Napoleon Conqueror: Tide of Eagles

By Benno Schlicker

France is embroiled in war with Austria as Napoleon races from victory at Castiglione into the ragged peaks of the Tyrol. His aim: defeat the cunning General Würmser and conquer the fortress stronghold of Mantua. But even while Napoleon pursues Würmser down the Brenta River Valley, Austrian forces are secretly gathering under General Alvinczy. They plan a daring offensive to drive the outnumbered French from Italy entirely.
So begins a thrilling campaign that will span continents, from the snow-capped Alps to the swirling sands of Egypt. Pursuing his grand vision of strangling English trade by conquering Alexandria and Cairo, Napoleon must defeat both Ottoman forces and the unforgiving desert itself. Even a prowling British Navy led by admiral Lord Nelson cannot deter the ambitious Corsican from this vital strategic prize.
This well-researched history analyses Napoleon’s audacious Italian and Egyptian operations. Can his Army of Italy withstand aggressive Austrian counterattacks in the mountainous Italian theatre? Will the harsh Egyptian frontier thwart Napoleon’s expanding ambitions and grand strategy? This scholarly appraisal provides authoritative perspectives on these pivotal early campaigns of Napoleon’s meteoric career.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035843398

Benno Schlicker

Benno Schlicker lives in Adelaide, South Australia. He went to Concordia College Secondary School, and then on to study History at the University of Adelaide, where he completed an honours thesis on the Dutch Revolt, particularly, on the impact of the religious iconoclasm in the towns of the Low Countries and Walloon Flanders, 1555–1566. His knowledge has, to some degree, shaped the cultural and economic background of this series on Napoleon, set a few centuries later.

Book preview

About the Author

Benno Schlicker lives in Adelaide, South Australia. He went to Concordia College Secondary School, and then on to study History at the University of Adelaide, where he completed an honours thesis on the Dutch Revolt, particularly, on the impact of the religious iconoclasm in the towns of the Low Countries and Walloon Flanders, 1555–1566. His knowledge has, to some degree, shaped the cultural and economic background of this series on Napoleon, set a few centuries later.

Dedication

To my sister, Lisa, her Spanish husband, and all those with a wandering soul.

Copyright Information ©

Benno Schlicker 2024

The right of Benno Schlicker to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035843381 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035843398 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

Other Novels in the Napoleon Series

by Benno Schlicker:

Napoleon: Uprising

Fall of Tyrants

Napoleon: Guillotine

Bayonets of Liberty

Napoleon: General

Mountain Paths

Part One

Chapter One

Peschiera 6 August 1796

‘You have your 20,000 strong still, saved by my own hand! I suggest you march them straight into Mantua,’ Count von Würtemberg blustered at Würmser, as the other commanders shuffled slightly.

‘And where are you going?’ Würmser asked.

‘Mouret and Jourdan have crossed the Rhine. My home is under threat. I take my men. The Hessians and the Jägers with me to Arch Duke Karl Hapsberg, and his army.’

‘I’ve heard Arch Duke Karl means to attack north towards Jourdan’s Sambre-et-Musee on the border of Franconia and Bavaria.’

‘Then who is left to stop Mouret’s so-called Rhine-et-Moselle from attacking through Swabian lands. No, all the more reason for me to leave. It’s 98 miles from Trent to Innsbruk, where the Adige meets the Inn river, at the end of the Tyrolian Alps, and then a further 100 miles to the bridge on the Danube called Ingolstadt in Bavaria. Passing through Munich it will take at least a month of hard riding. If the Duke is smarter than his brother the Emperor of Austria, then he will be making for the Danube also. I hope Würzburg, my home, to be not overrun by that time.’

‘You can’t leave!’ Captain Albrecht of the Alsatian Dragoons pleaded.

‘My country is trampled under French boots. For four long years, it has been so.’

‘As is mine,’ Albrecht said, pained beyond the deepest hurt.

‘That is why you should come with me, and you, Würmser, also,’ Count Yrock von Würtemberg said sternly. ‘All the more reason to join me and save the region.’

Alexandre the French Emigrè looked on mortified at the two cavalry commanders, all but looking like wild beasts, as Würmser looked on with a sombre resignation.

