Aftermath ...

Source

With some difficulty Christian was carried back to Mont St. Jean farm which was overwhelmed with wounded. The surgeons were very busy, but due to Christian being an officer, one of them had a quick look.

"You're a lucky man, Major. A glancing brush, no more."

"I don't understand." Christian was in a great deal of pain.

"You had a brush with a round shot, might have a couple of broken ribs, but you'll live. You're also going to have a massive bruise by morning. Had that shot been another inch over, you'd have been smashed to a pulp, Sir. Now," he looked at the men who had brought him there, "if these lads can bind you up, I've got real wounded to take care of."

"Look here ..." one of the men objected.

"He's not going to die, nasty scratch on your belly I see. Bayonet?" The surgeon was taking an academic interest in Christian's wounds, he also needed the break from sawing off limbs and probing for projectiles.

"I believe so."

"Just clean it out, bind it with clean linen. As to the ribs, they'll heal. Some recommend just leaving them be, others say binding them up is just the thing. I'd go with binding, reminds you that you're banged up, don't you know. Now, I must be off."

The surgeon bustled off and Christian looked at the men. "I'll guess I'll be alright. But if you lads don't mind, can you find someplace else for me to rest. This place is a charnel house."

One of the men took off abruptly, as Christian started to protest, another of the men said, "Hans is just off to find something to patch you up, Herr Major. He'll be back."

And he was, within minutes. One of the men cleaned up the bayonet wound with water from his canteen, apologizing for that, noting that it was the cleanest water within reach at the moment. They bound the wound with linen, then wrapped Christian's chest with cloth.

"Where'd you get this cloth?"

"Dead fellow outside, he warn't usin' it, Sir."

"Ah, very well."

Kurt was giving serious thought to killing himself, the pain in his groin was nearly overwhelming. His leg was a black mess and smelled horribly. Gangrene, Kurt thought, I've seen it kill others.

"Why wait, why wait to be overwhelmed by pain?" Kurt groaned aloud as he muttered those words. He reached for the pistol he kept with his cloak.

Someone had stolen it.

"No ..."

"We should wait for dawn, Ma'am." Thomas protested, but Elsbeth was adamant about proceeding immediately.

"Sunrise might well be too late. We should ..."

At that moment the door slammed open, "Help me with this stuff, won't ye Tom?"

It was William.

"Where in hell have you been, lad?"

"Got stuck on the high road, bloody German cavalry stole most of what was in the wagon, then they took the spare horse and the mules. Bastards, I'm lucky to have not been cut down myself. But some English dragoons come along, most of 'em wounded, and chased the Germans away."

Elsbeth sniffed, "I'm German, you do know that, right William?"

"As am I, milady, but this lot weren't Hanoverians, sounded like damned Rhinelanders."

"What news of the battle, William?" Thomas was hoping the distraction would keep Elsbeth preoccupied and not think about heading south.

"Boney's off, his whole army came apart at the seams. Old Blücher hit him at Plancenoit, nearly in Boney's rear. Old Nosey¹ held Boney by the nose, while the Prussians kicked his arse!"

Elsbeth sighed, "Well, at least that's done. Surely it's safe to head south now?"

William scoffed, "Are ye daft, lass? The Allies are holding here and the Prussians are pursuing Boney. They're a rough lot. They'll be sabering and bayoneting Frenchmen from here to Paris. You do not want to be on that road on this night. As sure as anything, you won't see tomorrow. But I reckon we can head on down to Mont St. Jean, the Duke's lads have the area secured."

"What's at Mont St. Jean?" Elsbeth snapped. She was almost ready to give up. She was tired, she had no idea of the fate of her husband, and she had been awake for nearly two days. Her patience was exhausted.

"Hospital, ma'am. Your husband might be there. It's not far from the battlefield."

"My husband was wounded at Quatre Bras, why would he be at Mont St. Jean?"

Thomas nodded, "Good point, ma'am. But it's closer to Quatre Bras, innit?"

They arrived at Mont St. Jean early on the 19th. Traffic on the Brussels chaussée had settled down, the wounded who could be moved had already been sent on. Those that remained were in various stages of dying. Southbound traffic now consisted of people visiting the battlefield.

"F**king ghouls. Pardon my French, Madam." Thomas had muttered, seeing the silk-stocking clad dandies with perfumed handkerchiefs clasped to their nose and mouth. For indeed, the smell was awful, even some distance from the field.

"Hey Tom, lookee there, ain't that the Major's son?"

