Chapter 867: The Siege of Mantua: The First Relief
"As for Colonel Desaix's troops," Napoleon said, lightly flicking the reins as he continued, "did you truly believe they had been staying in Verona just to carry out sniping missions?"
Verona was a city located to the north of Mantua. Over a month ago, Napoleon had ordered Desaix to lead more than twenty thousand soldiers there, putting on a grand display of stalling General Wurmser's reinforcements.
Augereau looked at him in surprise. "Was that not the case? Desaix's legion certainly did succeed in slowing Wurmser's southward advance."
"Of course not. Three days after the Austrian reinforcements chose to bypass Verona, I ordered Colonel Desaix to maneuver east of Mantua along the Adige River."
The Adige River was the second-largest river in Italy, situated north of Mantua.
Verona served as the most critical crossing point on the middle reaches of the Adige. Controlling this location allowed for severe interference with any supplies being sent toward Mantua from the direction of Austria.
To bypass it, Wurmser had been forced to cross the river at Trento in the north, while his left-wing army circled around to Mantua from the southern section of the river.
Naturally, if the French army relied too heavily on Verona and grew lax in their defenses, they risked being suddenly surrounded by the maneuvering Austrian forces.
But no one had expected Napoleon to simply abandon such a vital strategic stronghold as Verona altogether.
To the west of Lake Garda.
Wurmser sat atop his horse, brimming with confidence as he outlined his blueprint for victory to the officers surrounding him.
Yesterday, Beaulieu had already submitted a report to Vienna. Its contents essentially claimed that "Wurmser and he had together repelled tens of thousands of French troops, successfully lifted the siege of Mantua, captured a vast amount of military supplies, and were currently continuing their pursuit of the French army."
Wurmser admitted the report contained exaggerations, but that hardly mattered now. The victory he was about to achieve would far surpass whatever was written in those pages.
When that time came, nothing would stop him from being named a Marshal!
Indeed, because his performance a few years ago during the Brabant Revolution in the Southern Netherlands had been less than satisfactory, he had been held back at the rank of General until now.
He was nearly seventy years old. The Italian theater was, in all likelihood, his final opportunity for promotion.
Just then, the faint sound of military bugles echoed from the distance ahead.
Soon, an officer arrived in haste to report to Wurmser. "General, our vanguard has encountered the French. There are approximately four to five thousand of them."
Before Wurmser could even react, a cavalryman galloped over and shouted, "General, after Colonel Buonarroti engaged the enemy, they immediately broke and fled!"
A staff officer nearby asked in confusion, "Four or five thousand Frenchmen were defeated that quickly?"
"Yes, Captain Ferrari. The enemy hardly even formed a line; they collapsed at the first blow."
Wurmser tapped the handle of his riding crop against his palm, peering into the distance. "It seems we have caught up with Napoleon's rearguard."
"Order the Buonarroti Legion to pursue immediately. Oh, and have De Luca take five hussar squadrons to assist in cutting them off."
"Yes, General."
Wurmser then instructed his staff, "Pass the word: accelerate the march. Prepare for the decisive battle."
The entire Austrian army instantly picked up their pace. They looked as if they feared that if they moved too slowly, all the military glory would be snatched away by Quosdanovich's legion in Limone.
Two hours later, another messenger reported to Wurmser. "General, the French in front are retreating westward. Colonel Buonarroti asks if you wish for him to continue the pursuit?"
Wurmser chuckled. "The cowardly French are even abandoning their main force. It seems the final battle will be over sooner than expected. Tell Buonarroti to keep up the pressure. The Aquila Legion will take over as the vanguard."
Napoleon's main force was to the north. If the French rearguard fled westward, it was equivalent to exposing Napoleon's back directly to Wurmser.
After another few hours, when the Austrian army was only twenty-two kilometers from Limone, Buonarroti sent word to Wurmser. He reported that the enemy to the west, General Victor's legion, had constructed a defensive line near Idro and had reached a stalemate with his forces.
Wurmser's brow furrowed in displeasure.
The Buonarroti Legion consisted of nearly six thousand men, and with the five cavalry squadrons, that meant seven hundred and fifty horsemen. To think they had been forced into a deadlock by four or five thousand fleeing Frenchmen!
Wurmser hesitated for a moment before asking the staff officer beside him, "Still no sign of the enemy's main force?"
"No, General," Captain Ferrari replied. "The hussars have scouted over two leagues to the north—roughly sixteen kilometers—and have not encountered any French troops."
Wurmser nodded.
To the west of Idro lay the Chiese River, which meant Victor's French contingent had no path of retreat left.
Before the final showdown with Napoleon, crushing this French unit would prevent them from harassing his flank and would serve as a victory to bolster morale.
With this thought, he turned to his messenger. "Move the center army toward Idro. Let the Ranieri Legion on the left wing assist Buonarroti in wiping out the enemy there as quickly as possible. Have the reserves fill the gap on the left wing."
"Yes, General!"
Wurmser was so focused on devouring Victor's legion that he failed to notice his great army had been stretched into a long, thin east-west formation.
And just three hours before he dispatched his left-wing legion to Idro, Napoleon had launched a sudden, fierce assault on Quosdanovich's Austrian legion, which was rushing toward Mantua.
Now that he possessed the Royal Horse Artillery Battalion, Napoleon felt as though he were a bird that had finally regained its wings.
Twelve 6-pounder cannons, screened by cavalry, arrived southwest of Limone ahead of the main French infantry. They began to greet the Austrians, who had just started deploying into battle formation, with a dense hail of cannonballs.
The Austrians had previously watched the French horse artillery bombard Prussian troops in the Southern Netherlands, finding it a spectacular sight to behold. Now that the shells were falling on their own heads, they realized exactly how agonizing it truly was.
In just over ten minutes, the right wing of Quosdanovich's line formation began to shrink back under the crushing weight of the artillery fire.
Napoleon did not hesitate to commit his infantry columns to a charge at that very spot, while using skirmishers to pin down the enemy's left wing.
The French soldiers, equipped with bulletproof inserts, charged straight ahead, only transitioning into line formation when they were a mere forty-five meters from the Austrian right wing. Following this, they unleashed two synchronized volleys, completely shattering the already wavering enemy.
Napoleon immediately ordered his limited cavalry to follow the broken troops and charge into their depths, while the infantry turned east to coordinate with their own center and form a semi-encirclement around Quosdanovich's main force.
By the time Quosdanovich frantically tried to shift his left-wing troops to reinforce the center, the French infantry and cavalry had already completed the encirclement from the north—effectively cutting off his rear.
Watching the Austrian soldiers screaming and fleeing in all directions through his telescope, Napoleon turned comfortably to his servant. "Constant, bring me a cup of coffee."
"Would you like me to add some brandy, General?"
"Oh, yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you."
Napoleon watched the horse artillery move to the eastern side of the battlefield, using grapeshot to intercept the Austrians attempting to escape in that direction. He couldn't help but sigh inwardly. 'Commanding such an elite force is nothing short of a delight.'
Comments