A History of War in 100 Battles Read online

  The 85,000 Holy League troops moved into position on the Kahlenberg hills above Vienna and on 12 September they prepared for battle. There has always been some confusion over the exact size of the Ottoman force. The hard core of 20,000 warrior janissaries were supported by as many as 100,000 allied and vassal soldiers, but many were poorly armed or clothed, while the 40,000 Tatars were unreliable. The battle started at 4 a.m. with a spoiling attack by Ottoman forces, which was repulsed by the Austrians and Germans. During the morning, Kara Mustafa Pasha was determined to complete the capture of Vienna. He divided his forces between the city and the threat to the Ottoman rear, a crucial miscalculation. For twelve exhausting hours, the German-Polish infantry launched attacks against the two Ottoman flanks, while at the city walls Ottoman engineers prepared a final explosion to breach the fortifications. Ottoman troops were kept back in readiness to occupy Vienna, but an Austrian miner detected the Turkish explosive and defused it.

  The Polish-Lithuanian king John III Sobieski (1629-96) arrived at Vienna in September 1683 in time to defeat the besieging Ottoman armies. This print comes from The Gallery of Portraits with Memoirs by Arthur Malkin, published in London in 1833.

  Ottoman strategy exposed the army to profound danger. At 5 p.m., John Sobieski gathered the combined cavalry of the relief force together on the hills above the battle. Judging the moment to be right after hours of infantry attrition, he launched the largest cavalry charge in history. Some 20,000 horsemen, including 3,000 of Sobieski’s famed ‘winged hussars’, swept down from the hills. The Ottoman forces, exhausted after fighting all day on the plain and on the walls of Vienna, collapsed in a matter of minutes in the face of this cavalry onslaught. By 5.30 p.m., Sobieski was standing in Kara Mustafa’s magnificent tent. The Turkish armies broke and fled, leaving 15,000 dead and wounded, 5,000 prisoners and the loss of all the Turkish artillery and great quantities of treasure. The Holy League had casualties estimated at 4,500. The victory ended any prospect of an Ottoman central Europe.

  John Sobieski famously remarked ‘We came, we saw, God conquered’. Pope Innocent XI declared the feast of the Holy Name of Mary to be celebrated on 12 September throughout Catholic Christendom in commemoration. The Ottoman forces failed to return, and over the next decades Turkish rule was driven back in Hungary and Transylvania. The Habsburg-Ottoman war was finally ended with the Treaty of Karlowitz in 1699. On 25 December 1683 in Belgrade, Kara Mustafa Pasha was ritually strangled with a silk rope. John III Sobieski died in 1696, Poland’s most famous king and military commander.

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  No. 10 BATTLE OF VALMY

  20 September 1792

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  The Battle of Valmy is commonly regarded as the battle that saved the French Revolution. Three years after the overthrow of France’s absolute monarchy in summer 1789, large Austrian and Prussian armies were advancing on Paris to overthrow the revolutionary regime and restore the old social order. The Prussians were met by an army of French levies raised, they were told, to save the new nation and the liberty of its people. In truth the battle was little more than a modest exchange of fire, but the Prussians withdrew and Paris was saved. The revolution entered its more radical phase, and four months later the French king, Louis XVI, was executed.

  The horror stories spread abroad by émigré Frenchmen of the violence and depravity of the revolutionary leaders and the mobs they led fuelled the ambition of the crowned heads of Europe to try to extinguish the new system before its seditious infection touched them, too. An army of around 30,000 was gathered together by the Prussian King, Frederick William II, under the command of the Duke of Brunswick, widely regarded as one of the finest commanders in Europe. Alongside some 32,000 Austrians to the north and the south, the Prussian army moved forwards through Luxembourg and eastern France in August and early September, capturing one city after another to reach and cross the River Meuse. In Paris, the fright of invasion sped up the search for counter-revolutionary suspects and the subsequent September Massacres accounted for more than 1,000 grisly deaths, among them priests, aristocrats and a much larger number of common prisoners who were an easy target, but largely guiltless.

  The main French force, commanded by General Charles-François Dumouriez, arrived to the west of the river to occupy a ridge of hills and strong points. Dumouriez told the minister of war that he would defend to the death, like the Spartans at Thermopylae, but the first strongpoints soon fell to determined Prussian and Austrian attack. Dumouriez retreated south, where he was joined by 10,600 men under General Pierre de Beurnonville and 16,000 troops brought from Metz by General François-Christophe Kellermann. Brunswick was confident that his well-trained Prussians would sweep aside what he regarded as a revolutionary rabble, but his 30,000 soldiers were now faced by as many as 36,000 French, with 28,000 in reserve some distance away, a half-and-half mixture of veterans from the armed forces of the king and new National Guard levies raised to defend the revolution. Although discipline was lax, and the reliability of former royal officers unpredictable, it was commitment to the new national cause, rather than military spit-and-polish, that shaped the force, just as it had encouraged Washington’s irregulars in America a decade before.

