The Cavalry

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The battalion was formed in line, the men lying in the grass praying that the French cannon shot would pass overhead. On occasion a ball would fall short and kill or cripple some poor soul. Some of the men looked ready to head for the rear.

Christian walked among the recumbent soldiers, giving words of encouragement and pointing out that they were not taking as many casualties as it seemed. In truth, only three men had, so far, been hit by the French guns.

"Quite the pounding, innit Sir?"

Christian looked down, it was the same sergeant who had spoken to him when the Duke had stopped by.

"Much sound and fury, Sergeant."

"Aye Sir, signifying nothing. At least for the moment."

Christian nodded at the sergeant's acquaintance with Shakespeare, not all of the men in Wellington's army were "scum, enlisted for drink." Of course, that was the British he spoke of, not these proud Hanoverians.

"Keep a tight leash on the lads, Sergeant. And keep your head down, ja?"

The sergeant grinned, "Zu befehl, Herr Major!"

Christian had posted skirmishers further down the slope, both to discomfit the French still intent on taking the farm, and to provide warning of unpleasant surprises coming up the slope. He heard a shout, there, out of the smoke, green-clad men.

"Cavalry, Sir! Boney is mustering his horsemen, great scads of cuirassiers, Sir, headin' this way!"

"Fall in with the others you men! Battalion will prepare to receive cavalry!"

The smoke was clearing slightly in front of the battalion, a freshening wind was carrying much of it westward. But as the firing was still continuing around the farm, it hadn't dissipated totally.

Christian felt the ground shaking, looking down the slope, he realized that the French horsemen would have trouble gaining any speed in their charge due to the recent rains. It was very muddy, but it certainly felt like a lot of cavalry were pounding up the slope.

"Steady lads!" he shouted from the interior of the square formation units adopted to defeat cavalry. Though if the French guns were to open up again, they'd be cut to red ruin in such a compact formation.

Out of the lingering smoke burst a line of heavy horsemen, Napoléon's vaunted cuirassiers. Big men on big horses wearing steel breast and back plates and wearing a horsehair-plumed steel helmet. These horsemen were packed together, knee to knee, though struggling to gain speed on the slippery slope, they were moving fast enough to terrify a man on the ground.

If he was alone.

"Steady, steady, hold your fire, lads!" Christian noted that his officers and sergeants were repeating his orders amid the noise and confusion of the horsemen swirling around their square. Occasionally a cavalryman would lean out of his saddle and try to skewer a man behind the hedge of bayonets, unsuccessfully for the most part.

One of the sergeants leaned forward on one such occasion and drove his spontoon into one Frenchman's face, causing a terrible wound and unhorsing the man at the feet of the front rank of kneeling men. He was immediately bayoneted by one of the standing men in the second rank, stabbing him in his lower belly, under his armor.

The Battle of Waterloo: The British Squares Receiving the Charge of the French Cuirassiers
Henri Félix Emmanuel Philippoteaux (PD)

One of the younger lieutenants leaned over and began to vomit upon seeing that. Christian looked over and was about to say something when one of the men yelled out, "Was it something you ate, Sir?" Which brought a laugh from the nearby men.

"Eyes to your front lads, it ain't over yet!" Christian yelled out.

Then as suddenly as the French cavalry arrived, they withdrew, down the slope and out of sight in the drifting smoke.

"Huzzah!" one of the men cried out, "They're on the run!"

Christian pointed his sword in the man's direction and bellowed, "SILENCE! That man! Steady lads, they'll be back!"

As the cavalry withdrew to the valley below, the French artillery began to fire again. His instincts and experience made Christian cautious, he knew the cavalry would be back. But still, the fire was starting to cause casualties.

"Lie down! Stay in your positions and lie down!"

"Skirmishers, Sir?"

"Yes, far enough out to warn us of the cavalry's return but not so far that they might get caught in the open!"

As the skirmishers went out, Christian looked up, among the drifting clouds of moisture and of smoke, he could see that the sun was still high in the sky. He began to wonder if he would survive this day.

"So we can neither go forward, nor back the way we came." Elsbeth was watching Thomas intently.

"No ma'am, the Frenchies are to the south and the road to Brussels is choked with supply wagons moving this way, and wagons loaded with wounded moving t'other. For the moment we're stuck, I don't even know where William has got to, he might've been waylaid on the road."

"Waylaid? But there are soldiers everywhere!"

"Yes, ma'am it was probably soldiers who waylaid him. There are more nationalities out there than I can count. Eighty varieties of German, not to mention Dutch, Flemings, Walloons, and various other flavors of Belgian. Then there's the English, Welsh, Scots, and Irish. And they're all allegedly on our side."

"So we are here in ...?"

"The village is called Waterloo, ma'am. The Duke has his headquarters here."

"Perhaps we can speak to the Duke?"

"He is on the field, ma'am. Along with most every other officer worth his salt."

"The ones here in the village, perhaps ..."

"I wouldn't trust them with you, ma'am. Scoundrels most of 'em."

"So?"

"We wait, ma'am."

"What are we waiting for?"

"To see who wins. Of course."