14. Chapter 13

I engage and after that I see what to do.

The French retreated for five days. Ney led the rearguard personally for as long as he could, battling off Elban cavalry sent to pursue them and ensuring the main column didn't get pinned down and forced into battle. It was eerily similar to the retreat from Moscow, albeit with less snow and easier adversaries. Elban cavalry, for all their value as a heavily armored shock force, were nothing in comparison to the hated Cossacks. That meant the French were able to withdraw from the eastern hills with little difficulty, and they reached open flat land at the end of the fourth day.

There was then the question of if Prince Teo would continue to pursue the French. Ney had led his corps onto flat ground because it limited Prince Teo's ability to be crafty. The eastern hills with its rough terrain and many spots of forest were ideal for laying traps and setting ambushes, but the western flatlands provided for a straight fight. It gave every advantage to the French.

But, as Ney predicted, Prince Teo was not deterred.

He was young, skilled, and victorious. His victory over Ney's advance guard had been the first ever Falmartian victory over the French. The mighty Saderan Empire had tried and failed three times to achieve victory, yet Prince Teo had done so in his first battle. He had every reason to be confident in his abilities. He would not let a little difference in terrain dissuade him from his victory.

That was all Ney's assumption, of course. He'd never actually met Prince Teo. For all he knew, the prince wasn't arrogant at all, and he had completely different reasons for his actions. Ney probably wouldn't ever know.

What Ney did know, however, is that on the fifth day, Prince Teo pursued them onto open ground.

A vast cloud of dust marked the Elban army, perhaps a few miles behind. A similar cloud trailed over the French column, making it very easy for Elban scouts to report on their positioning. Ney, at the head of the column for the first time in days, surveyed the ground.

It was a flat field with nothing in particular to distinguish it. A portion had been ploughed long ago by some farmer, but no crops were being grown. A tiny farm house was abandoned far to the right of the French column.

"This will do," Ney declared. "Let's offer battle."

He turned to Captain Barbier and began pointing to positions on the field. "Have Brunelle draw up one regiment in line to form the left flank there. Rousseau is to do the same on the right flank over there. Messier will have two regiments form the center between them. Split the auxiliaries; send half to reinforce Brunelle's left and half to reinforce Rousseau's right. Have King Duran's loyalists reinforce Messier's center. Send the remaining infantry regiments and all of Feraud's cavalry to act as a reserve here under Courbet's command. Give each flank and the center half a battery of Delon's cannons and keep the rest with the reserve."

Captain Barbier was dictating orders to men on horses, and they were in turn galloping off to relay them to the proper officers. Dust began to get kicked up everywhere as regiments shifted their positions to match Ney's orders. Before long, the French column was transforming itself into a battle line with the reserve under Courbet forming on Ney's position.

General Courbet arrived at the head of it and rode to Ney while his colonels finished getting everyone into position.

"Quite a large reserve you've given me, Marshal," he said, nodding to the close to seven thousand men he had. It was almost a third of the army with half the regulars, two-thirds of the artillery, and all of the cavalry.

"Don't expect to hold onto it all," Ney replied. "Once we engage with Prince Teo, we'll see where the men need to go."

"Do you have a plan, sir?"

Ney shook his head. "We'll see how the Elbans deploy then come up with a plan. Anything else is just useless at this point."

"Of course, sir," Courbet responded.

Ney looked back to the still forming line. It was for the most part made of local troops, Saderan auxiliaries and Elban loyalists. Messier's center had four thousand French regulars and four thousand of Duran's Elban loyalists. The loyalists were nearly identical to Prince Teo's men in terms of equipment and appearance, big shields with one handed spears, except they wore blue armbands to distinguish themselves and had King Duran leading from the front.

On the flanks, Rousseau and Brunelle each had two thousand regulars and three thousand auxiliaries. The auxiliaries, many of whom had been with the advance guard when their brethren were slaughtered, were formed up in well disciplined pike blocks. Companies of regulars were deployed intermixed between the blocks while both French and Saderan skirmishers screened it from the front. It was a far cry from the disordered mob Ney had led into Prince Teo's trap.

As the troops finished moving into position, all eyes were to the east, where the dust cloud that marked the Elban army steadily grew larger.

When the great kings and generals of history committed to actually fighting their enemy, it was often said that they would 'give' or 'offer' battle. This was for good reason. Ney had once heard it said that a battle could only occur when both sides were confident in their chances at victory; otherwise, one army would retreat until they found a situation they were better suited in. To 'offer' battle was to allow the opposing side to decide if they wished to fight or not. Both sides had to agree in a sense for battle to take place. However, once committed it could be very difficult to then withdraw without severe losses, and so some preferred to avoid battle like the plague. The British and Russians, for example, were masters of avoiding French offers of battle until it suited them. Very rarely did generals ever manage to force battle, and indeed Emperor Napoleon had made a name for himself by being very good at exactly that thing. But even Napoleon had failed to force the Russians into a battle until Kutuzov himself decided to offer it at Borodino. Even Napoleon had failed to force Moore's retreating army to face him in Spain. Thus knowing this, despite having deployed for battle, Ney was still uncertain if Prince Teo would accept his offer for battle.

Three figures on horseback appeared in the distance. They watched Ney's force deploy, and Ney saw through his spyglass one of them wearing a wolf's head helmet.

"Fight me," Ney muttered to himself. "You know you want to."

