Текст книги "The Generals"
Автор книги: Simon Scarrow
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Chapter 41
‘The Sultan’s declared war on France?’ Napoleon stared at Berthier as his chief of staff lowered the dispatch he had been reading to his general. ‘How can that be? Talleyrand is supposed to be in Constantinople concluding a treaty.’
Berthier indicated the report. ‘He never left Paris, sir.’
Napoleon breathed in sharply through his nostrils and then hissed. ‘The bastard . . . So now we’re at war with the Sultan as well as Ahmad Pasha.’
‘It’s more than just a war, sir.The Sultan has issued a firmanto all Muslims declaring a holy war against France.’
‘A holy war, eh?’ Napoleon clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the map on the wall. ‘He can have his war, then. No doubt he will try to attack us on two fronts. From Syria in the east, together with a landing near Alexandria, a pincer movement. I’m sure our friends in the Royal Navy will be lending the Turks their full support, so we must deny the English the use of the harbours at Jaffa and Acre. If we move swiftly, Berthier, we can advance to Acre, deal with Ahmad Pasha and destroy the Sultan’s army at Damascus, then fall back to Egypt to counter the other pincer. In the longer term, of course, we will need to occupy Syria to act as a buffer between Turkey and Egypt. And from there we could even march east to India.’ Napoleon’s mind recalled a report he had read in a bundle of newspapers taken from a merchant ship by one of the frigates that had survived the slaughter in Aboukir Bay. ‘The sooner we can turn our attention towards India the better. The British have appointed a new Governor General, the Earl of Mornington. The man has ambitions to extend British power right across the subcontinent, if newspaper reports are to believed. France cannot permit that. But first we must take Syria.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Berthier replied evenly. ‘Provided we have the reinforcements we have requested from Paris.’
‘It’s always a question of reinforcements. If those fools in Paris could see any further than the ends of their noses, we would have received more men long ago. They seem to think we can achieve miracles, Berthier.’
‘You have before, sir.’
‘Yes, well, the magic will run out one day.’ Napoleon laughed. ‘But not for a while yet, eh?’
Ten thousand men were left behind in Egypt to keep order and guard against any attempt made by the Turks to land an army by sea. Napoleon gave orders for the four depleted divisions of Reynier, Bon, Kléber and the recently promoted Lannes to gather at the frontier depot of Katia, together with Murat’s cavalry and the engineering and artillery trains.The army was not ready to advance until early in February, when General Reynier and the advance guard started their march across the Sinai desert. Napoleon joined the main body a week later, and was greeted by Berthier as he wearily swung himself down from the saddle and beat the worst of the dust off his jacket.
‘Sir, it’s good to see you.’
‘And you, Berthier. What news have we had from Reynier? He must have reached Syria by now.’
‘No, sir. He hasn’t.’ Berthier looked agitated.
‘What’s happened?’
‘He’s been forced to stop at El Arish, about fifty miles from here. The enemy have built a strong fort, with a large garrison. Reynier is besieging it.’
Napoleon whacked his hat against his thigh and swore. ‘Very well, show me on the map.’
Inside the headquarters tent Berthier led him to the map table where a large, but sparsely detailed, chart was spread out. Berthier pointed the village out to his general. ‘As you can see, El Arish lies astride the route into Syria. We dare not advance and leave such a strong force to threaten our communications. We have to take the fort, sir. There’s no alternative.’
‘But Reynier’s had five days to do the job already.’ Napoleon fumed. ‘What’s holding him up?’
‘He hasn’t been able to get his guns forward, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s the sand, sir. It’s too soft.The artillery train is struggling to make more than five or six miles a day. And that’s just the field artillery. The siege guns are still here.’
Napoleon thumped his fist on the table. ‘I will not permit this delay! We have to strike at Acre as quickly as possible, before the enemy can react. Before they can land forces near Alexandria.’
‘The guns are being moved up as fast as possible,’ Berthier protested.
