Tout est fini ...

Imperial Guard Chasseurs at Plancenoit
(Source)

The Chasseurs went down into Plancenoit at the double time, they encountered a number of men from the Young Guard and Lobau's VI Corps, both wounded and healthy, retreating back along the road into the village. Many of them took heart at seeing the Old Guard advancing into action.

Without a word, they went into the village, charging with the bayonet. The Prussians, who were resting after driving Lobau's men and the Young Guard from the village, immediately began to fall back, some, many, began to run.

The laggards were bayoneted without mercy. As the Prussians fled, the Guard stopped and fired a volley into the backs of the retreating enemy.

Sergent Guilbert noticed that many of the French who had been fleeing the burning village, were now filtering back into the ranks and taking up positions in the houses.

"Look alive lads, the bastards will be back. We surprised them, they're not done yet." Capitaine Philippe Pierlot shouted out. "Take cover in the buildings, get ready to meet them with musket fire!"

Guilbert looked around, he saw his old friend, Sergent Pierre Grandchamp to his right, he was bleeding.

"Pierre! Are you hit?"

"It's a scratch, Nicolas! I've had worse."

To their front they heard a shout, "Here they come again!"

Sergeant Hans Pizzeck was just behind the color party, his shako was long gone, his tunic was ripped, torn and filthy - but his musket was in fine shape, as was his bayonet.

As they came down the street, he could see men at the windows, readying to fire at them. Pizzeck almost didn't care, he knew, deep in his bones, that the day was theirs, they had defeated Bonaparte. It was now just a question of driving him and his minions from the field.

Prussian attack on Plancenoit
Adolf Northern
(Source)

"Jesus, there's a lot of the bastards!" Grandchamp called out as he frantically reloaded.

Guilbert aimed then fired, in the resulting smoke he couldn't see if he'd hit anybody, but the Prussians were so packed together he knew he must have hit someone.

"Ahhh ..."

Guilbert looked over, Grandchamp was down. From the amount of blood on his old friend's face, he knew that Pierre had found that death in battle that they all assumed they would find someday.

Sergent Jean-Claude Toussaint came into the room, which was rapidly filling with smoke, the place was on fire. "Time to go, Nicolas! The Capitaine has had it, a lot of the boys are dead or soon will be. We've done all we can here. Let's fall back to the next street."

Reluctantly, Guilbert turned to follow Toussaint. Stopping briefly he leaned over and touched Grandchamp's face, His eyes were staring into eternity, Guilbert knew for certain that his old comrade was dead.

"See you on the other side, Pierre. Wherever that might be."

Then he was out the door.

Pizzeck was lying against a building, he didn't feel so well. Looking down, he could see blood oozing from his midsection. There was no pain at the moment, though he knew that would come.

Hearing the firing and the shouting proceed into the next street, Pizzeck had an odd thought, "I wonder if there has ever been a battle where no one survived."

An officer, a captain he didn't recognize, stopped in front of him, "Sergeant, are you hit?"

Pizzeck lifted the hand he had been holding his gut with, it was soaked with blood.

The captain shook his head and moved on, "That one's a goner."

Pizzeck chuckled weakly, damned officers.

Attack of the Middle Guard at Waterloo
Giuseppe Rava
(Source)

Some of the men were wondering why they weren't heading up the main road to Brussels. Instead they were veering to their left, entering the torn up fields which were choked with dead and dying men and horses.

Maréchal Ney was at their head, riding his fourth horse of the day, the others had all been killed under him. He was exhausted, his hat was long gone, only his red hair made him recognizable to the troops.

"The day is ours! Advance! Vive l'Empereur! Vive la France!" Ney was hoarse, not even his aides could make out what he was saying.

Ney looked to his front, the fields were empty of the living. He saw an abandoned cannon, surrounded by the wreckage of its crew. Then he had the thought, the English are gone. The day is truly ours.

As they crested the ridge, the English appeared almost as if by magic. Ney hesitated, the Guard hesitated, then Hell came upon them.

The 3rd Regiment of Foot Guards (now Scots Guards) at the battle of Waterloo, Jun 18th 1815. Repulsing the final charge of the Old Guard.
Richard Simkin
(Source)

The front rank of Guardsmen went down in a heap, the volley had destroyed them nearly to a man. A few men tried to return fire, the officers were screaming "En avant, à la baïonnette!" But the men's natural inclination was to return fire.

Several men turned to go back down the hill, shouting "Regroup! Regroup!"

But elsewhere on the field, the supporting troops from I and II Corps raised the cry, "The Guard is retreating! We are betrayed!"

Maréchal Ney, having lost another horse, was beating the barrel of an abandoned cannon with his sword. He was screaming incoherently as his aides tried to drag him away.

"We must stand or die!" Ney cried in frustration.

"Monsieur le Maréchal, it is too late for that, the men are fleeing. We must go with them."

In nearly an instant, the Armée du Nord became an undisciplined mob, throwing their weapons away, shedding their packs, anything to help them run faster.

Along Wellington's ridge, the men who had fought for that ground all day, saw the backs of their enemy. Many began to cheer.

The Duke of Wellington, never fond of the troops cheering, called out to the troops, "No cheering lads, go forth and complete your victory!"

Uncharacteristically, the Duke raised his hat to the men. Softly, to himself, he said, "Finish them lads, soon it will be time to count the cost. But for now, enjoy your victory."