The wolf's head glittered with sunlight as its wearer pointed to Ney's battle line. They weren't on any high ground, so he likely didn't have a clear view of Ney's reserves. The mixed line of Saderans, Elbans, and Frenchmen hid Courbet's men. Likewise, Ney had little high ground for himself and would have a similarly obscured view of the Elban army. If they decided to fight, that was. There was still a good chance Prince Teo refused Ney's offer.

Ney didn't have a perfect line of sight to the three men. His horse gave him a perch to look over the top of his infantry, but dust and movement occasionally blocked his view. Through his spyglass, Ney could only assume what was being discussed.

"Give me battle," he muttered again.

The wolf's head swiveled left to right, and the Elban pointed again at Ney's formations. The man was waving wildly at Ney's flanks, the parts of the line held primarily by Saderan auxiliaries. Something was said between the three of them.

They rode back toward their army, and Ney was left mystified as to what they'd decided. Silence swept over the French army, which, having finished moving into position, now had nothing to do except wait. It was a sort of nervous tension, the kind that always came right before a battle. Men waiting for the catalyst that might kill them.

Ten minutes later, Ney learned that the Elbans had decided to accept his offer of battle.

The cavalry came first, heavily armored on massive horses. A ripple of anger seemed to flow through the ranks of auxiliaries. Men glared at the foes who'd cut their comrades to pieces, and the Elban cavalry appeared to bask it in. They were too far away for shouting, but some cavalrymen taunted the auxiliaries by standing up in their stirrups and lifting their lances over their heads.

However, Ney noted, it was a very small cavalry force. Prince Teo had used his cavalry in the last battle to hold infantry squares in place, a costly tactic that just barely didn't succeed. Now his cavalry was decimated, and it clearly showed.

Infantry came after them, marching in their big blocks of men to position themselves in front of the cavalry. The first blocks formed a line that matched the length of Ney's battle line. Then more infantry moved to the sides, extending the line so that it overlapped Ney's on both flanks and revealed Prince Teo's plan for this battle. A screen of skirmishers deployed in front of the line to match French and Saderan skirmishers.

Ney turned to Barbier and Courbet. "He extended his line further than our's. He's going to try to wrap around us on the flanks and strike from the rear," Ney said more to himself than to either of them.

Barbier considered that for a moment. "Should we have some of our reserves extend our line to match it?"

Ney squinted at the Elban line. "Maybe if I was cautious," he muttered. Then he straightened himself in his saddle. "But I am Marshal Ney, and the Elbans seem to be a bit too overextended in my opinion. We'll press them instead."

General Courbet shifted his gaze to him. "Sir?"

"Either Prince Teo has made a mistake or I have," Ney said with all honesty. "Regardless, we're going to press them and find out. His main attacks will come from the flanks, so we're going after his center. We'll throw our reserves into a central thrust and smash through then fall on his wings. Either I'm right and we win a great victory or I'm wrong and we suffer our second defeat," he explained.

"And how do you intend to avoid their line wrapping around ours on the flanks?" Courbet questioned.

Ney gave a wolf's grin. "By attacking, of course. We'll send our left and right to feint at their flanks. That'll pin them down and buy time long enough for our main attack to hit their center. By the time the flanks are ready to attack again, we'll have broken them already."

"Or something goes wrong, and we lose," Barbier commented.

"Now you're starting to understand war," Ney laughed. "New orders. Give Rousseau and Brunelle half a regiment each from the reserve then send them forward at the flanks. Tell them… Tell them to attack with all the ferocity that France deserves."

Barbier began rapidly issuing Ney's orders to messengers on horseback while Courbet dictated commands to an infantry colonel under his command. Two riders bolted to both ends of the French line while Ney gazed out to the Elban center.

"One last order. Send Colonel Delon with all the artillery in reserve to take up position in front of our center. He is to begin concentrating all fire onto the Elban center when in position. He will form a grande batterie."

When the 134th had been placed in reserve for the battle, Jacques thought they would be missing most of it. A lucky break, he'd figured, for all the work they did in the last one. In retrospect, he should have known better than to presume that anyone cared.

The 134th had its battalions split into two with half going to the left and half going to the right. Jacques's battalion happened to be sent to the right, to serve under General Rousseau, and so they kicked up dust and marched to join him.

They crossed behind the main battleline, marching cleanly to the sound of drums. It was all very silent for a battlefield. Most French cannons were still being positioned, and the Elbans obviously didn't have cannons, so it all seemed far more similar to a massive drill field than a battlefield with the only things audible being drums and marching. Jacques could barely even see the enemy, the French line blocking most of his view with only momentary cracks appearing where one unit met another.

Then, like the edge of a mountain cliff, his battalion marched past the end of Messier's central line and he got a good view of the Elbans. They were in tight blocks, similar to the ones the auxiliaries formed in, with a wall of shields presented that hid their human forms. The distant formations seemed to be moving forward, yet it wasn't at any great speed, and Jacques was certain it would be a while before they reached the French. Behind them, Elban cavalry plodded along at an infantryman's pace, keeping their comrades on the ground between them and the French muskets.

A second French line, Rousseau's right flank, soon appeared in front of Jacques's battalion and blocked his view of the Elbans. Here, French and Saderan companies were intermixed with each other like spaces on a chess board. Auxiliaries formed pike blocks while regulars stood in lines between them so that the French could support the Saderans with musket fire but leave the up close fighting to their pikes if necessary.

Jacques's battalion, and every other battalion sent to reinforce the right, came to a halt as Colonel Touissant went to receive General Rousseau's orders. Jacques happened to be positioned just close enough to actually see the colonel speak with General Rousseau. Their conversation was brief, and Colonel Touissant returned to issue orders to his majors. Those majors then in turn went to issue orders to their captains.

