The Prussian Garde du Corps - The Seven Years War Novel

Prelude

29th of August,1756 , Lobositz

The air was silent, as the field mice squeaked. A heavy thud of boats echoed around the fields surrounding Lobositz, as the village of Lobositz loomed above the deathly fog. Bayonets proceeded from the foggy air, and a silent click as gunpowder was stuffed into muskets. The steam from the nervous Prussian unit of Garde du Corps.

“Field Marshal Von Browne, Field Marshal Von Browne!” yelled a Austrian voice from above the Prussians.
“Shut up!” silently echoed a voice in response,
“I can hear movement, from down in the fields” whispered the voice nervously, the Prussians jolted as they saw a head stick look straight down at them,
“I think I can see something”

The Prussians though would be noticed sooner or later, thought the Commander Hans von Blumenthal, as they silently approached a fast flowing river. One of the soldiers quickly dipped a foot in, and his eyes widened from the cold. The rest of the Corps though, jumped in. The splash echoed loudly, and a few moments of strained silence followed.
“Fire!” roared a voice from above, and a ear splitting noise came from the hill, as more smoke joined the fog. Musket Balls thudded into the surrounding creek, as the puddles made it look like rain. The soldiers ran forward, as the creek slowly turned red, and bodies floated down it. Weeds gave way to the bullets, as the sand from the bottom of the creek rose.
Hans pointed his small pistol at the top of the hill, firing off a round. Bodies rolled down the hill.
“We can’t break them Hans, we have to go left!” roared a voice over the heavy sound of battle. Hans grudgingly agreed, the battle was going exactly as speculated. Now they could hear the musket fire from the main battle, the ground shook and the noise of cannons trailed towards the skirmish under Lobositz. Hans pointed to the left of the Corps,
“Move left, move around the village!” roared Hans, already moving. Though he was no coward, just trying to save his skin. More musket balls thudded around him, as Hans fired into the air, getting the soldiers to hurry up, as they splashed through the muddy waters. Hans grinned, as he saw though the smoky haze of musket fire,as he saw the clerks bring forth the horses for the company, as they nervously watched a a Regiment of Croats come running forward.
“The Croats, aim for the Croats!” roared Hans, firing at the Regiment. The soldiers who weren’t under intense fire raised themselves and churned out a volley of fire, felling many of the Croats, who stopped short and moved backwards to the safety of the village.

The Corps gratefully reached the horses, Hans raised himself on to the horse, the clerk helping him fell to the ground, screaming as a shell ripped him in half. Hans fired two shots into the air, preparing to charge across the fields.

They would’ve, if it wasn’t for the Austrian Cavalry.
The ground thundered, as Austrian Cavalry came charging down the small hills of Lobositz. The men were fearsome, come from the Alps. They were tall, well built men, who had short handle bar moustaches. There chests had shiny, fearsome armor, and to top it all up, they wielded the heavy Cuirass sword.

The Garde du Corps didn’t need to be told, intimidated by the Cuirassiers. The air fizzled as the muskets fired, Hans ducked, though shooting down one of the Austrians, the musket balls whizzed past his ears, one even drawing blood.

Hans raised himself, drawing his short saber, to find himself facing the most fearsome of the Austrians, with a sword which had cut through many Italians, Frenchman and Prussians, his face told the whole story. Hans weakily mustered forth his sword to meet the Austrians, and the heavy Austrian cuirass met his small, short saber. The difference was immediate, as the saber gave way at once, but Hans tumbled off his horse, and rolled out of the way as the horse thundered towards him. Drawing himself up, Hans drew his second pistol and shot the Austrian man, once in the arm, and another time in the face, dislodging him from his horse.

The man landed with a satisfying thud, Hans observed how the battle was happened around him, and the Garde du Corps was making short work of the Cuirassiers. Hans mounted his horse, beckoning his second in command to move the Corps forward. The fog was slowly lifting, but the musket smoke lingered around, making its way into soldiers lungs.

“Colonel! The Croats are forming in Lobositz, their preparing to fire!”
“Sir, they can cut us down from their range” reported the Sergeant.
“Then let us charge! Let us charge for the great country of Prussia, to rid these poor lands of these Austrian demons. Charge!” roared Hans, as the Garde du Corps roared along with him, beckoning their great horses on.