‘Albrecht,’ Würmser said soothingly. ‘He is right. He must go and fight with the Arch Duke if he can, and find Alvinczy and Wukassovich.’ Albrecht looked shattered beyond belief, as did Johann and Povera who looked on blankly at the feud. Heavy cavalry got them out of difficult battles, many times.

‘You should come too, Albrecht,’ Würtemberg said as the Alsatian Dragoon looked at the Bavarian Curiasser, with a seeming temptation.

‘I am under Würmser’s command. I must stay,’ Albrecht answered with a weary look at Alexandre de Grancey, the French Emigrè, and Colonel Thomas Graham Picton of the 91st foot English marines. They had been levelled with the shame of losing Solferino Tower, and thence the battle of Castiglione, and they bore it with much sorrow, particularly Alexandre, whose Lieutenant, Captain Hugo, fell atop its battlements.

‘Then I hope to see you in better times,’ Würtemberg said as he climbed into the saddle and left Peschiera, along with the thundering of the Hessian cavalry behind him, trailed by the remains of the Bavarian Jägers.

‘All is not lost though,’ Colonel Bajalich of the Hungarian Hussars answered, as he interjected, seeing the shimmer of Würtemberg’s Curiass, glimmer from the sun and the mountain snows of the Alps in the distance behind; the beauty of the sight lifting them all from their despondency.

‘On my way back from Salo and Quasdanovich’s lost offensive, I found that holding Trent at present, is General Davidovich, with some reformed twenty-thousand men. And reports are that a sizeable portion of enemy cavalry, possibly under this Murat, have been sniffing about the western side of Lake Garda.’

‘What of Alvinczy?’

‘He has probably gone north as well towards Innsbruck, to stem the French General Mouret’s advance. But do you suggest that Napoleon means to take Trent?’ Würmser asked intrigued, as he recognised Bajalich’s look towards the leaving cavalry.

‘I think he does,’ Bajalich answered, as he returned his Hungarian features back to the General, whose eyes sparkled slightly.

‘How many at Trent currently?’

‘Some twenty thousand, Quasdanvich’s survivors, and some other desperate columns.’

‘Then there may be a chance of trapping the Corsican in the mountains. We pull back to Venetian neutral territory in the east, recall Davidovich just a little from Trent, and use the Brenda Valley to outflank him. If he is focussed on Mantua, recently stocked and provisioned, then we may catch him unawares. If he does press Trent, then Davidovich with his 20,000 will hold the position, as we force Verona. So trapped between our force to the south of Lake Garda, and Davidovich’s forces to the north, we could destroy his army of marauders. It is decided, we make for Bassano, our rear supply, Meszaros kept a cache of twelve pounders there captured from Mantua.’

‘Even better. Captured French cannon,’ Albrecht said with a smile.

‘Bajalich,’ Würmser continued, as the group seemed more jubilant. ‘You and your Hungarian Hussars work with Albrecht and the Alsatian cavalry and screen our forces from Verona towards the east of the mountains, and send a message to Würtemberg, you should be able to catch him. Convince him to spare us a few companies of Bavarian Jägers.’

‘That might be difficult,’ Johann answered gloomily with a look at Albrecht. They all knew Count von Würtemberg’s temper. ‘Still, it is a good plan.’

‘Major Johann Hunniyun, you and Povera take the survivors of Liptay’s advanced guard, and the Medolano Grenadiers and all our light troops, and beat a retreat towards Davidovich, as he comes down from Trent.’ As the three commanders looked at one another, the officers seemed to stand a little straighter, even Johann lifting his head from an erstwhile despondency.

‘As I said, Colonel Povera, take the Mantua Brigade that fought upon Medolano, and fight a withdrawal from Peschiera and Verona. If Napoleon is fool enough to follow you through the valleys and mountains, then make contact with Davidovich in the Tyrol, stem their numbers as I withdraw towards Trietise, and secure our lines of communication.’

‘If Napoleon has any sense, he will be retreating, leaving Davidovich free to march back down the east of Lake Garda, and upon his rear as we retake Verona and Peschiera, or Mantua if the opportunity arises. If so, we give Alvinczy more time to reform another army. If all else fails, and you are behind enemy lines, we make for Mantua. As Mantua is a trap for us, so too will Trent be for Napoleon.’