‘Well it’s not fast enough!’ Napoleon took a deep breath and calmed his anger before he continued in a more reasonable tone. ‘All right then, Berthier. It’s not Reynier’s fault, it’s the sand. In which case you must make arrangements for the siege guns to be moved up to Syria by sea. Find some ships and we’ll send for them the moment we reach Acre. Meanwhile, we must get the army moving. I’m riding forward to Reynier at once. I want you to give orders to break camp, and bring the rest of the army across the Sinai. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then get to work. I’ll see you at El Arish.’
He hurried from the tent, barking an order to the commander of his escort to get the mounted guides back into their saddles. Without waiting for them, he swung himself back on to his horse and spurred it into a gallop. As he raced through the camp Napoleon barely had time to acknowledge the cheers and greetings of the men he passed, but he was glad to see them in high spirits again after the frustration and boredom of the previous months. With the prospect of a campaign before them, and more of the rich pickings from their fallen enemies, the men had recovered their fighting spirit and Napoleon hoped that he could get the offensive moving forward once again while there was time to make the most of their élan.
When the escort caught up with him they rode on through the night, across a moonlit landscape of silky dunes interspersed with rocky massifs. At dawn they caught up with the artillery train, labouring along the route towards El Arish. The wheels of the gun carriages rotated for short distances before sinking into the sand so that the carriages had to be dragged forward. Berthier had been right, Napoleon reflected: this was no terrain for heavy wheeled traffic. He gave orders for the largest-calibre guns to be left behind and all available camels and horses to be harnessed to the mortar batteries and the lightest field pieces, and then drove them forward to join Reynier’s division outside the fort at El Arish.
They arrived late in the afternoon and as they crested the last rise before the village Napoleon saw the fort, a large square constructed from solid-looking masonry. To the left the sea sparkled serenely in the sunlight. Leaving the artillerymen and his escort to haul the mortars into the camp, Napoleon rode ahead to find General Reynier.The division commander was in a small redoubt on a low escarpment beyond the fort.
‘What the hell are you doing up here?’ Napoleon demanded. ‘Your men are facing the wrong way.’
‘No, sir. We were attacked by a relief force yesterday. The advance battalion only just managed to hold them off until I could bring up support. Then the enemy broke and retreated up the coast.’
‘Have you sent any scouts forward to see how far they’ve gone?’
Reynier paused, nervously. ‘No, sir. Not yet.’
‘Why not? If they’ve gone then your men have been sitting on their arses here for two days when they could have been down there assaulting the fort.’
‘We’ve already tried frontal attacks. My men didn’t even get over the wall before they were repulsed. With heavy losses, sir.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon frowned. ‘Right, then, leave a battalion up here, just in case the enemy does come back. Get the rest down to cover the fort and make ready for another assault. Meanwhile, as soon as the mortars are in place, we’ll give those Turks a shelling they won’t forget in a hurry.’
The artillery teams dragged the mortars up to the fortified pits that Reynier’s men had prepared for them. Napoleon joined the crews as they wrestled the awkward timber carriages into place and unloaded the shells and propellent charges. It was hot, exhausting work and the battery was not ready to open fire until late in the evening. There was still plenty of light cast by the moon, and the range had already been calculated by Reynier’s artillery commander, so Napoleon gave the order to start the bombardment. The first mortar fired with a booming thud and the flash from the muzzle briefly illuminated the crew and the surrounding pit in a lurid orange glow, then all eyes snapped forward towards the fort. There was a short delay before the rampart was lit up by a brilliant flash inside the fort and a moment later the crash of the detonation carried across the intervening ground, slightly deadened by the sand.
‘The range is good!’ Napoleon called out. ‘All mortars – open fire!’
The bombardment continued through the night and into the following day in a steady rumble of explosions that soon shrouded the fort in a thick cloud of dust, illuminated from within by the blooms of exploding shells. Hour after hour the bombardment continued and still the garrison showed no sign of surrendering. Napoleon sat on a rock and watched the shelling continue for another night. In between fitful snatches of sleep, he stood up and walked swiftly to and fro behind the battery, fretting about the delay this siege was causing to his advance on Acre.