Hans eyes narrowed, as the wind whipped through his hair, as his officers cloak flapped like a tiger behind him. Hans drew his sword, his horse going speeds of at least 90 km’s a hour. Smoke silently rose from the village of Lobositz, startled, Hans observed closer, and jolted to find the Croats aiming down their sights at the Garde du Corps. Bullets whizzed around him, and a horse just ahead of Hans fell forward, the rider crushed horribly beneath it.

Hans sighed a breath of relief, they’d make it too the village before the Croats could fire another volley, at the last minute, in a cruel twist of fate, the final Croat fired, and the bullet thudded into Hans horses heart. Hans jumped off, yelling, as the horsetumbled forward. He hit the ground, groaning as he heard his arm break beneath him. At the last moment, the hooves of his fellow comrades horses crushed him, as a stray saber sliced his head from chin to crown. He was dead, on the fields of Lobositz.

A soldier looked back, startled, as he saw the Colonel lying crushed, on the fields behind him.
“We don’t want to to make this like a Minorca!” roared someone nearby, their words quickly whipped away with the wind. The Sergeant yelled back,
“I don’t want to be like a John Byng!” Minorca was the horrible attempt by the British to defend the small island of Minorca from the French and Spanish. They had been 10 British ships, most destroyed, and their Admiral, John Byng, had been executed on doing such a poor job.

The horses crashed over the poor defenses the Croats had set up, the hooves of the horses kicking some of the Croats in the head, killing them instantly. The Corps soldiers gleefully leaned down from their saddles, hacking at the Musketeers. When the last of the Croat Musketeers were running full pelt down the road, a nervous voice yelled from amidst the crowd of the Garde du Corps.
“Sir, sir! Genoese Fulisers!” The Genoese were famed at shooting down Cavalry, they had many victories behind their name.
“Dismount and find cover!” someone yelled, it didn’t matter what rank they filled, on this sort of battlefield no rank stood firm. The soldiers dived from their horses, finding cover behind buildings. Some were unfortunate enough to dive behind a building, only to have it blow up, along with the soldiers.

The muskets crackled, and musket balls skipped over the stone buildings, one hitting a stray soldiers leg, making him curse in disluck.
The Corps soldiers leaned from their cover, and fired off a round, almost decitmating the Genoese Regiment.
“I’ve got no more ammo!” whispered some of the soldiers amongst themselves, others nodding in agreement. But a united roar came from the east side of Lobositz, and a Cavalryman came running down the laneway, yelling,
“The Cavlry Regiment has made it into Lobositz town centre, the Austrians are nearly killed!” roared the man, and the Garde de Corps charged from their cover, roaring in victory, as the town centre exploded in a hail of cannon fire, completely stunning the Austrians.

The Garde du Corps soldiers jumped over the Austrian Defenses, stabbing the soldiers with Socket Bayonets.

Lobositz was theirs.

Interesting. The story is good, and you've created an impressive atmosphere. I do think the sequence of events somewhat hectic though, and I am puzzled about certain historical details. For example, I think the Prussian guard would be called Leibgarde rather than Garde du Corps. Also, is this is a cavalry or an infantry unit? But all in all, I think this is your best story so far.

Thanks.

Well, I don't German, but is Leib Garde the same as Garde du Corps?

Its not either a infantry or cavalry, as stated, Frederick the Greats Bodyguard. Leib Garde, was more of a Elite Army unit, there is only one Garde du Corps.

I've researched this to death, so I hope its right.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Ludens

For example, I think the Prussian guard would be called Leibgarde rather than Garde du Corps. Also, is this is a cavalry or an infantry unit? But all in all, I think this is your best story so far.

---

Warluster is right! There was a Prussian guard called Guarde du Corps and the commander was Hans von Blumenthal.

here is what Wiki is saying:
The Garde du Corps was the personal bodyguard of the king of Prussia and after 1871, the German emperor (in German: Kaiser). It was founded in 1740 by Frederick the Great with Friedrich von Blumenthal as its first commander. He died suddenly in 1745, but his brother Hans, who, with the other officers of the regiment had won the Pour le Mérite at its first action at Hohenfriedberg, assumed command in 1747. Hans von Blumenthal was wounded leading the regiment in a successful cavalry charge at Lobositz and had to retire from the army. Initially the regiment was used partly as a training ground for officers as part of a programme of expansion of the cavalry. Early officers included the rake and memoirist von Trenck, who describes the arduous life of sleep deprivation and physical stress endured by officers, as well as the huge cost of belonging. The Cuirasses, for example, were silver-plated.