Napoleon looked upon Mantua with another sense of gapping frustration. Although his forces had retaken their positions at Peschiera and Verona, after the battle of Castiglione, Würmser’s offensive from Trent had left the fortress restocked and supplied, and full with two fresh brigades of Austrian soldiers under Governor Count D’Irles. Furthermore, their siege train, what was left of it, lay in complete tatters of exploded and split barrels, spiked from the hasty retreat; their shattered gun carriages, a mess of wreckage. And his men, having forced marched over 60 miles in thirty-six hours, had all but mutinied at the prospect of chasing Wurmser’s army towards Trent, Massena having practically howled him down at the suggestion.

Thankfully the 30 captured Austrian guns from Castiglione were being unlimbered, large 12-pounders, though he doubted whether they would be enough to breech Mantua’s thick walls.

He looked upon Alexandre de Mazis, his former friend and fellow artillery cadet at the college at Brienne, and felt like a schoolboy all over again, as the Commander of the Engineers, Lespinaise harangued him about the problems of reinstating the siege. Had the man forgotten who it was that conducted the Siege of Toulon, Napoleon thought with utter frustration, as Lespinaise continued the list of requirements.

De Mazi, freshly arrived from the Armee des Alps under Kellerman, looked bemused by the sheer size of the fortress, and the tattered destruction of over 179 artillery pieces, lining the trenches. There were a few lighter field pieces, but the heavier 20 and 32 siege weapons were either destroyed, or moved away, possibly to the Arsenal on the Adriatic coast of Trieties, where it was reported that some of Wurmser’s forces had been sighted. All of the heavy pieces painstakingly won from the fortresses in Piedmont, Lombardy, and Milan were gone.

Napoleon could see where large gore marks in the ground ran away towards the east, as he looked upon the fort of St Georges. He nearly felt like strangling General Augereau, when he pointed at the missing pieces, and Napoleon quickly reminded him of Castiglione, with only a mute frown. Augereau looked away upon the instant. Napoleon had won at Castiglione, but here and now, with his forces crippled and lame, and Mantua no closer to capitulation, he began to reconsider. He needed more artillery to be brought up from Alessandria, Milan, and Tortona, or Bologna at Fort Urban.

He wrapped his greatcoat around him against the cold mountain wind, like an old boat-cloak, placed his hand inside just above the mid-rift buttons, some loosened now others missing, and walked back to his command tent. Augereau left, to retain said abject silence with his own penetrating stare returning to Mantua’s walls.

Colonel Lannes found the half-eaten raw onion next to a sack of potatoes, and looked around instinctively to see if his treasure had been discovered. He took a mouthful of the onion, the sweet corruption a delicacy amidst its sour, tart sharpness. He rummaged further in the cool cellar, more like a hermit than the commander of the famed 18th Grenadier Regiment. But most of the stores, the cellars and larders were empty. The Austrians had cleared every scrap of harvested wheat, every ear of barley, every morsel of food. Their armies had burst into Peschiera and Verona to find it barren.

Even the gunpowder barrels for the fortresses of the Quadrilateral towns were taken, leaving the heavy 20 and 32 pounders, limp upon the battlements; now a hollow defensive shell before the foot of the Tyrolian Alps, as the Alpine town of Trent lay before him at the top of the glistening Lake Garda. The rest of the stores were clearly in one place, and one place alone; Mantua.

So, after all the victories, it was as if they were starving on the coast, before the mountains of Piedmont, as Lannes scratched his dark chestnut hair, and splashed some tepid water from a nearby pail into his tired eyes. He hefted the heavy sack upon his shoulders, like a thread-bare vagabond, and walked out of the Italian country estate, towards Verona’s fortress, and the awaiting command of Massena’s advanced guard, where all the officers had gathered to discuss their serious problems.

Each step out of the cellar, recalled the weariness of past labour in his tired steps up the cellar stair, yet with the exquisite tiredness of the only comfort; a respite from combat.

The mist still curled off the lake in the distance, descended from the Alps with a crisp chill that seeped into his marrow with a tantalising, but deadly beauty. The allure of the mountains almost impossible to resist. He wrapped his coat tighter around him, as he looked upon the snow-covered peaks, as the last vestiges of autumn’s amber hue faded like the falling leaves. The new epaulettes would not save him from the cold.