"Captain Duclos," Major Beauregard greeted. "The Marshal gave orders to attack the Saderan left. We're outnumbered obviously, so General Rousseau wants a thick line of skirmishers to screen the force and confuse them as to how many of us there actually are. Colonel Touissaint's putting our entire battalion out as skirmishers. Your company will be third to the right. If they charge us, don't stick around. Fall back to the main line and get behind the auxiliaries. Got it?"

Jacques saluted and replied, "Yes sir!" though he was still picking through what had been said.

They'd be acting as skirmishers, typically the job of light infantry though regular fusiliers did it too. Usually skirmishers got deployed as individual companies, but deploying entire battalions wasn't unheard of.

The battalion was marched in front of General Rousseau's main line where a mix of Saderan and French skirmishers were already assembled. Major Beauregard positioned them ahead of these men before ordering them into a skirmish line. The clean column quickly dissipated into a mist of soldiers with Jacques leading his men to the right before dispersing them further.

There weren't any formal regulations for how skirmishers deployed, but Jacques had drilled his men well and they knew exactly what to do. The company divided into three sections, the right and left led by Vidal and Astier while Jacques kept the center. The flanking sections sent forward their first two ranks in pairs to form a loose cordon that covered the entire line while the remaining troops served as a reserve force. They'd practiced this many times outside the walls of Italica, and Jacques was pleased to see it come together on the battlefield.

Around him, however, men were less than perfect. The other companies had clearly not drilled skirmishing as well as they should, and they resembled more a mob of men without clear sections or any sort of reserve. Still, it would do for skirmishing.

"Skirmishers forward!" Major Beauregard ordered. "Advance to range and open fire!"

The major continued down the skirmish line repeating his commands, and the battalion began to head forward. There was little precision here. They didn't march as one to drums like they would in a column. In a skirmish formation, it was all up to the individual and their own initiative.

Ahead, the Elbans had closed the distance considerably. Their own skirmishers were clearly visible ahead of them, carrying bows and crossbows in a loose formation not dissimilar to the French. They partially obscured the wall of Elban infantry behind them.

Four giant coughs suddenly sounded out as a half battery of French artillery opened up on the Elbans. A fountain of earth erupted from the soil in front of the Elban skirmishers. Some of them fell in a red mist, but for the most part their loose order kept them safe. One went over the skirmishers and ploughed into a block of infantry, causing havoc among their ranks.

Regardless, the two lines of skirmishers continued to advance on each other.

The field was almost completely flat with only a few shallow dips in the ground that provided no cover. Once ploughed dry soil made for a good amount of dust as they marched over it. The clouds started to hide the men formed behind both lines and reduced the battlefield to only include the skirmishers. The cannons, no longer fully visible through the dust, sent another barrage at the Elbans which disappeared into a dust cloud.

As the French skirmish line approached the Elbans, Jacques was able to pick out more details in the Elban skirmishers. They weren't standardized like the infantry behind them. None of them were properly uniformed. Most wore very light armor, a helmet and some sort of cloth garment, and the only unifying article of clothing was a purple sash they all wore across their bodies. To match them, the French were also plagued by disuniformity, a collection of dozens of uniforms worn by former stragglers. Only Jacques's company had a single unified appearance.

The distance closed steadily.

At three hundred yards, Major Beauregard called for a halt. They didn't stop as one, like in a column, but rather different parts of the skirmish line stopped at their own pace as their officers spread word of the halt. To call their formation a line was disingenuous. It was a ragged oval of loosely formed men.

"Fire at will!" a cry spread down the formation by various officers. Jacques added his own voice to the call as it came through his company.

Bursts of fire erupted from the line. It wasn't a volley, those weren't suitable for skirmishing, but rather a collection of sharp cracks spread out over a full minute. Men crouched down, found their targets, and fired at their own paces. The result was a continuous crackle of musketry as some men loosed their second shots at the same time as others were still lining up their first. Plumes of smoke erupted with every shot, mixing with the dust cloud and creating a wall behind them that blocked all vision.

Jacques didn't carry a musket; he was an officer, so he had all the time in the world to witness the spectacle before him. Elban skirmishers went down all across their line, crumbling to the ground, tumbling backward onto others, keeling over, or clutching at wounds that appeared from thin air. Still, they continued forward. French muskets outranged their weapons by an absurd amount, and, while not very accurate at three hundred yards, the massed fire of an entire battalion of skirmishers inflicted a dreadful toll on them.

Muskets continued to flash as the Elbans ran to close the distance between them. The rapidly approaching foe made for a fantastic incentive to reload faster, and the ripple of fire from the French line rapidly increased. In their haste, men made mistakes. Firing too early, shooting while their muskets weren't quite level, and sending lead too high or too low. Still, more Elbans with purple sashes dropped to the ground.

Here it comes. Jacques saw the Elbans approaching rapidly. At perhaps a hundred yards, they stopped and raised their own weapons to retaliate. Bolts and arrows suddenly dropped on the French line like hail. It was like Italica. Jacques could see the projectiles actually flying through the air. He could hear the thwack, thwack, thwack, of bolts impacting the ground and the far more sickening thunks of bolts sinking into flesh. He watched a few men around him sprout arrows from their chests before screaming in pain or simply slumping dead.

"Hold!" Jacques shouted because there was little else for him to do. "Hold and fire! Hold and fire!"