Unlike the rest of the Imperial German Army, the Garde du Corps was recruited nationally and eventually reached a full corps strength. The Regiment wore a white cuirassier uniform with certain special distinctions in full dress. These included a red tunic for officers in court dress and a white metal eagle poised as if to fly on the bronze helmet. Other unique features of the regiment's full dress as worn until 1914, included a sleeveless supraweste with the star of the Order on the Black Eagle on front and back and the retention of black iron cuirasses edged with red, presented by the Russian Tsar in 1814. These replaced the normal white metal breastplates on certain special occasions.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Ludens

Also, is this is a cavalry or an infantry unit? But all in all, I think this is your best story so far.

---

cuirassiers! :charge:

Thanks for the information ~:thumb: .

Chapter 1

1757, The Mountain Range between Silesia and Bohemia.

The Mountains echoed, as if alive, as a Prussian Corps dutifully made its way through the hard track. The road was taking its toll on the Corps, but they were made of steel, supposedly, the men of the Garde du Corps. Being Fredericks Personal Bodyguard, they had to be.

The road was long and dangerous, dead trees populated the mountains, snow falling thick and fast, or the sun trumpeting itself up in the sky. Rocks sometimes made there way loudly down the mountain.

Men’s lives were taken by the tricky snow, as they stumbled over the side of a sharp cliff, or sometimes when a rock wall fall from its holding place. And of course, the food.

The most horrible thing of the march was the food; most men can make it over a mountain, if they had food, rum and a good roll of tobacco. The Garde du Corps was at a loss of all things.


Though it was livable for the soldiers, they were the fighting fit Garde du Corps; they were honored to have King Frederick accompany them.

The Corps, was marching, victorious, from Saxony, where the previous year the Elector had gave in, as his army was destroyed near Lobositz. The Corps was racing to meet the Prussian Prince, Moritz, who was meeting them off from Prague.
Prince Moritz was a famed General, leading a column at Lobositz, and was a General Frederick prized, he had rose through the ranks, and had fought as a Prussian Regular in the War of Polish Succession, he was also priced by Frederick the First.

The Corps scrambled over the fallen rocks of a rock fall, men tripping over cut their knees; one was unfortunate to trip over the side of the cliff, his fearful screams echoing around the valley. Many gulped as they watched him fall, then the horrible thud as he hit the hard rocks below.

A soldier pointed his musket to the sky, and pulled the trigger. The smoke poured out, and the bang echoed. A single bird fell from the sky.
“Private, we’re not in bloody Brandenburg doing target practice! Get back into line and act like a real Garde du Corps trooper!” yelled an officer near the back of the line, the solider grinned, and pulled back into line, reloading as he went.

The Officer at the back, watched the man expectantly,
‘Thinks he can do it again’ Thought the officer, concealing a smile as he waited for the soldier. The soldier spared a quick glance to make sure the Officer wasn’t looking then fired into the air again.

The officer drew his pistol, aimed at the solider, and pulled the trigger. The soldier jolted, and the whole Corps drew their Muskets and kneeled down, looking around. The musket ball hit the ground in front of the soldier, marking the ground.
“Never…mess…with…me” the Officer spoke slowly, staring at the solider.

The Corps was at the end of the mountain soon, having finally conquered it. Many troops were grumbling, their legs stiff, their heads heavy, and in need of a good roll of tobacco.

Soon they were marching over rolling green hills, the trees alive with a lovely color of green; sometimes the soldiers passed a village, and were greeted with food sometimes, or wary eyes.

One time they came upon a rotten one.

One evening, one of the scouts came galloping back, a look of plain annoyance on his face. He rode up to Frederick, and his hand snapped to his head, saluting.
“Mien Konig” said the man, Frederick nodded in acknowledgement,
“There is a village up ahead, acting hostile, they won’t let us march through” reported the scout,
“Excellent, some training” murmured Fredrick. The Officer who’d shot at the soldier before, spoke up,
“Sir, should we send the Brandenburg Regulars?” asked the officer, the army was made up of four Corps. The three regular Corps, of men from various major cities in Prussia, and the Garde du Corps.
“Send in the elites, the Garde du Corps” said Frederick, he prized the Garde du Corps, and they were indeed up for the job.


