November 1812: Berezina, La Glace s'est Brisée¹

The Berezina in Winter
Source

"The Russians are in Borizov?" Napoléon asked, looking at his map spread on the floor of the small peasant hut. The Emperor, as was his custom, was on his hands and knees to closely study the large scale map.

"Yes, Sire. But there is worse news." The scout stood at attention, he was very nervous.

Napoléon looked up, "At ease, my son."

The cavalryman, one of the Guard Chasseurs à Cheval visibly relaxed.

Grinning, the Emperor asked, "What could possibly be worse than a contested river crossing in the dead of winter?"

"The bridge is down, Sire, and the ice, the ice on the river, has broken. The Berezina is flowing."

Napoléon got to his feet, closed his eyes, and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, that is worse. Much worse."

The Chasseur snapped to attention, "Apologies, mon Empereur."

Grasping the sleeve of the man's jacket with his left hand, he placed the right on the Chasseur's shoulder, "It isn't your fault lad, return to your squadron, you have my thanks. And ..." he turned to Berthier.

"A gold Napoléon for our intrepid scout." He noticed a look pass over the Chasseur's face.

"You'd rather something else?" There was a hint of disappointment in Napoléon's voice.

"Nothing to buy out here, Sire," nodding towards a small table near the door, he continued, "that heel of bread would be better, begging your pardon, Sire."

The Emperor nodded, smiling he said, "Take the entire loaf, I'm sure your messmates will appreciate it as well."

"Yes Sire, thank you."

After the man left, Napoléon turned to his generals, "Well gentlemen, it seems we are in the shit. What next?"

Lecerf nodded after reading the message from Maréchal Davout, "Thank you, tell the Maréchal we shall move at once."

Turning to his two remaining officers, he sighed, "Well boys, looks like the Russians have destroyed the bridge over the river."

"Can't we cross on the ice?" Leavitt asked.

Marais shook his head, the air had felt warmer that morning, "F**king ice is gone, isn't it?"

Lecerf nodded again, spat in the snow, then said, "The river ice has broken up, there will be no crossing over on the ice. Worse yet, we'd have to throw up a bridge under fire, with drift ice fighting the engineers all the way."

Marais spoke again, "We left the bridging trains behind, didn't we?"

Lecerf looked around, "Yes, we did. But right now, Davout wants us to move further up the river, to Studienka. Apparently we will cross there."

Source

"Eblé, just how do you intend to bridge the Berezina?" Napoléon hoped that Jean Baptiste Eblé had some trick up his sleeve. He had ordered the man to destroy the bridging train and especially the mobile field forges the Grande Armée used. There was no sense to letting that technology fall into Russian hands.

"We can tear down the village of Studienka for the necessary materials, I," here Eblé hesitated, "I still have my tools and forges, Sire. I deliberately disobeyed your order to destroy them. I assumed that there would be time enough to do so, if needed."

Napoléon stared at Eblé for a moment, his engineer paled under his gaze.

Then he spoke, "And thank God that you did. Get to work."

Anno 1812. Kapitein Benthien aan de Beresina²
Lawrence Alma-Tadema (PD)

Marais harried the tale of the column, cannon fire could be heard in the distance. He'd been told that three Russian forces were closing on the survivors of the Grande Armée.

"We need to get up to Studienka and screen the engineers. If they don't get a bridge across the river, we're all going to die here. March lads! Your lives certainly depend on it!"

The men left were the tough ones, the ones who refused to die. They didn't complain, they soldiered on with a grim resolve. Marais saw one man stumble, his comrades helped him up.

"I'm not dead yet, you bastards. I'll be back in Paris before the spring. I'll say hello to your girlfriends and tell them how bravely you all died!" the soldier yelled out as he resumed his place in the column. Several of the men near him simply nodded, there was no quit in these soldiers.

Marais ran his sleeve over his eyes, he blinked and thought to himself, "The Emperor doesn't deserve these men."

Dutch Soldiers at the Battle of the Berezina
Jan Hoynck van Papendrecht (PD)

The army was beginning to move. Eblé's men had built two bridges, a number of his men had been swept away during the construction, but the bridges were in, the army was crossing.

Russian forces under Wittgenstein were pressing Victor's men hard. But they stood and fought like lions. Many of the troops covering the crossing were Dutchmen, they seemed to fight all the harder knowing that their countrymen were the ones who had built the bridges.

They fought and they died, less than a third would survive the battle.