Muskets continued their deadly continuous crackle. Now at close range, the fire was no longer inaccurate. Elbans dropped steadily as fusiliers took aim from their skirmish line. Crossbows and bows were primitive in comparison to the awe inspiring power of the musket. The rattle of musket fire seemed to drown out the world as men died by the second.

Shrieks and cries were coming from both sides of the battlefield now. Wounded and dying men competed with the deafening cracks of musketry to let out their wails. French and Elbans sounded identical when screaming in pain, and Jacques realized with horrifying clarity that unlike with Saderans he could understand the Elbans as they died.

"My friend!" someone screamed, though in the chaos Jacques couldn't discern if it was in French or German, "I saw him-"

"Christ almighty save me from this-"

"Fuck… fuck... fuck…"

"Holy Emroy guide my-"

"Oh… oh no... nononono…"

"Hold and fire!" Jacques screeched if only to drown out the voices. "Hold and fire!"

The front of Jacques's skirmish formation lost several men, so he started ordering forward men from his reserve to take their places. It was hard to get the attention of men through all the confusion, and Jacques resorted to physically dragging men forward. They reinforced the skirmish line, adding to the weight of fire leveled against the Elbans.

Smoke continued to build up around them, expanding the wall which closed off the rest of the battlefield from them. The two skirmish lines continued to pour fire into each other. Both sides reloaded as quickly as their weapons allowed them and tried to outdo the other with volume of fire. Bullets, bolts, and arrows flew freely between them, extracting death whenever they met their targets. The Elbans were clearly getting the worst of it, but the French were not immune. It was thanks only to the loosely ordered skirmish formations both sides had adopted that the death toll was not drastically higher.

It couldn't go on forever. There had to be a breaking point. Eventually someone wouldn't be able to take it anymore. The deaths would be simply too much to handle.

"Hold and fire! Hold and fire!"

Men kept shooting, and the effects of prolonged firing were now becoming evident. Minor wounds began to accumulate and exhaustion started to take effect. More than a few screamed bloody murder when they absent mindedly grabbed their muskets' barrels and scorched themselves on hot metal. Jacques watched one man forget to remove his ramrod and saw the thing go spiraling like a pinwheel into the distance seconds later. Another cut himself on the flint of his musket and had to be replaced by someone from the reserve. Tiny things that built up.

The crackle of muskets continued to sound off while bolts and arrows dropped around them. Elbans kept dropping, twisting violently as shots struck them or going down shouting with horrifying wounds. Frenchmen died too, but many more were wounded due to the difference in weaponry. Bolts and arrows, for all their terror, were simply not as effective as bullets.

That difference was being made more and more evident as French musketry inflicted a terrible toll on the Elban skirmishers.

Still, the Elbans held on with some level of desperate determination. Their arrows continued to fly in the spite of heavy losses, and French casualties steadily multiplied. Jacques's voice was hoarse from shouting. There was a limit to every man; a point at which it was all too much for him, and he just couldn't keep fighting.

As men continued to die, Jacques could feel himself approaching that limit.

But he wasn't the first. On the other side of the field, the Elbans couldn't stand it anymore. It started with a few men, but within minutes it was the whole line. They ran for it. A tide of men broke and ran, fleeing from the French skirmish line and heading back for the safety of friendly infantry.

Jacques saw this and nearly collapsed. He didn't, only because their job wasn't done yet. "Advance!" he demanded of his exhausted men. "Advance!" cried every officer in the line.

They surged forward. It wasn't a charge but it also wasn't a march. It was something in between, the best effort that tired men could muster at that moment. There hadn't been much of a formation to begin with, but what little remained collapsed when they went forward.

None of that mattered, though. The Elbans were running and once they started they could not stop. French skirmishers passed over a field of Elban dead and some had the mind to put the not-quite-dead out of their misery. They were hot on the heels of the Elban skirmishers, sending them into an even more frenzied rout.

Ahead were the blocks of Elban infantry. They presented a solid line, expecting an enemy attack to emerge from the cloud of dust and smoke before them. Instead, they met a mob of their own fleeing skirmishers.

Given the choice of facing the French or facing their comrades, the skirmishers didn't stop. The French pursuit drove the skirmishers into their own infantry where they tried to push and shove their way through the well ordered formations. Elbans pressed against other Elbans, and a wave of chaos was sent through the entire line. Officers desperately tried to sort out the situation, but it all quickly devolved into confusion.

Fifty yards from the Elban line, the French skirmishers halted.

"Fire at will!" was shouted down the skirmish line. "Fire at will!"

French musketry cut into the formations. At fifty yards, against a confused target deployed into thick formations, it was impossible to miss. Each shot took down a man, some even taking two. Screams of pain joined the panic and confusion that had already engulfed the Elban lines. The steady rattle of musketry picked up once again, and Elbans began dropping like flies.

"Like fish in a barrel," someone spat, and Jacques couldn't help but agree.

Gone was the danger. Gone was the retaliation. Now they were invincible, shooting into a mass of men who could not fight back. It wasn't a battle. It wasn't a fight even. It was murder.

More musketry was loosed into the mass of men. Some of the Elban skirmishers had managed to squeeze their way into the formation, utilizing the chaos to shove their way through. Most, however, were kept out, used as meat shields by their countrymen. They piled up at the foot of the Elban line, creating a rampart of bodies.

An Elban officer tried to end the confusion, wrangling men back into place and shouting orders to anyone who would listen. He drew a lot of attention to himself and took a bullet to the stomach while pulling a fallen soldier from the ground. Similar circumstances occurred across the line. With each officer killed, the chaos intensified.