  A statue to the French Marshal François Kellermann stands in the French town of Valmy to commemorate the victory in September 1792 over the Prussians. The statue does not show the hat on top of the sword, which is how the gesture is said to have been made on the day of battle.

  The Prussian king, travelling with Brunswick, insisted that the French would continue to retreat and encouraged him to move forward to cut off their line of escape and destroy them. On the night of 19 September, the Prussians prepared to march. At 6 a.m., the advance guard moved forward through thick rain and fog until, to their consternation, they were shelled by Kellermann’s invisible artillery, drawn up on the slopes of Mont Yron, around which Dumouriez had placed his guns and long lines of infantry, a total front-line force of 36,000 men. The artillery was manned by the old regular army and was regarded as among the most proficient in Europe. The Prussians continued to move forward, more hesitantly now until they had captured the first French guns at the inn of La Lune, where the king and his staff could also shelter. Brunswick then drew up his army in battle array opposite the hills and the village of Valmy, the artillery lined up in front of the 34,000 soldiers he had brought this far. What he lacked was a clear operational plan.

  Only when the fog lifted at noon could the Prussians see, not a revolutionary mob, but line upon line of uniformed and disciplined soldiers, well-established at the summit of an awkward slope. He ordered his infantry to form columns and advance against the French line. It was at this moment that Kellermann rose to his role as commander of the revolutionary troops. He stood up in the saddle, placed his hat with its red-white-and-blue cockade on the end of his sword, and, raising it on high, called out ‘Vive la Nation!’ It was the first battle-cry of a new age of national wars. His troops echoed back with cries of ‘Vive la Nation!’ and ‘Vive la France!’ and prepared to fight the Prussians singing the new revolutionary anthem, La Marseillaise. This was war for a modern cause, not to satisfy dynastic ambition.

  The story of Kellermann’s rallying call may have become embellished in the telling, but all witnesses recall it. Whether it was this that perturbed Brunswick, or simply the growing evidence that he was greatly outnumbered by men who could, after all, fight effectively, he hurriedly recalled the columns. An artillery duel continued until dusk when torrential rain brought the desultory conflict to an end. Though no real battle had occurred (300 French casualties, 184 Prussian), Valmy was treated as the first major victory of the revolution. The next day, the monarchy was abolished and the First French Republic proclaimed. Brunswick and Frederick William prudently withdrew back to the Rhineland, leaving the French free to deploy an impressive total of around 450,000 men for adventures in Savoy and Belgium. There were to be more than twenty years of war before the disruptive effects of the new
revolutionary order were tempered by defeat and the restoration of a monarchy. The Prussian Carl von Clausewitz, in his reflections On War, saw the revolutionary victory as the start of a new age, in which war became the business of the whole body of citizens: ‘nothing,’ he wrote, ‘now impeded the vigour with which war could be waged.’ Kellermann could not know that his flamboyant gesture, enough to turn the cautious Prussians back, would open the way to total war.

  This painting of the Battle of Valmy by the French artist Horace Vernet (1789-1863) was commissioned in the 1820s by the future King Louis-Philippe. The image of the windmill became the standard view of the battlefield, reproduced in numerous prints and pictures commemorating the victory.

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  No. 11 BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR

  21 October 1805

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  Any visitor to London standing in Trafalgar Square and gazing up at the tall column at its centre may well wonder why the British named such a prominent landmark after a small southern Spanish cape, lapped by the cool Atlantic on the Costa de la Luz. The column supports the slender statue of Admiral Horatio Nelson, almost certainly Britain’s most famous sailor, whose smaller fleet defeated a large Franco-Spanish naval force in a bitter day-long engagement in 1805, at the height of the Napoleonic Wars. Even more remarkable for a battle in which leadership played a critical part, Nelson himself was mortally wounded early in the fight and died before it was over.

  The battle was in many ways accidental. In the summer of 1805, Napoleon planned the invasion of England across the Channel from Boulogne and Calais. A large army gathered there, but by August it still lacked the naval superiority necessary to give invasion any chance of success. An alliance with Spain earlier in the year might have given Napoleon the large naval force that he needed, but the British naval blockade kept the Franco-Spanish forces divided. When Napoleon ordered Vice Admiral Pierre Villeneuve to gather a fleet together from the scattered units, the best that could be achieved was the safety of the Spanish port of Ferrol and, later, Cádiz. Napoleon flew into a rage at the apparent timidity of his naval commander – ‘What a navy! What an admiral! What useless sacrifices!’ – but the truth was that French and Spanish ships were not fully prepared for combat, many lacking trained men, or in some cases even men who had been to sea. Villeneuve knew that command of the British fleet sent to prevent an invasion force from gathering had been given to Nelson, victor at the battles of the Nile in 1798 and Copenhagen in 1801. Nelson’s reputation preceded him: a shrewd tactician and a brave and aggressive admiral. Unsurprisingly, Villeneuve, and the even less enthusiastic Spanish commander, Admiral Federico Gravina, were reluctant to risk a major battle. When a frustrated Napoleon finally abandoned the invasion, he ordered the combined Franco-Spanish fleet to leave Cádiz for Naples, where it could support the French army preparing for war against a new anti-French Coalition. The Spanish commanders objected to risking a fight and even Villeneuve’s own subordinates hoped that battle could be avoided. The French commander finally persuaded the fleet to leave by arguing that Nelson had only twenty-two ships to the Franco-Spanish force of thirty-three. With a poor wind the ships straggled out of port on 19 October, where Nelson’s advance guard spotted them.