Thomas looked in the direction William was pointing. There, outside of a small roadside tavern, sat Wolfgang von Kaltenweide on his horse. Thomas, knowing the lad, started calling his name and waving his arms.

Lieutenant von Kaltenweide looked over and thought he recognized his father's man, Thomas. Wasn't that also one-armed William with him? He walked his horse through the carriages proceeding south.

"Thomas! William! Have you seen my father?"

Thomas answered, "Not since before the battle, young Sir."

"Ah ha! Then you're in luck, he is within that very tavern."

It was only then that he noticed Elsbeth. He was suspicious of her friendship with his father, probably due to how devoted he was to his mother. He scarcely nodded at her before turning his attention back to Thomas and William.

"Father is pretty banged up, Frenchie bayonet scored his belly and a round shot broke some ribs. He's sore but should heal nicely, given time. Mother is with him now."

"Frau von Kaltenweide is here?"

"Yes, she came over on the 14th, she's been in Ostend the entire time. The provost would not let any of the civilians there travel to Brussels. Until yesterday when the outcome of the battle became known. Mother and I rode all night to get here."

Elsbeth interrupted, "I heard you were on the Prince of Orange's staff, is that true?"

Wolfgang paused, he seemed annoyed at Elsbeth's interrupting him.

"Yes Madam, as is your husband I believe."

"Yes, yes, has there been any word of him?"

"Yes Madam, he lies wounded at Quatre Bras, unless the French took him along on their flight to their homeland. I doubt they paused long enough to worry about that. Now, if you will excuse me, I must report to the Duke,"

Wolfgang rode off, nodding at the men but completely ignoring the woman.

Christian had been pleasantly surprised when his wife had arrived. She had fussed over him, let him know that he was "an old fool" but had seen to his needs. She had even managed to feed him, something that hadn't happened since the night of the 17th.

William had come by to inform him that his son had let them know where he was and that all was well, though unfortunately he had lost all the horses, mules, and the wagon and its contents.

"You are alive, that is all that matters. Where is Thomas?"

William looked around, Carolijn von Kaltenweide was in another room but he still leaned in close to whisper to the Major.

"He's escorting Frau von Weiding to Quatre Bras. They say her husband lies wounded there."

"It's all right William, I know all about Elsbeth and my husband's silly infatuation with her." Frau von Kaltenweide chided William as she came into the room.

Carolijn smiled as she said, "You really are an old fool, Christian, my love."

"Yes, I suppose I am. I really am old enough to know better."

"Yet you persist in thinking you're 18 years old."

He smiled at his wife before turning to William, "You must stop them, William. Major von Weiding is dead, we received word this morning."

"Dead? She will be distraught."

Carolijn looked at William, "Bring them both here. I suppose we shall have to help her now. I mean it's the Christian thing to do, isn't it?"

Christian knew her comment had been phrased exactly like that both to reprimand him and to remind him of their duty to a fellow Hanoverian. After all, Major von Weiding hadn't been a bad sort, even if his wife was a bit too friendly with Carolijn's husband. He was also of the King's German Legion, they needed to watch out for each other.

"I suppose she is family, after all." Carolijn added.

"Yes, she is."

Four days after the great battle, Elsbeth and Thomas arrived at the crossroads of Quatre Bras, the local peasants were still burning dead men and horses, looting them as well. The smell of burning flesh had caused her to stop and vomit more than once. Thomas wondered how she could have anything left to bring up.

"We should leave this place, ma'am."

"My husband, where is he? Do you think they burned him?"

"No, ma'am, not the Allied soldiers. They were all buried in a common grave near Gemioncourt. It's only the French they are burning, with the horses of course."

In truth, Thomas had talked to the local priest, Major von Weiding had taken his own life due to the great pain of his infected wound. As such he could not be buried on hallowed ground, he had been thrown onto the pyre with the dead Frenchmen. A number of villagers had protested, but the priest had overridden their objections. The man was both a heretic and a suicide the priest had proclaimed. But Thomas didn't tell Elsbeth that.

"What do I do now, Thomas? I am alone in this world."

"Don't you have family in Hannover? A father and mother, and a sister I believe?"

"I don't know, I haven't heard from them in over a year. Perhaps they are all dead, I don't know, I'm alone, it feels as if I am completely alone."

"Major von Kaltenweide will take care of you, I know he will. Let us return to Mont St. Jean."

Somehow she knew that there was nothing for her there as well, but what else could she do?

As the sun set on the 22nd of June, 1815, two figures walked slowly north on the road to Brussels. One alone and desperate, the other wondering if he was too old for this beautiful woman.

Both were alone in the world.

