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Chapter 327: Miscalculation

Blücher kicked over an Italian-style carved chair, grabbed the messenger's collar, and demanded, "What's going on? How many Frenchmen are there?"

"T-t-ten thousand, or more..." the messenger stammered, head bowed, trembling. "Their infantry lines broke through the Netherlanders' front with just a single attack."

"Ten thousand?" Blücher's grip loosened, releasing the messenger, but he continued to shake his head.

Even if the estimate of the enemy's strength was wrong, his 5,000 Netherlander troops, along with the cavalry and artillery he'd sent, still totaled nearly 7,000 men blocking the mountain pass.

With defensive lines established in advance, holding off 10,000 French troops for an entire day should have been no problem.

Yet now, they had only held out for little more than an hour!

'Could Duke Brunswick's assessment of the Southern Netherlanders' fighting strength have been wrong? Were those fellows actually just useless cannon fodder...?'

"No, that's not right!" Blücher immediately shook his head again. It was those very same men who had fought so tenaciously against Austrian forces far outnumbering them, even surpassing Prussian infantry in morale.

"General," an aide-de-camp at his side saw him lost in thought and quickly called out to him, "What should we do now?"

Blücher snapped back to reality. Right, now wasn't the time to dwell on the Southern Netherlanders' fighting strength. His main army had been cut in two by the French. If handled improperly, they could face utter annihilation.

He forced himself to calm down and strode to the map. After a brief moment of contemplation, he pointed to a spot marked "X" on the east, the position of the remaining Austrian forces. He instructed a messenger, "Have the Barkhaus and Altmann Regiments leave 1,000 men to keep an eye on Leo, and withdraw the rest of their forces immediately."

"The Dietlinde Legion must reach this position by two o'clock this afternoon!" He firmly tapped the southeastern part of the map. After the French broke through the Southern Netherlanders' lines, that area had become the French rear.

Blücher took a deep breath. "Maximilian will take two regiments and delay the French here. The artillery and the remaining infantry will move north to establish a defensive line in Wunselle Town."

"We still have a numerical advantage. As long as we hold our ground and fight steadily, we will surely repel the French on the main battlefield!"

Even after losing Wit's Southern Netherlander forces and some cavalry, Blücher still commanded 16,000 soldiers. If they linked up with the Prussian troops stationed near Wunselle, his combined force would number nearly 20,000.

At this point, Blücher only needed to pull back his main force and have the corps he'd sent to the east and west converge inwards to form a pincer movement. Then, leveraging his superior numbers, he could reverse the unfavorable situation in one swift strike.

"Yes, General!" The messenger turned and exited the tent, relaying his orders swiftly throughout the army.

...

On a gentle slope several kilometers to the northeast, Leo watched the ever-growing numbers of Prussian troops, his face deathly pale. He said with a tremor to Lefebvre at his side, "Major, there are probably six or seven thousand enemies here, and they've brought cannons..."

"His Royal Highness the Crown Prince's forces haven't arrived yet. Shouldn't we retreat north first?"

Lefebvre also wore a grave expression—he only had about 2,000 men, and Leo's Austrian troops were practically useless. It would undoubtedly be extremely difficult to face over 6,000 Prussian troops with artillery.

But he shook his head firmly. "No, His Highness will surely come to reinforce us before noon."

He then smiled faintly. "Even if His Highness doesn't arrive, I won't leave this place. Retreat is no honor for a soldier."

Just as he was about to order his cavalry to launch a surprise attack on the Prussian artillery while they were organizing their formation, he suddenly saw a commotion break out in the enemy camp.

He quickly raised his telescope to observe. He saw more than a dozen Prussian messengers on horseback crisscrossing the formation, evidently announcing some crucial orders.

Soon after, a hussar rode up, cracking his whip, and called out loudly, "Colonel, the rear of the Prussian army is turning around; it seems they're retreating."

Lefebvre's eyes lit up immediately, and he slapped Leo on the shoulder, laughing heartily, "See? I told you! His Highness has come to help us!"

Although Leo's rank was three levels higher than his own, he nodded with an unconcerned smile now. "Yes, you were right. We are finally safe, oh, thank goodness! Praise to His Royal Highness the valiant Crown Prince!"

"Now I need to go back to my tent and have a cup of coffee to calm my nerves."

"Wait!" Lefebvre grabbed him and raised his telescope again to observe. "If the Prussians are retreating because of His Highness's attack, then we can't let them get away with it."

Leo was stunned. "W-what are you doing?"

Lefebvre smiled. "We're going on the offensive!"

"N-no! You must be joking..."

Lefebvre proved his seriousness with his actions. Just half an hour later, his regiment and the two accompanying cavalry companies, dragging the Austrian troops along, launched a fierce assault against the Prussians facing them.

Lefebvre brought the Austrian army along because he knew the Prussians' target was Leo. Therefore, as long as the Austrian army was with them, the Prussians' attacks would be focused more on them.

Prussian commander Altmann, tasked with pursuing Leo, had never expected that the numerically inferior Austrians would dare to launch an offensive.

However, Marquis Blücher's order was for him to return immediately for reinforcement. At this moment, apart from the 1,000 men covering the rear, all other soldiers had already entered marching formation.

He could only grit his teeth and urge his troops to accelerate their retreat. Marquis Blücher's deployment was the most crucial factor.

But before his main force had marched even a kilometer, the thundering sound of hooves erupted behind them. Lefebvre was confident of victory even against an equal number of Prussian troops, let alone a mere 1,000 enemy soldiers.

He personally led his column in a charge, crushing the rearguard almost without resistance, and then pursued Altmann closely.

Murat gazed at the winding Prussian marching columns in the distance, his heart pounding with excitement. Today, the Guards Corps had been on defense, and he hadn't had a chance to earn any distinction. Now, finally, he had an opportunity to back up his boasts—it wasn't impossible to cut down ten such unformed infantrymen.

At the cavalry captain's command, Murat began to trot, then immediately brandished his saber and engaged in a fierce melee with the hastily arrayed Prussian cavalry.

...

Blücher's guards had just loaded his luxurious furnishings onto the carriages and were about to urge their horses forward when two hussars, galloping like madmen, swept past them and shouted urgently at Blücher, who was not far ahead, "General, a large French force has appeared behind us!"