The Corps cautiously approached the town, the soldiers moving to and thro between the rocks, making a hiding spot out of trees, scrub and carts. They could see some villagers, standing with blunderbusses behind a hastily erected wall of carts. They were not threat, as they’d mostly be poor aimers, and even worse with the old Blunderbuss.

The Colonel awkwardly checked the status of the troops and the villagers. Taking a deep breath, he drew his Cuirass and stood, brandishing it in the air,
“Forward!” he yelled, and the Garde du Corps rushed from their places, charging towards the village. The defenders opened fire, the blunderbuss making a racket of a noise, sounding like a cannon. Some bullets seemed to skip merrily behind the troops, landing nowhere near them.

A few minutes too late, and the rest of the defenders rushed to the cart wall, aiming at the incoming soldiers. One bullet skipped off the ground and took off a soldiers finger, as he cursed in pain, he shot randomly at the village, and hit the town leader in the chest.

All fight left most villagers, but some kept fighting, seconds later, gunshots were heard from the other side of the village, and all villagers dropped their weapons in alarm.

The Battle was an easy one, though even though easy, the village was a rich one. The villagers were whipped, and cursed, as said by the Brutal Officer, that the fury of Prussia had descended upon them, they were trapped. Many nodded feebly, offering their food, places to stay and stables.

As the soldiers were sitting around a fire outside, there was a gunshot from inside a nearby building, and smoke issued from the door. Out came the Officer, who was holding a scrawny small man by the collar.

Dumping the man in front of Frederick, he spoke something, and spat on the man. Frederick looked down at him, and then suddenly, kicked him in the stomach, then kicking him again and again.

Many of the Regulars were shocked, was this there great leader? Kicking some villager?

The officer came over, and sat with the men of the Garde du Corps.
“The source of this towns hostiles” said the officer bitterly, getting stuck into a chicken leg, the Corps was hanging off every word.
“Go on” encouraged a man,
“A bloody Austrian Commander, ordering the local towns to defend themselves against any ‘Prussian Devils’ as he described as, told one villager.” A bitter look in his eyes, the officer dearly hated the Austrians, and was brutal to the Regulars. After losing his family in Bohemia to Austrian Troops, he left, at the age of nine, to Prussia, where he steadily rose through the ranks fighting against the Polish.

“So the Austrians know we’re coming?” asked another man, he accent was Polish. The man was in fact called Aleksy; many just called him Alaska, finding it hard to pronounce his name. The man originated from Poland, spending his life on the farm, then fighting against the Russians and Turks, he then left the Polish Army and joined the Prussians.
“Of course they bloody know we’re coming, do you think they’d be sitting around drinking bloody Italian Tea all day, NO!” The Officer roared the last bit. All the soldiers went back to their gloomy singing of war songs; some missed their horses, which were being brought to the Corps by the incoming Prince’s army.

The night was quickly toppled over by the day, and the weary Garde du Corps was the first to rise. Frederick’s noisy buglers were making a racket of a noise in the Corps ears. Soon the Regulars had rose, with the tolling sun glaring down on them.

So once again they set off a depressing march, thankfully the sky was showing no sign of rain, the white uniform of the Garde du Corps was muddy, slashes of dry blood randomly around their uniforms, the Officers uniforms bared no marks of mud or blood, as they were already blood red, naturally though. Their helmets wielding that of a later design, an eagle poised to fly, with a metal cap.

The marching was short and rests numerous in the various villages of the countryside Bohemia. Villages were never usually hostile, the Austrians yet to plague their minds. Yet they did come across many hostiles.

Eventually they neared Prague, with word their Allied army was heading smartly and fast to their position, the Army was granted some rest. The Garde du Corps gratefully rested, enjoying the blissful moments, but they were soon snapped to attention by Frederick.

The men were standing firm, in full uniform and their muskets by their sides, acting as any bodyguard would. Frederick walked in front of them, observing the state of their uniforms, the face of the men, usually blackened from gunpowder.