"Pull back!" Major Beauregard suddenly shouted, sprinting up and down the skirmish line. "Everyone back immediately!"

Why? an irritated part of his mind asked. They had the Elbans in complete chaos. Surely they couldn't fall back now. This was how they would gain victory.

But Jacques was a soldier, and he knew when to follow orders. "Back!" he shouted. "Every back!"

The skirmish line pulled away from the confused riot that was the Elban line. It wasn't all at once but rather in clumps. Many men, too focused on reloading as quickly as they could, had to be dragged back. They went back three hundred yards from the Elban line. Only then was Jacques able to see the danger they were in.

On their far right flank, a mass of Elban infantry was rapidly advancing toward them. It must have been from the end of the Elban's line, where their formations extended far beyond the French ones. Now it had come to fold in on the French skirmishers from the side and trap them against the chaotic line.

They had been very close to being butchered.

French skirmishers immediately withdrew toward General Rousseau's line of infantry. They didn't have armor and they weren't in a formation, so they outran their pursuers very quickly. The Elbans were coming from the side, but the French were heading straight backwards much faster, and by some strange irony the Elbans ended up in front of the French in the same place their countrymen had just been driven back from.

Frenchmen, no longer in imminent danger, now took the time to turn and fire potshots at the Elbans, reloading as they went. A small trickle of dead soldiers began to flow from the Elban formation as they tried and failed to catch up with the French.

"Halt!" Jacques commanded. "Halt and fire!"

The rest of the skirmish line came to a halt as men turned to pour fire into the oncoming charge. Elban infantry suddenly found themselves being cut down in droves by distant flashes of fire and smoke. Their charge faltered for a moment but then took up a new vigor as men realized their only option was to go forward.

The French saw their renewed charge, let off a few more shots, then, light as a feather, fell back again. Elban soldiers chased them for a full minute, but when they were unable to catch the French with their charge, they began to slow. Their momentum spent itself sprinting over open ground. Men steadied to catch their breaths.

Then the French halted to resume firing.

Here was the value of skirmishers. A body of heavy infantry like the one before them would utterly demolish them in any sort of melee. However, the skirmishers had the advantage of mobility and firepower. They could fall back to avoid a charge like the one coming at them and then immediately turn to begin firing again once it petered out. Their mobility allowed them to constantly wear down the Elbans before them.

Jacques could imagine the Elbans' frustration. Their own skirmishers had failed to outshoot the French, so they tried to beat them with cold steel. But every time they surged forward in a mighty charge, the French would disappear like ghosts in the wind, only to then stop once the charge exhausted itself and resume their harassing fire.

Thrice more, the Elbans worked themselves into a frenzy and charged, and each time they failed to catch the French skirmishers.

Morale among the French was steadily rising. No longer were men falling to bolts and arrows. Now was the time of the musket. They were unleashing a constant storm of lead onto their hapless pursuers. Rousseau's half battery of artillery joined in as well, given easy targets by the massed formations in front of them. Six-pound iron balls bowled through formations of men and tore limbs from bodies. A breeze began to lift the clouds of smoke and dust away, and Jacques could see the damage they dealt. The open field was now carpeted by Elban bodies. Their steady progress from their initial starting position was marked clearly by a constant trickle of armored corpses.

But the French did not have an infinite field to fall back on. Their continual retreat brought them ever closer to General Rousseau's formed line of regulars and auxiliaries. They wouldn't reach there, though. Even a dullard could see the Elban infantry couldn't keep up their constant charges forever. Every man had a breaking point, and the Elbans were reaching theirs.

"Astier!" Jacques demanded.

The sergeant came running over to him, still in the process of loading a cartridge into his musket. He shouted over the gunfire, "What is it, Captain?!"

"Any second now, the Elbans will break! When that happens, I want you to get a dozen men to start carrying the wounded back!"

"You want me personally?!" he shouted over the boom of a cannon.

"No," Jacques said. "Get one of your corporals to-"

He stopped. A distant sound became barely audible under the rattle of muskets and screams of wounded. Shouts and cheers from a distant force. Beyond that, the growing rumble of hooves.

"Run," Jacques whispered. His voice caught in his throat and came out as a gasp, "Run! We need to go!"

Astier tilted his head. "I'll get corporal-"

"Forget it!" Jacques grabbed Astier by the shoulder. "Come on, we don't have time!"

It took a few moments before Astier understood what was happening, and he allowed himself to be dragged before finally taking up his own weight. "Everyone fall back!" he bellowed. "Back damn you!"

Gradually the cry was taken up across the line by officers and men alike. The skirmishers sprinted backward, their steady confidence suddenly gone. By the time they'd fallen back a few hundred yards, the cause of their retreat was readily evident.

Elban cavalry, deployed from Prince Teo's reserve, had ridden around the line of infantry and were converging on the French skirmishers. Cavalry was the ultimate counter to skirmishers. In their loosely ordered formation, they could do nothing to stop a charge of heavy cavalry. It was next to impossible to form a square. That was why armies deployed in lines and columns. The shoulder to shoulder formations were the only things capable of halting a sudden rush of enemy cavalry.

The French ran for it. It wasn't a steady jog like the one they'd run from the infantry with. This was a true panicked flight. Every man going as fast as they could, streaming backward in sudden desperation.

They had a decent lead on the cavalry. Heavy cavalry wasn't quite ideal for chasing down fleeing men; Prince Teo would have been better suited with some light hussars. But a man could never outrun a horse, no matter how weighted down it was, and the distance between them closed rapidly.

