Chapter 321: The Battle for Luxembourg
"Is it reinforcements from Vienna?" asked one of Blücher's aides, voicing the general's primary concern.
A hussar quickly shook his head.
"No, sir, judging by the flags, it seems to be Reál's forces."
Blücher frowned slightly—Reál should only have less than 2,000 soldiers left. Where did he suddenly get a few thousand more?
His aide, who had clearly been thinking along the same lines, tilted his head and said,
"General, could it be that he's brought out all the garrison troops from Luxembourg City?"
"But the numbers still don't add up…" Blücher began, before suddenly realizing something. He quickly gestured for his aide to bring the map, then had the hussar point out where the enemy had been spotted.
When he saw that the scout had identified the position as just north of Diekirch, Blücher's eyes narrowed.
"Something's not right. The Austrians are trying to escape! Reál must have pulled forces not only from Luxembourg City but from the surrounding towns as well."
"Escape?" The aide was puzzled. "Why would they…"
Blücher let out a cold chuckle.
"I'd bet he's trying to slip past us and use all his forces to attack Liège. If he succeeds, we'd have no choice but to temporarily abandon Luxembourg City and chase him to the west. That would buy time for reinforcements from Vienna."
"General, should we intercept him?"
"Not just intercept." Blücher, who was always eager for direct combat, immediately ordered his messenger,
"Cancel the rest period, and have all troops gather at once. Order Krystall's regiment to continue the attack on Diekirch. Once Diekirch is taken, they are to advance directly on Luxembourg City. If I'm not mistaken, the city should already be without defenders."
"Yes, General." The messenger quickly jotted down the orders.
Blücher pointed to a hill on the northeastern side of the map.
"Have Eichendorff drag the cannons up to that hill and set up artillery positions."
If Reál's forces were trying to move toward Liège, they would have to pass through that area. Placing artillery on the hillside would allow Blücher to hit them hard from the front.
Blücher continued,
"Altmann's corps will immediately march east and intercept the Austrians. The cavalry will harass them from behind to slow them down, but no one is to launch a full attack without my order."
He proudly raised his riding whip, radiating confidence.
"I will personally lead the main force to hit Reál from the flank! Then the cavalry will finish off the fleeing enemy."
Whether Reál was trying to escape or planning a surprise attack on Liège, Blücher believed that with his superior numbers and high morale, now was the perfect time to crush them.
Silesia was where he intended to make his mark; Luxembourg wasn't worth the delay. However, Blücher didn't realize that his orders were stretching his forces into a long line from west to east, leaving his flank completely exposed to the south.
...
Less than ten kilometers east of the main Prussian force, on a narrow country road, Austrian commander Reál nervously glanced at the middle-aged man beside him.
"Major Lefebvre, your scouts have already spotted Prussian hussars."
He looked at the slow-moving column of his troops.
"Normally, the Prussians would catch up soon, and we have less than 4,000 men…"
But Lefebvre just smiled.
"If that's the case, you're about to score a great victory, General."
"But," Reál said, swallowing hard as he glanced over his shoulder, "the Prince's main force is still in Diekirch. We can't possibly hold out until they arrive."
Yesterday afternoon, when he had learned that the Prussians were about to reach Winseler, he was terrified. But then, he heard that the French Prince had personally arrived with 20,000 troops to reinforce him, and he was so relieved that he nearly cried.
He had received orders from the Emperor, knowing that the French would come, but he never expected them to arrive so quickly. According to the information from Vienna, the French were supposed to have left Verdun two days ago, and it usually took five days to march from there to Diekirch.
What Reál didn't know was that the French Royal Guard Corps, with their incredible marching speed, had covered over 50 kilometers in just two days!
Soon after, Reál nearly cried again—this time out of fear.
The first order the French Prince gave him was to immediately move his troops toward Blücher's left flank and set up defenses near a small hill. Blücher had brought nearly 17,000 Prussian soldiers and close to 5,000 Netherlandish rebels, while Reál had only about 1,600 men left. It was like sending sheep into a wolf's den.
Then the French Prince told him that a division would be sent to cover him. Reál was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard that the Prince had ordered only a regiment and a battalion—just 2,200 men in total—to accompany him on this "suicide mission."
Less than 4,000 men provoking over 20,000 Prussians—what else could this be but suicide?
Afterward, Lefebvre had practically escorted him to the eastern side of Blücher's forces, where they soon spotted Prussian hussars.
But Lefebvre remained confident.
"Don't worry; the Prince will arrive on time."
Before Reál could say anything else, Lefebvre added,
"The main force of the Guard Corps is 'hiding' far away in Diekirch to avoid Prussian scouts. According to the plan, the Prussians won't realize that a force capable of destroying them is in the vicinity. When all their attention is on us, lightning will strike!"
"But," Reál said, looking miserable, "the Prince is still more than a day's march away…"
"No, just half a day at most."
...
The Prussian Guard, led by Colonel Altmann, along with an accompanying skirmisher battalion and five cavalry squadrons, was racing to intercept the "fleeing" Austrians.
Altmann had not brought any artillery—the cumbersome pieces would have slowed them down too much. And for dealing with these weak Austrians, artillery wasn't necessary.
Over the past few months, his regiment had clashed with the Austrians several times, mostly emerging victorious. Since entering Luxembourg, it had been like cutting through butter.
"You lazy dogs, move faster!" he shouted at his men. "Don't make me use my whip on you!"
In reality, the regiment's formation had completely broken down in their rush, and nearly a tenth of the soldiers had fallen behind on this less-than-ten-kilometer sprint. But if it meant intercepting Reál's forces, that was an acceptable loss.
