I'm the King of Curry at Hogwarts

Chapter 175: Let's frame the little soldier and A go up.

"Prussians, definitely Prussians." Napoleon concluded after careful consideration. Noticing the general beside him raising his binoculars, he stopped him, saying, "There's no need. No need to look. It must be Prussians. Grouchy couldn't possibly be in that location at this time. I know him."

"They're still a long way off. As far as we're concerned about, they still have to wait all the way to Warsaw, you understand?"

Reluctantly, Soult put down his binoculars, finally nodding helplessly, "Understood, Your Majesty."

"Meowlington is fighting in a new way, and he's sitting on his ass very firmly... We need to get him off the map, meow." Napoleon turned to the map, looked around, and slowly said, "Now I need Grouchy to break through that village at the foot of the mountain so we can achieve victory."

No one answered him, and no one knew where Grouchy had gone.

Napoleon waited for a long time without receiving a reply. An inexplicable sense of frustration welled up inside him. He slammed down his pen and shouted, "Where is Grouchy! I need his army! Where is Grouchy! Good heavens, why must I do everything myself?"

An indescribable surge of anger welled up inside him, coupled with the pain in his anus, and Napoleon's legs went weak, causing him to collapse to the ground.

This startled the surrounding generals, who rushed forward to support Napoleon, asking with concern, "Your Majesty, are you injured?"

Napoleon's doctor, however, knew what was going on. He whispered, "Your Majesty, as your physician, I suggest you leave the battlefield. You must lie down..."

After taking a few steps with support, Napoleon saw the soldiers looking at him with concern. He knew that as emperor and as the soul of his soldiers, he could not show the slightest weakness. So he pushed away the people supporting him and stood up unsteadily. Although he was still in excruciating pain, Napoleon stood firmly in front of the old guard with the support of his willpower.

You still need to rest. I only slept for two hours on the cot yesterday. Even someone made of iron couldn't take that long.

Duke Meowlington was also watching the group of unidentified people. To his left, Yubridge said, "I think those are the Blue Cats of Grouchy's army, Your Excellency. That's what we fear. Look, Grouchy is here..."

"Damn it, that could also be the Black Army of Prussia!" Meowlington exclaimed as a shell whizzed past his head, his head instinctively turning to follow its trajectory. He then put away his binoculars, walked over to a young officer behind him, and pulled out his binoculars again to look. The result was the same as before; he still couldn't tell whether the man's surname was English or French.

"Haiyi, you're younger and have better eyesight, why don't you take a look and see what color that is?"

As he spoke, Meowlington handed the binoculars in his hand to Hay.

"I'm sorry, Your Excellency, I can't see clearly either," Hay replied after examining it carefully for a moment.

Meowlington didn't get a definite answer. He paced back and forth impatiently with his hands behind his back, and finally ordered, "Lord Hay, go and tell General Lambert to retreat a hundred paces toward the slope."

"But Your Excellency..."

"Execute your orders, sir!" Meowlington's tone left no room for argument.

"Yes!" Lord Hay turned his horse around.

The order was quickly relayed, and Meowlington sat on his tall horse watching the soldiers retreat, with a burning tree beside him.

The talkative Lawrence, who was retreating with the troops, noticed the situation beside Meowlington and couldn't help but remind him, "Sir, I must say, it's best not to get too close to trees on rainy days..."

"I understand what you mean, thank you." Meowlington readily accepted the soldier's suggestion: "I will take your audacious opinion into consideration."

With that, he raised his whip and lashed the horse's rump to inform Louis and the others to retreat with the army.

Just as his white horse had taken a few steps, a cannonball landed where he had just been standing.

The scale of the evacuation of 10,000 people was very large and conspicuous, and even Marshal Ney, who was commanding the French cavalry in the distance, could see it clearly.

"Meowlington has retreated!" he shouted excitedly, his expression like that of a student who had just seen their homeroom teacher hurriedly leave after answering a phone call.

Michelle Ney, a purebred tabby cat, is nicknamed the Warrior of Warriors. She is very strong, but like my brother Wu Guanchao, all she thinks about is muscles.

