Napoleon in 1812

 

Chapter 67

 

 

11. Operation Sickle – 5

The Allied command headquarters, located at the edge of the enemy’s artillery range, were as precarious as the rest of the current coalition forces. Officers advised to move the headquarters barracks to a safer rear, but Arthur Wellesley flatly refused.

They had already retreated once, pressured by the French army. Doing it again would not look any different than running away. To keep the morale of the soldiers, they could not back down.

“On the way to the city of Buniel, we found traces of spies and scouts apparently dispatched from the French side. They seem quite recent.”

That was right. From the beginning, Napoleon had been expecting the Allies to retreat around this time. Arthur Wellesley, who smiled bitterly saying that he could not be defeated, had now begun to worry. In the distance, French troops in blue uniforms were rushing in like waves.

On the battlefield, Arthur Wellesley always enjoyed using his defense strategy because it was advantageous for him to win. Because humans were not perfect beings, there was not a commander perfect in every way. Attack meant breaking the consistency and taking risks in the process, which inevitably revealed mistakes and weaknesses. On the other hand, defense was stable and consistent and could also hide weaknesses from the outside.

Establishing a solid defense line using the terrain, observing the situation closely without any risk, and inducing an enemy’s preemptive attack. Cold and rational, Arthur Wellesley could discover enemy errors and vulnerabilities in the process, and had always won with a counterattack actively exploiting them.

His reasoning had always been correct. But at this moment in time, he was questioning it.

Arthur Wellesley struggled to find mistakes and gaps as he watched Napoleon’s troops advance.

Even the best commander could not control all units, and big and small mistakes could occur because of various causes, such as the lack of communication between units, troops advancing too deeply in enemy territory, or lines getting twisted because of successive advances and retreats.

But Napoleon’s Corps was different. It was the same for all the units that Wellesley saw. There was no gap or crack in the French troops entering, as they splendidly changed formation, pressuring Wellesley’s Corps. They repeated their advance by establishing strict fire control with unexpected uniformity and consistency.

A series of processes were carried out in unison, like well-interlocked cogwheels. In the face of this regular and heavy force, the coalition troops were pushed back helplessly.

“…I’ve never seen or heard of an army like this before.”

The lieutenant’s complaints was representing Wellesley’s feelings. Before they knew it, the tricolor flag, not the Allied flag, was flying over the main battlefield. In the end, Arthur Wellesley had no choice but to move his command post a little further back. And as if he had waited for this, Napoleon immediately deployed a French battery forward, tightening Wellesley’s breath.

Boom! Boom! Booom! Booom! Booom!

Under the heavy French artillery shelling, damage on the coalition side was accumulating. Their merciless fire easily penetrated the ranks of the Allied soldiers. Despite such unfavorable circumstances, Arthur Wellesley’s defensive tactics shone.

It was Wellesley’s masterpiece that quickly stopped Louis Nicolas Davout’s side-attack troops with timely reinforcements and reversal of the battle lines. Wellesley, who directly commanded the advance and support of numerous coalition forces, covering miles of space between the villages of La Buena and San Felices, and blocked the French army, was showing superhuman-like abilities.

The officers under his command thought this. If anyone other than Arthur Wellesley had been in charge of commanding here, they would have never made it this far. However, the shoulders of the coalition leaders, including Wellesley, had no choice but to drop after they heard the news.

“All the troops sent to the reed forest have been destroyed?…”

The fifteen battalions of specialists in guerrilla warfare were a trump card to strike the French right wing. Thanks to them, the rest of the coalition forces were able to concentrate on the French army’s middle and left wing, and to hold out by digging trenches. The fact that the units that were in charge of such an important task had been destroyed in one stroke, and that even the commander of the units, Brigadier General Miguel Blake, had been taken prisoner, was an event that could break Arthur Wellesley’s patience.

“We’ve definitely selected the best fighters for this terrain! But what the hell is this result!? Tell me! Did Napoleon release demons of hell in the reeds!?”

Major General Rowland Hill, known for remaining cool and reasonable on any battlefield, bawled and smashed the wooden table with his fist as if to break it. It was also a shocking scene for the coalition officers who knew him.

“…They were the Middle Guard of the French Empire. They were wearing uniforms of a color similar to that of the reeds to camouflage themselves, and they freely roamed and hunted us like they were in their own courtyard.”

Listening to the testimony of the surviving soldiers, Wellesley closed her eyes and shook his head.

Napoleon… It was Napoleon again.

Ever since he began fighting him, he had been fooled like this by his opponent without being able to do anything. The command headquarters fell into silence. Arthur Wellesley had to make a final decision.

“Do I really have to use this in the end!…”

=

The last tactical operation to take over the French battery failed catastrophically.