The fortress of Verona was still imposing, and the sentries of Deleborde’s 79th stood straighter at seeing Colonel Lannes. ‘Carrying the weight of expectation as usual,’ he heard Deleborde chime with reverberance in his rasping veteran corpulence. ‘Don’t just stand there, help him for fuck’s sake,’ Deleborde ordered, and the two soldiers snapped to, and raced towards the Colonel’s slender frame, and took hold of the potatoes. ‘If there are any missing, I will know!’ Deleborde warned with a hidden smile.

Major Deleborde was a veteran from the old Bourbon regular army, before the outset of the Revolution. A victor of Toulon, under Napoleon and the backbone of the regular French line infantry. Deleborde had plucked Lannes from 1st Light Regiment before the battle of Loano, the Bridge at Voltri, when Lannes survived a fierce Austrian offensive under General Wukssovich’s advanced guard, attacking down the Torchino Pass; General Beaulieu’s heavy miss-guided left assault towards Genoa at the outset of the Italian campaign. And here he was, still alive, as they continued towards the citadel and the awaiting officers.

‘Who organised the meeting?’ Lannes asked.

‘General Massena of course,’ Deleborde answered. ‘All of the officers from the veteran regular Regiments are there. Including a new rival by the looks,’ Deleborde said with a mischievous smile.

‘Who do you mean?’ Lannes asked.

‘A Colonel LeClerc of 8th Light Regiment,’ Deleborde said with a reproving eye upon the young Lannes. ‘Stormed the Solferino Tower single-handedly according to some; his golden hair shining atop the battlements, like a lighthouse amidst a rolling sea.’

‘Since when were you so poetic. You’re getting whimsical in your twilight years.’

‘And you’re getting intemperate with your newly gotten rank. Take a lesson from me and you’ll live longer,’ said the wily old Major. ‘Now, Dallamagne, Joubert, Menard, Victor, Suchet, and of course Colonel Rouget Reille Rusca are all summoned by Massena to discuss Napoleon’s orders. Have you organised your numbers for the 18th Grenadier Regiment? Napoleon’s favouritism won’t save you? If not then you’re in trouble.’ Lannes nodded uncomfortably before continuing on.

Having finally scaled the stone battlements, Lannes heard the voice of Massena begin its clear calculating, appraisal of their situation, amidst the general squabble.

‘Listen LeClerc,’ Massena said as Lannes walked through the door. ‘Your complaints have been dealt with. Despinois, Lavalette, and even this new fop, D’Hilliers, have been all sent to the rear, and Colonel Vaubois has taken command of the 4th and 5th Demi-Brigade. He is more than competent, you will see,’ Massena answered as LeClerc seemed to simmer down.

‘Thank Christ for that,’ Delaborde blustered. ‘They couldn’t command. We all knew it. We are well rid of them, finally Napoleon saw sense.’

‘Now Vaubois here,’ Massena said straightforwardly, as the stern looking hardened clout of a man looked upon LeClerc with unmitigated jealousy at the youth, ‘will command the 4th and 5th Demi-Brigades.’

‘Sir, I still must protest,’ LeClerc answered, with serious despondency at the prospect of wet-nursing another demi-brigade with his veteran 8th Light Regulars. The victory of Solferino still fresh in their minds, but they made excellent replacements for his growing light brigade once trained. His skirmishers were now even rivalling Colonel Rusca and Joubert’s carabiniers, as the look of the seeming favouritism burnt in the young man, so eager to impress.

With every Bavarian rifle captured, their potency as light infantry was improving. Yet it was still galling, to be left in arrears upon the left flank, operating from Salo and securing the west of Lake Garda with Murat. The taste of glory from Castiglione was an effervescent tonic to him, and he wanted further honours.

‘No LeClerc. Stay where you are needed most, train skirmishers for us, for Colonel Rusca and Joubert, unless called upon. We will need them,’ Massena said as LeClerc simmered down slightly upon reflection. ‘That’s an order.’ Lannes watched on as Massena looked slightly at Deleborde and Dallemagne, who each seemed to nod in approval. Massena had a thorough sceptical disposition, with a fervent realism etched upon his weathered face.

Though he was no shining knight. His Spanish features, and hawk-like disposition; a dazzling grandeur of a bygone Empire. Though he looked like an Amadean Prince of the Genoese, perfectly suited for the campaign.

