La Haye Sainte, Early Afternoon

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"Kaltenweide!"

Christian turned and saw a party of mounted men proceeding down the ridge to his position. One of them had called his name, he stood tall and straight when he recognized the Duke among the party. Baron von Ompteda had called out to him.

"Is this all there is of your battalion?" The Baron asked with some concern.

"I sent two companies down to that orchard, to assist Baring." Christian answered, nodding in the direction of La Haye Sainte's orchard.

Ompteda hesitated and was about to countermand Christian's order when the Duke interrupted, "Be prepared to pull them back if need be."

"Yes Sir, from here I ..." But he was talking to the Duke's back.

"Annoying when they don't listen, innit?" Sergeant Oster had come up behind him.

"Yes, I suppose it is. But with all that folderol going on across the valley, I suppose His Grace has much on his mind."

"What? Boney and his entire army? Lots of cheering and band music, but we whipped them in Spain and we'll whip them here as well. Right, Major?"

"One hopes."

The Emperor rode down the line, letting his men see him. They were ecstatic and were cheering themselves hoarse. Shakos and helmets topped bayonet and sword points as they bellowed their support for their beloved Emperor.

Napoléon turned his mount and rode back to his little table set up at Rossomme farm, from where he could see the entire battlefield. He dismounted and walked stiffly to his maps. He sat down, then immediately got back up, his hemorrhoids were acting up badly and he couldn't sit for long. Nevertheless, he stood by the little table and checked the map with what he could see from his position. He turned to an aide.

"Can we move the guns?"

"The ground is drying, Sire. But it will be another two hours before we can maneuver as you wish." His chief of artillery answered for the aide. "I have just come from the area around La Belle Alliance, the ground is muddy but is drying in this sun."

"Very well," he snapped his pocket watch open, checked the height of the sun, then continued, "we open the battle at one, not a moment later. What news of the Prussians?"

"We have various reports, nothing from Maréchal Grouchy as yet, but they will be coming, you know how stubborn Blücher is."

"Bah, have cavalry pickets posted to the east to warn of their approach. I shall go lie down for a bit, it was a long night gentlemen and as the ball has yet to be opened, I will rest."

"What?" Christian looked in shock at Major Baring.

"We took shelter here for the night, no one informed us that we would be defending the place until just before sunrise." Baring shook his head in disgust.

At that moment the sound of cannon fire from the French side of the valley thundered out. First one shot, then another, then a third.

"I don't think we have any choice but to hold this, unless I miss my guess, the French will be arriving shortly." Baring said.

Christian looked in that direction, he couldn't see anything. "I'm going to ride forward a bit, there's something going on over to the left but I can't see anything."

As he nudged his mount forward he got where he could see the rising ground to the southeast of La Haye Sainte.

"Dear Lord ..."

A grand battery of many guns was lined up, the gunners could be seen preparing their pieces. French infantry columns were advancing, all bellowing "Vive l'Empereur!!!"

Christian rode back to his command just as the French grand battery began to fire on the positions to the east of the farm. In between the roar of each cannon, he thought he could hear the beat of drums and the shouts of thousands of men. Napoléon was on the move.

Kurt von Weiding was lying in a barn just outside the town of Genappe. He was feverish and the surgeons were concerned, but as they were French surgeons, they weren't that concerned.

Kurt had been hit by a small stone thrown up by a French round shot which had bounced just in front of where he sat his horse with Wellington's staff. He had brought a message from his commander, the Prince of Orange, and was waiting for a reply. He heard a shout and had turned just as the ball hit the road, then bounced.

It had gone well over his head but the debris kicked up from the road did not. A small stone had ripped through his right thigh and gone into his horse, killing the poor beast. There was a surgeon nearby who had cleaned the wound as best as he could. Kurt had managed to hobble to a nearby barn where wounded were being collected.

He had scribbled a letter to Kaltenweide while waiting to be seen by another doctor. As his wound was considered minor, he waited. As a staff officer without a mount, he was considered useless, and in reality he was.

The wound had become infected and when the army pulled back towards Brussels, he had been left behind. The French had been rough at first, the infantry who had seized the barn had been roughly handled all day and were in no mood to coddle an Allied prisoner. Especially a German. But they had eventually moved on, looking for food, drink, and loot.

"Major?"

Kurt looked up, it was a surgeon. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid we're going to have to leave you behind, the army is moving on. I will clean and rebind that wound for you, but I'm afraid if the infection gets worse, the leg will have to come off."

Kurt went pale as a sheet, but only said, "Thank you, what can I do?"

"Hope that there is a doctor in this village that might help you, but they are overwhelmed with the number of seriously wounded already. So, it might be a while."

As the surgeon left, Kurt's spirits sank. Would he ever see Elsbeth and his son again?

The cannonade lasted for what seemed like hours but may have only been 15 to 30 minutes as the French had to cease fire when their infantry began to climb up the slope to the Allied position. Christian's battalion had taken a few casualties from balls which had overshot La Haye Saint. One man was decapitated. After that, Christian had had the men lay down.

"Kaltenweide!"

Christian stood up, it was one of the Baron's aides.

"Move your battalion forward, the men in the orchard are being pressed hard. The Baron wants your unit to provide cover for the men retreating, not all of whom can make it to the interior of the farm. Boney's voltigeurs are swarming like flies on a carcass down there."

"At once! Bugler, sound assembly!"

The men got up, reluctantly. "Riflemen to the front!"

"Capitän!" He shouted at the man commanding his riflemen, "lay down fire on that advancing column, I need time to move up and help extricate our two companies and whoever else is left in the orchard!"

"Zu befehl!" The man yelled back as he moved to execute Christian's order.

The remainder of the battalion, some 300 men, formed two deep line and began to step off. The French artillery was ignoring them in favor of hitting the Allied line to the east of the farm as two French divisions were almost upon that line. Christian could hear their shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!!" as they came on.

"Battalion! Halt!"

As a pair of sergeants got the battalion ready to fire, Christian saw the remnants of his two companies streaming from the orchard and falling in behind the battalion. There were a number of soldiers from Baring's unit and quite a few red-jacketed Hanoverians from one of the line battalions as well.

"Volley fire!"

The men took a step forward.

"Present!"

The muskets dropped down to firing position.

"Fire!"

In the smoke of the volley, the battalion began to cautiously back up, reloading as they did so. The French were reluctant to come on as they were being galled by Christian's riflemen. But something was moving out there in the clouds of smoke ...

"Cavalry!" One of the men shouted.

Without being told, the battalion began to form a rough square, more of a clump of men facing outward, but still the hedge of bayonets would dissuade the horses from plunging in.

"Back lads, back slowly, keep your intervals!"

They were reaching their supports on the ridge now, also the enemy horsemen were receiving a blizzard of fire from La Haye Sainte. Eventually they fell back away from that fire, but their mission had been accomplished, La Haye Sainte's orchard was in French hands!

"How many did you lose, Capitän Knorr?"

The man had lost his shako, his face was powder-stained, and his uniform torn. He looked up at Christian, "Thirty two out of eighty seven, Herr Major. But there are many French lads who won't be going home when this affair is over."

By bits and pieces, his battalion was being whittled down. At this rate he'd be reduced to commanding a company if this kept up.

And the day was still young.