Wearing British clothes as a second-generation aristocrat

Chapter 106 The Battle of Cooks 13

Chapter 106 The Battle of Cooks 13

On the land battlefields of this era, artillery has always been the ultimate trump card for overcoming obstacles.

Lakul believed that as long as the artillery could be successfully set up, the mere dilapidated rammed earth wall could be leveled with a few salvos.

However, when the artillery lieutenant arrived at the entrance to the swamp with two cannons, he felt an urge to curse all the female relatives of the Lakul family.

A standard French six-pounder field gun, with its carriage, ammunition box, and reinforcement accessories, weighs nearly one ton (approximately 90 kg).

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Normally, on the smooth dirt road, four mules and horses can easily transport goods.

However, transporting artillery through a narrow passage with peat bogs on both sides and less than two meters wide at its widest point would be nothing short of a disaster.

However, the junior lieutenant dared not speak out in anger, and could only order the artillery detachment to move immediately. The two six-pound cannons were pulled by mules and horses, with dozens of artillerymen assisting on both sides, and carefully drove into the swamp passage.

At first, the progress was relatively smooth, but the accident occurred after advancing less than 200 meters.

The cannon wheel on the left passed through an area with loose soil. The surface dry soil looked hard, but underneath was a layer of soft blue silt.

Without warning, the heavy gun barrel tilted, the right wheel suddenly lifted up, and the entire gun carriage instantly lost its balance and tilted.

"Hold on! Everyone pull hard and hold the gun!" The artillery captain was terrified and screamed frantically.

Four or five artillerymen rushed forward and braced themselves against the gun carriage, while the mules and horses neighed and struggled restlessly.

However, the cannon, weighing nearly a ton, had immense inertia, causing the surface soil to continuously crack and collapse, rendering all efforts futile.

There was a loud thud.

The heavy six-pounder overturned completely, rolling into the nearby black peat swamp along with its carriage and ammunition box.

The thick, cold silt instantly enveloped the cannon, like a lurking beast devouring its prey. In just a few dozen seconds, most of the cannon sank into the depths of the swamp, leaving only a small section of the barrel sticking out.

Several artillerymen who were too close to the ground couldn't dodge in time, and the ground beneath their feet collapsed, causing half of their bodies to fall into the mud. They barely escaped with the help of their comrades, covered in foul-smelling black mud and in a sorry state.

Everyone looked at each other in bewilderment. "Sir—" the artilleryman asked the artillery lieutenant in an inquiring tone.

The lieutenant thought for a moment and realized that salvaging the sunken artillery would not only require a lot of manpower and resources, but also require salvaging it under enemy gunfire, which would be tantamount to suicide.

"Give up!" the artillery lieutenant waved his hand.

Therefore, the first cannon was declared unusable.

The artillerymen could only pin all their hopes on the second cannon.

Having learned from past mistakes, this artillery squad moved with even greater caution. The soldiers checked the soil conditions of the road in advance, constantly poking the ground with their bayonets to avoid soft areas as much as possible. They abandoned the use of mules and horses for lead and instead pushed and pulled themselves forward inch by inch.

After a difficult trek of more than half an hour, the six-pounder finally arrived safely at the front line outside the barbed wire fence and was barely set up, with its muzzle pointing directly at the rammed earth wall of the Blexen outpost.

On the British side, von Alten was changing shifts with Halkert, and they both glanced at the lone field gun.

Harkert, however, was unconcerned: "A mere six-pounder cannon, with a limited number of shells and a restricted firing angle, poses virtually no threat."

After a brief exchange, von Alten's troops retreated to replenish their ammunition.

Harcourt then ordered his soldiers to disperse and take cover, avoiding artillery fire and waiting for the French to open fire.

At the forward positions, artillerymen adjusted the muzzle elevation and loaded solid shells.

boom!

The deafening roar of cannons echoed throughout the swamp.

The first solid shot roared out, but it was a calibration test. The shot slammed into the ground dozens of meters in front of the breastwork, sending rubble and dust flying and leaving a shallow dent in the ground.

Then the second and third shells were fired in quick succession.

Only the third shot hit the breastwork used by the British for cover, creating a gap in the dilapidated rammed earth wall, but it was still far from a complete breach of the defenses.