Lannes then looked at Suchet and Dallemagne. The latter the commander of the 14th Line Regiment and the former commander of the other battalion of the 18th Grenadier Regiment. Suchet, his fair features and strung-out apathy, a painful yet welcome comfort as they acknowledged each other. Dallemagne, revitalised from the time spent with General Berthier looking into their lines of communication emanated a calming influence.

His aged presence was a soothing balm, as was his knowledge of the High Command’s intensions. Supply. That was the issue. Endless foraging was making their forces ragged, and the need to stop for a time was seriously pressing, despite Napoleon’s unyielding pace.

‘The General has ordered us to hold this position at the foot of the mountains until September,’ Dallemagne answered, but they all knew the Directory in Paris wanted further progress. ‘The Directory wishes us to attack Trent immediately, and link up with General Moreau’s Armee-et-Mossel as it attacks from the Rhine.’

As Lannes heard the news, he felt despondent at the thought of the offensive. He looked towards Colonel Killmaine, now back in command of the cavalry, as Colonel Beaumont, the Prince de Dauphin as the 10th Light Hussars and 5th Dragoons affectionately called him, was in Paris to regale the populace and the Directory with their exploits, draped in their captured colours, as Dallemagne continued. ‘Who commands the 32nd?’ the Brigadier-General asked, as Suchet looked up from his perpetual despondency.

‘Who do you suggest General Victor?’ Massena asked.

‘Rampon and Chalot,’ Victor said straightforwardly. Victor Perrin, not to be confused with Emanuel Victoire LeClerc, the 8th Voltigeur Captain. The former, again, his regiment and the 32nd had seen many casualties. At Cosseria, and then as part of Augereau’s division at the Castiglione cross-fire from Medolano.

His reputation was well deserved. And Lannes saw his other counter-part, Colonel Suchet, look with pride at the 32nd, his former demi-brigade Regiment, created by merging the 39th and the 69th Demi-Brigades from Cosseria. While the 39th Demi-Brigade remained, the 32nd was created from the survivors of Cosseria and the disbanded 69th, who now formed part of the Grenadiers that became the 18th Grenadiers after the storming of the bridge at Lodi, over the Adda river; the renowned Grenadiers of Adda under Lannes and Suchet.

Suchet had led some of them then under Augereau. The 32nd was the only thing he valued apart from his 18th battalion that still supported Victor and his regulars when not attached to Lannes Corps de Elite for the Mass de Rupture on the day of days.

‘How is the 18th Grenadiers Colonel Lannes?’ Massena asked with a frown.

‘After the assault on Medolano Hill, we lost 720 Grenadiers,’ Lannes answered. ‘It would have been more if not for Marmont’s guns,’ looking at Colonel Verdier the nominal commander of the two-and-a-half thousand strong 18th Grenadier Regiment, and Colonel Rusca, a skirmisher Captain present at the battle. Rusca had been commander of the 18th and 4th Light Regiments, a Valoire from Grenoble in appearance, but he had fallen during the first day’s battle, of the French and Austrian Advanced Guards for the Castiglione Crossroads.

Their Jager Captain had killed him while he tried to save Lucien Bonaparte, Napoleon’s own dear younger brother. Now in memory of the valour, that name was held in perpetuity by another, Colonel Rouget Reille. Though he looked nothing like the dark Voltigeur. Reille had light brown hair, and should he have grown a beard, looked very much alike General Mouret, or Moreau, the name varies in forms, who was, as previously stated, fighting on the Rhine. Rusca would be a title now, taken up by whosoever commanded the rear-guard, Valoire like Jägers.

‘We merged the 18th Light who supported the defence under fallen Colonel Rusca, with my Grenadiers, using the Chausser light troops and their fussils, while transferring the rest of the voltigeurs and carabiniers under General Reille into the 4th Light Regiment. With two companies of 90 men of each, in a light battalion, that leaves eight companies of Voltiguers, all now clad in dark green under reinstated Rusca Brigade,’ Lannes stated.

‘That’s an outstanding temporary solution,’ Deleborde answered, bragging with a frowning smile, and all but a small wink, barely detectable.

