‘Shoot back!’
The man nodded and moved to one side so that he had a clear view through the slowly growing gap. He raised his musket, thumbed the cock back and shot into the tight mass of bodies on the far side.There was a sharp cry of pain, and then a roar of rage from the other Russians and renewed pressure as the gap continued to widen and the pews scraped back despite the efforts of Berthier and his men.The guardsman reloaded and fired again, and the moment he grounded his musket there was another shot through the door and this time it found its target as he was flung back and fell spreadeagled on the stone slabs of the floor. Napoleon glanced down and saw that a ball had struck him in the forehead, shattering his skull into a bloody ruin of bone and brains.
Now there was enough space for a man to pass through the gap between the doors and the first of the Russians thrust his way inside the church and raised his musket overhead to stab at one of the staff officers straining to hold the barricade in place. The tip of the bayonet caught the Frenchman in the neck and he fell away with a cry of agony. He clamped a hand to the wound, spurting gouts of blood across his uniform and spattering across Berthier’s cheek as he stood next to him.
‘Shoot him!’ Napoleon called out and one of the officers at the nearest window swung round at the shout, raised his pistol, took aim and fired.The ball slammed into the Russian’s chest, and he gasped at the impact, then looked down and roared with laughter when he saw that it had struck a buckle and not injured him.With another shove the door grated open even further and more enemy soldiers pushed their way into the church and stabbed their bayonets at Berthier’s men.
‘Leave the barricade!’ Napoleon ordered. ‘Defend yourselves!’
As Berthier and the others stepped back and raised their weapons Napoleon snatched up the musket from the dead guardsman and stepped forward to join the squad defending the doors. The barricade scraped backwards as more Russians pressed into the church, and those with loaded weapons attempted to aim as they fired them at the defenders. Berthier and his men fired back, killing and wounding a handful who fell beneath the boots of their comrades and were trampled as the Russians surged on. Then both sides were locked in a vicious melee over the jumbled pile of church pews, striking out with bayonet and musket butts as weapons fired around them.
Napoleon advanced his weapon, his heart pounding with the excitement and terror of battle. He saw the sash of an officer in front of him and thrust his weapon forward, over the barricade. The officer saw the danger at the last moment and ducked, leaving the point to thrust into the air beside his head.Then he snatched out a pistol and aimed it at Napoleon, his lips parting in a triumphant grin as he took aim. Napoleon could not help flinching, but he was caught between two burly guardsmen and there were more men behind him so that he could not move.The Russian cocked his weapon and slipped his finger inside the trigger guard. Before he could fire, a French bayonet stabbed through the sleeve, thrusting the extended arm to one side so that the pistol fired harmlessly into the wall as the officer cried out in pain.
‘Sire!’ Berthier cried out in alarm. ‘You must get back!’
Napoleon shook his head and turned on another enemy, gritting his teeth as he made to thrust with the bayonet. Then hands grabbed his arm and hauled him roughly back from the barricade. Napoleon turned round with a fierce expression and looked up to see one of his grenadiers looking at him with wide eyes.
‘What are you doing?’ the Emperor demanded.
‘Saving your fucking life, sire,’ the guardsman replied through clenched teeth.‘You trying to get yourself killed? Then where would we be?’
Napoleon opened his mouth to protest, but the soldier firmly steered him away from the fight.
‘Leave the fighting to us as gets paid for it, sire,’ he said firmly, and turned away to re-join his companions as they faced a steadily growing number of enemy pressing into the church, forcing the barricade and its defenders back. Napoleon could see that it was only a question of time before the Russians’ superior numbers forced Berthier and his men to give way and then the defenders would be quickly overwhelmed and cut down. He tightened his grip on the musket and prepared to step back into the fight.
There was a crash from outside the church as a volley was fired. Both sides started momentarily and stared out into the street.Then there was a cry from one of the men at the windows.
‘It’s the Guard! The Imperial Guard is here!’
The men of the bodyguard and the staff officers cheered and flung themselves back against the Russians who had made it into the church. Already panic had seized the enemy and they backed away, cramming themselves through the entrance and into the street. Another volley ripped through their ranks and then, with a roar, the men of the Imperial Guard charged down the street, scattering the Russians who stood before the church. There was a brief skirmish as the guardsmen killed those who resisted and then chased after the stream of enemy soldiers running back down the street.
Inside the church the defenders cheered and clapped each other on the shoulder. Napoleon drew a deep breath as he handed his musket to one of the guardsmen. Berthier came up to him, grinning like a boy, bloodied sword in hand.
‘Haven’t seen action like that in years, sire.’
‘Let’s hope we never have to again,’ Napoleon replied. ‘Now then, we must act quickly. Those two battalions aren’t going to restore the centre of the line by themselves.As soon as the enemy re-form they will counter-attack and sweep them aside.’ He thought for a moment and then nodded grimly to himself.‘There’s only one thing I can do to save the army. Murat must charge the Russian centre.’
‘But he will be needed for the pursuit, sire. Once the battle is won.’
‘It won’t be won. Not now. Not without Murat. He must charge. Murat must buy us the time to re-form our line and for Ney and Davout to move into position. He must charge at once. See to it.’
The snow had almost stopped as Murat’s cavalry, eighty squadrons of superbly mounted men, trotted forward to the right of the town in a vast column of brilliant uniforms and gleaming horseflesh.The officers in the church tower gazed on the spectacle with awe, and desperate hope. Only Murat could save the Grand Army now. The chasseurs led the charge, carving a path through the re-forming infantry column that the two battalions of the Imperial Guard had driven out of Eylau. Across the front of the French centre the enemy recoiled and then fled, running for the main Russian line stretching across the ridge one and a half miles away. Murat’s cavalry chased them down without mercy, sabres flashing as his men struck again and again at enemy fugitives, leaving bodies scattered across the battlefield to add to the corpses of Augereau’s men.