As the sun rose out of the desert on the following morning, one of the gunners shouted out to Napoleon and pointed towards the fort. The gate had opened and two men made their way outside. The gate was hurriedly closed behind them, just as the last shell to be fired went off a short distance beyond the wall. The two figures threw themselves flat.
‘Cease fire!’ Napoleon bellowed. ‘Cease fire!’
In the silence the two men warily rose to their feet; then there was a glint as one of them raised a trumpet to his lips and blasted out three notes.The other unfurled a small white flag and held it up in clear view as they advanced across the open ground in front of the fort.
Reynier came trotting up to Napoleon with an excited expression. ‘Looks like they have had enough, sir.’
‘Not before time. Those bastards have delayed us enough already. Right, offer them terms. If they surrender the fort they can leave with their weapons, under parole. Tell them they are forbidden from taking up arms against French forces for a year. If they refuse those terms then we will continue the shelling and there will be no prisoners taken when we assault and take the fort. If they agree, get them out of here as quickly as you can, then break camp and continue the advance. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Reynier saluted and summoned an infantry section to go forward with him to meet the Turkish emissaries. Napoleon turned away and strode swiftly back to the mounted guides who were holding his horse ready. He swung himself into the saddle and turned back down the track towards the rest of the army, still seething at the delay to his plans.
With the removal of the threat to his lines of communication Napoleon led his army north, and into Syria. At once Reynier’s advance guard came up against Turkish cavalry, but as soon as he formed his men into squares the enemy attacked only half-heartedly before withdrawing.The weather was cold and sudden squalls of rain turned the tracks into slippery mud, and it was not until the beginning of March that the first troops moved into position around the port of Jaffa. The town was protected by a decrepit wall, erected long before the days of artillery, and Napoleon was content to use his field guns to breach the walls rather than send for his siege artillery. As the engineers constructed their batteries Napoleon sent an emissary forward to negotiate terms for the surrender.
‘God, I hope they’re not anything like that lot at El Arish,’ Berthier muttered as Napoleon and his senior officers watched the French officer enter the gates.
Napoleon shrugged. ‘If they are, then we’ll bombard them into submission just as we did before.’ He raised his telescope and examined the walls. ‘You can see that the masonry is crumbling in many places. I’m certain that a few well-placed shots will soon bring down a section of the wall large enough for Lannes’s division to make an assault into the town.’ He lowered the telescope and turned round with a smile. ‘What do you say, Lannes? Think your men can take that place?’
General Lannes grinned. ‘Just try to stop them, sir.’
Napoleon punched him on the shoulder. ‘That’s my Lannes! Only this time, try not to get wounded, eh? You have more lives than ten cats, but even you will run out of them one day.’
‘Not before my enemies.’
The other officers smiled, and then Berthier raised his arm and pointed towards the gates of Jaffa. ‘That was quick.’
Napoleon, still smiling, turned towards the town and saw the French officer emerge through the open gate, between two Turkish soldiers. Close behind him emerged a third soldier.
‘At last, they’re being reasonable.’
As Napoleon and his staff watched, the emissary was suddenly thrust down on to his knees. Light glinted off steel as the man behind him drew his sword and swept it round in a glittering arc. The officer’s head leaped from his shoulders and bounced a short distance from the gate as blood sprayed up from his neck. The swordsman kicked the torso over and then he and his two companions strode back through the gate and it closed behind them. Neither Napoleon nor his officers spoke for a moment. Then the sound of jeering echoed across the ground from the city walls and broke the spell. As Napoleon stared at the distant figures waving their swords and muskets above the ramparts he shook his head with disgust.
‘Animals . . . Barbarians . . . Very well, then they shall be treated as such. Berthier!’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘I want our guns to open fire as soon as possible. I want a good breach in that wall and then, Lannes, when you enter that town, you show its people no mercy. Understand? No mercy.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Lannes nodded. ‘No mercy.’
