Time Slips Away

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It was the first day in nearly two weeks that the battalion had had a chance to stand down, mend equipment, do laundry, and all the other various and sundry things which tended to go by the wayside when a unit was in the field. The day before had been the battalion's last day at the range, some records keeper in Brussels had complained at the "shocking waste of ammunition." Apparently the men had fired more rounds than they should have, the staff in Brussels had claimed, "1st Light Battalion, KGL, has expended more ammunition then the rest of the army combined for the months of May and June."

Christian shook his head as he read that, at any rate, the lads were as ready as they would ever be. Every man was familiar with his weapon and Christian had no doubt that they could at least fire their weapons when undisturbed. Whether they could still do that when taking fire, or with enemy cavalry bearing down on them was quite another thing. Only combat could prepare one for combat.

They'd also had the opportunity to maneuver the battalion as a whole, Lieutenant Colonel von dem Bussche had let Christian put the men through their paces. Turns out he had a knack for it, but like the men, would he find it so easy when under fire?

Route marches every day had helped to toughen the men to moving with full field packs and a regulation ammunition load. The weather had been brutal, one man had collapsed from heat stroke and had nearly died. Bussche, experienced in such matters, had taught the newer men what to look for in their comrades to avoid a recurrence.

That morning the Colonel had told Christian, "No doubt we shall lose men on the march, heat stroke, straggling, if we set out with 500 men and arrive on the field of battle with 450, I'll be more than pleased."

At that moment a man on a lathered horse galloped past, turning to yell, "The French are coming, they hit the Prussians this morning!"

Christian looked at his commander, who said, "Looks like training time is over. Be ready to move at a moment's notice.

"Sire, the enemy is falling back before us. We met some resistance on the main bridge leading into Charleroi but that was cleared quickly."

Turning to his chief of staff, the Emperor spoke, "Soult, are all units moving into place, my orders were received and understood? I want Ney to push on to Quatre Bras while we pin and destroy the Prussians here, before Fleurus."

"I'm sure of it, Sire."

"Sure of it? Have you received no confirmation of the receipt of orders, you had better be certain, Soult!"

The Marshal blanched at the Emperor's reproof, "Sire, we have yet to receive confirmation from the Count of Unseburg.¹"

"Then send another messenger, Soult! Must I think of everything?"

The French were driving the Prussians but all of their army had yet to assemble. Napoléon wanted to destroy the Prussian army before turning to face Wellington, but his own forces were also slow to come up. Which side would concentrate first?

"Do you hear that, Sir?" Thomas was looking towards the southeast.

Christian paused from what he was doing and listened carefully himself, "Thunder? Another storm?"

William looked up from where he was repairing a piece of tack, using only his one hand and his teeth, Christian was amazed how well the man managed with only one arm, "That's cannon fire, it's a ways off, but that's cannon fire, I've heard enough of it in my day."

Christian heard it clearly for a moment as the wind shifted, a rhythmic thumping which wasn't random enough to be thunder.

"I guess that seals it, Boney's on his way." Thomas muttered, clearly he had mixed feelings about it.

"Thought you wanted to be here, Tommy lad?" William asked with a wry grin.

Thomas nodded, "I assumed there would be a lot of swanning around Belgium followed by marching into France chasing Bonaparte before us. Then chasing the mam'selles in Paris. Didn't expect there to be much fighting, and that's God's truth on the matter."

"Well, when has Boney ever shied away from a scrap?" William pointed out.

Before anyone could answer, Thomas nodded towards the entrance to the courtyard. It was the company commander of the man who had been flogged for dumping his powder, along with the man who had been flogged.

The captain spoke first, "Herr Major, Private Langenscheidt wishes to speak with you, do you have the time?"

"Is your company ready to march, Captain?"

"Yes Sir. By the way, the Private's father is a general in the Saxon army, well, I guess he's a Prussian now.²"

"What do you want, Private?" Christian kept his voice harsh.

"I had a letter from my Father, he reminded me to do my duty, without fail and without question. No matter who my king might be. He doesn't know that the Captain here had me flogged. Honestly Sir, I understand. I forgot my duty as a soldier and as I have apologized to the Captain for letting him down, I wish to apologize to you for being a bad soldier."

