“I’ll go with you.” Suzanne swung from the bed, wincing at muscles aching from all the riding the day before. “I’ve never done much nursing, but I do like helping and the soldiers are so grateful.”
She and Jenny shared a glance, and Suzanne felt they were thinking the same thing: that if they helped strangers, perhaps strangers would help their men if necessary. It was only superstition, but still it felt good to help others.
She began to dress and tried not to think of the huge battle involving tens of thousands of men that would soon begin just a few miles away.Be safe,mon chéri, be safe!
* * *
As Simon had told Suzanne, commanding this Dutch-Belgian regiment would mostly be a matter of strolling around looking confident and telling the men to hold their ground. So far, his words had been prophetic. The Sixth Infantry was a militia regiment that had done nothing but weekly drills and beer drinking before Napoleon had returned from exile, but they had stood their ground at Quatre Bras.
The regiment also suffered a number of casualties during that fight, particularly among the officers. Captain De Jong, the senior surviving officer of the Sixth, had been grateful when Simon had shown up to take command the day before.
He was even more impressed by the fact that Simon and Jackson both had a working knowledge of Dutch as well as French. Simon and his batman had spent much of the previous day ambling around the regiment, creating bonds with soldiers and noncoms. The regiment was now settled into position, but waiting for the battle to begin was hard, damnably hard.
De Jong had also been talking to his men, and he met Simon in the center of the infantry square by the company colors. The colors were a pair of banners that carried the flags of the Kingdom of the Netherlands and the Sixth regiment, and they were the visible signs of the regiment’s pride and honor. A regiment that lost its colors never recovered from the shame of it, so the banners were well guarded.
Simon glanced along the Allied line of battle, saying to De Jong, “It’s an impressive sight, isn’t it? Flags and uniforms from half a dozen nations, not just the United Kingdom contingents from England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, but Dutch and Belgian units from the Netherlands. Hanover, Nassau, Brunswick. And we can hope that ten or twelve miles away, the Prussian army is marching to join us.”
De Jong, an open-faced young blond man, followed Simon’s gaze and nodded thoughtfully. “I hadn’t really thought about it that way, but we’re part of a great enterprise, aren’t we?”
“Shakespeare’s playHenry Vhas a line where the king is addressing his outnumbered troops just before the Battle of Agincourt,” Simon said softly. “He says something like ‘Gentlemen in England now abed/Shall think themselves accursed they were not here.’ On a day like today, it’s not just England, but all the Allied lands.”
“It’s a noble sentiment,” De Jong said, his brow furrowed. “The words move me. But more of my mind is saying that I’d rather be at home abed with my wife!”
Simon laughed. “So would I. But this is where I need to be.”
“And I’m very glad of it, Colonel,” De Jong said more seriously. “After Quatre Bras, I can no longer say my men are raw troops, but one battle does not a seasoned soldier make.”
“It’s a good start, though.” Simon nodded at the four rows of dark blue uniformed men that formed the sides of the square. “The Sixth and the other Dutch-Belgian troops fought bravely at Quatre Bras and saved the Allied army from disaster. Good men. You have a right to be proud of them.”
“I am.” De Jong made a face. “But we’re militia. Most of the time I captain a fishing boat.”
Simon smiled. “The world needs fishermen more than soldiers.”
“I look forward to returning to fish herding rather than commanding men!” De Jong said fervently.
KA-KA-KA-BOOOOOM!!!!!
Their idle conversation shattered as the French cannon began blasting with thunderous power that shook the ground and numbed the ears. The soldiers of the Sixth flinched and some turned pale, but most looked glad that the battle was finally joined.
A French cannonball landed menacingly a dozen yards in front of the square, bounced, then continued rolling toward the regiment. As one of Simon’s men moved curiously toward it, Simon ran forward, bellowing. “Out of the way! That cannonball can kill! Out of the way!”
Startled, the troops in the path of the rolling ball scattered to the sides. His voice pitched to carry as far as possible despite the cannonade, Simon barked, “French gunners like to ‘graze’ cannonballs like this, firing low so they skip along the ground. They roll farther and do more damage than if they were launched higher. Pass the word on!Stay clear of any rolling cannonballs!”
Impressed and unnerved, his soldiers did pass the warning on and they became adept at dodging the occasional cannonball. Despite their care, though, a couple of cannonballs struck the square, wounding and killing a dozen men. Simon had arranged with the regimental surgeon to set up a treatment area and in each platoon there were men designated to carry the wounded there for treatment. As the day continued, the treatment area grew larger and the square became smaller as men were wounded and pulled from formation.
The attacks became progressively more lethal. A series of cavalry charges roared up the slope at the Allied lines. Heavy horses carrying cavalrymen were a terrifying sight to an infantryman on the ground, and once again Simon’s experience helped.
“Don’t fall back!” he shouted. “Horses won’t charge into an infantry square. Hold your fire until the order comes, then aim for the horses!”
Terrified but determined, the soldiers of the Sixth held their fire until the order came.Ready! Level! Fire!
Muskets blasted, the air filled with the burning stench of black powder, horses screamed and crashed to the ground. The cavalry charge broke and the horses swerved around the square. The soldiers of the Sixth gave a whoop of triumph.
That was the first charge. There were many more to come.
As the most experienced soldiers, Simon and Jackson headed wherever the fighting was fiercest, wherever the men of the Sixth needed help or encouragement. Jackson’s weak hand was of no importance here. What mattered was his calm, his advice, the dark humor that made beleaguered soldiers laugh.
Simon was grateful that Jackson had insisted on coming because on a day like this, the regiment needed all the strength and experience it could get. He’d been in enough battles to recognize how perilous the situation was. Outnumbered and outgunned, the Allied armies were close to the breaking point.