If you see an advantage, go for it; if A goes up, save it, save it, that's basically it.

His current behavior is just like when he plays a game. He scoops up his cavalry and charges directly at Meowlington's position.

Louis used to do this a lot when he played RTS games, but unlike Ney, Louis would usually launch dozens of Apocalypse Tanks with a single AoE attack...

"Meowlington has retreated!" he repeated. "Everyone, all hands on deck, prepare to attack Meow!"

Single-celled organisms are like this: purely single-core and single-threaded. In his excitement, Marshal Ney was preoccupied with pursuing the retreating Meowlington, completely forgetting about whether he should consult the Emperor.

Opportunity knocks but once! Fighting by asking for orders? We won't even have a hot meal then!

Anyone with a brain would be intelligent enough to be completely brainless.

"Everyone, come here!" Ney was still incredibly excited, his beard trembling with his movements. He raised his arm and shouted, "Follow me! Trumpeter, blow the charge!"

Ney's move had a significant impact. The cavalry around him, seeing him lead the charge, assumed he had received some instructions from Napoleon and joined the battle.

Tens of thousands of cavalrymen charged into battle, galloping across the vast plains. The sunlight shone on their breastplates and their raised sabers, reflecting a dazzling and captivating light.

When the reconnaissance unit informed Meowlington that the French cavalry were launching a charge, he immediately made a decision—to assemble on the other side of the mountain into a hollow square formation and face Ney's charge.

It should be said that the idea of ​​infantry defeating cavalry is not a far-fetched joke. Infantrymen are afraid of cavalry charging, but cavalrymen are even more afraid of the gleaming bayonets of the infantrymen, especially their horses. Even the most well-trained horses find it difficult to overcome their fear of gleaming, sharp weapons.

Some might say that blindfolding the horses would solve the problem, right? Well, here's the question: what if you were blindfolded and made to run a hundred meters in an unfamiliar place?

It's just that fiction is fiction, and things in works of art should be taken with a grain of salt and enjoyed.

With Louis standing in the very center of the square formation, Meowlington, on the advice of his adjutant, dismounted to avoid becoming the first target to be shot, so as not to stand out too much.

As the French cavalry approached, the ground began to tremble. The rumbling sound was incredibly oppressive. The soldiers in front of Louis rubbed their guns together, swallowing hard, waiting to face the charge of the French cavalry.

However, it doesn't have much to do with them; the hollow square formations on the outside are the ones that suffer the most.

Finally, Ney's cavalry charged to the top of the hill. He thought Meowlington had retreated, but what he saw was a hollow square formation like porcupines, many of them.

Modern cavalry differs from ancient cavalry. Modernized systematic training has made them far more disciplined than their predecessors. Their ranks are as orderly as walls, and like waves crashing against the British formation. The gleaming breastplates on the cavalrymen are so dazzling that it's hard to open one's eyes.

The British artillery began to return fire, and the commanders in the center of the hollow squares shouted, "Shoot their horses first! Shoot their horses first!"

The effect was quite good; French cavalrymen began to fall one after another, but more cavalrymen kept surging in from behind, seemingly endless.

At that moment, Napoleon heard his adjutant report that Ney was attacking. Forgetting his pain, he stumbled through the nearby bushes and ran over, shouting frantically, "What is Ney doing? Can't I leave his side for even a moment? What is he doing over there?!"

Napoleon, enraged, pointed in the direction of Ney's cavalry and roared hysterically, "How could he allow his cavalry to attack without infantry support! What has he done wrong!"

He never imagined that Ney, as a marshal, could make such a basic mistake. Not only did he allow the cavalry to attack alone, but he also charged into the infantry who were already in formation. Even Zhao Kuo and Ma Su might not have done such a thing.

Dust billowed across the battlefield, the smoke from infantry firing mingling with the dust kicked up by cavalry charges. Combined with the sounds of gunfire, the roars of battle, the cries of the wounded, and the neighing of horses, it created a scene of utter hell on earth.