“You, the Garde du Corps, the best the Prussian Army can offer. Yet, your Corps is young; you still have carve out a name. Yes, Lobositz was fairly, what should I call it? Heroic” said Frederick, striding in front of the Corps. Many coughed in disbelief, they’d proven themselves at Lobositz and
Hohenfriedberg. Frederick seemed to notice this,
“You may disbelieve it, individually, you performed the best, and I am sure many of you served relentlessly in the wars against Poland. Though, may I state, the Leibgarde has performed greater deeds. So I say now, claim a name, claim the honor. Fight like the devils you are at Prague, and if god wills it, forever. First off, I wish for you to scout ahead of our army, on the upcoming road you may encounter enemies, it may take a few days to reach our allies, but you are to find and locate the Princes army, and bring it here” reported Frederick, many, gaped at this seemly impossible task. They would encounter heavily armed Austrian Scouts that is certain. And it would be very hard to find the Allied Army in a country side, but still, they were forced to go.

They trudged off miserably, Frederick standing at the top of a building, watching as the Dismounted Cuirassiers marched, their muskets in their hands, their steel caps firmly strapped on. Frederick’s advisor approached Frederick,
“Who is that miserable company?” he wondered, frowning upon the Garde du Corps.
“They my friends, are the Garde du Corps” whispered Frederick,
“Hm, I’ve never heard of them” he snarled fiendishly, and walked inside. Frederick smiled, and snapped his hand to, saluting the Garde du Corps.

The Officer looked up at the buildings of the village, to see Frederick saluting the Corps, the Officer saluted back, though a more of a glance, then focused on the march again.
“C’mon, you’re being paid to march fast! At this pace, I could beat you with several dead Austrians on my shoulders” roared the Officer,
“How the hell did they get their sir?” asked one of the soldiers, as the Corps laughed.
“What did you say soldier!?” roared the Officer,
“What, are you deaf mate?” wondered a nearby soldier. The officer pulled a pistol from its holster, pointing it at the soldiers.
“C’mon, say it again, I dare you” snarled the officer, aiming it in turn at the back of the marching soldiers’ heads.
“Put away that gun Sergeant, this is no time for stranded fantasies” ordered the Colonel, walking swiftly beside the Sergeant, the Sergeant put the pistol away, but gave the men a look he was wishing them a painful death, which many would encounter.

The Colonel was a gifted man, he was a pure Prussian man, and his family living in Prussia before it was a Kingdom. As he had rose through the ranks, and was quite talented at ordering men about, Frederick insisted he was right for the job of Colonel, to aid the matter further he was, as said, fully Prussian.

The Colonel wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief.
“It is extraordinarily hot today, isn’t it Sergeant?” stated the Colonel, looking around. The Sergeant was still watching the troops, and merely grunted.
“Why, it would be a perfect opportunity for an ambush” added the Colonel, noticing the scrub and flora bunched around them. The Sergeant jolted to his senses and laughed nervously,
“Surely not sir, the Austrians don’t even know we’re coming” said the man nervously,
“But not all our enemies are Austrian, are they Sergeant? There are Frenchman, Italians, Polish, Russians, and Spanish. Men, prepare your muskets, attach socket bayonets” ordered the Colonel. The men dutifully did what he ordered, though many were grumbling and moaning. What were the chances of an attack? Many wondered,
“Oh stop your grumbling, I can hardly believe you’re the Garde du Corps, I imagined dashing extraordinary men, talented in the art of fighting” said the Colonel, looking over the Corps.
“I need to disciplining these men Sergeant, I don’t know what Hans was doing with this rabble, they couldn’t see a sheep if that’s all they could see” stated the Colonel, the Sergeant, still working out what he said, spoke up,
“But sir, don’t you mean, shoot, not see?” he wondered,
“No, no. You see, with this suitable ambush terrain, anyone could be suddenly snatched if they were falling behind. And you never noticed the several missing men, and the obvious ambush signs?” asked the Colonel, smiling mischievously, clicking his fingers. To the Corps astonishment, several men appeared at random spots, all of course branding the Garde du Corps.
“Next time, I expect you to recognize and retaliate men” declared the Colonel, moving to the front of the group.
“Yes sir” droned the soldiers. The Sergeant grinned, there was no way the new Colonel could smarten these men up, and they were too hard for that.

Oh, how wrong he was.



