November 1812: Smolensk

Napoleon's retreat from Moscow
Adolph Northen (PD)

Crossing the battlefield of La Moscova sent the Emperor into a deep depression. All of his plans had come to naught, deep within himself he realized that no matter the preparation, the planning, the ability of his generals, and the spirit of his troops, nothing could have prepared the Grande Armée for Russia.

It was simply too vast and too primitive. In western Europe he could supply his armies with a series of depots and, if needed, have them live off the land. In Russia this was not feasible. Most of the roads were primitive, the distances between cities were unbelievable and between those cities there wasn't much to speak of.

The weather had also played a factor. The summer had been hotter than had been expected. Murat's mismanagement of the cavalry had killed or weakened many horses. The artillery and the supply chain had fared not much better. By the time they had reached Moscow the army barely had enough horses to return to Poland, let alone continue on into Russia.

The tenaciousness of the Russians was hard to believe, Napoléon had heard one of his officers complaining that the damned Russian soldiery were so stubborn that it wasn't enough to kill them, one must push them over as well.

Napoléon also had to consider affairs in Paris, rumors were reaching the army concerning plots and subplots, there had even been a report that the Emperor had been killed! Napoléon increasingly began to consider returning to Paris and putting the government in order. The Empire couldn't be controlled from a distance of 700 leagues!

As they passed over the battlefield, the Emperor saw that many of the dead had been improperly buried. The crows and wolves were feasting. The bitterly cold wind, the lowering skies, all made Napoléon think that this must be what Hell was like.

In 1812
Illarion Mikhailovich Pryanishnikov (PD)

The 57th Ligne had entered Russia with five, full-strength combat battalions. They had numbered nearly 4,000 bayonets, averaging 800 men per battalion. By the battle of La Moscova, battalion strength hovered around 450 men. Now Marais realized that those five battalions could scarcely muster a thousand men, and of them barely 750 were actually fit for duty. And that stretched the definition of "fit" by a very great deal.

Marais marched at the head of the 57th's column with Chef de Bataillon Lecerf and the color party. Though the tricolor flag was long gone, the Eagle still perched atop its pole, carried proudly by the regiment. Maréchal Davout had passed the regiment on the march and remarked that he was heartened that the brave 57th, Le Terrible, still held together.

"How is Leavitt holding up?" Lecerf asked, looking back down the column.

"He is becoming a fine officer, Sir. None better, he has learned much on this campaign." Marais answered, spitting a gob of phlegm onto the side of the track. He was concerned by how much he had been coughing lately. Fortunately, there was no blood.

"Good." Lecerf continued to plod ahead. "One foot in front of the other," as he had remarked to the Maréchal. It was the only way back to France, so endure he would.

Leavitt was at the tail of the column along with Sergeant Kléber and a select party of men. It was their job to keep the column closed up and discourage the men from straggling. But the 57th was a veteran regiment, straggling wasn't really a problem. Unless one counted the men who simply fell over and died as the march continued in the brutal cold.

The Retreat of Napoleon’s Army from Russia in 1812
Ary Scheffer (PD)

In truth, the army seemed to be dissolving with each passing day. At night, there were those who simply collapsed at their bivouac after the day's exertions. Most of them would be dead by morning, frozen to the ground they had slept upon.

Some, early in the retreat, had slipped away, deserting the army, thinking to surrender to the Russian army. Those caught by the Cossacks were cut down, those worthies had no use for ragged prisoners. Those caught by the peasants were killed slowly. Those people remembered the summer before when the Grande Armée simply took what they wanted, and often destroyed what remained.

Desertions were few now, staying with the army was a possible death sentence, leaving the column was certain death. Men marched until they fell.

Many stragglers gathered at the rear of the march, throwing away their weapons and anything not needed for basic survival. A vast crowd followed the army, leaving a trail of dead. Not all were men, many women and children followed the army. Few made it out of Russia.

