I'm the Dauphin in France

Chapter 1246 The Line of Defense Against Death, Part Two
Sergeant Popard's shouts mingled with the sounds of war drums and cannons: "At this distance, only howitzers can be used, and the hit rate is lower than if you poked a flying mosquito with a fork!"

"Stand still and maintain formation!"

Gaizka felt his collar being forcefully pulled upwards, and Nasser shouted in his ear, "What are you doing? The enemy is attacking!"

Marini, standing on the other side, looked down at them with a mocking smile: "Ha, just as I thought, a coward from the countryside."

Gazkar's numb mind suddenly jolted.

It wasn't the minor nobleman's humiliation that reminded him, but the word "countryside" that brought to mind his dilapidated house and then his mother's image. He seemed to hear her calling him and his brother to eat.

No, I cannot be cowardly. At least for their sake...

Gazka, leaning on his flintlock pistol, struggled to his feet. The surrounding noise continued to assault his senses, but he ignored it, desperately trying to stop his legs from trembling.

A thunderous roar came from their side and rear. Nasser excitedly slapped him on the shoulder: "Look, our cannons have started firing back!"

Sergeant Poppard scoffed; he'd never seen French artillery fire later than the enemy before. But the artillerymen of the Sixth Army were still in university three months ago—this was quite an achievement.

The French cannons reassured Gaizka somewhat, and he began to stare intently at the large number of small red dots that were constantly approaching in the distance.

After more than 20 rounds of artillery fire between the two sides, he could vaguely make out the faces of the British soldiers in front of him, as well as the black percussion muskets in their hands.

The drums of the British infantry line opposite them suddenly stopped, and the entire line came to a halt. At the same time, the British soldiers in the front row raised their guns.

Sergeant Popard shouted to the soldiers, "Hold your guns! Don't fire!"

The next moment, a dense burst of firelight flashed between the seemingly endless British ranks, and the rising smoke was swept up the hillside by the wind.

Gaizka gritted his teeth and suppressed the urge to look around, worried that the blood and corpses would distract him from his shooting.

After the British had taken another dozen or so steps forward, Gaizka finally heard the company lieutenant's voice: "Ready—"

He felt the ropes binding his hands and feet suddenly come off, and immediately raised his gun to point at the British soldier he had chosen earlier, trying hard to recall the shooting details from training, and squinted to aim at the man's waist.

"aim--"

"shooting--"

In fact, after the order to "aim" was given, the excited French recruits began to open fire one after another.

Gaizka couldn't wait to pull the trigger.

With a loud bang, he forcefully waved away the smoke, only to find that the British man he had been aiming at was still approaching like a wild beast.

"Load!"

The lieutenant's shout alerted Gaizka, who hurriedly raised his gun, took the powder pack from his waist, and threw it towards the muzzle.

With trembling hands, he pulled out the lancet and tried four times before finally inserting it into the muzzle of the gun.

He swallowed hard, pounded the gunpowder downwards, and glanced across at the other side, only to see that the red-nosed Englishman had started to raise his gun!

This exacerbated Gaizka's tension, causing his hands to tremble even more violently.

Just as he pulled a cap out of his pocket, a series of loud bangs rang out ahead.

Muffled groans and screams came from both sides. Gaizka didn't dare to look, gritted his teeth, fixed his percussion cap, and immediately raised his gun.

Just then, a company lieutenant shouted from the end of the formation: "Ready—"

Gaizka wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and said nervously to Nasserly beside him, "These British are incredibly fast!" Indeed, they were now facing the first batch of British troops trained after the Marquess Wellesley's military reforms. They were not only well-equipped, but most of them had also participated in actual combat, and their combat capabilities far surpassed those of Gaizka and his men.

"Just you wait and see, I definitely won't fail this time..."

When Gaizka didn't hear Naseli's response, he instinctively turned his head away, his pupils suddenly contracted, and he seemed to freeze in place.

The glassmaker's son lay in a pool of blood, his neck twisted to the left at an eerie angle, half of his face torn to shreds, the edges almost blending into the soil.

"No! No!" Gaizka shook his head violently. "You...you can't do this..."

"shooting--"

Gaizka just stood there blankly, constantly berating himself: "Damn it! If I had fired one more shot, maybe Nasser wouldn't be dead..."

He didn't notice that the British soldiers had already advanced to within 40 paces of him.

In the exchange of fire just now, the inexperienced French recruits suffered heavy casualties, their ranks were riddled with gaps, and their retaliatory firepower began to wane.

Lieutenant Colonel Dimas, the brigade commander of Gaizka's brigade, put away his binoculars and said to the messenger beside him, "Have the 17th and 18th Battalions retreat; they are no longer combat-ready..."

As the gong sounded, the company commander loudly ordered a retreat, but the soldier next to Popard suddenly shouted, "We haven't lost yet!"
"Our motherland is behind us; we must never retreat!"

Marini paused for a moment, then immediately shouted, "Yes! We will not retreat. Keep loading, keep firing!"

The surrounding soldiers, as if suddenly awakened from a nightmare, raised their guns with red eyes: "For the motherland!"

"Never back down!"

Long live France!

Gaizka was patted on the shoulder, and when he turned around, he saw Marini pick up a gun and throw it to him: "Don't just stand there, let the British know how tough we are!"

The guns were loaded with ammunition. Gaizka nodded vigorously, raised his gun, and fired a volley with the remaining 70 soldiers in the company.

Lieutenant Colonel Dimas frowned as he looked at the two infantry battalions that were still holding out. "This is ridiculous! Make them back down!"

However, the desperate salvo from the two battalions, which were already on the verge of collapse, seemed to have a miraculous effect. The British, who had thought the French army would surely collapse, were caught off guard by the sudden and fierce attack at close range.

Marini waved excitedly: "Quick! Keep fighting!!"

Gaizka reloaded as quickly as possible and raised his gun again.

Seeing this, the company commander didn't order a retreat. He drew his sword, pointed it at the enemy, and personally commanded, "Aim—"

"shooting--"

With a flash of fire, a large number of British soldiers at the front fell instantly, and those behind them were clearly frightened and began to turn and run away.

A cheer erupted from the French positions: "Look! We've won!"

"Victory belongs to France!"

"Don't stop, keep firing!"

On a distant hill, Sir Graham frowned as he looked at the British infantry line, which had suffered nearly 20% casualties, and muttered, "Those French recruits are doing really well."

Korsakov, standing nearby with binoculars, quipped, "It's a good thing you gave the order quickly enough, otherwise your men might have really been routed."

(End of this chapter)