‘I agree,’ Colonel Joubert answered. ‘But I’m not merging my 3rd Light with the 1st light under Reille as well. My Chaussers stay to protect mine and Menards 21st Regulars,’ Joubert said sternly. ‘But I agree we abandon those carabinier uniforms, for the dark green, and give them the same rifled carbines. Bavarian rifles all the better.’

‘But who supports the 32nd?’ Suchet asked forlorn. ‘They took the most casualties apart from my 18th Grenadiers, during the attack on Solferino.’

‘We will think on it I assure you Colonel Suchet. As for now the 4th and 5th Demi-Brigades will train at Salo under LeClerc, I should like to see them as Line Regiments one day, they will adapt to the terrain around the mountains near Lake Garda. The remaining Chaussers, at present, to fill the regular lines of the Regular veteran Regiments. At least they can fire and manoeuvre, and maintain constant rates of volleyed fire when commanded.’

‘With an average of 130 or so soldiers required per regiment after the 6,000 killed and 4,000 taken prisoner after Castiglione, that’s 130 soldiers per regiment once Lanne’s Grenadiers are fully replenished. I want all regiments up to full strength, to 1620 by September. Brigadier Deleborde, how is the 79th Regiment?’

‘Strained. Overall,’ Deleborde answered. ‘Two-thirds are without proper uniforms, lacking in either coats, vests, shirts, breeches and shoes even. I’d say a 1000 of the 1620 soldier of my 79th Regular fusiliers are in such a state, with 1st and 2nd Battalions foraging even. 1st Battalion is at full strength now at 810 fusiliers with nine companies of around ninety men each.’

‘And 2nd Battalion?’

‘Nearly two hundred short, at 600 soldiers or so.’

‘What of the 70th?’

‘Cervoni’s Legacy Regiment, the fallen General of Lodi Bridge at Adda, we have set up a permanent barracks at Milan. They are to be garrison, and fill the ranks of the 79th and 14th Line Regular Regiments. Honour his Memory Sir!’

‘And so, form the core of the Armee de Italie. Is this similar in your Regiment of the 14th Dallemagne?’

‘It is, though our two Grenadiers companies in each battalion were transferred to bolster Colonel Lanne’s 18th Grenadiers, so we are at 720 fusiliers of 1st Battalion, eight full companies, and 500 fusiliers of 2nd Battalion. Their polish is, as the Brigadier said; startlingly diminished. It will take time to restore their lustre. Our plan is that when the 70th is ready, it will be divided into its two battalions, 810 per battalion. One to my 14th and the other the Deleborde’s 79th Grenadiers, as we similarly fill the rank and file of Lannes and Suchet 18th Grenadiers of Adda.’

‘Excellent,’ Massena answered. ‘This is the same across the board for the Regular Line Regiments? And Menard, your 21st Regulars under Brigadier Joubert suffer similar privations?’

‘It is General,’ they each answered in turn.

‘Most soldiers sell their equipment for food,’ Brigadier Victor answered.

‘A rather rampant occurrence in the 32nd Regulars and 39th Demi-Brigade, if it still exists, I’ve noticed,’ Suchet answered. ‘Both having been amalgamated from former demi-brigades and as yet to be added to the pay lists,’ Suchet answered with a grudging sneer.’

‘How is the 32nd Regiment Rouget?’

‘It will not survive another battle,’ Reille answered.

‘Then merge it with the remaining soldiers of the 51st and 55th,’ Joubert said. ‘The remainder can join Kellerman’s newly approaching 57th Regulars when they arrive. They also suffered severely under Augereau from the Medolano cross-fire.’

‘They are to be called the 32nd Regular Regiment of the Line,’ Massena stated as Joubert was about to squabble a rebuke, before Massena quickly silenced him with a glare.

‘So… our Regular fusiliers need time. With all of the plunder sent to the Directory, that needs rectifying. You have my word, Brigadier Victor, they will be paid. They have earned that after Castiglione, like the 18th Grenadiers.’

‘Payment and uniforms are one thing,’ Deleborde answered angrily. ‘But most of my Regulars are down to half a dozen cartridges of powder and shot in their white leather cartouches. Others have bayonets so blunted and bent out of shape as to be useless.’

‘Berthier is calling up rear teamsters as we speak from Lombardy and Milan,’ Dallemagne answered quickly to cool off the Major.

