Page 60 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
The colonel’s arm dropped and he rode through the middle of the line of men, out of harm’s way.
The French rushed over the top, in reams. ‘Fire!’ The cry rang out from half a dozen commanders along the line. A look of horror flooded the eyes of the French as the volley of shots scythed them down. They had not known the British soldiers had lain hidden over the hill.
‘Forward!’ the lieutenant colonel shouted over the sounds of battle. Paul raised his arm, calling his men forward, winning back the ground one step at a time, pushing the French down the hill.
When he was over the brow, in the fray, Paul could see thousands of dead and dying spread over the fields below.
Now they were in full sight of the French, it was only a few minutes before a cavalry regiment charged towards them, forcing Paul to order his men into a square behind the Allied cannons. This time it was the gunners who manned the cannons who ran to shelter in the middle of the square his men had formed. When the cavalry failed to break the square and withdrew, the gunners ran out to load and fire another round at the French.
A thunder of hoof beats came from behind Paul, a regiment of British cavalry charging through the riflemen. They were mounted on huge grey horses. The charge forced the French foot soldiers further back. The regiment carried on riding, chasing the fleeing men to the far side of the field.
There, they used their swords to strike down the gunners who were firing the French cannons.
The British lines cheered as the French were called back to the far edge of the field to regroup.
But it left the British cavalry trapped.
They were pulled from their horses and killed.
An eerie silence fell on the fields they fought over as Paul glanced back to check his men.
None of the Allied lines were called to move forward; instead, orders reached Paul to say that Wellington was taking the opportunity to break the soldiers from their squares. As Paul and his men rested and drank water from canteens, messages were passed along the line, checking casualties and positions.
When the battle began again, Paul was on the hill, and like the whole Allied army, his men had reformed their square.
‘Move forward!’ the lieutenant colonel shouted, as Paul heard others call the same order.
His men stepped carefully, holding their rifles in a forward position, bayonets ready to pierce, moving as all the squares moved, claiming more ground. French cavalry continually assaulted them, but his men repeatedly repelled them, and each time more of the French fell to the ground.
Late in the day, a new wave of French soldiers poured onto the field.
The fight could not go on much longer; men could not fight forever. Yet the French were not conceding, and the Allied forces would not.
Weary but determined, as the French foot soldiers charged again, Paul received the order to have his men form a line four deep. The line was repeated by all regiments along the hill.
He called for his men to make ready and fire, as others shouted the same call.
Volleys rang through the air, and smoke from the gunpowder rose in clouds.
19
Not long after the clock had chimed four times, Ellen’s gaze lifted from the sewing she was attempting. A movement outside had caught her attention. Speaking with Mistress Peeters had calmed her nerves, and since then she had tried to distract her thoughts by keeping her hands busy.
She put down the sewing and went to the window. A few women were running through the street.
Ellen did not hesitate, she ran to the front door and pulled it open, hoping to stop one of the women. ‘What is happening!’ she shouted at a young woman, who was probably her own age. ‘Tell me, please!’
The woman slowed and looked at Ellen, ‘They are bringing wounded soldiers into the city on carts.’ Her breathing was ragged from running. ‘They have not lost! I am going to look for my husband.’ The woman did not wait for acknowledgement but ran on.
‘Thank you!’ Ellen called after her.
Ellen rushed to follow, hurrying upstairs to the bedchamber and pulling on her pelisse, images of Paul in her mind. Then she joined the women in the street and went to the gate leading onto the Nemur road.
There were wounded men everywhere, they lifted them onto the ground as the carts full of men with limbs missing or torn open were emptied. She watched an emptied cart leave the city, she presumed to gather more wounded.
Dear God.Her gaze scanned the men as women and servants, and the men of this city, carried them into houses, her heart pounding as she looked for Paul. She did not see him. But as she glanced over the men, she was drawn forward. She remembered the young soldier she had waved to from her window. So many were young.
She knelt beside one young man who was crying with pain, holding his damaged leg. ‘What do you need?’
