Chapter 862: The Capture of Cologne
"The enemy is retreating!"
"Charge! Seize the fortress!"
"Follow me, there's a breach on the western side!"
The rapid roll of drums echoed from all directions as several squads of French infantry surged past Second Lieutenant Gérard, pouring toward the fortress in waves.
His chasseur squad had already silenced the Austrian cannon positioned to their front-left. Since skirmishers weren't tasked with occupying fortresses, he found himself with little to do at the moment.
He was about to order a return to camp when he spotted several companies hurrying north, away from the fortress to their east.
Gérard's vision was sharp—a fundamental requirement for any chasseur—and he immediately recognized the flags at the head of the formation.
"The Ninth Infantry Battalion?"
He sprinted toward the column and quickly spotted a familiar face in the middle of the ranks. He waved his hand. "Félix! What mission are you on?"
Gérard’s eyes lit up. He turned and signaled vigorously to his squad members. "Hey! Change of plans. We'll rest later—let’s go grab ourselves a prize over there first!"
The fourteen soldiers let out a chorus of cheers and followed him northward.
Since the war began, the chasseur battalion had rarely been given a chance to shine. Masséna's Legion had previously employed feigned retreat tactics, avoiding hitting the enemy too hard, so the chasseurs had been kept in reserve. During the subsequent counteroffensive, the Duke of Brunswick had surrendered under heavy encirclement before they could even fire many shots.
It was only during the siege of the Cologne fortress that the chasseurs finally had a real fight on their hands.
However, time was running out, and Gérard's squad hadn't earned nearly enough military merit. They were all itching for action, their excitement palpable.
Because chasseurs weren't bound by rigid formations, they quickly outpaced the infantry battalion and reached the northern side of the fortress first.
There, Gérard saw a tide of over a thousand routing troops surging toward the northwest, where another fortress sat hugging the banks of the Rhine.
The squad's sergeant hesitated, leaning toward Gérard. "There are too many of them. Maybe we should wait for the infantry to catch up before we move?"
They only had fifteen men. If the Austrians even attempted a single company-sized bayonet charge, they would be wiped out.
Gérard watched as the furthest enemies drew close to the range of the northwestern fortress's cannons. He clicked his tongue and made a snap decision. "The Austrians are in total disarray; they won't organize a counterattack. If you're men, follow me!"
He ran to a cluster of thick pines, estimated the range, and shouldered his Auguste Pattern 1790 Chasseur Rifle.
With a sharp crack, an Austrian lieutenant a hundred meters away tumbled from his horse. The soldiers around the fallen officer immediately bunched up in alarm, raising their muskets and aiming blindly.
A rapid succession of shots followed, and seven more men collapsed.
Just as Gérard had predicted, the enemy didn't even know where the shots were coming from. They cried out in confusion and turned to flee, their panic spreading through the ranks. The Austrian retreat instantly devolved into a chaotic mess.
Officers blew whistles, trying to restore order, but as several more soldiers fell to the second volley of French fire, the chaos only intensified.
Gérard excitedly reloaded his weapon, habitually reminding his men, "Tap the bullet with the force of cracking a walnut—not too hard, not too soft..."
As he spoke, he raised his rifle and selected an Austrian who looked like a non-commissioned officer. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he noticed a group of about a dozen riders approaching from the opposite direction.
He squinted. Judging by the elaborate uniform and the bicorne hat adorned with a silver insignia, the man in the lead was someone of high rank.
Perhaps even a lieutenant colonel.
Gérard signaled to his men. "Wait! Ten o'clock. See those men riding against the flow? Do you see them?"
"It’s a bit far..."
"We're going to creep closer together. Aim for the leader. Move!"
A few moments later, the dozen chasseurs had crawled to within a hundred and ten meters of the officers. At Gérard's command, they raised their rifles in unison.
The Austrian officer was in the middle of shouting orders and brandishing his riding whip when his figure suddenly vanished from his saddle.
A volley of gunshots rang out.
Panic erupted among the Austrians. Hundreds of soldiers rushing out from the northwestern fortress swarmed around the fallen officer, while others fired back aimlessly into the trees. The entire retreating column became a bottleneck, many times more chaotic than before.
'We must have caught a big fish,' Gérard grinned. However, seeing over a hundred enemies charging toward their position, he quickly waved his hand backward. "Get out of here! Run!"
Ten minutes later, Félix’s infantry battalion finally arrived and was met with the sight of the Austrian ranks in complete shambles.
The French major was delighted and immediately ordered his men to deploy into a line formation, ready to attack.
Gérard met him halfway, panting as he delivered his report. "Sir... Major, we just took down a high-ranking officer who came out of the northwestern fortress."
The major raised his telescope and saw people streaming in and out of the fortress ahead. The southern entrance was a scene of utter confusion.
An idea struck him. He turned to his adjutant. "Order everyone to switch to an assault column! We’re attacking the fortress directly!"
"Send word to Major Vasseur and request reinforcements."
At the northwestern side of the Cologne fortress complex, Austrian soldiers were running to and fro. Cries echoed through the air: "Lieutenant Colonel Strauss has been hit!"
"Get the Grenadier Battalion out here to cover us!"
"No, get back inside the fortress! Watch out for the French!"
"The commander is in critical condition! Where is the surgeon? Hasn't he arrived yet?"
At that moment, over a dozen French columns suddenly appeared to the south of the fortress, charging toward the entrance at breakneck speed.
The Austrian defenders were thrown into a state of panic. Some tried to shut the gates, while others fought to keep them open because Lieutenant Colonel Strauss hadn't been brought back inside yet. Others shouted to organize a defense.
Everyone was packed together like headless flies, the scene descending into madness.
Indeed, the man Gérard’s squad had just shot was Lieutenant Colonel Strauss, the commander of the fortress.
His cousin, Major Mark Strauss, had been among the retreating troops.
Fearing something might go wrong, the Lieutenant Colonel had personally led a detachment out to meet them, only to find the soldiers in a panic. He had stepped forward to restore order without a second thought, placing himself directly in Gérard’s sights.
The artillerymen atop the ramparts failed to react in time, only firing their first shot when the French infantry was already within a hundred and fifty meters of the gate.
Seeing the opportunity, Gérard’s heart raced. He led his men forward once more, beginning a suppressive fire against the cannoneers on the walls above.
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