Chapter 42
Under the covering fire of occasional blasts of grapeshot from the batteries the engineers began to dig their siege trenches, steadily zigzagging towards the walls so as not to provide any chance of enfilading fire when the assault troops moved forward to make their attack. The army went about its work with a grim determination to avenge the butchering of the officer, whose head and body still lay before the gate. When the trenches had been completed the batteries were loaded with iron shot and the bombardment of a length of wall close to the gate began in earnest. As Napoleon had suspected, the masonry was weak and within hours the ramparts had been blown away. Soon the rubble had formed a scalable slope, almost up to the level of the breach. The gunners turned their attention to the wall on either side of the initial gap and proceeded to widen it by stages until ten men could charge through it abreast.
As the guns fell silent, Napoleon went forward along the trench, nodding a greeting to the men lining each side as he passed. General Lannes was crouching with the first wave of troops, waiting for the order to attack. At his side was Eugène Beauharnais.
Napoleon’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at headquarters.’
‘Sir, I volunteered to join the attack,’ Eugène protested.
‘I don’t care.Your place is at headquarters.’
‘Not today. It’s time for me to become a proper soldier.’
‘A staff officer is every bit as important as a field officer.’
‘Really, sir?’ Eugène smiled.‘Did you think that when you led the charge at Arcola?’
Lannes roared with laughter. ‘Ha! He has you there, sir! Go on, give the lad a chance to win his spurs.’
For a moment Napoleon was tempted to order Eugène to the rear, but there was truth in what the boy had said. An officer, above all men, must prove himself in battle if he was to win the respect and loyalty of his comrades, common soldiers and officers alike. He nodded slowly. ‘Very well, then. But promise me that you will not take any unnecessary risks. If anything happens to you, your mother will never forgive me.’
Eugène smiled. ‘I’ll be careful then, sir. For your sake.’
‘You rascal!’ Napoleon pinched his cheek. Then he turned to Lannes. ‘God bless you and good luck, my friend.’
Lannes patted the musket lying beside him. ‘Fuck that. I’d rather put my faith in a stout heart and a good weapon, sir.’
‘Then I’ll see you in hell.’ Napoleon slapped him on the shoulder and started to make his way back to the nearest battery to watch the assault as General Lannes rose up, musket in hand.
‘Soldiers of the 8th! On your feet!’ Lannes waited until they were ready, faces tense and bodies poised, and then raised his arm and punched it towards the breach. ‘Charge!’
From the battery Napoleon watched as Lannes and his men surged forward over the narrow strip of ground between the end of the trenches and the town wall. Their cheers and throaty war cries echoed back off the masonry as they reached the rubble and began to scramble up. The Turks on either side of the breach began to open fire on their attackers, and were quickly wreathed in puffs of smoke. Several soldiers had fallen by the time Lannes and the first of his men gained the breach, where the Turks surged forward to defend the town. Napoleon strained his eyes as he tried to spot Eugène but the impetus of the charge quickly carried Lannes and the others through the gap and into the streets of Jaffa.
Once the sounds of the fighting had died away Napoleon made his way down the trench and up on to the ground in front of the breach, accompanied by fifty of the guides, who watched the walls on either side closely as they guarded their general.The rubble shifted under his boots and he had some difficulty in scrambling through the breach.There were bodies in the streets, scores of them. Mostly Turks, cut down in the ferocious assault mounted by Lannes and his men. Napoleon encountered only a handful of wounded Frenchmen as he passed through the town. Near the harbour Dr Desgenettes and his men were treating a group of severely injured soldiers, stretched out in a row on the street.The doctor looked up from his work as Napoleon and the guides marched by, but quickly wiped his brow and turned back to his patients.The main street through the town gave out on to the harbour, and Napoleon stopped in surprise at the sight that met his eyes. On the beach next to the harbour were thousands of Turks, huddled tightly together as they sat under the watchful eyes of the French guards. As Napoleon approached the exhausted French troops slumped on the foul-smelling quay, another batch of prisoners was marched out of a side street to join their comrades. They wore the distinctive red and green turbans of the men who had surrendered at El Arish. Napoleon felt a cold rage seep through his veins.
