I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

The following day, November 5th, was rain-free, but that didn’t mean the sky was clear. The absence of precipitation hadn’t made the ground much more passable. The grass was still wet, particularly at its base.

Tensions remained high within the Franco-Imperial troops, both among the soldiers and the officers. Some sought the honor of initiating the battle, while others wanted to abandon the original plan entirely in favor of a new one, which they believed would be simpler to execute. What they had seen the previous day had been like a revelation.

At eleven o’clock, despite all warnings, including those from Soubise, who just two days earlier had favored an attack, the Franco-Imperial army began to advance in three groups.

The cavalry, coming from the Mücheln camp and the central camp, was the first to engage. The two groups went far ahead of the infantry, with the French cavalry skillfully commanded by Lieutenant General de Mailly.

They headed east as if aiming to reach the nearby Weißenfels. The two cavalry groups met along the way, passing the village of Branderoda and, without slowing their pace, suddenly changed direction near another village to the south, called Zeuchfeld.

***

At the same time, several kilometers away, Prussian officers were in a flurry of activity.

“Your Majesty! They... The enemy isn’t retreating! They’re trying to outflank us!”

“That’s dangerous!” cried the King, observing the distant scene through his spyglass. “Send General von Seydlitz and all the cavalry to the east! The enemy must not break through!”

General Seydlitz, who had approached without anyone noticing, had already anticipated this order and was ready to depart.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty. They won’t get through. Your soldiers’ backs are safe with my brave men. Forward!” said the man, his face filled with determination, to his king, knowing what he wanted to hear.

He knew that this king, more than any other in Europe, if not the world, cared more for his people than for himself.

Frederick II nodded with confidence and watched the great general, who wasn’t yet forty, depart at the head of his cavalry. As dignified as Caesar and as courageous as Alexander, he knew Seydlitz would be as ruthless with his enemies as Attila.

Then, he ordered his infantry to move and reposition to face the enemy’s attack.

***

These troop movements, clearly visible even from afar, didn’t escape the notice of the Franco-Imperial army's scouts, but they misinterpreted them.

“General, the Prussians are on the move! They’re retreating!”

“What? They’re fleeing the battle before it even begins?!” exclaimed Prince de Soubise.

“Kukuku! They must be afraid of our army!” arrogantly remarked an Imperial officer in his own language, with a smug smile. “As one would expect from such an enemy! How undignified! We overestimated them!”

“Then we must pursue them before they escape!” affirmed another Imperial officer, whose right eye was covered by a large black patch. “Let’s put an end to this farce and forget the name of Frederick and his kingdom!”

***

The Franco-Imperial cavalry, which had set out at eleven o’clock, sped ahead, thinking the path was clear. But at three in the afternoon, as the sun finally began to peek out, several artillery volleys surprised them from the left.

Positioned on a relatively flat hilltop, Frederick II’s cannons fired numerous shots, killing and wounding some of the cavalrymen. Undeterred by the fear of being struck by one of these terrible projectiles, the dense smoke, and the debris scattered by the impacts around them, the cavalry sped up to catch the supposedly fleeing enemy army.

They then collided with the formidable Prussian cavalry led by von Seydlitz, a mix of hussars, dragoons, and cuirassiers.

It was the Imperial cavalry that first bore the brunt of the charge, with the French, positioned on the right, arriving slightly later."

The clash between the two forces was so fierce that horses were seen dying upon impact and men were sent flying. The deafening noise, which could not be drowned out even by the Prussian artillery commanded by Colonel Moller, was overwhelming. The incessant clashing of sabers, high-pitched, resounded like thousands of bells, while the pounding of the horses' hooves, lost in this furious mass, churned the ground until it became soft and slippery.

But just as the Imperial and French cavalry were about to gain the upper hand, the enemy was reinforced by their reserves. With sabers and muskets, the latter being shorter than those used by the infantry, they managed to stabilize the situation.

"Clear a path!" de Mailly furiously shouted to all his men, his face as red as the saber with which he had just severely wounded an enemy. "Kill these dogs!"

French and Austrian cavalrymen fell from their mounts like raindrops, often wounded in their arms and legs. Nonetheless, some didn’t hesitate to continue the fight on foot. Others, however, took to their heels, deeming the battle over for them.

“Enemy infantry approaching!” someone shouted with all their might.

The Austrian, French, and Imperial cavalrymen looked beyond the fiercely held enemy line and noticed that the King of Prussia had indeed sent his entire army after his cavalry.

Oh no! de Mailly immediately thought, realizing that the King of Prussia had no intention of retreating.

“Quick!” de Mailly yelled at the top of his lungs, aware that the situation was becoming critical. “We need to eliminate these damned cavalrymen!”

“We’re not breaking through anywhere!”

“We’re taking heavy losses on the left flank!”

“On the right flank too!”

“Ah! Lieutenant General de Mailly has fallen! He’s wounded in the head and isn’t moving!”

“Look! Our infantry is arriving! Hold on!”