As were so many in the aftermath of the great battle of Waterloo ...

One man's ambition had cost so many so much, for some, it had cost everything.

Source

¹ One of the Duke's nicknames.

La Haye Sainte, Late Afternoon and Evening

The Attack on La Haye Sainte
William Barnes Wollen
Source

Christian had lost count of how many times the French cavalry had advanced up the hill. Whoever was controlling the fight on the other side of the valley seemed to have lost his mind. Doing the same thing over and over again, with the same result. Lots of dead cavalrymen and horses, the occasional dead, or wounded, infantryman. But when the cavalry fell back ...

"Sir! We can't take more of this!"

"Stand to, Lieutenant. We must take more, we will take more."

Christian had tried to sound confident, but yet another cannon shot tore through the square killing and maiming everyone in its way. Everywhere he looked were wounded men, dead men, and they were his men.

"Battalion will lie down!" he bellowed.

The men did as ordered, but as soon as they did so, a squadron of lancers dashed at them out of the smoke.

Source

Christian screamed in rage and horror, "UP LADS! UP!"

But it was too late, the horsemen were among them, those with lances (fortunately only the first rank) were killing and wounding men left and right. The horsemen used the lance with ease, manipulating the nine foot long weapon as easily as a saber.

Christian stood defiantly, about a dozen men stood with him, in the confusion they almost went unnoticed. Then Christian saw half a dozen of the green-clad Frenchmen coming towards them. All Christian could think to do was yell out ...

"FIRE AT WILL!"

The muskets fired, enveloping them in smoke, but it remained clear enough for Christian to see at least three horses go down, then another crash of musketry rang out, to the cavalry's flank.

With that, the French turned and fled down the hill, leaving more than two dozen Legionnaires dead or wounded, but leaving a number of their own on the ground as well. Christian watched in horror as one man bayoneted a cavalryman on the ground who was pleading for his life.

All of the French survivors were dispatched without a qualm.

"STAND TO LADS, FORM LINE!"

Christian realized that there were so few of them left that they wouldn't form much of a square at all, at least in line they weren't so enticing to artillery. He also had a feeling that the French cavalry were done for, the remnants of multiple units lay heaped on the field. Dead horses and men so thick you could walk upon them from his position to La Haye Sainte.

Kurt von Weiding could barely stand the pain anymore. The minor wound had turned his leg into a swollen, black and red mess. A local veterinarian had come to look at his leg, the man had shaken his head.

"Perhaps yesterday we could have saved the leg, perhaps this morning we could have amputated the leg and you might have survived. I'm afraid mon ami, that the infection has spread into your groin. There is nothing even a qualified surgeon can do for you now."

"There is nothing you can do, Monsieur?"

The man shook his head, "Rien, how do you say, nothing. If you were a horse ..."

"Yes, yes, you would shoot me. Might I get some paper and a pen?"

"Certainly Monsieur, if you address the letter, I presume it is a letter, I can make sure it goes into the post."

That had been two hours ago. Now Kurt sat and looked at what he had written. First of all, he told his son to look to his mother, though she and Kurt and separated when Karl was quite young, the woman still loved her son. Kurt knew that Elsbeth loved the boy as well, as if he were her own, but still, blood was blood.

To Elsbeth he said, "... do not mourn me for long, you are still young, find another. And have a heart for Karl, I know you care for the lad, but he will need his mother. With your support he will prosper, I'm sure. Know that I loved you with all my heart. I know that there is another man often in your thoughts these days, I do not mind. If it's who I think it is, let us just say that I count him as a friend, I know he would not betray me, nor would you. But he is a good companion and a good man. If your inclinations lie that way, then do it. Be happy, it's all I ask."

He thought about writing to his friend Christian but did not. Christian would never leave his wife, no matter how he might feel about another. He suspected him and Elsbeth of nothing more than friendship, unusual in these days, but clear to all who saw them together. To mention Elsbeth to Christian would be in poor taste and Christian might take offence. Better to just let nature have its way. However, that might turn out.

The veterinarian came by once more, shortly after sunset.

"There has been a great battle to the north."

"I have heard the guns all day." Kurt managed to say, his strength was fading fast.

"They say that the French Emperor will sleep in Brussels this very night."

"No doubt as a prisoner of the Duke of Wellington." Kurt said, his voice getting softer by the moment.

The veterinarian smiled at his human patient, "Rest now, mon ami, save your strength. I shall come by in the morning."

"Kaltenweide!"

Christian looked up to see his brigade commander, the Baron von Ompteda.