‘That is why I suggest all forays towards Trent and the mountains past Lake Garda to the north to be kept to a minimum, and if so, light troops only. Understood Colonel Rusca?’

‘Yes Sir. Minimum risk, avoid confrontation. Obtain prisoners for interrogation at the most,’ Reille answered.

‘Good,’ Massena said relieved, as there were some sighs of relief amongst the officers of the Regulars, that their concerns were being addressed, after the hectic campaign. Though Lannes looked about Verona and the outskirts of the town and noticed, there was very little comfort in paper currency, with the marketplace a blown-out shell, and the populace in hiding. Still, it was something.

‘Make your preparations for a September offensive. Understood?’

‘Oui, General Massena.’

But even as Lannes looked at Reille, who seemed overwhelmed, and then to Joubert, a notion formed. Joubert more than anyone resembled the fallen Rusca. The Valoire from Grenoble. And perhaps changing their commands around might solve the problem.

Reille Rouget commanding the 1st and 3rd, the veterans from the Tiralliers du Po, and so-called hereafter, and Joubert ‘Rusca’, the 18th and 4th Light Rusca Brigade. He would mention it privately to Massena, who had Napoleon’s ear. Both a rear-guard and an advanced guard of 2,500, to shepherd the demi-brigades comprising a 10,000 Federe conscripts.

Chapter Two

Mountains to the East of Chiusa 2

September 1796

Alexandre looked down the barrel of his Austrian rifle. The cold mountain air like frozen windswept sand, stinging his weather-beaten face. The rifle stock felt like a heavy instrument, buried into his shoulder, as he eased the pressure on his left hand; the fingers rolling up the barrel. The cold had made them numb, but to breath the cleansing warmth of his slow rasping breaths, would reveal his position in a puff of mist. The breath clung to his wiry chest, heavy like mildew in the damp cold. The Austrian Jägers had been called up from Mezsaros’ forces. Though he hated to admit it, the Bavarian rifle was the best; balanced and deadly. There were too few of the Bavarian Jägers left to help defend the mountain paths to Trent. Though he felt comforted by the presence of two Bavarian Jäger Companies, and their commander, Colonel Helmut. They had been through hell together, and he could see it in their slackened faces, gaunt and death-mask embittered, as they clung to the slopes about the pass beside his men, watching and waiting.

‘I heard what happened at Castiglione,’ Longo muttered. ‘I never expected the French to win there.’

‘We were outnumbered. They had twice as many cavalry,’ Helmut answered.

‘Yes, but the position on Solferino Tower should have made that irrelevant.’ Upon hearing the assessment, Alexandre’s ears pricked up, as did the English officer Sir Thomas Graham Picton, of the 91st Foot marines, attached to the Austrians.

‘It was Würmser’s own fault,’ Graham snapped. ‘He should have been in the tower, watching proceedings at his age, not chasing after the French with his cavalry. And Würtemberg should have charged the cannons in the valley when he had the chance. We all saw him balk and break left when he had them,’ Graham said snidely. Castiglione had been a failure and the officers still vented their frustrations that should have been reserved for the French. Alexandre felt the growing sense of despair with every word uttered, and every sceptical look.

‘What news of Würmser?’ The French Emigrè asked Graham, the English attaché to the Austrian High Command.

‘His 20,855 men are at Bassano, ready to trap Napoleon between Lake Garda and the mountains as he marches on Trent. That’s why we are here. To maintain communications between Davidovich at Roveredo, and thence on to Quasdanovich at Terboli, with Würmser’s army at Bassano.’

‘How many men do they have each?’ Alexandre asked.

‘Five brigades of around 4,600,’ Johann Hunniyun answered, as they turned to see the large Austrian Grenadier Major, stride towards them. He maintained the practiced ease of his line in his noble strides.

‘If you take our brigade of survivors from Mantua, who held Medolano Hill, the former Mantuan survivors of Beaulieu’s army, and Liptay’s advanced guard, under Povera now, as he works with Würmser, that’s 3,895 men in total under our direct command. Assuming that we are designated part of the western forces with regard to our position, then that’s 25, 195. That includes the brigade of Quasdanovich’s survivors, 3,230 from Salo and Lonato, with a brigade of Landwehr, making them 7,490 strong to defend Terboli. Leaving Davidovich with 14,000 to cover Roveredo and Trent,’ Johann answered.