¹ The ice has broken. (French)

² Year 1812 Captain Benthien on the Berezina (Dutch) Général Eblé's men were mostly Dutch. He had taken untrained men, for the most part, and during the campaign turned them into very good bridging engineers. These men suffered badly from working in the icy water. Eblé himself would die in December from being in that water with his men. Well Seasoned Fool would know men like this!

November 1812: Le Sauvé¹

Retreat from Moscow
Franciszek Kostrzewski

Lecerf let the pony make its own pace, he was satisfied to keep the column in sight and keep the animal going in that direction. He was wary of his surroundings, where there had been one Cossack, there were probably others.

He had taken the Cossack's furry, and very verminous, cap for his own. It was made of some sort of sheepskin, as near as he could tell, it was that filthy. But it kept his head warm and with the lady's scarf he had "liberated" from a corpse, his face was now protected as well.

He had taken the Cossack's pistol and shot, as he had no more ammunition for the one he had taken from the dead lancer. He had also appropriated the Cossack's saber. Though the man's garments had been filthy, his weapons were well taken care of.

He had a bag of fodder for the pony, the Cossacks were well known for taking care of their mounts, and a stale crust of bread, also taken from the dead Cossack.

Lecerf ached all over, when the cannonade had struck the brigade he had been caught up in the general retreat. He had tried to stop the men from panicking to no avail. He had been knocked down in the retreat and trod upon by more than one man, desperate to live.

He looked up, the tail of the  column he was chasing was nearly at the horizon, in a few moments they would be over the small rise and lost in the terrain and the swirling snow. He nudged the pony to go just a bit faster. As he did so, he heard a shout behind him.

More Cossacks!

Marais was with the rear guard, he was determined to bring the survivors of the 57th out of Russia, but the cold and the exhaustion of the men was defeating his efforts.

"Martin! Get on your feet lad, one foot in front of the other! Come on now!"

As he reached the man who had collapsed, he saw that all of his exhortations would be futile, Martin had collapsed and died. Just as his will had given out, so had his body.

"Damn it!" he snapped at no one, at nothing.

"Lieutenant, we are being pursued." The calm voice of Sergeant Christophe Blanchard made him look down the track, littered with French corpses.

Not far off, perhaps at twice a musket shot was a man on one of those tough little Cossack ponies. Further beyond, at 12-pounder range², was a party of perhaps a score of Cossacks. Marais wondered why the single horseman was so far in front of his comrades.

"Sergeant."

"Sir?"

"Muster me a firing party."

"Sir!"

As Blanchard selected the men he would need, all still armed, all still ready to fight, Marais saw a puff of smoke from the larger party. Why would they be firing at one of their ...

"Stand by Sergeant, the man in front is French, the others are Russians."

"How can you tell?"

"Well, the larger party fired on the single man, he's either one of ours or a deserter."

Lecerf heard the ball whistle past his ear before he heard the pop of the Cossack's carbine to his rear. He dug his heels into the pony's flanks and the shaggy beast sped up.

To his front he saw that he had been noticed, a ragged line of men was forming, muskets at the present. Good Lord, was he to be shot by his own army?

He started screaming at the top of his lungs, "Vive l'Empereur!" and he continued to scream as he drew within musket range.

"That's no Cossack, Lieutenant. He rides like an infantryman!"

Marais watched as the pursuing Cossacks drew their sabers and began to scream "Oorah!" as they got closer to the lone man ahead of them. They scented blood and had no fear of the ragged column from Napoléon's wrecked army.

"Steady lads, the one in front is one of ours. Be ready to take that second bunch under fire. Steady lads ..."

The lone horseman knew his business, veering his mount at the last second to avoid the line of soldiers, their muskets now at the ready.

"FIRE!!"

The lead Cossacks tried to rein in their mounts, they hadn't expected to be fired upon. Nevertheless, five ponies crashed to the earth and two other saddles were emptied by the close range volley.

Lecerf's pony collapsed as he reined up in the midst of a number of angry looking soldiers. With a bayonet in his face, he stood up. Having seen one man's shako plate with the "57" upon it, he threw off the Cossack's filthy cap and roared ...

"So you'd bayonet your own commander?!!"

The man who had been about to skewer him went pale, "Chef de Bataillon Lecerf? Is it you?"

"No, you simpering ape from the slums of Marseilles, it is my f**king ghost!"

Then he looked towards the horse which had saved his life, "No ..."

The men were already butchering the dying animal.