Sunny days were bad, the glare from the snow blinded many, who would then stumble from the column and wander off to be slaughtered by the Cossacks. Men learned to wrap a scarf or some other cloth around their faces, leaving only a small slit to look through.

Then the clouds would gather and the snow would fall, making the march much more difficult as the men and the few remaining horses struggled through the drifting snow.

Marais looked around himself, and despaired.

An Episode from the Russian Campaign
Nicolas-Toussaint Charlet
(Source)

"Sire."

The Emperor stirred, he had actually dozed off in the saddle, "What ... What is it, Rapp?"

"Smolensk, Sire. We've arrived."

Napoléon shook himself, then looked to the near distance, indeed, it was Smolensk. Perhaps they could winter here, it seemed that the only Russians nearby were scattered Cossack bands.

As he thought of the Cossacks, he thought of the vial of poison he now wore around his neck. He would not give the Czar the pleasure of being made a prisoner.

The Russians, where might they be? He now believed that the Russian army trailed the Grande Armée by a few days march. Little did he realize that Kutuzov and the main Russian force weren't that far away. Only the Emperor's reputation kept them at bay. Kutuzov hesitated to confront Napoléon directly. Let the elements kill the French and their allies was his thought.

But events would force his hand. As they would force Napoléon's hand.

There would be no rest in Smolensk.

October 1812: Les Cosaques

Napoleon and His Staff Surprised By Cossacks, 1812
Unknown Artist
(Source)

A commotion was heard not far from the track the Emperor and his party were following. Almost immediately one of Napoléon's bodyguards grabbed the reins of the Emperor's horse and moved the mount behind him and another soldier.

Maréchal Berthier saw what was happening, as did the commander of the duty squadron, fortunately this day it was a squadron of the Chasseurs à Cheval of the Imperial Guard. He bellowed out, "Sire! Cossacks!"

From a nearby small wood a sizeable party of Russian cossacks, having seen the staff officers but not necessarily the Emperor, were spurring hell for leather at the Emperor and his staff.

Général de Brigade Jean Rapp, son of a janitor in Colmar, led the Guard into the attack. Though still suffering from wounds received at La Moscova, Rapp didn't hesitate. Saber drawn he led the Guard into the attack.

The quick response of the Imperial Guard light cavalry had surprised the Russians, thinking them to be staff men they pressed their attack, only to be met fiercely by perhaps the finest cavalry in the Grande Armée.

A number of Cossack saddles were emptied and at least one Guardsman could be seen on the ground, unmoving. Even the Emperor had drawn his sword. He noticed that his hand was trembling.

"Berthier!"

"Sire?"

Quietly he whispered to his Chief of Staff, "I wonder if perhaps a vial of poison might be acquired for me, quietly mind you. My capture would be catastrophic."

"I shall see to it, Sire."

Retreat of the French Grand Army from Moscow, intercepted by Russian Cossack, 1812.
Edward Orme (PD)

Lieutenant Pierre Marais marched with the survivors from the 2nd Company of the 2nd Battalion of the 57th Ligne. Reinforced by the nearly destroyed 4th Battalion, the 2nd Company had been at nearly full strength marching into the fight at Maloyaroslavets.

They had lost heavily at that fight, being reduced to 75 effectives. Chastain and Leavitt were still with the Eagle, as was Soldat Plouffe, Sergeant Kléber was the sole surviving NCO. The fight had proven disastrous for the NCO ranks as they had been shot down trying to get the rank and file to stand, then to counterattack. Marais knew the names of most of the men, but some seemed new.

He had asked Chastain about that, "They are stragglers, Pierre. Good soldiers, they've left their parent companies as those units fall apart. The wish to return alive to France, they know their only chance is to stay with a unit still under discipline. That's us it would seem."

Marais nodded, on the horizon they could see the ever-present Cossacks. They would swoop in to cut down stragglers or to steal unprotected baggage. They were a constant threat.

"Damned vultures, the lot of them." Lieutenant Leavitt spat on the snow in their direction.

