and the Mounted Grenadiers of the Guard, would thunder through, sabers ceaselessly rising and falling, to exploit the penetration and harry the reeling enemy until what was left of his cohesion snapped under the strain.
Once the breach was made, the battle per se was won; the only matter now remaining was to determine the extent of the victory. Without any interval, act three would follow hard on the heels of act two as the exploitation phase swung into action. This was particularly the province of the light cavalry (lancers, chasseurs and hussars) and the dragoons, supported by batteries of horse artillery and followed by the weary but jubilant columns of infantry. Napoleon allowed neither his opponent nor his own men the least respite after a victory: the survivors would be harried without mercy until all resistance had been abandoned or crushed. Murat’s cavalry pursuit of the routed Prussians after Jena is the most celebrated “pursuit” operation in the annals of the First Empire; within an hour of the battle’s end, he was personally in Weimar, twelve miles from the field, butchering the fugitives, giving them no chance to re-form. Similarly, if the pressure could be maintained over the following days, the most amazing feats of arms could be achieved over a dazed and demoralized foe; for example, in the third week of October 1806 strong Prussian fortresses with full complements of troops, artillery and supplies cravenly capitulated to weak forces of unsupported French cavalry without offering even nominal resistance. This was blitzkrieg war with a vengeance, and nobody knew better than Napoleon how to exploit a success to the uttermost. However, the full possibilities of pursuit were only realized on four occasions, namely after Rivoli, Austerlitz, Jena and Eckmühl.
Such, then, was the developing and closely integrated drama of the ideal Napoleonic battle drama—with its opening, middle and end. Of course, on many occasions the ideal was not achieved, but it was ever Napoleon’s practice before giving battle to work out what he considered to be the best possible method of attack. Then, according to circumstances, the ideal would be progressively modified until a favorable solution to the battle situation was improvised. Napoleon demanded complete flexibility of his subordinate formations, for on a single order he expected them to be able to abandon one course of action and adopt another. Thus at Wagram (second day), Macdonald’s corps was halted in mid-march on its way to strengthen Davout on the right and ordered to retrace its steps without delay to fight on the left centre against a threatened Austrian outflanking move; this radical change of plan was accepted without demur, and Macdonald’s small, flexible columns turned about and suddenly transformed themselves into a vast square ready to receive the Austrian cavalry. Similarly, at Jena, Soult’s corps was suddenly required to act as an outflanking formation when it became clear that Davout would not be able to intervene after all. Thus Napoleon’s basic, premeditated plan, usually following the broad outline described above, was capable of instant, on-the-spot modification. It is revealing that Napoleon only twice gave battle wholly unexpectedly—namely at Marengo and Friedland—although at Jena the action developed a full two days ahead of his intended schedule. But as a general rule he attacked an enemy already mesmerized into dazed inaction by the rapid development of the strategical situation, and then proceeded with the aid of the infinite fluidity and flexibility of his grand tactics to secure a hardwon but unquestionable victory.
At Waterloo, of course, everything went wrong; it was a classic case of “the biter bit.” Blücher’s unexpected appearance on the French flank had the precise effect of a Napoleonic enveloping attack—that is to say, it compelled the Emperor to commit the Young Guard and Löbau’s corps, all his remaining reserves save only the Old Guard—to create a new front on the Planchenoit flank; then he allowed Ney to mismanage the initial attacks against Mont-St.-Jean, and capped a bad day by refusing to unleash the Old Guard at the critical moment of the battle when Ney had at last practically smashed a breach through Wellington’s center. When at last the Guard was sent in—at 7:00
P.M., far to
o late—it failed to deploy and consequently was routed on the spot. A combination of mistiming and mishandling thus threw away successive chances of victory, and ended Napoleon’s military career on a jarring note, wholly unworthy of the genius displayed in earlier years. But as he said as early as 1805: “One has but a short time for war.” By the time Waterloo was fought, he was already past his prime as a general, at least in the sphere of Grand Tactics.
See Part Six, Ch. 32 for a description of French infantry, cavalry and artillery tactics from 1804 onward, and Part Two, pp. 66 to 70 for an outline of the forms adopted in the earlier days of the Revolutionary Armies.
The Campaigns of Napoleon Page 27
