Order's -> Order of Battle -> Formulating a Plan -> Operational Phase 1 (Skirmish) -> Operational Phase 2 (Main Battle) -> Operational Phase 3 (Rear Action) -> After Action Report -> Retrospective
The distanced chatter of muscat fire, interrupted by the dull booming sounds of the canons, is the only indication of a battle. Another indication was the line regiment in French uniforms resting on the road under the bright sun of June. Their uniforms were still fresh, indicating that it was a new unit that hadn't seen any campaigns yet. At its head, Colonel Jean Gudin drummed his fingers on the hilt of his officer's sword, the only indicator to the outside world that he was nervous.
He was a tall, thin man of middle age. Once, he had a proud black mustache crown on his upper lip, but he had shaved it off after his return from British captivity. Like the uniform of his man, his was new, but only because the old one had suffered from the battles in India and the time as a prisoner of war. For him, the warmth of June was a welcome difference to the heat of India that he had felt for serval years during his stay in the far corner of the world.
Most of his staff and officers had gathered behind him, thankful for the break of the march and using the relative peacefulness of the moment to chatter. They were …
[ ] Experienced and knew to take any pause before the bloody work started. (Regiment Trait: Experienced Officers)
[ ] Fresh, just as their man. Only Gudin and some of the non-commissioned officers had seen battle. (Regiment Trait: Experienced Sergeants)
Turning slightly, he looked at the long line of soldiers on the street. Most had decided to sit down or were leaning on their muscats, using the pause in march to relax. Their faces were often still young, and the Colonel saw them glance towards the direction in which the sound of battle came. Two battalions of his regiment, the other three had been diverted to Dijon for further training. Something Gudin should be thankful for if he looked at the youthful faces of his men and the anxiety on their faces. How many of them would be dead or wounded by the end of the day?
Had he been like this before his first battle? Not knowing what would come, full of fear and hopes for great glory?
Before he could search his memories for an answer, he noted a Hussar approaching his unit rapidly. His flamboyant coat fluttered behind him like a banner, his hand holding his horse's handles and the handle of a second one running at his side without a rider. A messenger then, Gudin swallowed and noted how dry his mouth felt. He knew too well what such a rider meant: orders.
Soon enough, others noted the lone figure approaching fast. Behind him, the chatter of his officers stopped, and they silently watched the messenger getting closer. From the corner of his eyes, Gudin noted that his young soldier had also seen the rider. Some stood up from their places on the ground or stopped using their muscats as something to lean on. A feeling of excitement started to spread between the men.
Jean Gudin forced himself to turn slowly towards the lone rider as he approached and corrected the position of his officer hat. Then he put a hand on his sword and waited. He needed to play his part, and the boys were looking to him for guidance.
"Colonel Gudin," the Hussar shouted questioningly as he brought his sweating and nervous horse to a halt. Or at least attempted to do so as the horse danced before the gathered officers. "Colonel Gudin?!"
"Here," Jean said, holding a hand to show his position. He stepped forward, ignoring the nervous horse and keeping his eyes on the messenger. "You have orders for us?"
"Aye, General Lannes sends his compliments," the Hussar said breathlessly. "You're to march towards that hill on the east and pass it on the right. Behind is a crossroad he expected the Kaiserliche to use it for a flanking maneuver to disrupt our advance! Take the crossroad and hold it until order otherwise!"
Following the pointing finger of the Hussar, Colonel Gudin saw a small hill he already had noticed earlier. It was covered in trees and scrub, blocking the view of what lay behind it. A track used mainly by peasants, by the look of it, led from the road his unit was on towards the hill and curved on its right around it. Nothing he would try to get artillery over, but a path accessible to his two infantry battalions. The ground looked dry enough that you felt confident you could lead your regiment around the hill in half an hour if they kept a marching column.
"Is the crossroad in enemy hands?"
"Not if you move fast!"
"And what about cavalry," Jean Gudin asked, ignoring the impatient look the Hussar had on his face. He wouldn't march over there leading a thousand young French into their early graves if he made a mistake. It would be Colonel Gudin who would've to live with that grief burden. He had made mistakes in the past that cost him victory. Not today and not here. "Anything in these trees?"
"No, and no! When will you arrive at the crossroads?"
Jean Gudin turned his eyes away from the trees and the hill to the Hussar. The man swallowed whatever he wanted to say next and remembered what rank the man held he was speaking with. "Apologies, Colonel."
"It's alright," Colonel Gudin said lightly, staring at the hill. He didn't like that it was right next to the path he would lead his men on. He would have a company or two in these trees if he were trying to defend the crossroads—a good position for an ambush. But if the enemy wasn't yet in control of the crossroads, that might be some empty trees.
"What can I report to General Lannes? When will you expect to be at the crossroads?"
Turning his attention back to the hussar, he swallowed and thought momentarily. Then Colonel Gurdin answered:
[ ] "Quarter of the hour, we advanced rapidly!"
[ ] "Half an hour, we advance at marching speed."
[ ] "Three-quarters of the hour, I must advance cautiously."
The hussar threw him a quick salute and then changed horses. Then, he was speeding to where he had come from to inform General Lannes of Colonel Gudin's decision.
"For better or worse," the French Colonel muttered to himself, then turned to his officers—all of them were looking at him expectantly, awaiting his orders.
