Chapter 1206: The Battle of the Var River
The French had established a vast network of ironworks and two massive coal mines in Wallonia, with investments totaling millions of pounds sterling.
If the British forces could shatter the Brussels defense line, these industrial assets would be utterly decimated.
Sir John Moore was already envisioning a glorious future. If the French army failed to react swiftly enough, he might even be able to push into Luxembourg, a region equally rich in French iron ore.
From there, the road would lead to Verdun—the final fortress standing before Paris itself.
At one o'clock in the afternoon, a staff officer reported to Moore. "General, the central column has completed its crossing. Do you wish to inspect the defensive line on the south bank?"
Thanks to the relentless day-and-night labor of conscripted Dutch locals, four parallel pontoon bridges had been erected across the Var River. This had made the crossing exceptionally efficient.
Moore’s eyes remained fixed on the map as he waved a hand dismissively. "Have Colonel Patrick take charge of the defensive line. That will suffice."
The words had barely left his lips when a thunderous roar echoed from the opposite bank.
That was the sound of 12-pounder cannons!
"Where... where did they come from?" He blinked hard, but when he looked again, the two French columns had drawn even closer.
"Patrick!" Moore bellowed. "Have the Hussars cover the right flank! You, go to the left flank and organize a defense immediately!"
He grabbed his horse's reins and leaped into the saddle, intending to gallop toward the far bank.
However, his captain of the guard quickly caught up, and along with several sentries, physically blocked his path.
On the south bank, the British army was in complete disarray. Some were still harnessing horses, while others were busy hauling ammunition crates.
Aside from a single regiment that had crossed earlier that morning and established a forward outpost, the rest of the soldiers were nowhere near a combat-ready state.
Allowing their general to cross the river now would be nothing short of handing the French an easy trophy.
As expected, the British soldiers who had already crossed began to descend into chaos. Some turned back toward the pontoon bridges, desperate to return to the north bank; others shouted for their units to form ranks and prepare for a defense; but the majority simply stood frozen in place, waiting for orders that never came.
Even the officers were stunned. Previous intelligence had suggested the French had only eight or nine thousand men in the area. Without Dutch cooperation, who could have imagined they would dare to march so far to launch a surprise assault?
The few cannons the French had brought—only three in total—continuously lobbed shells into the crowded masses along the shore. Because the British troops had not yet had time to disperse after crossing, nearly every shell that landed plowed through a dozen or more bodies.
As projectiles splashed into the water, the surface along the southern bank of the Var quickly turned a grisly shade of crimson.
Moments later, the French infantry columns reached the eastern edge of the British position. Calling it a position was generous; the area was as chaotic as a crowded marketplace. The French quickly deployed into line formations and began unleashing synchronized volleys into the panicked British ranks.
In a situation where they were pummeling a virtually defenseless enemy, the concentrated fire of a traditional line formation was far more lethal. Consequently, they abstained from their standard skirmisher swarm tactics.
On the opposite side, over a hundred British Hussars were still trying to organize themselves when they were scattered by a charge from a French Ranger unit.
Meanwhile, Gaillard commanded the Walloon Regional Army to encircle the main British defensive force from the front.
Lefebvre watched through his telescope as more and more British soldiers crowded the docks, fighting to board the pontoon bridges. He turned to his messenger. "Order the artillery to advance to the riverbank. Aim for the pontoon bridges and fire."
Ten minutes later, two 12-pounder cannons, protected by infantry, began pounding the bridges.
The four bridges were packed with seven or eight hundred British soldiers, who immediately began leaping into the river in terror.
Those who hadn't managed to reach the bridges yet realized their hope of escape was gone. They began to drop to their knees in surrender.
The entire engagement lasted little more than an hour. The 13,000 British troops on the south bank of the Var were utterly routed.
Sir John Moore witnessed the entire catastrophe from the north bank, his face deathly pale.
"General, the Siobhan Legion has established a defensive line," a lieutenant colonel whispered at his side. "You must move to a safe location now."
It was true; the French could storm across the Var at any moment. The morale of the British troops who hadn't crossed had completely collapsed; they possessed no will to fight.
Lefebvre, however, did not order a pursuit. His soldiers had been on a forced march for nearly thirty hours, with less than six hours of sleep in between. They were physically exhausted.
Furthermore, the Flemish Legion had not yet caught up, and their supply train was still dozens of kilometers away.
By evening, Gaillard brought the preliminary casualty reports to Lefebvre. "Good God, that was the most satisfying battle of my life! Well, second only to that time I served under the Crown Prince a few years ago."
"Look at this. We’ve captured over 8,700 enemy troops. We haven't finished counting the dead or those who drowned, but it’s at least another 3,000."
"We also seized roughly 1,500 warhorses and more percussion cap muskets than I can count..."
He paused, curling his lip slightly. "The only disappointment is the lack of artillery. The British cannons are still stuck on the other side of the river."
Lefebvre smiled and offered a few words of praise to comfort him. -
Gaillard then asked, "General, where do we go next? Utrecht or Amsterdam? The Dutch will surely welcome us as heroes."
Lefebvre shook his head. "No, we continue heading north."
"Right, we have to chase down the remnants of the British army."
"The Flemish Legion can handle that. They’ll have enough support from the Dutch to deal with the demoralized British," Lefebvre said. "As for us, we are going to Groningen."
Gaillard's eyes widened in shock. "You... you don't mean to..."
"Exactly," Lefebvre nodded with a grin. "We’re going to give the British a little surprise."
Groningen was the northernmost city in the Netherlands, situated right next to the Prussian enclave of Emden. Another sixty kilometers or so to the east lay Hanover, the ancestral home of the British King.
Lefebvre might only have eight or nine thousand men, but the Hanoverian forces were currently stationed near Baden, and the nearest Prussian troops were positioned along the Rhine. The entirety of Northern Germany was essentially undefended.
The terrain between Groningen and Hanover consisted of vast plains with no natural barriers to speak of.
As long as the Dutch provided sufficient logistics and supplies, Lefebvre was confident he could throw Hanover into absolute chaos.
Even if the enemy reacted quickly, he could easily retreat back into the Netherlands to defend. There was almost no risk involved.
The following morning, as Lefebvre was sending his new operational plan to the General Staff Headquarters, he received their confirmation and approval for his previous plan to raid the British forces at the Var River.
Meanwhile, in Switzerland...
On the northern side of Lake Biel.
This was one of the few agricultural regions in Switzerland. The wheat had already been harvested, and the winter wheat had not yet been sown, leaving the vast plains stretching out as far as the eye could see.
General Hotze watched the lethargic Hanoverian soldiers and frowned, turning to his staff. "Tell those lazy bastards to pick up the pace. The French could get word of our movement at any moment. If that happens, we'll be forced to trek over the Jura Mountains."
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