"If they get close, tell the men to shoot at their horses. Without them the Cossacks are no threat." Marais gestured at three Russians who were far too close for his liking.

Five men near the Eagle fired a volley, two Cossacks were unseated and one horse fell to thrash in the snow.

"Quickly!"

Marais and three others dashed out. One of the Cossacks lived long enough to feel a French bayonet plunge into his belly, the other was already dead, as was the horse.

They searched the dead men and slashed meat from the flanks of the dead horse, stuffing their bloody treasure into their haversacks. The Cossacks had been carrying pistols, their corpses were relieved of those plus the ammunition for them.

"Back, back, get back to the column!" Chastain screamed, drawing his sword.

The men waded back through the deepening snow, one turned to fire which sent another Cossack into eternity.

"Captain! Run!!" Leavitt screamed.

Marais turned in time to see Chastain slash at one of the Cossack ponies, opening its throat. But another Cossack had lowered his lance and ran it through Chastain's body.

More of the 57th swarmed from the column, driving the Cossacks back. But it was too late for Chastain.

"Pierre, in my tunic, ah God that hurts ... There is a letter, for my wife, would you ..."

Chastain died without another word. Marais found the letter and something else ...

A map!

"You see here, André? That's where we fought on the Moscova!"

Leaning in to peer more closely at the map, Marais saw the name of a small village near the battlefield. "Hhmm, Borodino, guess that's what some will call the battle. People like naming battles after towns, not rivers I suppose."

Leavitt was now looking at the map, "This is a very good map of the terrain all the way back to the Nieman River. Perhaps we should give this to the general."

Marais snatched the map back, "I think not, my friend. The generals will see to themselves and the larger part of the army. We can use this to stay alive. Do you see this?" He asked, pointing to some symbols on the map.

Leavitt looked, then realized, "This shows the supply depots along the route!"

"Shh ... No sense letting everyone know. We take this to Lecerf, him I trust."

That night, Marais and Leavitt brought the map to Chef de Bataillon Lecerf.

"Where did you get this?" Lecerf asked as he studied the map.

"It was in Captain Chastain's coat pocket. After the Cossacks had cut him down, before he died, he asked that we deliver a letter to his wife. This map was with the letter."

"Did you promise to deliver it?"

"Of course, Sir. Chastain was a good man, though a foolish one."

"Foolish how?" Lecerf asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"He drew his sword to fight off the Cossacks, he should have run with us, the column was preparing to fire. His death was needless." Marais explained.

Lecerf nodded, "Did he hurt any of them?"

"He did kill one of their ponies." Leavitt said.

"Well, that's one less Cossack to harry us, I suppose."

Marais scoffed, "He'll have another horse by nightfall."

"Don't be too sure, have you noticed that the regular Russian army isn't to be seen?" Lecerf pointed out. "They're struggling in this weather as well. The Cossacks don't have unlimited mounts."

"I suppose we can hope." Marais said.

"And pray!" Leavitt added in an earnest tone.

Lecerf shook his head, "I think God has abandoned us in this frozen hell. You can pray, but he might not hear you. Perhaps the Almighty has washed his hands of us. Did you know that the Russians refer to the Emperor as the Antichrist?"

Marais looked confused, "The Anti-what?"

Leavitt spoke up, "The Antichrist will show up before the Second Coming, he is the son of Satan. He will try and destroy the world before Jesus can save us!"

Marais shook his head, "Look around André, we are destroying ourselves, what need do we have of an Antichrist?"

Leavitt looked about to speak when Lecerf held his hand up, "We can argue theology later, right now we need to build up our fires and post sentries, night will be upon us soon. And as you can see, it's not going to be a very pleasant night."

The men looked around, and sure enough, the snow was falling once more.

Well, How About That?

OAFS Photo

A week ago we had a weather event which brought a bunch of the white stuff to the region. Wasn't really a whole lot, my guess is three to four inches (at least that's what I cleaned off the top of my car). It was also enough for the neighbors to break out their snowblowers.

