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!