***

From his position, Prince de Soubise observed everything. His cavalry was in the thick of the melee, and it was difficult to determine who was winning, especially while under such heavy fire from the neighboring hill.

The Prussian King’s artillery is changing targets and starting to fire on the approaching infantry! he noted, using his spyglass held to his right eye.

From the heights of Mount Janus, they had a clear field of fire. Much slower than the cavalry earlier, the prince could see that the Reichsarmee and his own troops were easy targets for the Prussian gunners.

Under a relentless barrage of fire, the infantry columns marched at a steady pace to the beat of the drums, maintaining their formations in good order.

Can’t they move any faster?! Meanwhile, our cavalry is suffering!

The number of dead, wounded, and deserters drastically increased with the arrival of the Prussian infantry, who came to support their already engaged cavalry. Quickly, the highly disciplined Prussian infantry formed up in three ranks, while the opposing forces remained in marching columns. In this position, only the soldiers at the front could return fire.

“What are they doing!” raged Soubise from his position, restraining himself from throwing his spyglass with all his might. “Form up! For God’s sake! Form the ranks! Why aren’t they doing anything?!”

His body trembled with a mix of anger and fear as he watched his troops being decimated by Prussian artillery, unable to do anything but march and hope for the carnage to end. From where he stood, he could clearly see bodies flying, limbs being torn off, the ground being churned up, and smoke rising. He could even hear the cries of agony despite the distance separating him from the horror.

My God, what a slaughter!

He could also see acts of both courage and cowardice.

“The cowards! They’re abandoning their weapons! Even our own! All of them, cowards!”

Though the battle had barely begun, it already seemed over. It was half-past four.

***

The Franco-Imperial cavalry, under considerable pressure, could no longer hold. Men were falling or fleeing one after another. The situation was becoming increasingly untenable, and it was only a matter of minutes before the entire flank would collapse.

Suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, a great clamor arose from the rear of the Prussian troops, both behind the infantry and the cavalry. A fierce charge of French cavalry, appearing out of nowhere, struck the defenseless Prussians. No one had seen them coming, and therefore, no one could warn the officers on the spot of this immense danger.

Chaos ensued.

Caught between two enemies, the Prussians immediately felt a tremendous pressure bearing down on them like a hammer on an anvil. The formations were disrupted, and in the ensuing chaos, it became very difficult to hear orders.

Von Seydlitz’s cavalrymen, with no room to maneuver, could only brace themselves for the impact, gritting their teeth. The French cavalry, who had not yet fled, quickly understood the situation, even though the identity of this new force was unknown, and resumed their assault, despite none of them being unscathed or unexhausted. The Imperials and Austrians, nearly all of whom had already departed, did their best to further disrupt the enemy, who no longer knew where to turn.

Like mad dogs, the Prussian horses became uncontrollable, spinning around in search of an escape.

The Imperial General Hildburghausen, wounded in the arm by a musket ball, managed, after immense effort, to reorganize part of the infantry, still under heavy fire from the heights of Mount Janus, and put them into a firing position. A violent volley brought down a great number of Prussians in front, but for every shot they fired, the Prussians fired three.

Finally, a breach appeared in the Prussian infantry lines, and the formation was split into two blocks.

The French grenadiers, commanded and led by the Marquis de Saint-Pern himself, despite his respectable age, entered the fray and completed the destruction of these units.

***

Meanwhile, atop Mount Janus, disaster was being observed with horror.

As Frederick II brought a trembling hand to his face, hollowed by so many trials, his large eyes fell upon the owner of the broad hand that had rested on his shoulder. It, like the rest of his body, suddenly seemed very fragile to him.

“What? What are you saying?” he asked in a trembling voice, like that of an old man lost in his own home.

“Sire, I beg you! We must leave! This battle is lost!”

Frederick looked at his brother, Prince Frederick Henry, with rare intensity. He could read all his concern.

His gaze then returned to his men, who were being slaughtered just below. Their cries seemed horrifying to him, as if they were coming from hell.

His gunners hesitated over which target to prioritize: should they aim at these new enemies or those of General Hildburghausen?

Have we truly lost? Then everything is lost. Prussia is lost… because of me. I have failed.

“Your Majesty!” the prince insisted, trying to snap him out of his stupor by shaking him and seeking help from the generals surrounding them. “My brother! We must leave! We can fight another day! We will rebuild an army! Bigger and stronger! But we must leave and return to Berlin!”

This was our last chance, my brother, don’t you understand? I have already asked so much of my people. They have made so many sacrifices for me, for Prussia! I can’t ask for more. This is truly the end, this time. There is only one way out left for me...

“A large troop of infantry is climbing the mount! They are encircling us!”

“Quick! Get the king on his horse! Tie him on if you must!” the prince ordered in a panic.

“It’s too late! They’re here!”

“Already?!” the prince exclaimed, incredulous.

“They’re running in formation, General, and they’ve fixed their bayonets!”

“Get His Majesty and the prince out of here!” commanded an old general, drawing his saber like a brave knight of old.