It was also the first time that I could watch it snow and not worry about having to get up in the morning and go to work. People had told me what an awesome feeling that was. Now I know, and I most wholeheartedly concur. It's an awesome feeling.

I like snow. Being from Vermont one gets used to the idea of seeing the stuff from about November to March, sometimes April. But even we old Vermonters get tired of the stuff after a while. Not having to go work makes me tolerate it a bit more, I think.

Anyhoo, you're not seeing an historical fiction post today for two reasons, first and foremost, those posts don't generate a lot of hits, nor a lot of comments. I know some of you really enjoy them (looking at you, Joe Lovell) for others I sense a rather large "meh" factor. If it's not about Americans and if it's got weird foreign names, folks tire of it quickly. I don't, but ...

(For those of you breathing a sigh of relief that you won't have to read about Frenchmen from two centuries ago struggling in the depths of winter in Russia, don't celebrate just yet. I mean to continue that story until the end of that campaign. I live and breathe that stuff, so I write about it. For those who are missing that stuff, read that preceding sentence again. As Yogi Berra said, "It ain't over until it's over.")

And secondly, I took some photos during the aforementioned storm and hadn't really looked at them since. Today (Monday for me) I looked at them and saw this ...

OAFS Photo

Uh Sarge, it's a picture taken out of your window with the glare of indoor lights upon it, what's the big deal?

Well, when I took the photo I had a reason to do so, and yes, I'm going to belabor you with that reason. For on the Book of Faces I use the following Currier & Ives print as my cover page ...

Source

So as I was walking through the dining room the day after the aforementioned snow storm, I glanced out the window and saw something which reminded me of that Currier & Ives print. So I took a picture of it, decided that because of the glare on the window the photo was ruined, I sort of forgot about it.

Here's what I saw which reminded me of the print, and which I tried to capture on my cellphone ...

OAFS Photo

Do you see what I see? (Way up in the sky little lamb ... Oops, wrong season, but I love that song. Love Christmas as well, but that's not for another ten months ...)

The tree, the peak of the house roof behind it, a bit different in size, but the elements are there, the quality of the light is similar, yes?

Side by side ...

When I put them beside each other, the similarities are, to me at any rate, striking. At least that's what my mind pinged on, that's why I took the photo. But there's that weird glow from the chandelier in the dining room which made me feel that the photo had been "ruined." Reexamining it, I saw the details of the chandelier (which, I must add, The Missus Herself hauled all the way from Prague to Little Rhody, via Germany of course) and thought, wow, that's kind of awesome. The warm glow of the dining room chandelier juxtaposed with the cold of a dying winter's day. Look again ...

OAFS Photo

I mean, it's kind of cool, innit?

Or is it just me?

Well, I was fascinated by that photo (which I had written off as being "no good") which is one reason why you get no history today. Yup, wanted to write about that, so you get to read about it.

Also, The Missus Herself and I were out and about shopping for garbage disposals and decided to have dinner while we were out. In other words, we got home late-ish and I didn't really feel like doing the research necessary for the history lesson.

Which some of you apparently don't care for.

Which is why I now understand why my freshman history professor was always looking out the window at the school's clock tower during his lectures.

Not all of us are passionate about certain subjects. But for those who are, Lieutenant Marais et al, will be back.

Soon¹.

¹ Some of you will see that as a promise, some as a threat. Oh well, can't please everybody.

Busy again

What a week! Even Enrico Rastelli* could not have juggled all the things going on at Rancho Juvat quite as well as the Boss Lady has. Similarly, I don't think Steppin' Fetchet could have outdone me in the Lift and Carry role. Busy, Busy, yet somehow I slept well at night. However, the following mornings did require a bit of stretching as well as a hefty coating of Ben-Gay to get me started.

