Young bloods - Scarrow Simon (библиотека электронных книг txt) 📗

A sergeant came running up. He stopped and saluted.'Colonel Buona Parte, sir.'

Napoleon twisted round. 'Yes?'

'It's the signal, sir. The green rocket.'

Even as he spoke there was a muffled rumble, like thunder, as the batteries facing Fort Mulgrave opened fire, obedient to their orders. Any moment now the advance guard of General Dugommier's assault columns would be moving out of La Seyne and crossing the rainswept ground towards the enemy. Nothing could hold the attack back now, thought Napoleon. He had committed thousands of men to it. His fate was in their hands.

Chapter 80

Apart from the distant roar of the guns no sound of battle carried across to the men of the reserve column as they remained in the fish market and shivered in the slashing rain. Napoleon was consumed with the need for some news, any news, of how the attack was progressing. He strode up and down one side of the market, hands clasped tightly behind his back and head tilted forward as his mind played out all the variables that could affect the assault on Fort Mulgrave. Junot and the other officers occasionally glanced at their mercurial young commanding officer, but no one attempted to speak with him, and they muttered quietly amongst themselves in the light-hearted manner that men preoccupied with thoughts of combat and death are inclined to affect.

Then, an hour after the rocket had been fired, a messenger arrived from General Dugommier. A young lieutenant, splattered with mud, ran into the market, looked round and saw the officers sheltering in the smithy. Napoleon had seen him arrive and marched up to join them.

'What news?'

'General's respects, sir.' The messenger was struggling for breath. 'He needs the reserve to advance… and support the attack.'

'What's happened?'

'Two of the columns lost their way. Brule and Victor's men marched right into each other.'

'How did it happen?' Napoleon said through clenched teeth, furious that his plan was being ruined. 'We marked the routes clearly enough.'

'The rain, sir. It washed away some of the pegs. The markings aren't there.'

'Shit!' Napoleon took a deep breath to calm himself. 'What then?'

'I don't really know, sir,' the messenger replied helplessly. 'There's terrible confusion. Most of the men can't find their units, or their officers. Then we came up against one of the enemy outposts.We've tried to take it three times, and been thrown back. The general needs the reserve.You're the only organised force he has left.'

'Where's Delaborde?'

'Don't know, sir. He swung left when we lost the route and no one knows where his column is.'

Napoleon shook his head. This was a disaster. Unless something was done quickly the battle was already lost. He focused his attention on the messenger. 'Tell the general we're coming. Ask him to clear the approaches to the outpost and we'll go straight into the attack.Tell him… tell him that I respectfully suggest that he orders what's left of the other two columns to follow us in. Have you got that?'

The messenger nodded.

'Go!'

Napoleon turned to his officers. 'You all heard that. It's down to us to make sure the attack is carried through. We'll march in close order. Have your NCOs positioned on the flanks of the column to keep the men in formation.There will be no pause to deploy when we reach the outpost. We'll march right over the enemy and let the other columns mop them up. All clear? Then let's get moving, gentlemen!'

They tramped through the dark streets of La Seyne and then out across the churned mud of the countryside.The sucking ooze around their boots slowed the pace as the men struggled to keep their feet in the tight formation. Soon they ran into the first scattering of injured men and malingerers heading back to La Seyne. The guns of Napoleon's batteries had fallen silent after bombarding Fort Mulgrave for the hour Napoleon had calculated the assault columns would need to get into position for their attack.The plan was already far behind schedule as the attack had stalled at the enemy's first line of defence. Napoleon marched at the head of the column, with a company of grenadiers who had orders to sweep aside anyone they encountered in the way of the reserve column. As the column approached the enemy outpost Napoleon could dimly make out the men clustered on either side. He cupped a hand to his mouth.

'Join the rear of the column!'

His boot came down on something solid, and with a start he realised he had stepped on a body. He forced himself to stride on regardless and moments later they reached the ditch that surrounded the outpost. His sword rasped from his scabbard and he thrust it over his head.

'Grenadiers! Forwards!'

The company surged across the ditch and began to scramble up the far slope. Ahead, behind breastworks, the dim shapes of the enemy's shakos were visible. But this time there was no well-trained volley of musket fire to destroy the ranks of Frenchmen. The drenching rain had seen to that. Instead the two sides met face to face and fought it out with bayonet, sword and trench tools. Unlike the earlier attacks, Napoleon's men came on in a solid wave, led by the grim-faced grenadiers.

'Pull down the gabions!' Napoleon shouted up the slope. 'Pull 'em down!'

A burly sergeant thrust his musket into the hands of one of his men, grasped the wicker rim, braced his legs and pulled with all his might. The heavy rain had softened the earth around the gabion, and slowly it loosened. With a grunt the sergeant turned it aside and let it slither down into the ditch. He wrenched the next one free and then there was a gap in the breastwork wide enough for two men to pass through. On the far side the enemy were closing up to defend the breach as the sergeant snatched his musket back and with a bull-like roar he charged through the gap.

'Come on!' Napoleon waved his sword. 'After him!'

The grenadiers scrambled forwards and threw themselves on the defenders. Napoleon was swept along with them and then he was inside the outpost. Around him the dark shapes of men grunted and swore as they thrust and slashed at what they took to be their enemy. Napoleon glanced round, saw the outline of a British shako and slashed his sword down. The blow landed with a thud, cutting through the hat and into the man's skull. He fell back with a cry and Napoleon stepped over the body and further into the outpost. Behind him some of the grenadiers were busy hauling aside more gabions to widen the gap as the rest of the column fed through and added to the tide of men overwhelming the defenders.

'They're running for it!' a voice shouted. Sure enough dark shapes were fleeing for the far rampart, hurling themselves across the breastwork and out of sight. Napoleon's men started to cheer. He sheathed his sword and shouted at them to be silent. There was no time to celebrate. Those men would warn the defenders of Fort Mulgrave of the approach of the column. He must give them as little time as possible to prepare.

'Grenadiers! Form ranks! Lieutenant Junot? Where are you? Junot!'

'Here, sir!' A figure squeezed his way through the men crowding the inside of the outpost.

'Junot, get down to the rest of the column. Lead them round the outpost and head for the fort. Send word to the general that we've taken this place. Tell him I'm heading straight for the fort. He can join me there.' Napoleon smiled for an instant. There he was, telling a superior officer old enough to be his father what to do. Still, he had enough faith in Dugommier to hope that the general would see the sense of it.

'Very well, sir,' Junot nodded, and then added, 'Watch yourself, sir.'

Napoleon discerned genuine concern in the man's tone and was surprised by the realisation that he had inspired a measure of devotion in his subordinate. He took the lieutenant's hand clumsily and gave it a brisk shake. 'You too, Junot. I'll see you in the fort.'