He found General Lannes sitting on a divan that had been hauled out on to the quay and dragged into the shade cast by the wall of a mosque. Napoleon was greatly relieved to see Eugène sitting on a chair nearby, talking animatedly with some of the younger officers of Lannes’s division.
Napoleon thrust his arm towards the prisoners. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
Lannes rose to his feet and stood stiffly before his commander. ‘Sir?’
‘I take it that they are prisoners.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I told you not to show the enemy any mercy.’
‘I know that, sir. But they fought hard and fair before they were forced to give up.’
‘Fine. And what do you propose to do with them now?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Lannes admitted. ‘I hadn’t considered that yet.We’ve only just finished mopping up the last of the resistance.’
‘We can’t have any prisoners.’ Napoleon spoke with quiet intensity. ‘We have no spare supplies to feed them with, no spare troops to guard them, and, in any case, those from El Arish have broken the terms of their parole . . .’
Lannes stared at him with a pained expression. ‘What do you want me to do, sir?’
‘I want you to dispose of the prisoners. All of them.’
Lannes glanced round at the figures packed on the beach.‘But there must be nearly three thousand of them.’
‘I’m not interested in the number, General, just the outcome. You have your orders, now carry them out.’
‘Wait!’ Eugène called out, striding towards Napoleon with an angry expression. ‘You can’t do it, sir. I took the surrender of the men from the citadel. I gave them my word that they would be well treated.’
‘On whose authority did you make such a promise? Not mine.’>
‘I . . . I gave them my word they would be spared, sir.’
‘Then you gave them what was not in your power to give. The dishonour is yours, Eugène, and you will be responsible for the consequences,’ Napoleon said coldly. ‘General Lannes, you will take the prisoners in batches to the beach on the other side of the harbour from here, and there you will dispose of them. I don’t care what method you use as long as the job is done. The execution parties will be under the command of Captain Beauharnais.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Napoleon leaned close to his stepson. ‘Let this be a lesson to you. Next time you will obey my orders to the letter.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Eugène replied through clenched teeth.
‘Good.’ Napoleon turned to Lannes. ‘Carry on then, General.’
They exchanged a salute and then Napoleon and the guides turned and marched back through the town. As they reached the street where they had earlier encountered Desgenettes, the doctor emerged from an entrance into a courtyard and hurried over to Napoleon. He looked afraid as he saluted his general.
‘Sir, I’ve found . . . something.You must come and see.’
‘What? What is it, doctor?’
Desgenettes glanced past Napoleon to the ranks of the guides behind him. ‘Please, sir, come with me, and tell these men to stay here.’
Napoleon was still furious with Lannes and Eugène and he shook his head.Whatever it was the doctor wanted to show him would have to wait. The army had to be readied for the advance to Acre. But there was an imploring look in the man’s eyes and after a moment’s hesitation Napoleon nodded irritably.
‘Very well, then, but make it quick.’
Desgenettes turned and led the way back through the arch into the courtyard beyond. To one side there was a narrow doorway leading into some kind of storage room and as they approached it Napoleon could hear groaning, and the fevered mutterings of sick men. He paused on the threshold and saw that the floor inside the storeroom was covered with crude mattresses on which men lay, covered with soiled rags. The stench of the place was overpowering and Napoleon raised a hand to cover his mouth and nose.
‘What is this place? A hospital?’
‘No, sir.’ Desgenettes leaned over the nearest man and carefully lifted the corner of the blanket that covered him. The man’s jaw was slack and hung open and his eyes gazed sightlessly at the ceiling and Napoleon realised he was dead. Then he saw the swollen lumps on the man’s neck and round his armpits. Some had burst and glistened with blood and pus.The stench hit Napoleon like a blow and he had to struggle to keep himself from vomiting.
‘Buboes,’ Desgenettes explained, and let the blanket drop back over the body. He gestured to the other men in the room, most still moving fitfully as they mumbled and cried out. ‘They’ve all got the same symptoms.’ He turned to Napoleon. ‘This isn’t a hospital, sir. It’s a plague house.’