Two major projects in the process. First is renovation of our old house. The plan is to turn it into a BnB. It seems to be coming along nicely although, as with any project, there's been a hiccup or two (dozen). Our contractor is doing a great job while also warning us about and explaining how to overcome some of the problems that an older manufactured home might have. For instance, as anybody who's spent even a night in Texas will tell you, the water is hard. The shower in the master bath was pretty well caked in calcium. His guys tried every trick in the book to get it cleaned off and failed miserably. He then quoted us a replacement of the shower stall. Which we approved. The stall was taken out of the shower encasement, but could not be taken out of the bathroom. It wouldn't fit through the bathroom door.

Well....Nuts! The only way to get it out was to saw it into smaller pieces. However, the second half of the project...Well... Elmer's glue isn't waterproof.

So...We've now got a tile enclosed shower (or will have shortly, aka Today or Tomorrow). Looks pretty nice! But...There is a cost.

Not quite finished yet, needs grouting

As most of you well know.

The other project the contractor is handling is painting the house. Again, 20+ years, raising two kids through their teen years is hard on paint. Thankfully, this project is going quite well (knock on wood) and should be finished today, maybe tomorrow. Then it's clean up the area for the contractor and we can begin resetting the house into our BnB setting. Mrs J will mastermind that phase, I will resume my Stepen Fetchet role.

Yay!

Oh, and by the way our 3200 cubic foot dumpster was filled to capacity when it was hauled off. Junk truly does expand to fit available space.

While going through boxes of stuff, deciding "keep" or "trash", I did find an interesting piece of memorabilia.

Weathered a bit, but...

As to the main house, we are also doing a lot of schlepping. Quite a bit of stuff in the attic and garage that we thought were treasures when were moving in, but in the ensuing years have lost a bit of their allure. Not all of it, but quite a bit. So, again, one side of the garage is keep, the other is "To da dump, to da dump, to da dump, dump, dump." (Sung to music)

My office is about 90% ready. The boxes of stuff packed away to depersonalize and declutter just need to be put in the storage closet. The stuff to dispose of is gone. Mrs J's office that she uses for her travel agent stuff is coming along nicely, However, she has to be a bit more careful on what she's throwing away than I.

So, I'm ahead in that horse race.

Enough griping, juvat! Tell us some good news!

Bien sûr, mon sergent!

There is a reward at the end of this operation. Mrs. J has put together a little vacay for the Family. On the 28th, She and I, MBD, The Rev, Magster and Leon' will be departing from Austin to a place named after an actor named Greenstreet. Little J, LJW and MissB will be joining us there. We'll spend a day or so, getting over jet lag, then boarding a cruise ship and explore that corner of the world for a couple of weeks.

I hear they make excellent wine down under.

The next Post or two will be interesting, I think.

Peace out, y'All!

*Enrico Rastelli is considered the World's most talented juggler. The linked site has a lot of interesting yet little known and near useless information on it. Good for a read while sitting on the pot. Ask me.

October 1812: La Tête de Pont

Fighting at Maloyaroslavets
Alexander Averyanov
(Source)

Dawn came, and with it came a large Russian force. The French were thrown out of the village but managed to hang on to their small bridgehead (tête de pont). As the Russians regrouped to push the French into the river, the bulk of Viceroy Eugène's IV Corps arrived and were immediately thrown into the attack. Général de Division Delzons led them in person, sword drawn, on foot with his men.

The 2nd Battalion of the 57th Ligne was positioned on the flank of the attack, in reserve for the moment. They were spectators to the furious French attack which drove the Russians out again.

"Are we going in, d'ya think?" Captain Chastain asked Lieutenant Leavitt.

Drawing his greatcoat cuff across his face, Leavitt turned to look at the mapmaker, "Yes, look beyond, the Russians are coming on again. We won't be spectators for long."

Chef de Bataillon Lecerf had sent a man back up the road, giving the man his own horse as he didn't have one. Davout and the I Corps had to be back there, somewhere. Though he would commit his battalion here if necessary, he was worried that the Viceroy might throw them in with no thought as they weren't his own.