***

Adam was exhausted, just like all his comrades. They had marched a great deal, and that short break in the woods near Merseburg certainly hadn’t made them forget it.

From Magdeburg to Calbe, from Calbe to Gröbzig, from Gröbzig to Halle, and finally from Halle to Merseburg. The Duke of Richelieu’s army, numbering twenty-eight thousand men, having left a garrison in Magdeburg to oversee the town and their many prisoners, had set off a day late, on the morning of November 2. In four days, they had covered nearly a hundred kilometers.

The effort was very similar to what they had done earlier in the campaign when they had to urgently march from Brunswick to Halberstadt to drive out the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg. At that time, they had covered fifty kilometers in two days. Here, they had made the same effort over two additional days and had to endure atrocious weather on top of it!

We made it just in time!

Thanks to their efforts, they had been able to surprise the Prussian enemy while their entire attention was focused on the army of Prince de Soubise and Duke of Saxe-Hildburghausen.

Quick! They’ve started climbing that big hill! I don’t want to miss the capture of the officers!

They had formed a long line almost completely encircling Mount Janus to trap those at the summit.

Adam and his company were on the west side of the mount, opposite the battlefield. Lagging behind the rest of the regiment, they were only just beginning the ascent.

***

Colonel de Bréhant, one of the first to reach the summit of Mount Janus, efficiently deployed his men and surrounded all the officers present. Immediately, the cannons fell silent, and a strange hush fell over the plain. The air suddenly became as heavy as lead. It was so dense that it could almost be grasped with one’s hand.

Slowly, the French officer stepped out of the ranks, which closed behind him. Curiously, despite the long march and the climb, they still seemed ready to fight.

"Gentlemen, good day," he began in French with an extremely respectful tone. "I have the honor to announce that this battle is our victory, and that you are our prisoners. Who among you is His Majesty, the King of Prussia?"

The officers, dignified in defeat, did not respond immediately. They did not glance at anyone either.

Finally, one of them, probably in his early fifties, spoke in German.

"It is indeed your victory. How will we be treated? We have not signed a cartel with the Kingdom of France."

"Are you King Frederick of Prussia? I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I do not speak your language. Please speak in French."

"Yes," the man replied, now in French. "I was saying it is indeed your victory, and I was asking how we will be treated. After all, we have not signed any cartel with your kingdom that regulates such matters."

The colonel nodded and assured the man that they would all be treated with the honors due to their rank. As for the rest of the army, everything would be decided later by the Ministry of War and His Majesty.

***

Meanwhile, Adam and his company continued their ascent of Mount Janus. The slope was quite steep and extremely slippery in places. The slightest mistake could result in a fall.

Then they saw four riders in colorful outfits descending the hill and heading straight towards them.

"Attention! Cavalrymen!"

"Stop them! They’re enemies!"

Adam and his comrades formed a deadly wall with their muskets and took position, expecting to be charged. The formation was tight, and the bayonet blades were very threatening. Fortunately, there was no impact.

"Halt! You will go no further!" shouted Sergeant Dupuy, threatening the most richly dressed man, who seemed to be around his age. "Dismount immediately, or we will use force!"

The man threatened by the sergeant was about thirty years old, wearing a magnificent blue coat lined with fur spotted like a leopard at the cuffs, while his saddle appeared to be made of tiger skin. As for his powdered wig, it was as extravagant as the rest.

He exchanged a glance with another man, more simply dressed and much older, and spoke to him in German: "Your Majesty, we will charge to buy you time. Flee while we create a diversion!"

Adam immediately focused on the second man, dressed in a cream-colored coat under a cuirassier’s armor and high cavalry boots. Before his superior could say or do anything, he pointed his weapon directly at Frederick II’s head, under the surprised and frightened gaze of Prince Frederick Henry and the two generals who had agreed to accompany them as bodyguards.

With a gaze as cold as a serial killer’s, he spoke slowly in a threatening tone: "Sir, I recommend you reconsider that option. If you move, I will shoot your king."

With that, the young soldier, barely out of adolescence, cocked his musket. He seemed so calm that it made all the men present tremble. The only exception was the king himself, who remained calm.

"François?!"

"Forgive me, Sergeant, but this man is the King of Prussia. And this man," he said, pointing to the officer in the fur-lined blue coat, "just offered to help him escape."

The sergeant and the other soldiers, joined by other companies, suddenly changed their demeanor. Slowly, Sergeant Dupuy turned to the man still threatened by Adam/François, who remained perfectly still.

"Is it true, Your Majesty?"

Frederick II averted his gaze from the very young soldier and looked coldly at the sergeant.

"I am indeed the King of Prussia," said the mature man in perfect, almost accentless French. "I surrender, along with my officers. There is no need for more bloodshed. Please ask your commander to end this."

Shortly after, immense cheers of joy echoed across the region. The French soldiers threw their tricorns into the air, laughing and dancing among the thousands of dead and dying.

"Victory! Long live His Majesty!"

"Long live France!"

"Long live the Duke of Richelieu!"