Marais looked with concern at his battalion commander, "That nose needs to be looked at, Sir. It is white as the snow, I see red patches forming. Sir, you have frostbite."

Lecerf touched his nose, it felt like ice. He began to try and rub it to get his circulation going. "Where is the Brigade surgeon, I'm ugly enough without losing my nose."

Marais shrugged, "He is back in Krasnoi, perhaps he made it out, we haven't seen him since the cannonade."

"What is the holdup here?" a very perturbed Lieutenant Leavitt had arrived, his face went pale as he saw Lecerf.

Lecerf chuckled, "So you have the battalion now, André?"

"No Sir, I have the brigade, well, now I guess you do. We have three hundred or so left." Leavitt glanced at Marais.

"We've lost ten or so in the last hour, but three hundred is close enough. We should get moving again."

Lecerf nodded, "Lead the way, André. You command the rear, Pierre?"

"I do, Sir."

"Very well, let's get moving. We have a river to cross if I'm not mistaken."

As Lecerf and Leavitt moved off, Sergeant Blanchard asked Marais, "The Berezina?"

"Yes Christophe, we're close. Pray for it to be frozen."

Blanchard shook his head, "We're all freezing to death and I'm to pray for ice?"

Then a thought struck him, a frozen river wouldn't require a bridge, they could march across if the ice was thick enough.

"Ice it is then." Looking to the heavens, he crossed himself and prayed for ice.

¹ The Saved One

² Twice musket shot would be roughly two hundred yards, Marais would think in terms of the effective range. At 12-pounder range would be roughly 850 yards.

November 1812: Tout Est Perdu

Épisode de la retraite de Moscou
Joseph Fernand Boissard de Boisdenier (PD)

Lecerf opened his eyes, he felt as if he was suffocating. He struggled for a moment, then he remembered where he was, Russia.

He had been dreaming, he and his wife had been in a small café near Toulon, looking out over the sparkling waters of the Mediterranean, sipping a very good wine. The sun was warm and the sky was cloudless. Upon awakening he realized he had transitioned from a dream to a nightmare.

He could hear the wind howling but could not feel it on his face. How was that possible? He moved again, and heard a voice.

"Monsieur, please do not struggle so, you will disturb my friend. Can you not let him die in peace, Monsieur?"

Focusing his eyes, Lecerf realized that it was night, a small fire burned nearby. He was covered by something ... A bearskin, how was that possible? He tugged at it. Someone slapped his hand away.

"No, no, that is not yours, it belongs to my dear friend Henri. He has carried that all the way from the Kremlin itself. Leave it be."

Lecerf coughed, tried to speak, coughed again, then managed to croak out, "I am not trying to steal anything, I am simply trying to sit up. Where are we?"

"We are in Hell, Monsieur, can't you tell?"

"Hell?"

He heard the man sigh, and then a pair of hands gripped his shoulders. "Help me would you? I am not as strong as I once was."

With scant help from the man, Lecerf struggled into a sitting position. He realized that one man was lying across his legs, the other, who had helped him sit up, had been wedged against his back. Something seemed to hold the man in place, he couldn't move much.

Lecerf looked around, in the dim light of the nearby fire, not a campfire but a burning carriage, he saw the wreckage of an army.

He managed to speak, a bit more clearly now, "Who are you, kind Sir?"

"Ah, I am Edmund Poniatowski, a lancer of the Emperor's Guard. My friend is Henri Rousseau, he is a cavalryman as well, though not a lancer, he is a Chasseur of the Guard. Who might you be, Sir?"

Lecerf felt the cold now, the wind was tearing into him now that he was out from underneath these dying men. He cleared his throat, reached into his coat and found his small flask. He shook it, there was still liquid inside. He took a sip, he coughed, then offered it to the other man. Who shook his head.

"Why waste that on a dead man? Again, Sir, what is your name, we're alone now, I think Henri has crossed over."

Lecerf put the flask away and reached for the man across his legs. He was as cold as the snow around them. Henri had been dead for quite some time.

"I am Hervé Lecerf, late of the 57th Ligne, 2nd Battalion to be precise."

"Which company?"

"Ah, I am a Chef de Bataillon my friend, the whole battalion is mine. What's left of them."

"Ah, mon Chef, pleased to meet you. Henri, can't you at least say hello to our new comrade?"

"I think he is ..."

"What he is is probably the most taciturn man I've ever met. I'm not particularly loquacious myself, but you have to pry the words from Henri. He hasn't said nary a word for a while now."

Lecerf gently pulled his legs out from under the corpse, "He is dead."