He watched as Delzons mustered the troops for another attack into the village. The General looked in his direction, "Come on, Lecerf! I need more men, yours look fresh!"

Though reluctant, he signaled to his remaining drummers and then drew his sword, lifting it in the air he ordered, "En colonne, avancez!¹"

The 2nd Battalion went in behind the leading troops of the 84th Ligne, many of whom were cut down by the first Russian volley. Lecerf was screaming now, "Avec la baïonnette, attaquez, attaquez, attaquez!²"

The Russians were attempting to reload when the 2nd smashed into them. Had their officers been better schooled in the art of war, they would have fallen back. The regiments to the rear were all loaded, but the men in front screened them, they took the brunt of the charge.

Marais couldn't believe his eyes, no one ever stood for a bayonet charge, it was very rare. But these Russians had stood, and they didn't seem to be in a mood to run either.

Marais kept chanting, "tuer, tuer, tuer,³" as his men drove their blades into the men before them. A Russian to his front brought his weapon up, as if to fire, Marais drove the butt of his musket into the man's face.

The screams and the smell of blood, piss, and shit were nearly overwhelming. The Russians fought like madmen, one man, a sergeant, had to be bayoneted multiple times before he went down.

"Sergeant!!" Marais heard a man scream, it was Soldat Plouffe, from Calais, very near.

Plouffe was desperately fighting with a huge Russian grenadier and was losing. Blood was pouring from a gouge on Plouffe's face, as the Russian drew back to drive his blade into Plouffe, Marais took the man in the armpit, the bayonet entering almost to the muzzle of his musket.

The Russian turned in surprise, blood welling from his lips. He had been on the brink of killing the Frenchman to his front, only to be skewered by a man he hadn't seen. His bloodlust had sealed his fate.

As the Russian sank to his knees, his greatcoat stained with blood, he snarled "Svoloch'⁴" and then collapsed.

As Marais looked to his men, the Russians began to run, he screamed, "Form line, reload! Quickly!"

The fighting raged on, the 2nd Battalion held its position, losing men at a steady rate. Just when it seemed that they would be thrown from the village again, there was Delzons.

His hat was gone, his face was powder-stained, his uniform torn and filthy. He raged and swore as he led the remnants of his division into yet another assault on the village.

He turned to scream at his men, "Vive l'Empereur!"

They answered with the same cry and drove into the wilting Russian forces before them. As the Russians began to give ground and run, a final series of volleys rang out.

When the smoke had cleared, and the Russians had fled, Général de Division Alexis Joseph Delzons, commanding the 13th Division of Vice-roi d'Italie Eugène de Beauharnais' IV Corps of the Grande Armée, lay dead in the street, two musket balls to his head had laid the general low.

"We cannot stay here, Sire, the Russians will certainly regroup and hold here. It's a natural choke point. Though they have lost heavily, so have we. They can afford it, we cannot." Maréchal Louis-Nicolas Davout looked as grim as the angel of death.

The Emperor snapped his glass shut, handed it to an aide and said, "Yes, Davout, we must retrace our steps. We must travel via Borodino, this way is closed to us."

Napoléon knew it was foolhardy, to the southwest was untouched by the ravaging armies, he would have gone that way but Kutuzov, for once, had outmaneuvered him.

"Berthier!"

"Sire?"

"Issue the necessary orders, we must make Smolensk in record time and we must go out the way we came in."

Berthier thought to speak, then held his tongue. He had been with the Emperor for many years, he could sense the Emperor's rage and having borne the brunt of that rage many times, he stayed quiet. Before he could ride off though ...

"Damn it man, do you wish an engraved invitation?!? Move, move, activity, speed, I recommend them to you!!"

"Sire!"

Berthier was used to it, so he took it. He would issue the necessary orders and the army would retreat through a barren wasteland, in the winter.

And it was snowing again.

¹ In column, advance!

² With the bayonet, attack, attack, attack!

³ kill, kill, kill

⁴ Bastard!