‘Any forces Napoleon wishes to march up to Trent, via the Garda pass of the road along the Adige River, will be hemmed in by the mountains, with almost two miles width with which to manoeuvre. It should take them days to get to Trent, by which time we will have taken Verona, and cut their escape to rear lines of supply,’ said Picton.

‘What of Liptay, Albrecht and Bajalich?’ Alexandre asked, concerned for his old Alsatian dragoon companion, who had saved his life in Paris, the day the Bastille fell.

‘Screening Würmser from the enemy cavalry at Verona, from their position at Viacenza, and protecting the corridor to Trietise if all else fails,’ Johann answered.

‘Then we are a vital link here in the mountains, and a protection for Davidovich at Roveredo,’ Colonel Povera answered. The old silver veteran of Cosseria was still undiminished by a campaign of defeat, after defeat.

‘Yes.’

‘So how many does that leave us defending the Colognolo River mountain flow tributaries, that flow into the Venetian Adige, and out into the Adriatic?’ Longo asked again. The Austrian knew the land well, did Longo. Johann turned an eye on the new comer. An Austrian Jäger with a strikingly similar face to his own, though without the reddish tinge of a moustache of Bauman, still lying upon the slopes of Medolano Hill, where he died defending. Longo, like most Jägers, had a beard. ‘1620 Grenadiers under my own command,’ Johann answered.

‘1620 Austrian Regular Line under Povera. 300 Bavarian Jägers left by Count von Würtemberg,’ Johann was about to grumble an obscenity, when he saw Helmut’s tear-shaped scar, and drooping left eye, and was reminded of Wolf Roelph Münster, also fallen far from home; looking towards the Rhine and the Swabia forests.

He let the moment pass and continued, with his ever-abiding forbearance, and gentle grace. ‘And thankfully, your battalion of 600 Austrian Jägers, arrived in time,’ Johann continued. And then, they heard the distant sound of boots marching towards them, encroaching on the peaceful tranquil rivers.

Lannes watched as Suchet edged close in the dank mist, thick as volcanic ash that seemed to settle into his marrow; strangling the life out of him in its unrelenting pervasive dullness, as he too edged closer into the thicket by the tortuously, torrid flow of the Colognolo. ‘What is it?’ Lannes asked by his side, as if by a whisper.

It had been some time since he had ventured in an advanced guard skirmish, and along the voltigeurs of Rusca battalion and Lieutenant-Colonel Suchet, his second in command. The light forces were nervous at the encroaching mountains east of Lake Garda, upon the right flank of Napoleon’s army, as it marched towards Trent.

It was only his force of 18th Grenadiers, 810 picked troops with him and 600 voltigeurs of the 4th Light Regiment, that accompanied him, transferred to Augereau from Victor and Joubert, taking on the name Rusca. The rest were under Massena, Dallemagne, and Verdier, to attack Roveredo, and thence on to Trent. Augereau, and the rest of their 9,000 strong division, were following closely behind Lannes and Suchet, but with ponderous lethargic sloth.

The Colognolo River tributaries of the Adige were like two prongs, or forks, plunging into the impenetrable ranges that ran for twenty-five miles east of Lake Garda. Whether it was from a mountain spring or a gully waterfall, Colonel Lannes could not know, as his forces marched north-west towards their ultimate destination; the town of Roveredo and the designated battleground for their flanking manoeuvre.

That was where Napoleon’s central column, with Massena and Majors Deleborde and Dallemagne, with the rest of the 18th Grenadiers, were forging towards. But that was over twenty miles march, through mountains and gullies and required his sturdiest men. Augereau, with the remaining 7,500 federè militia behind, most from the 39th Demi-Brigade, following in tow behind his Elite forces. They were confident of victory, knowing that only Trent stood in their way towards linking up with Mouret’s Armee-et-Mosselle upon the Rhine, and Austria’s final defeat.

Colonel Lannes recalled Colonel Mouret, the tough infantry commander in another river gorge, similar to this one, as they fought off Beaulieu’s offensive at the outset of the campaign. They had cleared mountains before, and Napoleon assured them that beyond the five-mile outer ranges that confronted them, was a plateau and an obscure town, that was in a direct line towards their flanking march on Roveredo.

Command