Poniatowski sighed, "Ah yes, he is isn't he? Probably been dead for quite some time. Sorry, but my mind wanders. Could you do me a favor, mon Chef?"

"If I can."

"Tell the Emperor that Caporal-fourrier¹ Edmund Poniatowski did his duty. Give him my apologies for dropping out of the ranks, but my dear horse died under me. Now, I think ..."

Only the wind made any sound. Lecerf's new companion was dead.

Lecerf had wrapped the bearskin around him, the dead Chasseur had been wearing a pair of what appeared to be boots made from felt. He now wore those. He sat by the burning carriage for a few moments, then stood.

He staggered to the edge of the small gulley he had been in, in the distance, through the blowing snow, he thought he saw the army. Slowly moving towards the horizon, it seemed to be shedding as it moved. Lecerf realized that he was seeing the stragglers at the tail of the column, and they were falling like the dead leaves of autumn.

He shook his head, his face felt funny. Bringing his left hand up to his nose he touched it, and felt nothing. "Frozen," he muttered. I'm freezing to death, bit by bit.

Behind him, there was someone, he turned slowly.

A very ragged-looking man sat atop a small horse, his lance couched. He was smiling. A Cossack!

"Ty daleko vid domu, frantsuze!²" the man chuckled as if he hadn't a care in the world.

He nudged his pony, urging the animal forward. But the horse didn't like the smell of the bearskin apparently, the animal shied away from Lecerf.

The man swore and tugged on his reins, Lecerf used the distraction to draw the pistol he had taken from one of the dead cavalrymen, he knew it was loaded as he had done that himself.

The pistol popped and the Cossack gasped, "Svolota!³" before falling from his pony where he thrashed for a moment before going still.

Lecerf didn't move, he wanted the horse and didn't want to spook it. The Cossack still held one of the reins tightly clenched in his hand. Lecerf looked around for a weapon, best to make sure the Cossack was dead.

Nothing, then he noticed that the Cossack's lance had fallen a few feet from the man. He picked it up, warily eyeing the man on the ground. He thrust the lance into the man's chest. He made no sound, nor did he move.

Satisfied that the man was dead, Lecerf slowly approached the horse. The animal was skittish, but Lecerf managed to calm the beast.

He mounted and sat as the animal calmed down. Looking at the scene, he realized that the dead Pole had been correct, he surely was in Hell. Why did the Sisters who taught him in his youth say that Hell was hot? He thought he knew the truth now, it was frozen, bereft of light and heat, bereft of life itself.

Time to follow the army. He used his knees to nudge the horse in the direction he'd seen the column. He had to reach them and quickly, he wouldn't survive out here alone.

¹ Quartermaster-Corporal.

² Ти далеко від дому, французе! (Ukrainian - You're a long way from home, Frenchman.)

³ Сволота! (Ukrainian - Bastard!)

November 1812: Krasnoi

The Battle of Krasny on 17 November 1812
Peter von Hess (PD)

"Sire."

"I see them, Rapp."

The Russian Army under Kutuzov had parallelled the march of the portion of the French Army directly under Napoléon's command. Composed of mainly units of the Imperial Guard, the Emperor was determined to reach the Dnipro River, still nearly twelve leagues further on from his position near the town of Krasnoi, which itself lay some eight leagues to the west of Smolensk.

Eventually, the Emperor knew that the army wouldn't really see any relief from Russian pursuit until they reached the Berezina, another twenty-four leagues past the Dnipro, Napoléon himself was starting to think that it would be a miracle if he could make it that far with an army sill capable of fighting. As it was, they were down to roughly 40,000 effectives after leaving Moscow with almost a hundred thousand men.

He moved through his Guard without acknowledging them, they had shamed themselves in Smolensk. Shamed themselves and the Emperor personally when they had looted the supplies meant for the entire army.

When he had ridden into their midst, some thought to raise a cheer, one glance from the Emperor and that cheer died in their throats.

One man turned to his comrade of ten years as the Emperor rode past, "Le Tondu¹ is ashamed of us."

The other man nodded and said, "We have dishonored ourselves and those who have gone before, looting like undisciplined banditti.² It is no wonder he won't look at us."

Lieutenant Marais marched with the remnants of his regiment. From what he understood, the main army was strung out over nearly the entire road back to Smolensk, the army having left that place over the space of four days, in four separate groups, his group was somewhat lucky. Being with Davout's corps, they had left Smolensk last, they were still in the relative shelter of the ruined city when a blizzard had struck the army on the 14th, further reducing the army's numbers.