After three rounds of shelling, seeing that the shelling effect was not ideal, the artillery lieutenant decided to turn the gun barrels.

"Hurry, hurry!" The artillery lieutenant urged them on, and before the soldiers could fully secure the gun mount, he ordered them to retreat and return to their original positions.

The recoil of the cannon caused the rear wheels of the gun carriage to slide backward, landing precisely on the soil loosened by the shelling.

The ground, which was originally quite solid, collapsed instantly, and the rear wheels got stuck in the mud pit. Then the center of gravity of the entire gun carriage shifted, and it slowly tilted to one side.

"Damn it! Brake the gun barrel!" the artillery captain roared, and he actually tried to brace the gun barrel with his body.

But it was all too late.

The soft soil was no match for the recoil of the cannon, and in just a few seconds, the second hard-won six-pound field gun also slowly sank into the cold peat bog.

If the soldiers hadn't been quick enough to pull the artillery lieutenant out of the mud, he probably would have sunk into the swamp like the cannon.

In less than two hours, both six-pound field guns were destroyed, while the British side appeared to have suffered no casualties.

"Ha ha ha ha!" Major Harcourt and his light infantrymen couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Foolish Frenchmen!"

"You guys are better at eating frog legs!"

The morale of all French soldiers at the front lines plummeted to rock bottom.

The infantry assault was completely wiped out, and the artillerymen suffered repeated accidents while transporting their guns. The narrow muddy road, the treacherous barbed wire, and the long-range precision sniping made this inconspicuous abandoned pass an insurmountable barrier for the French.

When the artilleryman returned looking disheveled and disheveled to report, Lakul, on horseback, immediately drew his pistol and tried to shoot the artillery lieutenant.

But then I thought, artillery is a technical branch of the military, so we really can't just execute them like that.

Lakul then ordered the military police to flog the unfortunate artillery lieutenant for dereliction of duty.

Left with no other option, Lacourt ordered his troops to set up camp on the spot, and he immediately wrote a letter to Bernardo in Hanover.

"Your Excellency Field Marshal Bernadotte, I must admit that with my current forces and equipment, there is simply no way to break through this damned swamp defense line. The enemy commanders are far more cunning than we imagined. These shrewd Germans are intimately familiar with the terrain's advantages and disadvantages throughout the area. They have transformed the swamp's disadvantages into natural barriers, perfectly countering all conventional tactics of line infantry and field artillery. Continuing a blind assault will only result in the needless loss of soldiers' lives; it is utterly meaningless."

After finishing the letter, Lacourt wearily reached for his hand, then looked at his communications adjutant beside him and said, "Immediately activate the encrypted military intelligence documents and report all the situation at the front to Marshal Bernadotte in its entirety."

At the same time, in the city of Hanover, dozens of kilometers away from the swamp battlefield.

"Marshal, the vehicles and horses are ready." A soldier stepped forward to report, "The 16,000 reinforcements drawn from the Netherlands have all arrived at Ningbao Fortress and are currently resting and waiting for you to join them."

Bernardot nodded slightly and said, "Let's set off for Ningburg."

Bernardot's plan was simple: use Lacourt's 4,000 troops as a surprise force to launch a surprise attack on Dorsey village from the swamp, disrupting the enemy's flank; he would personally lead 16,000 main troops to Ningburg, apply pressure from the front, and launch a pincer attack to break through the Cooks Harbour defenses and completely eliminate British forces in the area.

Just as he was about to depart, an urgent secret letter was delivered to the governor's mansion by a fast horse messenger.

"Marshal, a letter from General Lakul!"

"Good news so soon?" Bernardo Silva eagerly opened the letter, his eyes scanning the contents from top to bottom, and his face immediately darkened.

"Barbed wire—what is that?" Bernardot muttered the new term "barbed wire" over and over again.

The adjutant beside him cautiously inquired, "Marshal, should we change the itinerary?"

Bernardot folded the letter and put it away, shaking his head. He said, "No need. Proceed to Ningbao to join the main force as planned. Then reply to General Lacour—"

"Just one sentence, even at the cost of all our lives!" (Même au pri de nos peau! French slang, meaning "at all costs!")