The group marched trough thick scrubland over the hours, as the sun started to give in to the moon. The moonlight expressed itself over the trees and forest floor, as animal night life rustled around. One man’s jaw was shivering, though it wasn’t cold.
“What are you shivering about, soldier?!” demanded the Sergeant loudly,
“Nothing” replied the man,
“Then stop it, you dammed pus!” yelled the Sergeant. A soldier nearby looked inquisitively at the man,
“I’m scared, of-of, the dark” shivered the man, the surrounding soldiers roared with absolute laughter, what an absurd thing!
“What! You would be if you had gone though what I’ve been” the soldier shut his eyes, shivering. The mans name was Jacques, and he was French. He’d served in the army since he was fourteen, and had served for the French in Spain, the East Indies and in The New World.
Owls hooted cheerfully, as they watched the Corps from trees, with big eyes.
A twig snapped under one of the heavy boots, sending a noise through the forest. All was quiet, all was silent. Only the steady thud of boots. But soon, another noise joined the fray. Gunshots. The Colonel held up his hand to stop the Corps, and they barged into each other, the whole lined cursed in unison. Smoke seeped through the forest, The Colonel, with two soldiers edged through the forest. The sight which beheld them was strangely eerie.

The heavy forest before them was subject to a battle between Austrian Scouts and Prussian Scouts. The Prussians weren’t wearing Garde du Corps uniforms, but that of the Regulars. The White uniforms of the Austrian stood out clearly, but they were heavily armed, more then a match for any other scouts in that of an open field. But the Prussians were wearing Black uniforms, thus blending in perfectly with the forest.

The Austrians often missed and shoot the wildlife, or hit a tree where the Prussian was two minutes before. Silently, the Colonel brought his musket to shoulder level, and aimed down the sights, an Austrians head in his range. He pulled the trigger, and the musket jerked back into his shoulder, smoke poured out of the hole, and the bullet embedded itself in the man's head. Blood spurted from the wound, and the man flew sideways and into a tree. He was obviously dead.

Soon the other scouts fired off a round, adding a number to their record, rustling could be heard behind them as the others approached, fearing for their comrades life, not so much the Colonel. The Colonel stuffed the gunpowder and bullet into the musket, and fired again, hitting a tree. His lips now salty, he turned to the Corps.
“Austrian Scouts!” he declared over the firing of the muskets, as bullets whipped the ground around him.
“Take out them all, let n-!” A man near him fired a musket “-one escape” he ordered as the Corps nodded and churned off a volley, clearing much of the Flora. Satisfied, The Colonel motioned for about five men to follow him. They set off quietly, sneaking around the Austrians, the musket smoke hung thickly around them.

Strangely, the party stumbled out onto open ground. Now not musket smoke, but camp fire smoke hung in the air. The Colonel looked up, and not far from them, laid some thirty Austrian Cuirassiers, cooking horse meat and cleaning their armor and guns.

They could hear the musket fire nearby, and now the musket smoke was seeping out.
“I thought they said they were to be only a little while practicing” commented one of the Austrians, the other shrugged. The Colonel was inwardly humored; the men had been coincidently practicing firing their muskets. The Colonel and the other five men moved silently back into the forest, where they nearly ran into the Corps and the other Prussian Scouts.
“Austrian Cuirassiers” whispered The Colonel to the Sergeant, who nodded,
“Thirty of them. Come in from every side, go!” ordered the Colonel, the Sergeant whispered to the rest, who nodded and set off through the bush.

The Colonel, with the strong aid of fifty of his soldiers, rushed through the bush, preparing their muskets. The Colonel drew his pistol, and rushing up behind the rest of his men, they burst from the foliage, and aimed at the Cuirassiers.

Soon the group was encircled, with Prussians on all sides. There was a silence, a silence which only happened when you were in shock. But it was over soon. The Austrians drew pistols, muskets and Cuirasses and charged at the Prussians. At once, a volley of fire went from the Garde du Corps, smashing into the small Austrian group.

The bullets flew thick and fast, the Austrians were bunched together, some inviting a end to their existence, others tried to dodge the musket balls, as they pushed and shoved, one pushed two men out of the way and tripped, raising himself a bullet hit him in the head, sending him sprawling.
The ground was littered with the limbs of the Cuirassiers. One, with his arm hanging off, hacked at one of the Regulars, but one of the Garde du Corps shot him dead.

Many of them bent over and vomited, and the Corps moved away from the massacre, their bellies sure to empty from the horrid smell of blood and bodies massed.

Many, would die before they forgot that night.