Ney's corps was still unaccounted for, they had not yet reached Smolensk when Davout departed. Some feared that le Rougeaud³ was lost, Marais didn't think so, he didn't believe that Michel Ney could be killed or defeated. And he expressed that view aloud.

"Perhaps you are in the wrong Corps, Pierre?" Lecerf had chided him.

"Do you think that we've heard the last of le Rougeaud?" Marais had snapped back at his commander.

Lecerf raised an eyebrow, "Easy lad, I'm just saying that this weather respects no one, not even one as fanatically brave as Ney."

"Sorry, Sir. It's just that morale is bad enough ..."

A man on a mule, rode up to the head of the 57th's column, "The Viceroy has been defeated and the Emperor has ordered the corps to force their way forward to Krasnoi, the Russians block the road there!"

Before Lecerf could give the order, several unseen batteries of Russian artillery opened fire on the column. Lecerf could do nothing as the 57th, along with everyone else on the road, broke and ran.

Further ahead, the Guard halted as they could see the Russians ahead, blocking a defile that funneled movement through the area to a single track. A number of men turned as they heard the cannonade to their rear.

One grizzled old sergeant's face flushed with shame as he beheld his comrades stop and look over their shoulders. He shouldered his musket and roared out ...

"France is that way, over the bodies of those Russians! Come on you bastards, you cowards, shall we fail the Emperor again?"

At first one of the senior officers thought to stop the man, then realized that he was right, "En avant! Vive l'Empereur!"

The cry rippled down the column and the Guard advanced.

"Excellency, we must attack. The men holding the road are fleeing before that rascal's Guard!"

General Kutuzov, old and sick, shifted in his saddle. "No, the Czar wants them out of Russia and he also wants an army he can lead to the west and seize Paris. If we attack Napoléon here, it will be like attacking a cornered wolf. The wolf will certainly die, but what of the attackers?"

"No gentlemen, let the winter kill them. Look to your units. We will continue to parallel the French march as we escort these uninvited guests from Mother Russia.

"Has anyone seen Chef de Bataillon Lecerf?"

Maréchal Davout had asked the question, no one seemed to have an answer. I Corps was down to approximately 4,000 men at this point. After being driven off by Russian artillery the survivors had rallied on Davout and his staff, none of whom were still mounted.

"Lecerf!" Marais bellowed into the wind, there was no answer.

"It's your battalion now, André." Marais said to his friend Leavitt.

"But Hervé left you in charge ..."

"Yes, which is why I'm giving you your command back, you have earned it since we left Moscow."

"You there!" Marais heard the voice and recognized it to be that of Maréchal Davout.

Leavitt realized that Davout was speaking to him.

"Sir?" Leavitt answered.

"It seems the 57th has no more than 300 men remaining, yet you still bear your Eagle. I can find no officers other than you two. The brigade⁴ is now yours, and you," Davout addressed Marais, "you have the battalion, what is left of it."

Davout then strode off into the blowing snow.

"Well, you can keep the battalion, Pierre. Seems I'm a Général de Brigade now."

Marais grimaced, "Two understrength companies, no more. That's your brigade, André. Let's get moving before the Cossacks show up."

And the Grande Armée continued to limp westwards, leaving a trail of dead and dying men and horses stretching all the way back to Moscow.

¹ The senior units in the Imperial Guard still wore their hair long and in queues. "Le Tondu" is French for roughly "the shorn one," as the Emperor kept his hair short.

² Bandit (Italian). Some of the Guard had served in Italy and like soldiers everywhere,  would mix in words they had learned elsewhere.

³ The Red-Headed One, the army's nickname for Maréchal Ney.

⁴ The 57th Ligne had five battalions at the start of the campaign, they constituted Testes' entire brigade. That was typical of the Grande Armée in the Russian campaign. Typically a brigade consisted of a pair of regiments, each having two to three battalions. Rather than create new regiments, Napoléon simply strengthened the existing regiments with more battalions.

What a WEEK!

 With all due respect to Mrs Sarge, there is one thing I absolutely hated about Korea.  Loved the flying, loved the people, felt like I was doing something important, but.....I didn't like the winter.  Winter weather would come in on a High Speed Direct Flight from Siberia with a pass over the Yellow Sea to pick up some extra ice cold humidity.  Nope, they didn't make a flight suit warm enough to keep you from losing feeling in your extremities while doing the preflight walkaround of the jet.  That was followed by the fact that the cockpit heater got its hot air from the engines, which aren't started until start time and even then were in idle.  