Christian's face softened, "You're a good lad, a weakness of the moment, I'm sure. You will do better, ja?"

"Aber natürlich, Herr Major. Es tut mir Leid.³"

"Do your duty, son. It's all we ask." Knowing full well that the high command expected far more of a soldier, such as unquestioning obedience and a willingness to throw one's life away, if need be.

"Thank you, Sir. I will do my best."

"Captain, you should rejoin your company, I'm not sure what will come next, but we've heard cannon fire in the direction of Charleroi. The French seemed to have gotten the jump on us."

At the inn, Christian met with other officers of the Legion, their commander, Baron von Ompteda was there as well. It seems that while most of Alten's division, of which their brigade was a part, would be marching to Quatre Bras, the crossroads to their east and a key position on the road to Brussels, the Legion would be held at Nivelles, the Duke still suspected the attack on the Prussians to be a feint.

"According to my orders, we are to hold here and watch the roads to the southwest. We don't know where Bonaparte's main thrust will fall, but I believe it will be against the Prussians first and then us. In the event that the French come up the Brussels chaussée and the Dutch can't hold them at Quatre Bras, we should be prepared to fall back to the ridge in front of Mont St. Jean."

"If the Dutch do hold, we will probably be ordered to come down on the French flank at Houtain-le-Val, perhaps a league from here on the road to Namur. Questions?"

Ompteda studied the room, no one had questions. Which could be a good thing, or a bad thing, you never knew.

"Very well, have your men ready to move at an instant's notice, dismissed!"

As Christian stepped outside, he heard a female voice call his name. He turned, it was Elsbeth.

"Are you ignoring me, Sir?" she asked in a coquettish voice.

Christian realized that he had completely forgotten her note, it was still in his jacket.

"Why no, Madam. Simply deep in thought concerning the coming fight." He had tried to answer in a joking tone, but her face betrayed her concern.

"Do you think there will be a battle, Christian? My husband thinks otherwise."

"As well he might, this is his first campaign, yes?"

"Well, second actually, he was at Leipzig as an observer."

"Napoléon means to give battle. He cannot sit and wait behind his border. He knows that he must knock Britain from the fight. If they quit, the others will too. After all, it is only British gold which has financed the wars against the French Emperor. Without that, the others cannot afford to stay in the field. So yes, my dear, there will be a fight. We heard cannon fire towards Charleroi earlier today."

Her face sank, "When I sent you that note, I had hoped to perhaps have a game of chess with you before you had to go off. Kurt left this morning, before sunrise, to follow the Prince to Quatre Bras. Will you go there?"

"You know I cannot speak on military manners, Elsbeth. The very walls have ears."

She blushed, "Of course. But will I see you again, soon?"

"Well, I should hope so ..."

He was taken aback when she threw her arms around him and held him close, as if afraid that letting go would cause him to perhaps vanish.

"Be careful out there, Christian." She said, then hugged him again.

He held her tightly for a moment, his mind awhirl with all sorts of fantasies, hopes, and dreams. None of which he knew to be even remotely possible.

"I will, be assured of that. Now, I really must go."

He took her hand, bowed and lightly brushed his lips over the back of her hand, "Madam."

She turned abruptly before dashing back into the inn, Christian could have sworn that her face was wet with tears. Before he could go after her, his commanding officer came out.

"Ah, Kaltenweide, excellent. Ride with me." All said in a brusque tone as the colonel went to his horse.

Rattled beyond belief, Christian simply stated, "Of course, Sir."

As they rode away from the inn, he glanced back once. He wondered if he would ever see her again. He had a random thought pass through his tired brain, perhaps never seeing her again would be a good thing.

But could he live with that prospect?

"So Kaltenweide, are you listening?"

"Of course, Sir."

"I want you to take 2nd and 3rd Companies and proceed to Houtain-le-Val. The colonel wants an outpost there, simply to observe, not fight. Understood?"

"Yes Sir, shall we leave immediately?"

"Yes, yes you should."

¹ General Dominique-Joseph René Vandamme, commanded III Corps in the Waterloo campaign.

² Saxony had been an ally of Napoléon, until they switched sides at Leipzig. Which didn't prevent Prussia from annexing some areas of Saxony after peace had been agreed to.

³ Of course, Major. I am sorry.