Southeast of Mannheim

Le Guide
Ernest Meissonier
(Source)

"Bataille!"

Sergent Alexandre Bataille groaned when he heard his lieutenant calling his name. He had been up most of the night ensuring that the sentries were properly posted, and awake, and had just laid down to sleep. He knew that he could march all day under a full pack, regardless of weather, provided he could get at least five hours of sleep. He was learning that he could function with less sleep, just not very well.

Before he could get up he heard his corporal, Gautier Poulin, answer for him.

"Oui, mon Lieutenant? Perhaps I can help you, Sergent Bataille has been watching over the lines since midnight and has just retired to get some sleep."

Lieutenant Jacques Lemoine stopped and looked at the corporal barring his path. "Caporal Poulin, I suppose you will have to do, can't interrupt Bataille's beauty sleep, can we?"

Poulin smiled, "Certainly not, Sir."

"Now, I have good news. The battalion will not be marching at sunrise."

"That is very good news, Sir."

"But, unfortunately, I also have bad news."

"We will set out at nightfall, won't we Lieutenant?"

Lemoine grinned, "You've been paying attention to how this army operates, haven't you, Gautier?"

Poulin laughed and said, "Of course, Sir, how do you thing I made caporal? Certainly not by my looks alone."

Lemoine laughed as well, Gautier Poulin was perhaps the ugliest man in III Corps. Capitaine Deschanel had once told Poulin that no matter how well he fought, no matter how brave he was, he could never be in the Imperial Guard.

"You would look hideous on parade, no doubt you would scare the Empress' dogs to death. The Emperor would never allow that. You will always be a simple fantassin.¹" 

"When do we march Lieutenant?"

"An hour before sunset, be ready."

Chef d'escadron² Damien Bruneau was riding with his leading element, he wanted to be there when they met up with the Bavarian scouts. His orders dictated that his squadron scout ahead to the Danube, a place called Schloss Bertoldsheim to be precise.

They had a local with them, who knew a path through the forest that should lead them to the border with Bavaria. Most annoyingly, the man was on foot and refused the offer of a horse.

"Ask the stubborn bastard how much further."

One of the troopers was from Alsace, his German was good enough to converse with the Badener.

"Sir, the man says another twenty minutes and we'll reach a clearing. Which, he claims, is very near the border with Bavaria."

"Along this path?"

The trooper and the civilian had a brief conversation in German.

"Yes Sir, this path."

"Very well, tell the man he's free to go home. If he has played us false, he'll regret it. While I'm sure he knows that, impress that fact upon him." Bruneau stood up in his stirrups and waived the rest of the squadron forward. "Why wait on this fellow?" Bruneau thought, we can move at the trot and be there quickly.

Bataille woke up refreshed, he stretched and realized that he felt better than he had in days, if not weeks. Then he glanced outside of the barn the file was using as a shelter, from the angle of the sun, it had to be late afternoon. Looking around he saw Poulin.

"Gautier! Why am I still sleeping? It has to be an hour before sunset!"

Poulin came into the barn, "New orders. After you went to sleep the Lieutenant came by and let me know that the battalion would not be moving until dusk. Which is soon. I let you sleep, Alexandre, you were exhausted."

Bataille got to his feet, "Well, thanks. I was starting to feel like death warmed over. Did the men get enough rest? A night march is going to be a real trial for the new conscripts. Have the men been fed? Are the ..."

"Easy, mon Sergent, the men have eaten, they've slept, a couple even managed to bathe in the horse trough."

"Bit cold for that isn't it? Didn't I see ice on the water this morning?"

"One cannot deter the fastidious. But if they get sick ..."

Bataille laughed, "Yes, then it's on them."

As the 33rd mustered by the roadside, a party of horsemen approached. At first no one stirred, just more cavalry to push them into the fields the men supposed. But then a murmur went through the ranks. "C'est le Tondu ...³"

The men fell into formation without being told. One or two of the old republican types grumbled, they were still disgruntled about the man declaring himself emperor, regardless of the plebiscite, but for the most part, the men were excited.