Yes, Beans, the exhaust temperature was quite warm, but, for whatever reason, didn't warm the cockpit until the afterburners were lit on takeoff.  Then it was nice and toasty.  But fighting in a fighter is hard work and hard work produces perspiration, which is wet.  So, on engine shutdown and opening the canopy...Well, it wasn't unusual to have ice on portions of your flight suit, sometimes even in very sensitive parts of your body.  The walk to the crew truck, ride to the squadron and walk into the squadron were "memorable" to say the least.  

No, I don't like cold weather.  

Fortunately, Texas is, well, more reasonable in its Cold Weather climate.

Sometimes....

Other times, well, we had a "special" week last week.

Forecast for last Tuesday was for the temperature at dawn to be 13F with a Wind Chill of -1F.  Now, having flown a lot and received a weather briefing from a weather person prior to that mission, I learned that they weren't always accurate.  Fortunately, most of them would hedge their briefing by quoting the "bad" side of the forecast.  Nobody ever bitched about the weather being better than forecast was their thought process.

Can't disagree with them.

Unfortunately, the actual temperature here of 7F and  Wind Chill of -5 isn't "better".  

But, living in the country, we've been through cold weather before.  Our biggest weak point in the living in the country is water.  Our water comes from a well.  No, Beans, the City doesn't provide it.  We're on our own. 

Having lived through a few cold snaps, we know that we need to turn the water on in the buildings that need it and let it run.  Supposedly, that keeps it from freezing in the pipes.  I had not done that once before and had that happen. Then one's plumber has to repair the pipes because they burst, since water expands when it freezes.  Expensive!

So, Monday night, we made sure to turn all the faucets on to a small drip.

Well.  another lesson learned, a small drip is not sufficient.  Woke up the next morning, to do my "bidness". Got 'er done, reached up and hit the lever to remove the evidence as my sainted Mother taught me to do long ago.  There was a flushing sound, followed by that Simon and Garfunkel song "The Sounds of Silence".

Inserted just for a little nostalgia for Sarge.  After all when this song came out in 1965, Sarge was 20 something.

JUST KIDDING! Back to the post.

Now the Old Wive's Rule in this situation is "If it's Brown, flush it down, if it's yellow, let it mellow." Which is a pretty good  Rule of Thumb, usually.  Unfortunately in this case, it wasn't the former, rather the latter.  So....

Well, my lack of SA (situational awareness) led to my being restricted to using our outside property for dispensing "yellow", if you get my gist.  OK, it was a very effective learning point.  Never knew that organ could get that cold.  

In any case, went throughout the house and looked at all the faucets that we'd turned on to drip.  Nada!  And stayed that way until Thursday.  Woke up that morning to the sound of running water in the toilets and faucets.  Thank You Lord!

Now while the water was out,  it wasn't pleasant, but we didn't screw this up by the numbers.  First, we had two 5 gallon jugs of water that we had in the closet (sealed when we bought them) and used them to water the horses.  We also had 3 or 4 one gallon jugs of water, for cooking and watering the dogs and cat as well as Mrs J and I.   

That got us through the first day, no problem.  The next day, in order to keep us from going insane from boredom, we went down to the old house to continue the prepping it to turn it into a BnB.  Happened to bump the kitchen sink faucet.

Low and behold, water comes running out.  A quick run to the house and picked up the water jugs and refilled them.  

Why did this happen?  Well, that house and our current guest houses are on a separate well, which, obviously hadn't frozen.  "I'd rather be lucky than good" has always been a mantra of mine.  That seems to have been the case this time. Especially, since my Brother lives in one of the cottages and we were expecting paying guests in the other that weekend.  No water would have been "Bad" in either case.

But, at least, we've got a source of potable water close by. So...We got that going for us! 

One of my favorite movies and favorite quotes.  Hard to believe it came out 45 years ago!

ANYHOW!...Back to the story.

The following afternoon as I start to prep for dinner at the current house and am reaching for a jug of water to start heating it to cook when I hear a splashing noise in the sink.  I turn around and, lo and behold, water is flowing.  Not only had the well unfrozen, but the pipes hadn't broken.

Thank You, Lord!

Oh...By the way... I'm writing this on Sunday,  out of curiousity I checked to see what the temp outside is:

 Gotta love, Texas!  If you don't like the weather, wait an hour (or a couple of days), it'll change!