"Take what's left of your men and reinforce Baring. I fear he is on his last legs. Do you have rifle ammunition?"

"No Sir, it is gone. My riflemen have re-equipped themselves with muskets. Even they are low on ammunition."

Ompteda sighed and looked across the valley. "I fear that scoundrel isn't done yet. If it commits his Guard we shall be hard-pressed."

"Any word of the Prussians?" Christian asked.

"No, though the scouts say they are not far off. We need them and soon, or Boney will dictate the peace from Brussels."

"Ah, but we shall be dead by then, nicht wahr?¹"

Ompteda nodded, "Now get your men into the farm, hear those drums? The bastards are coming on again!"

As Ompteda galloped off, Christian and his surviving officers and men led the men over to La Haye Sainte. They made it through the opening to the barn just in time.

"Spread the men throughout, fight with the men of the 2nd and whoever else is here. We stand or fall on this ground, this very day. Now go!"

The sun was setting, ammunition was running low and the house and barn were both on fire. Christian thought it a scene from Dante's Inferno. His sword was broken off near the tip, what was left of the blade was encrusted with blood. His left cheek was laid open where a French bayonet had pricked him while helping to hold the opening to the barn. The French corpses were piled three deep there. Though in truth, there were a number of dead Germans with them.

"Sir! They're breaking through the main gate, by the road, we have no ball, no ammunition!"

"Then we'll meet them with cold steel!"

Christian saw a rifle upon the cobbled courtyard, the sword bayonet still affixed. He threw his sword away and picked it up.

"Come on, Sergeant! Let's kill some Frenchmen!"

Source

The French managed to collapse the gate onto the men trying to hold it closed. Christian looked over, he saw his Shakespeare quoting Sergeant collapse as a big French pioneer split the man's head with his axe.

Sobbing with exhaustion, Christian tried to get to the man, but was shoved backwards in the frenzied melee by the gate. The last he saw of the Sergeant was him on his back, being bayoneted multiple times by angered French infantry.

Christian got to his feet, then went back down, it felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. When he sat down hard, he reached for his midriff, his hand came away bloody.

He felt someone lifting him from behind, "Let's go, Sir. Baring has ordered a retreat to the ridge. Can you walk?"

He took a step, it hurt but he could walk, he assumed that he had a flesh wound, no more.

He and the captain, it was Knorr, how the man had survived thus far was something of a miracle, staggered into the farmhouse. He could hear the screams of the men behind him. One man, a corporal rushed back to the courtyard, screaming ...

"They're bayoneting the wounded!"

Knorr called after him, "No! Corporal, this way, we have orders."

Christian shook his head, "Let's go, he won't be back."

Fortunately night was close, when he and Knorr, and perhaps fifty men of his own battalion, reached the ridge, he was distraught to learn that Baron Ompteda had been killed leading one of the Line battalions down to lend support to La Haye Sainte. French cuirassiers had come out of the smoke and cut the battalion to red ruin. Ompteda had been shot in the throat while trying to rally the battalion. He had died instantly.

They could hear firing to the east, a passing officer had informed them, "The Prussians! The Prussians are here and are driving the French before them!"

Off in the gathering gloom, they heard shouts, and drums. Another passing officer yelled out that the French Guard were attacking the ridge.

Christian was beginning to think he might be alive to celebrate the victory.

Then he was hit again, this time in the chest. A far more serious wound.

"I don't care what you say, Thomas. I'm going and you cannot stop me. Come with me, or be quiet. My husband may be dead or dying, my friend, your friend, may be as well. Are you content to just sit there and hope?"

Thomas realized that she was going to have her way, no matter what he did. "Very well, ma'am. But at least assume some form of disguise. Perhaps dress as a peasant man, no one will think twice about that. But a beautiful woman on the road? There are desperate men out there, they would think nothing of taking you against your will."

"Very well, but let us be quick."

"As you say, ma'am."

As they left Waterloo, the streams of wounded on the road were thicker, they also noticed quite a few French prisoners of war. Thomas saw a man he knew.

"How goes the war, Alfred?"

"The Duke has done for old Boney, his army is running back to Paris even as we speak. The Guard came up and our lads kicked them in the teeth. First time Boney's Guard has ever run away. 'Twas a sight to see. Now, I need to get these tame Froggies up to Brussels. Fare thee well, Thomas."

"And you, Alfred."

Bonaparte is defeated?" Elsbeth asked, her voice betraying her surprise.

"Seems so, Madam, seems so."




¹ Isn't that right?

The Cavalry

Source

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."

La Haye Sainte, Early Afternoon

Source

"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.