Spectators

Source

The two companies had been distributed in buildings at the eastern end of the village. Christian had told the company commanders what he wanted, then left them to do it. One of them had suggested blocking the road with a number of barrels and crates they had found in a warehouse. Christian agreed, now he and Thomas were sitting their horses, looking to the east.

Source

The field to their north was planted in rye, with the sunken nature of the road and the height of the grain, Thomas had remarked that it had to be seven to eight feet tall. The field on the southern side of the road was lying fallow. What Christian knew about farming would fit on the head of a pin, Thomas had explained the concept to him, it made sense to not exhaust the soil. Much like not overhunting or overfishing an area. That he understood.

Their small detachment, perhaps 87 men, had followed the last battalion of the 1st Hanoverian Brigade out of Nivelles, stopping to watch them march on to Quatre Bras. From the look and sound of things, heavy fighting was going on in that direction.

The thumping of cannon and the rising clouds of smoke were in the distance. Thomas turned and said, "Why was I so anxious to return to the Army?"

Christian smiled, "I cannot fathom that myself, if you come up with an answer, let me know. Let's get back to our men. I don't think anything will be coming our way today."

He was wrong.

The first wounded started coming down the road at nearly six of the clock. There were at least two healthy men "escorting" each wounded man. Thomas had stepped into the road when he saw a man he knew.

"Klaus! How bad is it?"

The man, a Hanoverian sergeant with a bloody left sleeve looked up as if awakened from a troubled sleep.

"Who wants to know?" he snapped.

"Klaus, it's me, Thomas. Has your memory fled with your senses?"

The man stepped out of the road and looked at Thomas for a moment.

"Dear God, Thomas, I scarcely recognized you. It's bad over there. Crops so high you can't see the bloody French cavalry until they're on top of you. Boney's guns are still the best served on the Continent. He's got some heavy ones out there too, damned 12-pounders. We're holding, but we're getting cut up pretty badly."

"Why are you coming this way? Why not fall back on Brussels?"

"We were directed to head back to Nivelles, it's closer. Two leagues to Nivelles, five to Brussels. Which way would you go with a busted up arm?"

"'Tis a fair point, are ye still bleeding?"

"Nah, surgeon bound it up. Didn't hit the bone but tore away most of the muscle in my upper arm. Damned if I can go back to farming now. Well ..."

"Right then, off with you. See you in better times, Klaus. Stay alive."

Klaus nodded then continued to walk to Nivelles.

"The pack seems to be thinning out." Christian observed.

"Maybe the Duke's run out of Hanoverians to cripple." Thomas sounded bitter.

"I'm sure the English, Irish, and Scots are doing their bit as well. But we do seem to land in the thick of it more often than not."

A voice behind them spoke, "The Duke trusts the Legion, you know that, Sir."

Christian turned, it was a very young lieutenant, one of the company officers. "Perhaps you're right. Do a good job and every hard task gets thrown at you. Screw it up and you're held in reserve."

As they listened to the firing to the east, it started to slacken around sunset. Though the ominous black clouds obscured the sun and prematurely darkened the sky, Christian knew by his pocket watch that the sun should be setting soon.

"Looks like we're in for some rain." Thomas remarked.

"Why not? It's been a wet week, hasn't it? Say, is that a dispatch rider?"

Thomas looked, "Sure enough it is."

The man on horseback reined up in front of the road block. "Get this mess off the road!"

The man looked down at Christian, then corrected himself, "Could you clear the road, Major? I need to get back to Colonel von Ompteda, quickly."

Christian nodded at the men manning the barricade, they started moving barrels and crates.

"What news, Captain?"

The man drew a deep breath, "You wouldn't have any wine would you?"

After taking Christian's flask and having a deep pull at the brandy therein, he nodded. "Thanks for that, thirsty work today."

"Old Blücher's been trounced and is withdrawing, though to God knows where we don't know yet. The Army has been ordered to fall back to Mont St. Jean. You fellows are KGL, right?"

"1st Light Battalion, aye."

"Well, General Alten wants your brigade to make that march as well. There's a farm there, on the main Brussels road, La Haye Sainte it's called. Alten wants your boys to defend that and the vicinity. If I was you, I'd get on the road as quick as you can, the weather appears to be about to change." The man then put his heels in and dashed off.

Nearly as soon as he said that, the heavens opened with a bright flash, a loud crack of thunder, and torrents of rain. Visibility was reduced and the air itself felt more like water than breathable air.

"Lieutenant, my compliments to your captains, have the men fall in. We're heading back to Nivelles where we can pick up the road to Mont St. Jean. These fields will be all mud in short order, so we'll have to go by road in order to get anywhere."

"Thomas ..."

"I'll tell William to get the wagon moving. See you in Nivelles?"

"Sooner perhaps."

A crack of thunder and the rain upon the roofs of the nearby houses drowned out any further possible conversation.

Christian turned his horse and stood by while the men formed. A nearby bolt of lightning tore a tree to splinters. He decided that marching on foot might be a smart move. So he dismounted.

"How far, Sir?" The commander of the 2nd Company asked.

"Eleven miles, give or take."

"We'll be marching all night, Sir."

"Yes, we will, so we'd best get started, ja?"

"Sir."

Voice commands rang out, the drums were covered, trying to beat them in this rain would quickly render them useless.

With a shudder, the 2nd and 3rd Companies of the King's German Legion's 1st Light Brigade stepped off.

Off to what, only God knew for sure.