The Corps didn’t sleep, well the officers didn’t, the soldiers were content with resting, but the Colonel and Sergeant questioned the other Prussians.
“So you are Prussians in the service of King Frederick the Second?” asked the Colonel. They nodded,
“Who do you serve, and where are you located?” asked the Sergeant.
“We are serving as of now, Prince Moritz, but before we tell you where he is, how do we know your allies? You have white uniforms” pointed out the man. Before the Colonel could answer the Sergeant leaned forward, so he was face-to-face with the man.
“We, you idiot, are the Garde du Corps, the elite bodyguard of King Frederick. We’ve been sent to scout out your army, so we can bring you too the King” snarled the Sergeant, a feverish look in his eyes. The other men coolly leaned back,
“I don’t have the proof man” he stated. The Sergeant pushed himself up, a warlike look in his eyes. The Colonel sighed and pulled the man down.
“We, definitely have proof, these soldiers fought in Lobositz, and we are heading to meet up with Prince Moritz to assault Prague” said the Colonel, he looked back at the forest, then looked back at the other man.

The man, satisfied, spoke,
“The Army is heading here tomorrow morning, from there they shall send off scouts to locate the Kings Army. We have been sent ahead to search for any ambush, such as this one. It seems the Austrians know we’re coming” said the man grimly, looking at there wounded. The Colonel nodded,
“I think you merely came across a scout party”
“Of Cuirassiers?” said the man in disbelief,
“It is quite possible. Also, I am Colonel Jonas von Bader, Commander of the Garde du Corps.” Said Jonas, the man shook his head.
Junior Sergeant Jen Klutz, Leading this scouting party of Regulars.” Said Jen, nodding, the other Sergeant offered no introduction.
“And your name sir?” asked Jen,
“None of your bloody business” snapped the Sergeant. Jonas smiled, typical reply of the Sergeant.
“I think the nights questioning is over, I wish to retire for sleep sir” said Junior Sergeant Jen, who nodded respectively to Jonas and stood up and walked over to a good position by the fire to sleep.
“What do you make of this mess sir?” asked the Sergeant.
“Mess Sergeant, how long have you served in the army?” asked the Colonel, staring into the fire.
“Four years sir” replied the Sergeant.
“Then I thought by now, you’d know the whole things a bloody big mess.” Said the Colonel, the Sergeant opened and closed his mouth, and before the Sergeant could reply, the Colonel spoke up.
“Good night Sergeant” stated Jonas, and stood up and walked away.
The Sergeant laughed softly, and retired to sleep himself.
******

The next day the Garde du Corps was awake, their muskets loaded, their boots cleaned. They were waiting patiently, keeping guard. The Regulars were snoring away.

The Sergeant walked over,
“C’mon! Wake up you pus! Get some professionalism in you! Your Prussian, or Russian you crapauds!” yelled the Sergeant, though he provoked no reaction, he swore softly and marched over to the Colonel.
“Sir, can I please use your trumpet?” asked the Sergeant, the Colonel nodded and passed him the golden trumpet.

The Sergeant breathed in some air, and blew long and hard into the trumpet. The noise blared over the camp and into the forest, making the soldiers scramble up, looking around wildly. While one pulled a musket and fired randomly into the air, sending even more ducking.
“You slacks, if I was a bloody Austrian you crapauds would be dead, NOW GET MOVING!” roared the Sergeant, whacking some of the Regulars.

The group marched on, the sleepy Regulars marching dully at the front, while the Garde du Corps followed, though not as tired, they were almost as worst. They dragged their feet and rubbed their eyes, looking a mess. The were greatly untrained.

The road was as easy as the days before, the soldiers wondering how Frederick’s army was going back at the village. At midday some of the Garde du Corps noticed shadows clashing on the horizon, and the occasional sound of muskets firing.
“That, my soldiers, is the war. Scouts engaging” declared the Colonel, watching another spot of smoke rise.

Later in the afternoon the fighting nearby stopped, the roads got tamer, and signs even appeared.
“Roads, roads to where?” wondered the Junior Sergeant of the Regulars, Jens.
“Roads to Prague Sergeant, roads to Prague” said the Colonel, walking behind him. He had a annoying habit of that.
‘But this is neutral land!” whined Jens, Jonas looked to where the fighting had been.
“You may be wrong my friend” he said softly, before moving back too the Garde du Corps where the Sergeant was lecturing the soldiers on fighting.