Somewhere a thousand miles ahead of him, Jacques could hear distant drums. His legs burned, and he forced himself to avoid looking behind. The mass of skirmishers continued forward.

Four cannons suddenly fired in rhythm, one - two - three - four, and belched iron balls into their pursuers. They blasted great gaps through the Elban cavalry, tearing apart ranks of horses and riders alike. Infuriated, the Elban cavalry broke into a vengeful charge.

Jacques saw salvation ahead. Saderan auxiliaries had formed themselves into squares of pikes, while their French allies were positioned safely behind the squares. There wasn't much time for thinking, so Jacques aimed himself at the closest auxiliary square and hoped for the best.

Some officer somewhere had good foresight because the auxiliaries hadn't yet lowered their pikes. Jacques caught the eye of Captain Kapsner, who by utter luck was the one who's square he'd gone for, and a last minute gap opened in the square. Jacques's men poured through, tumbling into the hollow interior like limp corpses, falling to the grass gasping for air, leaving muskets and packs sprawled onto the ground. The last man made it through, and the gap closed behind them.

The Elban cavalry, fully committed in their charge, shot toward them. The distance closed very rapidly. Four hundred yards, three hundred, two hundred…

From the throats of a dozen men at once, "Pikes ready! Level!"

The entire square transformed itself into a hedgehog of spear tips. Three ranks of pikes were leveled outward in every direction, creating an impenetrable barrier of steel tipped shafts.

...one hundred…

The Elbans didn't stop. Their momentum was too strong. They refused to back down against the same auxiliaries they'd so easily butchered just days prior. Their lances came down all at once.

...seventy, forty...

"Emroy is with us!"

...twenty...

There was a great crash. Men and horses screeched as pikes collided with them, the momentum of their charge working against them. Steel tips disappeared into horses, sending the beasts rearing up in agony and then to the ground as corpses. Riders were sent plummeting into the earth as their mounts died. Horses in the second row found themselves pressed too closely and suddenly smashed against their dying brethren in the front. Men became trapped underneath the weight of multiple dying horses, unable to free themselves before more fell atop. The Saderan auxiliaries were thrown backward by the charge. Men in the first rank shattered their pikes on impact and were pushed back, saved from falling only by men in the second and third ranks. Here and there a lance slipped its way past to strike down an auxiliary, but it was still a very one sided affair. Outranged by the pikes, Elban cavalry could do nothing but hack at the shafts with swords and thrust uselessly into air with lances.

Some dismounted, either by choice or circumstance, and tried to advance against the block on foot. Their heavy armor saved them from instant death, but the multitude of thrusts sent their way kept them at bay. Piles of dead men and horses stacked up at the front of the pike squares and impeded their movement.

"None of your hills here!" Jacques heard an auxiliary shout. "None of your tricks!" It was in Elban. "Just a fair field and fair gods!"

It became a chant. Saderans took up the call, mocking the Elbans now at their mercy. It spread to different pike blocks, becoming one unified shout.

"Just a fair field and fair gods!"

The Elbans continued futilely attacking the pike square. Many more, realizing the uselessness of attacking on horseback, dismounted and wielded their lances like long spears. Their heavy armor proved a major advantage, allowing them to shrug off most pike thrusts without injury. Still, the auxiliaries held their ground and kept the Elbans back with their long pikes. Captain Kapsner was at the front of it all, his shouts and orders encouraging the pikemen to keep fighting. The chant continued.

"None of your hills here!"

Elbans fell as pike tips began to find gaps in their armor. Those who were still mounted had pulled back, out of pike range. Those on foot began to dwindle.

"None of your tricks!"

Auxiliaries in the front ranks of the square began to advance. It wasn't an organized thing but rather a sudden impetus. Men sensed victory and pressed forward to hurry it on.

"Just a fair field and fair gods!"

There was a limit to every man, and the Elbans found theirs at that moment. The horsemen clambered away from the pike squares, fleeing in chaos like a flock of startled birds. Men on foot threw down their weapons, begging for mercy and attempting to surrender to the auxiliaries.

But the Saderans wanted blood. Men stepped forward and began butchering the surrendering Elbans. It was like slaughtering a herd of cattle. Auxiliaries drew swords and cut mens' throats without a second thought. The Elbans saw this and panicked further. Some tried to flee on foot, but they were run down by the lightly armored auxiliaries. Others threw themselves at the Frenchmen behind the auxiliaries, where surrender was more readily accepted.

Far ahead, the fleeing cavalrymen sent fear through the Elban infantry. They had already suffered dearly to French skirmishers, and now they watched the pride of their army flee in the face of the enemy. These men were levies drawn from the peasantry of Elbe. They were not professionals. What good would they be when even Elbe's knights couldn't break the foe?

They did the only sensible thing they could and retreated. Not an unorganized rout. It was a well ordered retreat to allow them time to reorganize before pressing forward again later. Their line steadily fell back, abandoning its attack.

Jacques stood, exhausted from the battle, and wondered if that was it. They'd done their part. Now it was someone else's turn. Of course, he should have known better than to presume that anyone cared.

"Captain Duclos!" Major Beauregard shouted. "Get your men back into order. General Rousseau wants skirmishers back out there. We need to pin their infantry in place!"

Jacques gave a weary salute. "Yes, sir!"

Ney closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. He exhaled, a smile creeping onto his face.

Things were going to plan.