Louis admitted he had seen many war movies, but even the most realistic movies are still just movies; what he was facing was a real battlefield...

He witnessed a young white cat being slashed in the neck by a French cavalryman while loading ammunition. The cat fell to the ground, futilely clutching its neck where blood was gushing out, its legs trembling weakly. Another French cavalry cat had its leg broken by a shell and was lying on the grass under the weight of a dead horse, howling in pain as it clutched its leg.

"Little deer, little deer..." Catherine repeated unconsciously, her eyes filled with fear. She gripped Louis's clothes tightly, hugged him tightly, buried her face in his chest, and could no longer bear to look at the hellish scene in front of her.

Louis didn't speak, but gently stroked Catherine's blonde hair, trying to calm her down.

It's not that she's timid; even Louis himself couldn't stand it. In such a slaughterhouse, probably only a born butcher could remain calm.

Besides Christa, that silly big sister, she was sitting to the side chewing on something.

It's a wonder she was in the mood to eat it.

"Think of your wives, your sweethearts, your homes, think of England, soldiers, think of England!"

Louis looked in the direction of the voice and saw Lord Hay in the center of the square formation. He was on horseback, holding a sword and shouting slogans, trying to rouse the soldiers in the square formation.

But his behavior was too conspicuous, and he was soon shot at by the French army. A bullet hit him in the head. Lord Hay reached out his cat paw to touch the gunshot wound on his head in disbelief, glanced at Duke Meowlington, wanted to say something but couldn't say anything, and finally collapsed to the ground, ending his young life.

Duke Meowlington's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't utter a word.

With Lord Hay's death, his phalanx began to crumble. The bagpiper in the center was still playing hard, trying to boost the morale of his brothers, but the French cavalry had already charged up and slashed the bagpiper in the back.

"Bastards! Come on! You bastards, meow!" Lawrence cursed as he watched the bagpiper's gruesome death, raising his rifle and leading the surrounding men in a shooting spree.

The battlefield had become chaotic. No one knew where their bullets had landed, nor when the cavalry would stop their attack. The cavalrymen themselves did not know how long the enemy could hold out. Both sides had fought with all their might, waiting for the other to give out first.

"Louis..." Meowlington called softly without turning around.

"Yes, Your Excellency." Louis did not stop stroking Catherine's hair.

"You said..." He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Can we win?"

"Trust your soldiers." Louis did not give him a direct answer.

Just as Meowlington was about to say something, Jack, the calico cat in the formation, broke down and started trying to run away. The people around him immediately held him down, but Jack shouted, "Let me go! For God's sake, can't you just let me out? Why?"

With a great struggle, he actually broke free from his companions' obstruction, clutching the Bible in his hands, and rushed out of the formation.

"Jack! Damn it, who's going to stop him?!" Lawrence panicked. This was his neighbor's good kid. He wanted to rush out of the formation to save him, but he also knew the importance of discipline. If he left, the soldiers in the first rank would definitely scatter.

"Let me go! Leave me alone!" Jack roared without turning his head.

"Oh God, call someone to stop him! Where is he going?" Lawrence was about to rush out and pull him back when he was held down by four or five companions.

Jack stepped out of the formation, looked at the French cavalry still charging, and shouted hysterically, "We're complete strangers, how can we kill each other! Why! Why! Why are we killing each other, meow!"

"How could we! Why would we kill each other, meow!"

He collapsed and threw his rifle and hat to the ground, but on this battlefield, his voice was too small and insignificant compared to the sounds of artillery and gunfire.

No one cared about his opinion, and no one knew why they were killing each other. Perhaps Duke Mearington knew, and Lord Hay knew, but these common soldiers truly did not know what they were fighting for.

Soon, he could no longer torture the French cavalryman who was also born a cat. A knight in a gleaming breastplate charged toward him, raised his saber high, and with a single stroke, severed his young head.

Blood soaked the land. Facing the direction of the phalanx, Lawrence clearly saw that what burned in his cat-like eyes was unparalleled sorrow.

(End of this chapter)