"Ah, my 33rd! I'm surprised that this many of you rascals are still with the army. Davout says that you left a string of deserters and stragglers from La Manche⁴ to the Rhine!"

An old grenadier stepped out of the ranks, "Sire, that's a damnable lie! Not to question our marshal, but this is the 2nd Battalion, we've lost only two men, and Davout had them shot as an example! Since then, not a man has fallen out! You must be thinking of the 1st Battalion!"

Napoléon nudged his mount forward and looked more closely at the grenadier. "I know you. Egypt?"

"Yes Sire, Alphonse Paquin, I was with you at the Pyramids and at Acre!"

The Emperor looked at the man's sleeve, he wore a single chevron, denoting at least ten but less than fifteen years of service. Any markings of rank were conspicuously absent.

"Fifteen years in my service? And still a simple Soldat?"

"I'm sorry Sire, I am over-fond of strong drink. Also, I can neither read nor write."

"Where is your Lieutenant?"

A man stepped forward, "Here Sire, Lieutenant Augustin Lambert at your service."

"Is Paquin a good soldier?"

"He is Sire."

"Do you have any teachers in your ranks, perhaps he can learn his letters? Can't make him a Sergent if he can't read or write. How do you feel about that, Paquin?"

"If you order it, Sire, then it will be done!" Paquin barked as he came to attention and went to the present.

"I do so order it!" turning to an aide Napoléon ordered the information recorded.

"In a month, after we've defeated these white mice, I shall come and test you myself, Paquin. Understood?"

"Yes Sire!"

"Very well then, stay alive, I'll see you in a month!"

"Ah, that must the Bavarians." Bruneau looked around and spotted a non-commissioned officer. "You! Avec moi!"

Dutifully, Maréchal des Logis Louis Alain Gaudry trotted over to his commander. The Alsatian trooper accompanied Bruneau as well as the three men trotted out to the middle of the field. A small party of Bavarians awaited them there.

"Welcome to the Electorate of Bavaria, gentlemen." The Bavarian officer who spoke was well-mounted. His uniform looked very expensive. Bruneau wondered if the man was a warrior or a politician. He sounded like the latter. Though Bruneau had to admit, the man's French was very good.

"Thank you, I am Chef d'escadron Damien Bruneau of the Emperor's 6ème Régiment de Dragons, and you are ...?"

"Ah, yes, I am Major Klaus von Winzeln, Regiment Saxe-Hildburghausen. My cavalry escort are dragoons, though of what regiment I couldn't tell you, we only have two."

The Bavarian cavalry officer gave Winzeln a hash look, it was obvious the man was not well-liked by his escort.

"Technically speaking Sir, we are in Württemberg." The cavalry officer said to his charge.

"Yes, yes, Rittmeister⁵ but we are here on behalf of our master, who is Bavarian. Bavaria is but a scant two leagues from here. I'm sure the Württembergers would be upset if we said this was our territory. Especially as their master, the Duke, is overly fond of the Austrians." Winzeln scoffed as he waved a hand lazily at the young cavalry officer.

Gaudry saw the cavalryman's face turn bright red. There was an undercurrent of some sorts between these two. Thank God, I am just a simple horseman, he thought. I certainly don't have any head for intrigue.

Arrangements were made for the dragoons to bivouac as they awaited the rest of Davoust's corps. There was still much hard marching to come, but as far as anyone knew, the Austrian army encamped around the city of Ulm to the south was still blissfully unaware that the entire Grande Armée was bearing down on them.

¹ French term for an infantryman.

² Literally "squadron chief," cavalry rank equivalent to a major.

³ It's the "Shorn One" - le Tondu was French Army slang for the Emperor who tended to wear his hair short. Many of the men still wore queues, especially in the infantry of the Imperial Guard.

⁴ What the French call the English Channel. Literally "The Sleeve."

⁵ German cavalry rank, equivalent to a Captain.