Chapter 813: Napoleon's Desperate Battle
Napoleon stood atop a waterwheel north of Marengo, peering through his telescope as Joubert led his men in a frantic charge.
But the success was short-lived; they were soon repelled by the rigid, disciplined infantry lines of the Austrian army.
Napoleon’s heart began to thrum violently against his ribs.
He knew all too well that Cervoni would be rallying the routed soldiers even now. The Austrian defensive line at the village entrance was only going to grow stronger as more enemies converged there.
Meanwhile, Junot and Sérurier on the flanks were under constant pressure and could be overrun at any moment.
If that happened, his forces would be completely encircled by an enemy army twice their size.
Lucien suddenly stumbled toward him, gasping for air as he spoke.
"Our... our artillery positions have been raided by enemy cavalry..."
Napoleon wasn't surprised; he hadn't heard the roar of his own cannons for some time now.
That had to be the last of Cervoni's reserve strength. If they could just break through that line, they could strike directly at Melas’s headquarters.
But Joubert’s legion was clearly at its limit, their strength spent.
Napoleon glanced at the men beside him. He had fewer than three thousand recruits remaining under his direct command.
They were designated as a reserve force, but in truth, they had been kept in the rear only because he feared their inexperience would hinder the Moulins Legion’s maneuvers.
Napoleon gritted his teeth, a low growl vibrating in his throat.
No, it wasn't time to surrender just yet.
Even if they were green, he had to take the gamble!
He leaped down from the waterwheel and vaulted into his saddle. Riding to the front of the Nevers Regiment, he unsheathed his sword and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Soldiers! We are but one final step away from a glorious victory!"
"I need your strength to deliver the final blow to the Austrians!"
"I will charge at your side! Together, we shall tear the enemy apart with our bayonets!"
"Come, brave lions of France!"
The recruits seemed stunned. They understood an attack was being called for, but they looked at each other in dismay, hesitation clouding their faces. Only a dozen or so officers took up the cry.
"Tear them apart!"
"The final blow to the Austrians!"
Napoleon frowned. With morale this fragile, breaking the enemy lines would be nearly impossible.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. He wheeled his horse around, pressed the hilt of his sword against his chest, and adopted a tone of profound solemnity.
"Behind you stands the great Crown Prince!"
"Follow me and crush the enemy!"
"In the name of the Crown Prince!"
This time, the soldiers didn't hesitate for a heartbeat. They roared back almost instinctively, their voices joining in a thunderous chorus.
"In the name of the Crown Prince!"
"In the name of the Crown Prince!"
"Long live His Highness the Crown Prince!"
Most of the drill instructors for these recruits were veterans of the Guards Corps. They had frequently regaled the young men with tales of the Crown Prince’s brilliant victories in North Africa and Silesia.
To these recruits, the Crown Prince was an idol, a figure of legend. They all yearned to join the ranks of the Guards Corps. Hearing his name now made their blood boil with fervor, making them feel as if they had already become part of that elite brotherhood.
Napoleon nodded in satisfaction and turned his horse to gallop toward the Austrian lines.
The roll of drums began to thunder behind him as three thousand recruits followed, their war cries shaking the air.
As they closed to within a hundred and fifty meters of the enemy line formation, sporadic gunfire erupted ahead. Lucien hurried forward with a squad of guards, surrounding Napoleon to shield him in a protective ring.
Napoleon looked back and saw the recruits were swept up in their excitement, their formation a chaotic mess.
He exhaled sharply. Trying to dress the lines now would only cause more confusion and kill their momentum. Instead, he pointed his sword forward and bellowed, "All units, fix bayonets!"
The beat of the drums grew even more frantic.
Though these recruits lacked combat experience, they also lacked the paralyzing fear that came with it. Their eyes burned with a fanatical light as they clumsily slotted bayonets onto their rifles.
Napoleon pushed through his guards and surged toward the enemy at a run.
"Follow me! To the bayonet charge!"
"In the name of the Crown Prince!"
In this era, a bayonet charge was a perilous tactic. Once initiated, it meant abandoning all formation and any chance of a structured retreat. There was only one path left: breaking the enemy through sheer violence.
If even a handful of soldiers wavered or shrank back during the rush, it would trigger a chain reaction of cowardice. Even if they were only a step away from the enemy, the charge would dissolve into a catastrophic rout.
Unless a commander was certain of victory or utterly cornered, they generally avoided bayonet combat. In many nations, military regulations explicitly forbade it under most circumstances.
But Napoleon had no other choice.
Either he shattered the Austrian line formation now...
...or he accepted the total defeat of his army.
He would not fail.
He was the proud eagle of Corsica; one day, he would soar above the clouds and look down upon the world.
He would rather die here in the mud than suffer the humiliation of surrender!
Napoleon’s pace quickened, and Lucien was forced into a trot just to stay ahead of him.
A dull thud sounded beside him as a guard to his left took a bullet to the chest. Warm blood splattered across Napoleon’s cheek.
His expression didn't flicker with hesitation. He simply tightened his grip on his sword and continued forward, step by step.
The Austrian fire intensified. Recruits behind him groaned and fell, but not a single man stopped. The sight of Colonel Bonaparte’s back spurred them onward, drowning their fear in a desperate hunger for victory.
Joubert had just finished rallying his weary troops when Menil pointed toward the southeast, shouting excitedly, "It’s Colonel Bonaparte! Look! He’s leading the charge himself!"
Joubert looked at his men, who were so exhausted they could barely stand. He hesitated for a heartbeat before gritting his teeth and barking out orders, "Skirmisher battalions, advance immediately! Everyone else, form columns! Prepare to charge!"
Within twenty meters of the enemy, Lucien and the guards physically restrained Napoleon. "It’s too dangerous, sir! You cannot go any further!" The image of a supreme commander charging into the enemy's teeth only happened in romantic novels. If they actually let him plunge into the melee, every member of the guard would face a court-martial.
Yet Napoleon had already gone far enough to inspire his men to the peak of madness.
The Austrians unleashed a final, devastating volley, cutting down more than sixty French soldiers, yet the wave did not break.
A recruit captain screamed, "In the name of the Crown Prince!" as he was the first to plunge into the Austrian infantry line. Over two thousand recruits surged in after him like a rising tide.
The Austrians had no time to reload. They scrambled to meet the assault with their own bayonets, but their spirit had already begun to falter.
The French recruits used their momentum to bowl over hundreds of enemies in the first clash, bayonets flashing as blood sprayed across the ranks. The air outside Marengo was filled with a singular, deafening roar: "In the name of the Crown Prince!"
Napoleon wrenched his arm free from Lucien’s grasp and shouted to his guard commander, "Bessières, don't mind me! Go and help them!"
The latter hesitated, then gave a silent nod and led thirty elite guardsmen into the fray.
Compared to a firefight, a bayonet charge exerted immense psychological pressure. Seeing an enemy mere inches away thrusting a jagged blade at your face was far more terrifying than an unseen bullet from a distance.
Because of this, bayonet battles were almost always decided in an instant.
In less than half a minute, the soldiers on the right flank of the Austrian line broke and began to flee in terror.
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