A hussar rode up to him, calling out,
"Colonel, the Austrians have stopped moving!"
Altmann quickly grabbed his map, and with the scout's guidance, pinpointed the Austrians' location—a small hill about two kilometers to the east, with dense woods to the north and an open, V-shaped clearing in front.
Altmann sneered.
"They've realized they can't escape and are preparing for battle."
He signaled for his aide to put the map away.
"They've picked a decent battlefield, but it won't save them. Order Bischoff's regiment to form up at the front, and have the skirmishers attack from the southern slope, aiming to disrupt the Austrian formation."
The messenger spurred his horse and galloped off. Altmann was giving final instructions to his cavalry captain on how to charge the Austrian defenses when the sound of urgent hoofbeats caught his attention.
He glanced at the cavalry captain, who shook his head to indicate it wasn't one of his men. Then, a cry of pain echoed from the front.
A rider came rushing toward them, shouting,
"Colonel, the Austrian cavalry has attacked our vanguard! Captain Jonas is trying to rally the troops…"
Altmann and the cavalry captain exchanged stunned looks, both filled with disbelief. The Austrians had dared to launch an attack!
Altmann immediately barked,
"Schlosser, go after them! This might be a chance to break through the Austrian lines!"
The cavalry captain turned his horse and raced off, calling out to his men.
A few hundred meters away, over 300 riders in Austrian uniforms—actually French Guard cavalry—swept past the Prussians at high speed. Taking advantage of their momentum, the riders needed only to hold their sabers steady to slice open the bodies of the Prussian infantry.
In an instant, a "border" of blood appeared in front of Altmann. Captain Jonas was desperately trying to form up his soldiers, but their fledgling line was quickly torn apart.
The "Austrian" cavalry curved away, regrouped, and charged the Prussians again. At the head of the column, a young man with curly hair and a slightly stocky build looked thrilled, carefully adjusting his horse's pace to match his comrades. His hand was already resting on his saber, eager for action.
"At a trot…"
"Charge!"
At the commander's signal, the young man spurred his horse, raising his saber. His powerful Arabian steed snorted, charging toward the Prussians with unstoppable force.
Though he was just a "rookie" who had joined the Guard Corps a few months earlier, he was privileged to ride one of the finest horses in his regiment.
Unlike his previous unit, the Champagne Corps, the Guard Corps distributed their horses based on personal merit and achievements.
Thanks to his consistently excellent performance in drills and an impressive display of slashing three targets while jumping over obstacles, the regiment commander had personally awarded him this purebred Arabian horse.
Though he was only the son of a minor official, he had a natural affinity with horses and had mastered advanced riding techniques in just over two years as a cavalryman.
The rhythmic pounding of hooves beat like a war drum in his ears, and everything around him seemed to slow down, giving him a sense of total control.
Fifty paces to the trembling infantrymen with their flintlocks.
Forty paces...
Ten paces!
The young man with curly hair noticed a three-meter-wide gap between a few soldiers and deftly guided his horse through it, slashing his saber down to slice open a Prussian soldier's chest.
Warm blood splattered onto his horse's hindquarters, with even more spraying all over the nearby Prussians.
The smell of blood shocked the Prussian soldiers, their eyes widening in panic as they frantically wiped the sticky blood from their faces, causing chaos in their ranks.
Behind the curly-haired rider, other Guard cavalrymen spotted the opening and rushed to follow.
With each flash of their sabers, the gap in the Prussian line widened, and soon, fifty or sixty soldiers were cut off from the main line.
The Guard cavalry circled the isolated Prussians a few times, then swiftly retreated to regroup. None of the Prussians were left standing.
In just two simple charges, Altmann's regiment had lost nearly a whole company of infantry. Officers, soldiers, and messengers were jumbled together, making it impossible to form a cohesive defense.
The Guard cavalry commander urged his horse forward to catch up with the curly-haired youth, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin.
"Well done, Murat! If you can pull off another move like that, I'll recommend you for a medal!"
Murat beamed in return.
"Go ahead and put in the request for my medal now. Oh, and make sure it's a silver fleur-de-lis, not bronze. After all, I'm sure to kill at least ten Prussians in this battle! Maybe even twenty, who knows?"
Laughter rang out from nearby. Everyone was well-acquainted with this young man from the Guyenne Province and his penchant for tall tales—like the one about fighting five soldiers at once and winning or being pursued by six women and refusing to marry any of them to spare their feelings.
The cavalry commander chuckled and patted him on the shoulder again.
"I know you're not just boasting, just like when you cut down those three targets. Oh, but make sure to conserve your horse's energy, or it might not last through ten kills."
"Don't worry," Murat replied with a grin. "My horse is as strong as I am—almost."
Another round of laughter echoed through the ranks.
As the Guard cavalry re-formed and prepared to charge the Prussians again, a unit of light blue-clad riders approached them from the rear.
The Guard cavalry quickly disengaged, turning away—they had already expended too much energy and weren't in any condition for a direct confrontation. Besides, their mission was to delay the enemy.
After their skirmish, it took Altmann's regiment nearly an hour and a half to reorganize before they could finally march toward Reál's position.
Altmann growled in frustration as he looked through his telescope at the uneven line of Austrian infantry ahead.
"Tell Bischoff to launch an immediate assault! Schlosser, keep a close watch on the flanks. Those Austrian cavalrymen are more capable than I expected."
But just as Major Bischoff ordered his men to form up and prepare to attack, they suddenly heard the blare of horns from the Austrian lines. Then, that crooked line of infantry started moving—charging straight at them!
Bischoff's eyes widened in shock. The Austrians had gone mad! With so few men, they were daring to launch an attack?
(End of Chapter)
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