Chapter 1144: The Battle of the Pyramids II
Standing like a statue on the outer edge of the northernmost hollow square, Chaumont gripped his Pattern 1790 Chasseur Rifle tightly. He completely ignored the swarms of Mamluk cavalry howling toward them, turning his head to roar at the soldiers of his company, "Show these men what a true warrior of France is made of!"
Just a dozen meters away, a non-commissioned officer—whose collar tabs bore the same light-gold trim as Chaumont's—was also loudly encouraging the troops. "The enemy will break soon! Everyone, hold your positions!"
"For glory! For France! Hold your rifles steady!"
"Hey, the 17th Company is taking the Medal of Courage for this battle!"
"Did you hear that, 21st? Someone wants to steal our medals! We can't let them win!"
Indeed, Chaumont and the other non-commissioned officers were the newly designated Honor Representatives, a role established following the Second Military Reform.
They were all rigorously selected—not only for their exceptional military skills but also for passing a strict political screening. Their primary responsibilities included boosting morale, providing daily psychological counseling for the soldiers, and teaching literacy classes.
The Honor Representatives served as the "glue" among the ranks and acted as the backbone of the units during combat.
In many ways, they had replaced the roles traditionally held by military chaplains and grenadiers. Now, the number of chaplains in the French army had been reduced to a third of its former size.
This was also a crucial measure taken by Joseph to diminish the Church's influence over the military.
Under the leadership of these Honor Representatives, the hollow squares remained as immovable as mountains beneath the tidal wave of Mamluk charges.
Soon, two columns of cavalry swept past the northern side of the square, preparing to wheel around and reorganize for another assault.
However, the soldiers forming the square immediately raised their rifles and opened fire.
As a series of muzzle flashes erupted from the northern face of the square, over a hundred Mamluk horsemen were struck through the back by bullets. Amidst a chorus of agonizing screams, they tumbled from their saddles one after another.
The French army was now entirely equipped with rifles, completely moving past the era of the flintlock musket where accuracy was "a matter of faith." Within a hundred paces, they could hit precisely what they aimed at.
Sean shouted a reminder to his comrades nearby, "Don't panic! Reload just like we did in training! First rank, cease fire!"
Seconds later, the rear two ranks unleashed another volley.
This time, however, because the Mamluk cavalry had already galloped nearly a hundred meters away, the lethality dropped significantly, killing only about twenty more riders.
In the distance, peering through the swirling dust, Ibrahim could vaguely see his elite cavalry circling the thin squares without ever managing to break through. Anxiety began to gnaw at his heart.
He offered a brief, silent prayer, drew his saber, and barked at his personal guards, "Fight for the Path! Follow me! Crush the heathens!"
Ibrahim dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, leading nearly a thousand reserve cavalrymen toward the second hollow square.
Yet, while he was still over a kilometer away from the French lines, he saw hundreds of blood-soaked Mamluk riders fleeing toward him.
An officer at their head, half of whose cheek had been torn away by a bullet, spotted the Bey's banner. He rushed forward to intercept Ibrahim, his voice rasping and hoarse, "Lord Bey, it is too dangerous! Please, you must turn back!"
It took Ibrahim a long moment to recognize the man as Hajid, one of his top three fiercest commanders. His heart sank instantly.
Hajid was a brute who feared nothing in battle. If even he was choosing to retreat, there was only one possible conclusion: even if they sacrificed every single horseman, they would not be able to tear a hole in the French defense.
In truth, the Mamluk cavalry had already proven themselves incredibly resilient. Hajid's unit, for instance, had started with twelve hundred riders and only chose to fall back when their numbers had dwindled to seven hundred.
Sure enough, more and more Mamluk cavalry began to break and flee toward the village of Imbaba. Officers in the rear tried to block them with their sabers, but they were like fallen leaves in the ocean, quickly swept away by the surging wave of retreat.
Terrified, Ibrahim scrambled back to Imbaba and ordered his officers to rally the routed troops.
Half an hour later, Murad, who had been tasked with striking the French flank, also returned in a state of disarray.
Upon questioning him, Ibrahim learned that Murad had been beaten into a corner by four hundred French cuirassiers supported by heavy artillery, unable to mount any effective resistance.
Murad had taken twelve hundred cavalrymen with him; fewer than a thousand returned.
As Ibrahim leaned over a map, agonizing over his next tactical move, an officer ran in to report, "Lord Bey, the French have appeared less than fifteen hundred meters away."
Ibrahim looked at his attendant. "How many cavalry have returned?"
"There are roughly five thousand riders now, Lord Bey."
Ibrahim was, after all, the most militarily capable leader among the Mamluks. He frowned in thought for a moment before turning to his messenger. "Have Abdullah prepare to meet the enemy head-on."
He then looked at Murad. "Take all the cavalry and move south. Bypass the French flank and strike their rear. If you encounter their cavalry, retreat and find another spot to attack."
'Once the French fall into chaos, I will launch a frontal counterattack to coordinate with you.'
This was the Nile floodplain, a land ruled by cavalry.
He had previously sought a quick resolution to the conflict on the west bank of the Nile, which was why he had launched a decisive battle right from the start.
But in reality, his cavalry needed to utilize their high mobility to constantly pull and stretch the enemy's lines to create an opening.
The only drawback was that such a tactic would take a considerable amount of time.
Ibrahim turned his gaze toward Cairo and whispered to himself, 'I hope Fadel can hold off Raif during this time.'
Before long, the faint sound of French war drums reached Ibrahim's command post.
Ibrahim climbed to the roof of a granary. Through his telescope, he saw a sparse, white line of infantry reaching the outskirts of the village.
He couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Based on his understanding of European armies, infantry lines were supposed to be as dense and orderly as possible. This suggested the French were unable to maintain their formation while advancing.
It was very likely that the opposing French commander was only skilled at defense and possessed mediocre offensive capabilities.
This gave him a glimmer of hope once more.
Murad loudly promised his cavalrymen enormous rewards after the battle and led the army south along the Nile, simultaneously sending out numerous scouts to track the French positions.
However, even after traveling nearly four kilometers, he still found organized French infantry units to his west.
Finally, a stretch of desert to the south blocked his path. Such was the geography of the Nile basin—a mixture of river, oasis, and desert.
Murad knew that although this patch of desert was less than six kilometers wide, he simply didn't have the time to cross it and circle back.
Furthermore, his cavalry had already been fighting for half the day; they lacked the stamina to traverse the sands.
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