October 1812: La Voie est Barrée

Général de Division A J Delzons in the battle for Maloyaroslavets 24 October 1812
Alexander Averyanov
(Source)

"You boys lost?"

Marais looked up, a staff officer had ordered them into a passing column, unbeknownst to the staff officer and to Chef de Bataillon Lecerf, the column belonged to the wrong corps!

Marais looked at the man, "What brigade?"

"Brigade Huard, Division Delzons, 4th Battalion, 84th Ligne¹. You?" the man, a sergeant pointed at his shako, which was covered in oilskin.

Marais realized, his shako was new to him, taken from a dead officer in 3rd Company, and did not have an oilskin. He realized that the man had seen his shako plate which declared him to be a member of the 57th Ligne.

"We're 2nd Battalion of the 57th, Brigade Teste, Division Compans. You're not with Davout."

"No, we're with the Emperor's stepson, the Viceroy of Italy."

"Damn. We are lost." As Marais looked around, wondering how to correct the situation, Che de Bataillon Lecerf rode up.

"Keep heading this way with these troops, we'll get things sorted tonight. The rest of I Corps is behind us, for now we'll march with the IV Corps, I doubt the Viceroy will complain!"

"General, the enemy holds the village and the bridges across the River Luzha have been destroyed. But there is a dam we might cross."

Général de Division Alexis Joseph Delzons had his map out, he had understood the Italian cavalryman's heavily accented French, much of the IVth Corps was Italian, and located the village, Maloyaroslavets. These Russian names are impossible.

"Thank you, Sergeant. Would you lead us to this dam?"

"Certamente, il mio generale!" the Italian began to walk his horse back the way he had come. "Follow me!"

Delzons sent his aides to have the lead brigade come forward at the double. The brigade consisted of four understrength battalions of the 84th Ligne and a single misplaced battalion from the 57th. All told some 1250 men, which was strong for this stage of the campaign

2nd Company was leading the battalion's column, with their reinforcement by the remnants of the 4th battalion, they numbered 187 bayonets. Stronger than when they had entered Russia, but it was a mixed bag, the men of 4th Battalion were demoralized from having their unit amalgamated with the 2nd Battalion.

Marais had the men in proper column, not the straggling column of a road march but a column prepared to deploy into line, should the need arise. Captain Chastain followed suit, the men of the 4th falling in behind Marais' men.

Chastain jogged up to where Marais was leading the column, just behind Chef de Bataillon Lecerf, who had dismounted and marched with the party surrounding the battalion's Eagle.

"What's the hurry, Pierre?"

"We're going into action, the Russians hold the village and now you know as much as I."

Chastain's face went pale at the thought of going into action, he had not been under fire the entire campaign. Indeed, he had never been under fire in his three years with the army.

"Have your men fix bayonets, I doubt we'll stop to give them a volley!"

Delzons' men crossed the river along a dam, a number of men slipped off into the river due to icy conditions. Few of them would survive the night in the frigid air. The men of Huard's brigade smashed the Russians facing them and moved on up onto the hills beyond the village.

Upon arrival at the river, Lecerf's men assisted in throwing a pontoon bridge over the Luzha. When that task was complete, the men of the 57th sought shelter in the ruined village.

Marais ordered a party of men to search for anything useful in the ruins. His second thought was to build fires to warm themselves. Building bridges was wet work and a number of the men were soaked. They were already shivering.

Chastain offered his men to prepare defenses, "The Russians will hit us in the morning. If we are thrown out of this village, or rather what's left of it, I don't fancy our chances. There is something of a walled villa nearby, it would hold the company nicely, I think."

"Very well, take your boys there. Loophole the walls, don't let them burn the gates or we'll have nothing to keep the Russians out." Marais then looked to the northeast.

"I'm afraid our path to Kaluga might be blocked at this point. If the Russians punch hard enough, we might have to retrace our steps.

¹ Line, short for Régiment d'Infanterie de Ligne, Infantry Regiment of the Line.