Now the victory was completely over to the French side. They launched an all-out attack from all directions to achieve a brilliant victory. Under the French advance, which morale soared to the sky, the Allies looked as dangerous as lanterns in front of the wind.

While looking at Napoleon’s Corps, which was unstoppable, Arthur Wellesley, the iron commander, showed no change of expression. It was also his nature to remain calm despite his humiliating defeat against Napoleon from the beginning to the end.

The final operation to capture the French army’s battery was obviously reckless.

But thanks to their brave attack, the Allied command headquarters could buy valuable time to prepare their new strategic weapons.

“It’s time to start the fireworks!”

“S-Sir! Really, to use so many of them at once!…”

“They’re just rockets. Each soldier’s life is more precious to me. I, the commander, will be responsible for everything! So I want you to obey my orders!”

The officer, who could not refuse Arthur Wellesley’s orders, clenched his teeth and lowered the flag.

At the signal, hundreds of fireworks flew in unison.

Peeeeeeee-!

It was like a giant hundreds of meters tall, playing a giant flute that fit his body. A series of sharp and thin sounds echoed, illuminating the morning sky over the Arlanzón River.

They were Congreve rockets. The other day, when the French had launched a surprise attack, the Allies had a lot of fun using Congreve rockets.

However, it was not comparable to now in terms of numbers and supplies.

“Congreve rockets!”

“A-Avoid them!”

“Ahhh! Ahhhhh!”

“F-Fire! Get some water now!”

Europe was traditionally a region affected by humid winds coming from the west, and where wet weather continued from autumn to winter, but things were a little different as you went inland. In particular, Burgos was one of the areas where precipitation was particularly low in Spain, and the area had become drier due to the lack of rain over the past few days.

Thanks to this, the French artillery had the best environment to set up their cannons, but it was time to pay its price.

The Congreve rockets, which flew high into the sky with a roar and sparks, exploded in the air and split in all directions like exploding fireworks. Congreve rockets had a bigger range than cannons, and could fly up to 1.6 miles.

As if to prove their reputation of being able to strike a wider area than any other weapon in modern times, the entire battlefield was set on fire. Not only the French infantry, who was still marching in lines, but also the artillery and cavalry behind them were within range.

Even the rear positions, military camps, barracks, and supply stations located at the rear of the French army were blown away.

“Second battery, fire!”

Peeeeeeee-!!

It was time for the second round of fireworks.

Likewise, the Congreve rockets, which were shot on the battlefield where French troops stood, struck and burned evenly living and nonliving things. The tremendous roar, cohesive explosions, and subsequent flames looked like the manifestation of a disaster.

The French had been walking as if they had just won the war. Now they were confused and panicked like lost ducklings. Not missing that time, the British launched third and fourth rounds of rocket bombings on them.

The chaos that came to the French army became even more severe.

‘Looking at it like that, the Congreve rocket seems to be the best strategic weapon of all time… but that’s not the case.’

The Congreve rocket’s hit rate was absolutely terrible. There was no concept of aiming, so only God knew where it was heading after firing. Therefore, it was problematic to use it on general battlefields, not just because of the difficulty to concentrate its firepower, but because of potential friendly fire.

“Sir, you must go now! Leave the rest to us, lead the rear guards quickly and leave!”

“All right, gentlemen. I wish you good luck.”

Wellesley drove his horse. The coalition forces, which had been deployed on a long line between the towns of La Buena and San Felices, had began retreating half an hour ago, one unit after another in order, and now were reduced to less than a quarter. As he rode his horse, Wellesley looked at the falling rockets.

Of the thousands of rockets, the ones hitting the enemy were burning splendidly in the morning, worthy of their name, but there were also far more rockets that failed to reach the enemy. A lot of them fell into the Arlanzón River, and there were many defective products that fell in remote places and could not cause any damage to the French army.

He did not know how expensive the unit price of one rocket was, but the cost of this bombing may have been about 5% of Britain’s total military budget. Considering that Britain’s annual military expenditure was several times larger than that of the entire French army, which had hundreds of thousands of troops, this single firework was equivalent to tens of thousands of troops disappearing.

But in the end, it succeeded in creating more strategic value.

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‘The war that depends on individual excellence has passed. Now, the nation’s economic power and political soundness determine the difference between victory and defeat. Napoleon, no matter how brilliant you are, you will not be able to withstand the flow of this great age.’

Although Wellesley and the coalition forces fought so hard, they could not stop the French. But the power of new weapons and of the economy, allowing to strike the French massively, made it possible.

Wellesley looked at his enemies, who had completely stopped advancing, and drove off the battlefield again. The Allied headquarters faced the threat of defeat, but were able to escape the range of French attacks using such a trump card. The first confrontation between Napoleon Bonaparte and Arthur Wellesley ended in this way.

TL notes

Arthur Wellesley watching the fireworks: