Bloody Sideshow

(Source)

Capitaine Joseph Martin fell back with the remnants of his company from the embattled bridge across the Dyle. The Prussians were fighting hard today and they would not be budged. Martin wondered why they didn't bring up the guns and blast the damned Prussians from the buildings they were holding on the far side of the bridge.

It was rapidly getting on towards nightfall and the men were starting to falter. Hard marching and hard fighting over the past few days had worn their courage down to a nub. But they weren't quite ready to quit, so when the drums began to rumble again, they were back on their feet. Ready to give it another go.

Hauptmann Kurt Langanke now found himself in command of his battalion. His men were young, inexperienced Landwehr¹, but they were holding up rather well. The problem was, due to their inexperience, they were taking very serious casualties and the officers and sergeants were continually exposing themselves to enemy fire to prevent that. Causing heavy casualties among the more experienced leaders.

His company was down to perhaps 3o men, the battalion itself mustered no more than 300. As he got the men situated in the buildings near the bridge he heard the French drums. All he could think was, "Not again ..."

Martin was hit somewhere near the middle of the bridge. One moment he was standing, leading his men forward, the next he was face down, wondering how he got there. His ears were ringing and his mouth tasted of copper. Other than the ringing in his ears, it was strangely quiet. The rattle of musketry, the screams of the men all seemed to be far away.

He felt a pang of regret, his wife Marie would be furious to learn that her husband had gotten himself shot while following "that Corsican bastard," as she referred to the Emperor, when he could have stayed home on his farm. Then he thought of his little son Claude, he smiled, then he lost consciousness.

"Where is the Capitaine?" Sergent Louis Malheur was furious, the damned Prussians were starting to fold, the fire from their positions was lessening as French cannon fire began to have an effect on the buildings north of the Dyle.

Caporal Hervé Deschamps looked towards the bridge, without thinking he got up and yelled at Malheur, "There, on the bridge, there is our Capitaine!"

Even as the words left his mouth, he was sprinting towards where he thought he saw his captain, along with Malheur and three other men. Martin was a popular officer.

Martin was dreaming, he was fishing with his father and his son. The day was warm and the sun sparkled on the water. In his dream he saw his old friend René, the dead brother of his wife. René was smiling and waving at him, he was shouting something, Martin couldn't quite make it out.

In the dream he began to wade into the river, his father and little Claude were yelling at him to stop. But he needed to hear what René was saying. As he got into the river up to his waist, he could feel the current pulling at him. He wanted to just let go and let the river take him downstream.

"That's odd," he thought. "How is it possible for René to be standing on the surface of the water?"

With a roar he came awake, he could taste the blood in his mouth and the pain in his left leg. It was no longer quiet, the roar of cannon and the shouts of men, in both German and French, filled the air. Musket shots rang out close by, why was he being manhandled?

Then he heard, "Relax mon Capitaine, we've got you, we'll get you to safety."

Somehow that comforted Martin and he closed his eyes again.

Deschamps quickly checked his captain, he was still alive. Sergent Malheur had torn the captain's trousers open where there was blood seeping through. It wasn't a serious wound at first glance, a bad contusion with a few scrapes, no serious bleeding.

Malheur noticed that the captain was bleeding from the mouth as well, he checked and was relieved to see that he had bitten his tongue pretty badly, but the bleeding was already stopping.

Deschamps spoke, "A ricochet perhaps? A glancing blow from a cannon shot?"

"It would have been nearly at the limit of it's range, unless it was one of ours bouncing back onto the bridge after hitting a house held by the Prussians." Malheur postulated.

Martin woke up, "What is going on? Am I hurt?"

"Lie back, Sir. It looks like you were bruised by a cannon shot, when you fell you bit your tongue." Malheur answered.

Martin tried to get up, Malheur pressed him back down, "Relax Sir, our fight is done for the day, the Prussians have pulled back. Apparently Pajol's cavalry crossed the Dyle further downstream and we've turned the Prussian flank. I think we've won."

"What news of the Emperor?" was Martin's first question.

"Cannon fire can still be heard to the west, but we've heard nothing. Maybe the generals know, but we don't." Malheur spat into the dirt as he said this.

Battle of Wavre
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Maréchal Grouchy held Soult's letter and paused to think. The letter was marked as having been sent at one in the afternoon, it was after six now. But the orders were the clearest he'd received yet. The Emperor had ordered Grouchy's detachment to immediately march to Mont St. Jean.

As Vandamme's troops were still entangled with the Prussians along the Dyle, he sent a dispatch to Gérard, ordering him to march to the bridge at Limal where Pajol was across in force and screaming for infantry. Grouchy determined that he would go that way as well. He sent another dispatch to Vandamme, leaving him in command of the troops near Wavre.

"Herr General!" Generalleutnant Johann von Thielmann, commanding the Prussian III Corps turned to his chief of staff.

"Yes, Clausewitz, what is it?" Thielmann was very pleased that he had held the French at the Dyle River, they still held the bridges near Wavre.

"The French are across the river at Limal, at first it was just cavalry, but there are strong infantry columns advancing now to support the cavalry."

"Scheiße! What do we have available to reinforce?"

"Oberst Stülpnagel's 12th Brigade² is in that area."

"Have him march at once, throw the French back across the Dyle!"

"Zu befehl!"

As night fell, the Prussians went in with the bayonet at Limal and were thrown back. Had there been more daylight left, it is possible that Grouchy could have rolled up Thielmann's III Corps and destroyed it. As it was, his detachment of the Armée du Nord, though battered, now lay athwart the Prussian lines of communication back to the Rhine.

As the cannonade to the west had faded to silence, many in the French army with Grouchy had high hopes that they would all march on Brussels the next day. After all, the Emperor must have defeated Wellington by now.

Certainly, how could it be otherwise?

¹ Militia-type units formed by an edict of 1814 to call all capable men between 18 and 45, not already serving with the regular army, to the colors. Hastily formed, poorly equipped but they were enthusiastic.

² A Prussian brigade in 1815 was equivalent to a French division.