Chapter 1143: Battle of the Pyramids
Indeed, the French High-Altitude Reconnaissance Battalion had been monitoring the battlefield from the sky, keeping every movement of the Mamluk army under clear observation.
Masséna turned to the signalman and asked, "Has the West Bank sent the signal yet?"
"Not yet, General."
Masséna let out a long breath and commanded his messenger, "Order the entire army to retreat four kilometers to the southwest.
"Hussars, maintain a vigilant screen on our flanks."
"Yes, General!"
Two hours later, when Ibrahim led his cavalry to the site of the French camp, he found it completely deserted.
However, his scouts quickly rediscovered the French position. Cursing the "cowardly Frenchmen" under his breath, he ordered his cavalry to mass and give chase toward the southwest.
Meanwhile, on the east bank of the Nile, Muhammad Ali was loudly urging his Albanian Legion forward. "Cairo is only eleven kilometers away! Pick up the pace!
In truth, ever since crossing Suez, he had virtually ignored the orders of the commander-in-chief, Raif.
As Raif’s corps approached Cairo, Muhammad Ali had deliberately stalled, trailing far behind with his eight thousand soldiers.
When Raif was ambushed by the Mamluks and ordered a retreat, Muhammad Ali did not follow. Instead, he moved south, clearing the path for the retreating forces before ordering a forced march toward Cairo.
He had coordinated this battle plan with the French before even leaving Constantiniyye.
From the very beginning, the victory of the Egyptian campaign was destined to be his.
After several more hours of marching, scouts returned to report Mamluk defenders positioned three kilometers ahead.
Muhammad Ali immediately signaled his messenger. "Begin the signal."
"Yes, my lord!"
Dozens of Albanian soldiers quickly piled prepared wood and fuel into a massive circle and set it ablaze.
There was little smoke, but the fire circle, nearly a hundred meters across, burned with a steady, fierce light.
An officer watched the soldiers continuously feeding the flames and asked his commander doubtfully, "My lord, can the French truly see this signal?"
Muhammad Ali nodded. "If they told us to do this, there should be no problem."
He turned back to his messenger and shouted, "Order the army to rest where they stand. In three hours, we attack."
"Yes, my lord!"
Ten kilometers away, near the French camp, a hot air balloon drifted lazily in the sky.
The scout in the gondola strained his eyes toward the opposite bank of the Nile. The terrain here was flat and featureless, with few tall trees, allowing for an unobstructed view from high above.
Suddenly, he noticed a flickering light on the distant riverbank.
He quickly raised his telescope to confirm. When a faint ring of fire appeared in his lens, he immediately turned to the sergeant beside him. "Matthieu, the signal is up! Report to the ground!"
Matthieu grabbed two long wooden signaling rods and began raising and lowering them rhythmically. Below, the soldiers of the reconnaissance battalion responded using a mobile Chappe signal tower. They were transmitting a verification code—a simple encryption calculation using Morse code—to the soldiers in the balloon. If the scout found that the verification code didn't match his own calculation, he would know the ground crew had misread him and would immediately re-send the previous segment of information.
A few minutes later, the signalman responsible for recording the transmission sealed the intelligence and handed it to a courier.
Masséna soon learned that Muhammad Ali had reached his designated position. He immediately commanded his staff, "Begin the counterattack as planned."
He added a cautious warning:
"Tell the artillery to stay as close to the infantry lines as possible. The enemy has a massive cavalry force; watch out for sudden charges.
"Hussars, cover the flanks but do not engage in a head-on struggle.
"Cuirassiers, do not commit to a reinforcement charge unless absolutely necessary..."
Within minutes, his orders were relayed to all officers via the mobile signal towers. Over ten thousand French troops moved as one.
Ibrahim was urging his riders to maintain their speed when he suddenly heard the shrieking whistle of shells tearing through the air.
In the next heartbeat, the Mamluk cavalry in his vanguard were torn asunder by an invisible, gargantuan force. Several straight lanes of carnage were carved into the cavalry formation.
Ibrahim was momentarily stunned, cursing the French artillery for what he assumed was a stroke of impossible luck. He swung his whip, shouting for his men not to panic and to keep moving forward.
The thunder of cannons rolled in again from the distance. Once more, crimson furrows were sliced through the Mamluk ranks. A warm, sticky lump of something hit Ibrahim's forehead with a wet slap.
He wiped away the piece of shredded flesh, staring in disbelief toward the source of the fire.
The French cannons weren't even visible yet, meaning they were at least a kilometer away. Yet they had managed two direct hits in a row!
He had no way of knowing that the hot air balloon was constantly reporting the exact coordinates of the Mamluk cavalry to the artillery batteries.
The French gunners, meanwhile, used complex functions to calculate the elevation, firing angle, and powder charge within a single minute. These men were products of rigorous military academies, possessing a grasp of mathematics that rivaled university scholars.
With such precision, even when the enemy was beyond their line of sight, they could maintain an astonishing hit rate of over twenty-five percent.
In truth, the Mamluk cavalry was simply unlucky. This system of air-to-ground coordinated artillery strikes had been prepared for the great powers of Europe, but they were the first to experience its devastating debut.
By the time another salvo plunged accurately into the Mamluk ranks, Ibrahim finally realized something was horribly wrong.
Fortunately, the French infantry line was now within reach. He roared for his cavalry to transition into a trot, silently counting the rhythm of the hooves.
In another twenty-five strides, they would begin the final charge. By then, the French cannons would only have time for one last shot.
After that, it would be his turn to take vengeance with the saber!
The Mamluk cavalry proved exceptionally fierce. Even after losing four or five hundred men to the cannons, they held their formation. Upon hearing the Bey’s command to charge, they gripped their sabers tight, letting out a thunderous roar: "Follow the path of the Lord!"
However, they were met by four massive hollow squares.
For the soldiers of the French direct corps, switching to this standard formation took only a matter of minutes.
Each hollow square consisted of two thousand soldiers, three ranks deep. They leveled their bayonets forward at an angle, transforming into a giant, square hedgehog of steel.
The cannons were protected in the center of these squares, comfortably pouring lethal grapeshot into the swarming Mamluk cavalry.
When the riders charged toward the squares with suicidal bravery, they were forced by the dense wall of bayonets to veer off to the sides.
But because these squares presented the same face in every direction, no matter how much they circled, they could find no opening to break through.
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