Peace out, y'ALL!  Oh, and keep water on hand, you never know when you'll need it. Ask me how I know.

 Well ain’t that special! Had to put down a Dog this afternoon. He’d been having problems walking and this afternoon, he couldn’t stand up. Rest in peace, Bentley, put in a good word with the Big Guy about us, please!

 

Behind the Scenes

Przejście Wielkiej Armii przez Berezynę w 1812¹
Wojciech Kossak (PD)

Well, I was going to continue following the Grande Armée in retreat from Russia, but other events intervened.

I very rarely suffer from insomnia, but I do, on rare occasions. Friday night being one such occasion. Two of my old comrades from work and I were going out for breakfast Saturday morning. One of the people I hadn't seen since December, it was Friday night that I realized that there were some people at work that I missed. A lot. These two folks are at the top of that rather small list.

We were going to a new place, convenient to all those traveling, sort of a midpoint venue which had been said to be very good. So we went. It was good. I've never eaten that much breakfast. I was so full that I required no further sustenance that day.

Anyhoo, in my excitement at seeing old friends, my brain decided that a full night's sleep fell into the "optional" category. I got to bed well before midnight (unusual for me) but would sleep about 45 minutes then awaken to see if it was time yet. Of course, it wasn't. Finally at 0600, I judged the time to be close enough. The restaurant is perhaps 20 minutes from Chez Sarge. I got there a lot earlier than I needed to be.

Oh well, we had a great time and plans are afoot to do it again next month. We plan on doing this monthly. Good food, good friends - you simply can't beat that.

So, the story will continue, we're not done yet. Not until the Grande Armée is out of Russia will I "down tools" and find something else to write about. But today, I'm just too tired.

But I do have a video for you which covers Napoléon's retreat. My story is based loosely on the events depicted therein. It's part of a rather sizeable collection of videos over on YouTube. If interested, I invite you to go visit the channel and see for yourself.

Good stuff.

Bis Dienstag, meine Kameraden!²

¹ The passage of the Great Army across the Berezina in 1812. (Polish)

² Until Tuesday, comrade! (German)

PBY Rescue Mission

Consolidated PBY Catalina
Source

This is a special guest post which features a video presentation from a friend of mine, Robert Gale. Take it away, Mr. Gale! If you're in Colorado Springs, check out the National Museum of WWII Aviation (linked on the sidebar under "Tail Numbers, Museums, and Records."

I haven't been to Colorado since 1987, looks like a return trip is in order!

We'll get back to Russia tomorrow.

November 1812: La Honte de la Garde Impériale¹

Moscow 1812²
Dmitry Nikolayevich Kardovsky
Source

The 57th entered Smolensk on the morning of the 9th. They had spent the night bivouacked outside the ruins of the city sheltering in what was left of a stage post along the Moscow road. A mounted officer encountered them upon moving inside the city gate.

"Hervé?"

Chef de Bataillon Lecerf looked up and exclaimed, "My God, is that you Gaston? You look well, my brother!"

Chef de Bataillon Lecerf embraced the man who dismounted in front of the column. Turning to Marais he called out, "Pierre, come and meet my brother who, lacking the stamina to be an infantryman, joined the cavalry!"

"Capitaine Gaston Lecerf, 12th Dragoons, at your service." He grasped Marais' hand and nodded, a broad smile upon his face.

The man was wearing a forage cap, having lost his helmet somewhere along the way, and his greatcoat was that of a Russian noble, fur lined and acquired before leaving Moscow.  He was something of a sight, looking more like a brigand than a cavalryman. His horse though, looked well groomed and cared for.

After shaking Marais' hand, Captain Lecerf turned to his brother, "I'm afraid things here are going badly. The Old Guard marched in last night and promptly began to loot the food stores. They have despoiled much of what they didn't eat by thampling through it all. The Emperor is furious. Berthier wants to have the men responsible shot, but the Emperor is not willing to go that far."

Chef de Bataillon Lecerf spat into the snow, "So the Immortals, who haven't fought a damned bit in the entire campaign, decide to have first choice of the supplies and be damned to the rest of the army?"

Marais shook his head, the "Immortals" was a nickname given to the Imperial Guard as a whole, but specifically to the senior infantry regiments of the Guard. The Grenadiers à Pied and the Chasseurs à Pied gained the nickname as Napoléon usually kept them as his ultimate reserve, they typically advanced only once the victory was assured.