Both of Prince Teo's flanks were now successfully pinned down. Rousseau and Brunelle had managed to shock the Elban line into confusion and delay their attack completely. Prince Teo had even committed his cavalry reserve, allowing it to be butchered against Ney's auxiliaries. Now Ney had the initiative, and he was ready to exploit it.

A grande batterie of twenty-four cannons erupted from the center. It had been firing for thirty minutes now. Colonel Delon led it personally, directing all fire against the center of Prince Teo's line. The massed fire had a very visible effect, even from a distance.

Entire formations of Elban infantry were massacred by the artillery. Large and noticeable gaps had formed in the Elban line which were constantly being plugged by Elban officers only to reappear on the next barrage. Utter chaos dominated the center. The rain of cannonballs was unceasing, and there was nothing the Elbans could do to retaliate. Constant death was everywhere in the Elban center. The corpses lined the field on which they stood, but there were too many to officers did their best at reassuring the men, but Ney knew that they were one good shove away from being sent into a complete rout.

Eight cannons had decimated the Elban army previously. Now this was three times that. They just couldn't stand that much firepower.

Ney turned to Barbier. "I believe that should suffice for softening them up. Signal for General Messier to attack. Have the Elbans under Duran go first. He is to split the Elban center like a log. Inform him that General Courbet will lead the reserve to follow up behind him."

"Sir!" Barbier replied before relaying the order to a messenger.

Ney rode to General Courbet.

"I presume it's time for the attack?" Courbet asked.

"Yes," Ney agreed. "You're going to follow up Messier's central thrust. Once he pierces Prince Teo's center you'll flood your reserves through and use them to hit the Elbans from the rear. Rousseau and Brunelle have them engaged already, so you'll be able to smash them from both sides."

Courbet looked forward. "Sounds simple enough. Will you be joining us for the central thrust?"

Ney flashed a grin. "Of course. I'll be with Messier."

"Don't die," Courbet said. Then he rode off to speak with his colonels.

Simple orders, Ney considered. I don't suppose I get a choice in that, though.

Captain Barbier rejoined Ney, and they both rode forward to Messier's line. Around them, formations of men began shifting into position. The reserves pushed themselves forward to prepare to support Messier while Feraud maneuvered his cavalry to the front of the reserves. At the front, French infantry shifted themselves into columns behind blocks of Duran's loyalists.

"General Messier," Ney greeted when he found the man. Then to the man next to him, "King Duran."

Messier eyed him up and down. "You'll be joining us for the attack, Marshal?"

"You ask that like you don't already know the answer," Ney said, grinning.

"My men are to lead your attack, yes?" King Duran asked in German.

Ney nodded. He pointed to the distant Elban center, still engulfed in chaos from Delon's cannonade. "I am going to give you an order that I once received myself. Advance, looking neither right nor left, bore into this thick mass, cost what it may."

King Duran saw where he pointed. "If I were one of your generals, I would salute you. As it is, I will merely follow your guidance."

The king spurred his horse forward. He arrived at the head of his men, four thousand Elban loyalists who'd chosen to stand with him against his son. King Duran drew his sword, and the loyalists cheered his name.

"Duran!"

"Duran!"

"Duran!"

Duran leveled his sword to point at his son's army. "Forward for Elbe!"

A cry erupted from the Elbans, and they shot forward like an arrow from a bow. The Elbans marched in their great blocks of men, but unlike Prince Teo's soldiers they had no fear of artillery blasting them apart. Behind them, General Messier led the French regulars to follow them up. Their columns were thinner, and they were used to quick marching. Ney and Barbier took a spot next to Messier at the front, all three of them clearly visible to the men. Then was Captain Delon who, without a clear line of sight on the Elban center, ordered his grande batterie to limber its guns and follow the infantry forward. Finally Courbet was at the back, ready with his reserves. Their formations swept forward across the field.

The Elbans in the center line panicked when they saw their loyalist countrymen approaching. They were still putting their formations back together when they got sight of the French center moving to attack. The rapidly advancing formations seemed to paralyze men in place.

Elban officers tried to rally their men, but King Duran was moving too quickly. The loyalists let out a final cheer before breaking into a charge. This was the kind of war they were familiar with.

Ney expected a melee to develop, it was why he'd ordered Duran's armored infantry in first, but that never happened. The disordered and spent Elban infantry watched the loyalists charge them, four thousand strong, and made a rapid assessment of their chances. First in small groups, then all in a wave, they broke and ran, sprinting away, desperate to stay ahead of the loyalists. Officers tried to stop it, but the panic was contagious and units to either end of where the line had first faltered decided they would be better off following their comrades.

However, as the center fled, the flanks were still engaged with Brunelle and Rousseau. Their lines stood in opposition to French skirmishers, but now with their center broken, they were suddenly vulnerable.

King Duran's loyalists continued to chase the fleeing center. At the same time, Messier led four thousand French regulars into the gap that had formed between the two flanks of the Elban line. They immediately marched to engage with the Elbans, lining up perpendicular to them like the cross on a T.

Volleys of musketry poured into the Elbans from the side, inflicting many casualties on the infantry blocks. Colonel Delon then advanced with his twenty-four guns against the Elban left. They came up to a hundred yards, practically point blank range for cannons, and blasted the Elbans with canister shot.

Hundreds were mowed down in the first barrage. The closest formation simply stopped existing, its men collapsing to the ground in a red mist. Musket volleys added to the death toll, creating a curtain of death that enveloped the Elban lines.

Under such an onslaught, Prince Teo's men could not hold. Their formations disappeared into a cloud of men as even officers made to run for their lives.

But then they were at the mercy of the reserve. General Courbet's men advanced rapidly to chase down the Elban right. Colonel Feraud emerged at the front, leading hundreds of cavalry, and began to run down the fleeing Elbans.

Seeing this happen, the Elban left began a steady withdrawal from the battlefield to avoid being destroyed like their comrades on the right. Ney's army was now in full pursuit of the Elban right, and he did not have enough men to also chase the left.

The battle was over at this point. What remained was simply mopping up. The left managed to escape Ney's forces, outrunning the infantry sent to harass their retreat, but the right and center were completely destroyed. French reserves managed to cut off their retreat while Brunelle's infantry came up behind to complete the snare. What resulted was the mass surrender of twelve thousand men, roughly half of Prince Teo's army, in addition to some four thousand Elban casualties. Two-thirds of the Elban army in all.

A crushing victory.

Ney gave the army time to reorganize, bury the dead, and rest.

It was a necessity after having taken so many prisoners that they spent time getting things into order. Almost all of the men they'd captured were peasant levies because very few officers had allowed themselves to be taken alive. Those that did immediately swore fealty to King Duran and promised they had only fought for Prince Teo because they'd been forced to. Regardless, the officers couldn't be trusted to join Duran's loyalists, so they were stuck with the rest of the Elban prisoners, under heavy watch by French guards who couldn't speak their language.

In the aftermath of such a total victory, Ney expected Prince Teo to negotiate. It was part of the reason why he'd elected not to pursue Prince Teo's army immediately. His army was tired, and there was no point in losing men to exhaustion when the enemy would be surrendering anyway.

A day later, however, Feraud's scouts reported that Prince Teo was marching towards Elbe. He had no intention of surrender.

The French army roused itself from its slumber and marched to follow Prince Teo, but they were a day behind, and their army was much slower. That was the price of having so many prisoners; the whole corps was slowed. Prince Teo, by contrast, had a tiny force a third of its original size.

The Elbans marched south at an incredible pace, forty miles a day. Ney's force could only manage twenty-five, and that was after he announced a forced march that cut down on all breaks and extended the marching day well past normal hours. They simply had too many men. The roads they followed were becoming clogged, and every hour there was some sort of delay that halted entire columns.

Then it began raining, and everything became worse.

The dirt roads became rivers of mud overnight. Everything from boots to supply wagons got stuck in the mud, delaying Ney's force even further. Artillery was especially bad. The thirty-six guns under Captain Delon's command were heavy beasts that required whole teams of horses to pull them. Those horses quickly became stuck in the mud, so it was then up to the infantry to try and haul the hulks of metal through mud choked roads.

They had been making twenty-five miles a day on dry roads. Now they averaged just ten. Prince Teo was hardly affected. He didn't have supply wagons filled with ammunition, and he didn't have an artillery train. His army kept up their steady pace, making thirty miles a day through the mud and growing his lead with each hour.

Eventually, Ney accepted that he wouldn't catch Prince Teo. The Elbans were headed toward Castle Tubet, a very well positioned fortress that guarded one of the only ways into Elbe itself.

He had planned to finish the campaign before he even got sight of Castle Tubet, but now it seemed he was destined to fight there. It would be a siege, so Ney sent back word to Chaucer in Italica to prepare a supply train so that they could be supplied during the siege. Then, as an afterthought, he also ordered Chaucer to raise two thousand fresh auxiliaries as replacements for the ones that had been lost.

Four days later, the French arrived at Castle Tubet.

Seen from a distant overlook, as Ney saw it now, the castle appeared to actually be two castles, each perched on an impossibly steep cliff with a massive wall occupying the valley between them. The central gate protecting it seemed to be one massive exercise in military engineering. It was made of wood but reinforced on two sides by giant iron bands that wrapped around it to reinforce against ramming. The gatehouse guarding it contained dozens of loopholes, all designed to allow defenders to pour enfilading fire into any approaching enemies. Several catapults and ballista were positioned on parts of the wall, allowing the defenders to conduct counter fire against enemy siege artillery and slaughter engineers trying to breach the walls. All this to protect the single mountain pass that allowed entrance into Elbe's mainland.

No fortress was impenetrable, of course. Given sufficient time, numbers, and artillery, any fortress could be taken; towers could be toppled, outworks seized, and eventually a battery of guns could be established close enough to the walls to break through and permit infantry to assault it. Because of this, fortresses were measured in the amount of time it took to seize them. They were investments to delay an enemy, not defeat them. Structures created with the intention of stalling an enemy long enough for friendly forces to relieve them.

Ney gazed out onto the walls of Castle Tubet and wondered how long it could last. It wasn't a modern fortress with walls designed to deflect cannonfire, but it was still imposing. A terrible feeling told him they would be there for a very long time.

I'd be lying if I said I was completely happy with this chapter. This is now my third rewrite, and each time it for some reason felt like everything was sloppy yet I couldn't seem to fix that sloppiness. I'm sure that, having read the chapter, you readers will understand where I'm coming from. Things just aren't as smooth or well written as my previous chapters, but for some reason I haven't been able to fix that. I honestly have given up trying to make it perfect, so here's what I've managed. Sorry for the poor quality.

Tomorrow I'm going to post a short little mini chapter that would be out of place if it wasn't on its own. Originally, I was planning on posting it at the same time as this one, but I feared that doing that might cause some confusion and result in people missing this chapter and only reading the mini chapter. So yeah. That's something to look forward to.