Chapter 910: The Hound and the Rabbit
"Marshal, enemy tracks have been spotted to the north!"
Before the cavalryman could finish his report, Alvinczy noticed a sudden commotion rippling through his distant ranks.
He frowned, preparing to order Davidovich to organize a defense, when the thunder of artillery echoed from the northwest.
He turned a grim gaze toward the messenger. "Did you say the north?"
"Yes... yes, sir..."
Alvinczy looked behind him with a darkened expression. General Victor’s French forces, pursuing from Trento, were positioned right there.
Yesterday, Zweig had reported the defeat of Napoleon's troops. Based on that, Alvinczy had assumed it would be safer to continue the retreat toward Topaganella Mountain.
Alvinczy turned to Davidovich. "Clear the road to the west immediately."
He then addressed his messenger. "Contact General Zweig. Tell him to send a detachment to cover our movement."
The true hunter was Napoleon, who had led his men on a forced march from Molveno.
To the north, while Davidovich's troops were still struggling to form their lines, French infantry appeared less than half a kilometer away.
Without a moment's hesitation, over a dozen French columns surged forward to the rhythmic beat of war drums.
To the west, the French Royal Horse Artillery Battalion deployed their guns directly alongside the road.
Fourteen six-pounder cannons began a relentless bombardment of the Austrian vanguard.
Davidovich's soldiers had been thrashed by this very same French unit only days prior. Facing the brazenly exposed artillery positions now, they didn't even consider trying to destroy them. Instead, they broke formation and fled in terror.
Seeing the opening, the French Dragoon battalion assigned to guard the cannons decided to take the initiative. They drew their sabers and charged, cutting down the fleeing Austrians.
Davidovich personally commanded the rearguard, but the French infantry’s fire was devastating. Within less than half an hour, he had been forced to abandon two defensive lines.
Glancing at his remaining soldiers—their faces pale with fright—he hastily handed command over to a colonel and retreated with his personal guard to protect Marshal Alvinczy.
By the time Davidovich caught sight of Alvinczy’s command flag in the distance, a massive wave of routing soldiers was already surging in from the east.
He grabbed a passing captain, but before he could ask a single question, the distant sound of hoofbeats reached his ears, rolling like muffled thunder.
It was a sound he knew all too well: a massed charge of over two thousand cavalrymen.
Even as Alvinczy found himself surrounded by over a hundred French Hussars, he couldn't fathom how it had happened. He had been so careful, sticking to standard textbook maneuvers, yet Napoleon managed to catch him off guard again and again.
For the first time, he felt a sudden, profound empathy for Beaulieu and Melas.
An hour later.
Napoleon watched as Alvinczy was "escorted" in by Grouchy himself. Behind them followed a dozen high-ranking Austrian officers.
Truthfully, even Napoleon hadn't expected the strike to be this easy. Alvinczy had fewer than eight thousand men with him, and their morale was so shattered that they crumbled at the slightest contact.
Napoleon dismounted and gave the Austrian commander-in-chief an elegant, slight bow.
"It is an honor to meet you here, your Excellency."
Alvinczy straightened his back, trying his best to maintain some semblance of dignity despite his disheveled state.
"You must be General Bonaparte. The honor is mine. I must admit, you are the most talented commander I have ever encountered in my life."
"I find myself in complete agreement," Napoleon replied with a smile. He then glanced toward the south. "If I am not mistaken, you sent an army to occupy Trento, didn't you?"
Alvinczy sighed. "Yes. General Weber is there with eight thousand men."
"Congratulations. At the very least, you did technically occupy it. However, I’m afraid I must ask you to return it to me now."
Had Joseph been present, he surely would have shared a certain piece of Eastern wisdom with Alvinczy: If you lose the land but keep the men, the land can be retaken. If you keep the land but lose the men, both land and men are lost.
...
On the west bank of the Visio River.
Bajzáth greeted Wurmser with a broad, relieved smile.
"The Lord has truly sent you to save us, General!"
Wurmser stepped forward and embraced him, thinking to himself, 'The decision to break out was indeed the right one.'
Bajzáth continued, "Our right wing has run into some trouble. We need to end the fighting here as quickly as possible and rush to Molveno with reinforcements."
Wurmser nodded. "That is exactly what I hope to do. Please, tell me your plan of attack."
As the two men discussed how to trap and destroy Augereau's Corps, they were entirely unaware that their own camp had descended into chaos.
The soldiers Wurmser had brought from the Mantua Fortress had swarmed into Bajzáth's camp, begging their comrades for bread and salted meat. They had been starving inside the fortress for so long that their stomachs were practically sticking to their spines. This desperate breakout was motivated as much by hunger as by strategy. Bajzáth had already issued them standard rations, but it was nowhere near enough to fill bellies that had been empty for months.
Bajzáth's officers were powerless to stop the starving horde, especially since Wurmser’s own officers had joined the scramble for food.
Soon, soldiers began snatching food by force, though many more were desperately waving money around, trying to buy anything edible.
Within half an hour, the Austrian camp had transformed into a massive, rowdy marketplace, punctuated here and there by brawls that looked more like gladiatorial arenas.
It was at this exact moment that Augereau launched his surprise attack.
It wasn't just a stroke of luck for the French. Augereau had noticed the arrival of the massive Austrian reinforcements. After a quick council with Marmont, both agreed that if they waited for the enemy to finish forming their lines, all hope would be lost.
They decided to seize the window of time before the reinforcements could organize and launched one final, desperate offensive.
'If we still can't break through the Austrian lines, we’ll have no choice but to surrender,' Augereau thought grimly.
However, neither of them expected that this "do-or-die" gambit would produce such spectacular results.
Karl Ludwig was the first to notice the French movement and immediately ordered his troops to prepare for battle.
But when the bugles sounded, Bajzáth’s camp was so clogged with Wurmser’s men that no one could move. Soldiers were piled on top of each other, some still busy counting their coins.
The men who had just arrived from Mantua were too busy stuffing their faces to pay any attention to the assembly orders.
In desperation, Karl Ludwig led his personal guard through the camp, galloping back and forth. He personally ordered the execution of over thirty of Wurmser’s starving soldiers on the spot, finally managing to restore a modicum of order.
By the time his soldiers began to form up, however, the French—fighting with the strength of men who had burned their bridges—had already smashed through the outer perimeter.
Karl Ludwig scrambled to regroup his Moravian Legion in an open space on the western side of the camp. Meanwhile, Wurmser’s men began to scatter and flee, or simply surrendered where they stood. Their cowardice proved infectious, and soon Bajzáth’s men lost the will to resist as well.
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