Chapter 798: The Battle of Brussels
Twenty minutes later, Eymon glanced at the three full pages of orders in his hands and sighed inwardly: Hundreds of signal officers probably won't have time for dinner today.
Just as he was about to turn and leave, Joseph suddenly remembered something from Napoleon's report—Milan's council had "voluntarily donated" 2 million francs to his army, along with some priceless artworks.
—"Voluntary donation?"
Joseph shook his head. He knew exactly how Napoleon operated in occupied territories.
Looting occupied cities was common practice in this era, but few did it as brazenly as Napoleon. Everywhere he went, he left behind a trail of resentment and fury.
That 2 million francs was most likely "persuaded" out of the Milanese with artillery. And as for the paintings—who donates masterpieces to a military force?
Joseph had no intention of allowing Revolutionary France to repeat the same diplomatic isolation that the Ancien Régime had faced.
He had even sent Audorick specifically to keep Napoleon in check, yet it seemed that his brother's talent for making enemies was unstoppable.
Rewards were necessary, but so were punishments.
Joseph picked up his pen and wrote both a commendation for Napoleon and a confidential order. He handed them to Eymon.
—"Deliver these to the Duke of Broglie. Have him send the military police to Italy to investigate. I have made my instructions very clear."
—"Yes, Your Highness!"
Eymon left. Soon after, Lefebvre knocked on the door and saluted.
—"Your Highness, the American volunteers have just arrived in Uccle. There are about 1,300 of them."
—"They've finally made it," Joseph said with a smile, standing up. "Make the arrangements—I will personally welcome them."
Lefebvre was surprised.
—"Your Highness, with all due respect, these Americans don't have much combat experience. There's no need to treat them with such importance..."
Joseph chuckled and patted his arm.
—"No, they are like a rope—one that can pull the entire United States into this war."
Their arrival was perfect timing. The British were right in front of them, waiting to be fought.
Half a month ago, after securing control over the area around Brussels, the Duke of York had arrived in Antwerp with 20,000 British troops.
Meanwhile, Emperor Francis II had transferred the Clerfayt Corps from Geldern and reinforced it with a Prussian detachment, bringing their total to 35,000. They joined up with Prince Coburg's remaining forces in Leuven.
At this moment, excluding the Dutch forces, the anti-French coalition had assembled 63,000 soldiers around Brussels.
Joseph, on the other hand, had only 22,000 French regulars, along with 13,000 newly recruited Walloon militia and less than 5,000 Flemish defectors—a total of about 40,000 troops.
However, many of the Walloon soldiers had been hastily recruited, and the Flemish forces were unreliable. In reality, Joseph only had around 30,000 combat-ready troops.
Brussels itself housed 14,000 Dutch soldiers, but their training was poor, and many of them had collaborated with the French during the overthrow of William V. Their will to fight was weak.
Joseph left 7,000 Walloon militia to continue the siege of Brussels and led the rest of his main force south of Antwerp, where they now stood in a standoff against the British, Austrians, and Prussians.
Antwerp, Mechelen
On a hill behind the coalition lines, Count Clerfayt observed the French positions through his telescope.
—"Now is clearly the perfect time to attack. The French haven't set up proper defenses—I only see a few scattered skirmishers near their lines.
"General Davidovich has repeatedly requested reinforcements. We must break through the French lines as soon as possible, or else he might..."
The Duke of York shot him a glance and replied coolly:
—"If you hadn't wasted five or six days skirmishing with a few thousand Walloon troops, we would have attacked already."
Clerfayt stiffened and awkwardly looked away.
While marching from Leuven, he had been ambushed by Walloon "police forces."
These Walloons were ferocious fighters, forcing him to temporarily retreat before returning with Prussian reinforcements to drive them off.
The Duke of York raised his own telescope.
—"My cavalry scouts estimate at least 30,000 French troops in front of us. I need to determine their exact deployment before we advance."
As he spoke, he suddenly froze. His tone became unusually urgent.
—"Damn it, who are those men?"
He gestured to a nearby officer.
—"Lieutenant Colonel Swenson, I recall you served in North America?"
—"Yes, Your Highness. I returned in 1783 after fighting there for years."
The Duke pointed at the distant French positions.
—"Look at those banners. They seem... American?"
Swenson took one glance through his telescope and immediately frowned.
—"That's the 12th Continental Infantry Regiment… and the Maryland Skirmishers.
"Yes, Your Highness, they are Americans. I fought against them before."
Soon, over a thousand American soldiers, escorted by French cavalry, lined up in front of the British forces, shouting insults in English.
Their voices were faint but unmistakable.
At that moment, a British cavalry officer galloped over, reining in his horse and saluting.
—"Your Highness, I have thoroughly scouted an eight-mile radius. No signs of enemy ambushes."
The Duke of York glared at the ragged-looking Americans in the distance, his expression dark.
—"Send the order—we attack immediately."
He didn't know what the French were up to, but if there were no ambushes, he could use his numerical advantage to crush them head-on.
The attack plan had already been prepared. Within minutes, two British infantry brigades began their advance.
More than 60 cannons accompanied the marching infantry, moving slowly but promising a massive firepower advantage once they reached range.
At the same time, the Prussians on the right flank began maneuvering to outflank the French, stretching their formation so wide that the French wouldn't be able to defend their entire line.
Once the French struggled to cover the flanks, the coalition forces could turn inward, forming a semi-encirclement with the British attacking from the front.
The French defensive position was on higher ground, which was a disadvantage for attackers. But the Duke of York was confident that sheer numbers would overcome that obstacle.
Besides, the situation in Brussels was deteriorating. He had no choice but to launch an all-out assault.
Moments ago, the American volunteers had been arrogantly taunting the British. But as soon as the British infantry got close, they immediately retreated up the hill.
They had only been there to serve as a psychological provocation—Joseph never intended for them to fight in a direct battle.
The British infantry brigades advanced cautiously, waiting for the Prussian flank attack to be fully in position before launching the main assault.
Half an hour later, the first French cannons roared to life.
Artillery shells screamed through the air from 1.3 kilometers away, landing dead center in the British infantry lines.
In an instant, bodies were torn apart, blood and limbs flying in all directions as agonized screams filled the battlefield.
What the Duke of York didn't know was that positioned on that hill was the French Royal 1st Artillery Battalion.
The finest artillery unit in all of Europe.
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