The cavalry and the younger regiments of the Guard often saw hard action, but the Old Guard seldom fired their muskets, some men said that those worthies hadn't seen action since Marengo.³ They were detested by much of the army. Many soldiers desired entry into the Guard, but as many said, that gave them a better chance of surviving the wars!

"Is there any hope of resupply here?" Marais asked.

The younger Lecerf shook his head.

His older brother's shoulders slumped and he said, "Then we march when the order is given. Marais, take a party of men and find something for the boys to eat. You never know ..."

Night Bivouac of the Grande Armée
Vasily Vasilyevich Vereshchagin (PD)

Berthier explained once more to the Emperor that there was no word of Kutuzov's army, his recommendation was to hold up in Smolensk for a week or more to let the army's stragglers come in and allow the men still with the colors to recuperate.

"Recuperate? How, how is that to be done? There is no food, my Guard has failed me, they destroyed the means by which I had hoped to resupply my army. Perhaps I should shoot some of those miscreants. But alas, they are as my children, I have spoiled them. We need to set out, I want to be back in friendly territory before mid-December."

"Then we must set out at once, Sire. Every delay makes the army that much weaker. We must strike for the Berezina and cross over. We have had no word on Russian forces but we have to assume that they will converge on this part of the army."

"Very well, we march, in stages. Let the men who need it most rest."

Berthier protested, "But Sire, we will then be even more strung out along the line of march."

"Issue the orders."

Leavitt sat with Marais, he had reported that the regiment was slowly fading away, the men were not deserting, they were dying. The young officer sat quietly, as if in deep thought.

"What are you thinking about, André? Perhaps a change in careers?"

Though the remark had been meant lightly, Leavitt turned and snapped, "What is the point of having an Imperial Guard? They get the best of everything. Their officers of the same rank as the line actually are to be treated as the rank above that of the line. A lieutenant is a captain, a captain a Chef de Bataillon. Even their Soldats are treated as corporals."

Marais nodded, "It is said that a mule in the Guard ranks as a horse in the line."

Leavitt stared at the older soldier for a moment, then he laughed. "I've heard that said. But really Pierre, why do we need them? The presence of those veterans would certainly help stiffen the ranks of some of the newer battalions."

Marais nodded again, then explained, "Back in the early days, generals would select picked men as bodyguards. There was no telling when some guttersnipe from Paris would show up and start 'advising' the generals on their duties. Many went to the guillotine if they displeased those députés en mission. So they had these picked men as protection. The Emperor had the same when he was First Consul."

Leavitt scoffed, "But does he need what is, in effect, an entire Corps d'Armée as protection?"

"Over time this accumulation of veterans, remember each member of the Guard is supposed to have three campaigns under his belt and have been decorated, served as a reserve force that could be thrown into action at the critical moment to snatch victory from the enemy's grasp."

"The Young Guard and the Guard cavalry have all proved useful in battle, but the Emperor refuses to commit the Old Guard. What on earth is he saving them for? They stood and watched at La Moscova when their commitment would have seen the destruction of Kutozov's army. The same army which stalks us now, waiting to pounce at the first false step!" Leavitt was visibly upset now.

"There is no guarantee of that, my young friend. The Guard could have advanced yes, perhaps they would have crushed the Russians. But you've seen how those bastards fight, the Guard may just as well have been cut to pieces. Then what does the Emperor rely on? And so far from Paris?" Marais thought that that would settle Leavitt, he was wrong.

"Us! He could rely on us! The regiments of the line, the light infantry, the cuirassiers, chasseurs à cheval, the hussars, and dragoons, he could rely on us, the soldiers of France!"

Marais sat, speechless, of course Leavitt was right, why hadn't he seen that for himself? Perhaps that's all acceptance into the Guard was, a reward for having survived multiple campaigns, a guarantee of survival to return to Paris. Service in the capital was guaranteed to the Guard, the line units were garrisoned throughout France, there was that reward as well.

Lecerf walked in, "Get your men ready, we leave at first light. We march to Krasnoi."

"Where on earth is that?" Leavitt demanded.

Lecerf looked at the young officer with some affection, "One step closer to the Berezina River, my boy. One step closer to home."

¹ The Shame of the Imperial Guard

² Though this painting shows the army looting Moscow, the looting in Smolensk may have destroyed Napoléon's last chance of victory in his Russian campaign.

³ A battle fought in 1800, well before Napoléon became Emperor. At that time they were known as the Consular Guard (Napoléon being First Consul at the time). It was also a much smaller organization.