The Corps was a amazing one, the Flag Bearers at the front bearing the Flag of Prussia. Red and blue with leaves and a eagle ready for flight in the middle. Whilst the Colonel marched out front, setting their course while the Sergeant bellowed at the back, getting the men too marched. They were the peaceful days, as the friendly sun watched them.

Soon their was a rumbling, and some of the white coated soldiers of the Garde du Corps looked back to see Austrian Cavalry swelling about. The Colonel rushed to the back of the Corps as urgent cries were heard.
“A problem?” he wondered, the soldiers pointed towards the Cavalry.

At that moment, there was a great puff of smoke from the Austrians, and a united crackle. Dirt specked by, mud flicked up into soldiers as musket balls thudded around them.
“We’re under fire, form a rally square!” roared the Sergeant, he had not asked the Colonel. But the group followed his orders, the Regulars shuffling nervously, facing the other way from combat. While the battle hardened Garde du Corps faced the Austrians.

The Colonel ran to the safety of the middle of the square, though bullets hit around him, one even shredding his tall Officers Hat. A man next to him fell forward in agony as a musket ball flew into his leg, embedding itself. The Colonel reached the middle and turned to face the Austrians. He drew his saber,
“Garde du Corps, I have to say, you are a bunch of slack men. This is your moment to prove your Corps unity, and prove your efficiency to ME!” roared the Colonel, as rain fell lightly. He cursed silently, eh could they weren’t listening, only gulping and watching the Austrians. Plus rain would dampen the musket powder. Why was he the bloody cursed one? Wondered Jonas, but shook his head and forgot. Just then he noticed he was sweating nervously, and he dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, this was his first time as Commander of the Garde du Corps, he would hope he lived up to his promise.

The Austrians, this time normal Saber men, tightened their rounded metal caps, pulling pistols, sabers and carbines. The horses started off in a trot, while the Austrians fired from the saddle.
The musket balls whistled passed, their accuracy horrible at such range, the man in front of Jonas twisted backwards, a bullet hitting him in the cheek, knocking his teeth from his mouth.

The horses broke into a steady strut, then into a gallop. They would easily overwhelm the Prussian Regulars, but these Prussians would give them a fight.

Seeing the Prussians white uniform, the Austrian Commander yelled out,
“Elite Prussians!” he yelled to the advancing Austrians, their faces hardened. They were determined to obtain the famed Austrian Elite medals and helmet.

“FIRE!” roared Jonas, and the whole front line of the Garde du Corps fired off a volley, covering the Corps in smoke. Several horses fell, one twisting and rearing, then collapsing in front of a incoming Saber Man, who’s horse fell forward, breaking its neck.

The first row kneeled down the second row firing. More horse’s fell, one musket ball hitting the soldier instead, making him flip back over his horse and crash to the ground.

The Austrians were within in effective range, and in a few seconds they’d fly into the Corps.

And the third row fired.

The effect was amazing; the whole line of incoming horsemen flipped, tripped and flew everywhere, only some three horsemen left. The ones left, stopped their advance, looking back shocked, the whole advance stopped. They fearfully glanced at the Prussians and galloped away. Several shots later, and they were dead.

The ground was literally sprawling with dead horsemen, as at least fifty lay dead, rider and horse, in front of where the Prussians were. The Colonel grimly looked at the scene then turned around, clapping.
“Well done mein Corps.” He commented, some relaxed.
“But not well enough, next time, stop them back there!” he pointed to where the first dead horses were.
“Now form up, and march on!” roared Jonas, sheathing his sword.

The rest of the day passed on wearily, as the afternoon seemed to slip away as they marched. The Garde du Corps was buggered, having been marching for some 28 hours. But good hope stemmed.

After their hours of marching, and the grumbling of men, a trumpet blared nearby. The hopes of the men were low, and they readied their muskets for a battle.

When they rounded the corner they were approached, by Prince Moritz’s Army. There was the officers’ marching out front, their pigtails flapping, while they wielded the Officer’s Spear. Flag Bearers weakly waved the Flag in front of them, while Cavalry galloped around the front of the four Corp strong army.

The Garde du Corps and Regular Scouts let out a sigh of relief, but the Sergeant kept them on their toes.
“What the hell are you relieved for! Because there ours doesn’t mean their bloody friendly!” roared the Sergeant.

Moritz, on his horse, galloped up to them with some twenty other horsemen, and looked Jonas in the eye.

At that moment, Jonas knew he and his precious Garde du Corps was safe.