  Battle was still not inevitable. Villeneuve was supposed to be heading for Naples, already knowing that he was to be sacked and humiliated by his emperor. The ships made an untidy line towards the Straits of Gibraltar, forcing Nelson to pursue them. He had planned a classic operation in which the long Franco-Spanish line would be pierced by two columns of ships that would then encircle the enemy and destroy them in a ‘pell-mell’ battle. The French attempt to flee to the Mediterranean might mean no such operation was possible. Despite the poor winds, the Franco-Spanish fleet passed Cabo Trafalgar and could see the possibility of safety. All at once, in mid-morning, Villeneuve decided to throw caution to the wind. He ordered the fleet to turn, prepare battle stations and engage with the oncoming British. The manoeuvre was carried out in no particular order and the ships eventually emerged in small groups rather than an ordered line, the northernmost squadron under Rear-Admiral Pierre Dumanoir out of touch with the main area of the battle that followed.

  Nelson was delighted with the prospect of battle, but puzzled by the unusual Franco-Spanish battle order. He ordered his two columns to form, one under his command, one under Vice Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood. He ordered an unusually long signal to be hoisted, since immortalized in the Nelson saga: ‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ The signal provoked roaring cheers from the ships around him. Battle-stations were prepared and at 11.30 a.m. the first British ships sailed for the enemy line. Nelson in Victory finally let the Téméraire enter the fray ahead of him; Collingwood’s Royal Sovereign led the assault further to the west against the end of the enemy line. The British fleet boasted 2,148 guns, including the heavy carronades designed to rake the enemy deck and smash the masts, against 2,568 of the enemy; there were 30,000 sailors and marines in the Franco-Spanish fleet, 17,000 in Nelson’s. But the British ships had commanders with greater experience, gun crews who understood the terrible demands of an artillery duel at sea, and a confidence that the enemy did not possess. When Nelson finally spotted Villeneuve’s flagship Bucentaure, he changed the direction of his charge and under heavy fire from the French ships, steered straight for his opposite number.

  A sandstone statue of Admiral Lord Nelson stands atop Nelson’s Column in London’s Trafalgar Square. The 52-metre (169-foot) column was built between 1840 and 1843 to commemorate Nelson’s victories over the French.

  The ferocious battle between Victory and the French ships Bucentaure, Redoubtable and Neptune symbolized the whole afternoon of battle and illustrated the impact that Nelson’s courage and determination could have on the rest of his fleet. After taking terrible damage, Nelson pierced the French line and began his own cannonades against the enemy. His conspicuous uniform and his refusal to shelter made him an obvious target for enemy sharpshooters in the French rigging and at 1.25 p.m., he was shot through the shoulder. The bullet pierced his lung and crippled his spine. Nelson died three hours later in the ship’s primitive hospital. The fleet did not know this and fought as he had required them. By the time he died, some fifteen French and Spanish ships had already been captured as prizes, including Villeneuve’s flagship, which he surrendered shortly before Nelson’s death. British gunnery was lethal, particularly at close range, while marines and sailors stayed as far as possible below decks to avoid high casualties. British captains revelled in the ship-on-ship combat that now developed and not a single British ship surrendered, despite exceptional levels of damage, which left one vessel, the Bellisle, with no masts or bowsprit and no longer able to fire a gun. On both sides, masts and rigging crashed to the deck or into the sea. Thunderous cannonades destroyed the sides and decks, while fire directed at decks maimed and killed thousands on board, including the captain of the British ship Mars, whose head was blown off by a shot. In many cases the French or Spanish ships that surrendered had suffered no worse damage than the British ships to which they submitted.

  The battle was, as Nelson had hoped, ‘pell-mell’, but it was not a walkover. French and Spanish commanders, though in some cases unhappy about having to fight, gave as good as they got; all except Rear Admiral Dumanoir, whose ten ships took little part in the battle. Had they done so, the outcome might have been different. Some turned back to engage in the fight later in the afternoon, but Dumanoir and four vessels steered on towards Cádiz. They were captured a few days later by another British squadron. By 5.45 p.m., the battle was over, ended spectacularly by the explosion of the French Achille as it was devoured by fire. Collingwood succeeded Nelson as commander and could count nineteen enemy ships captured for the surrender of not a single British vessel. Franco-Spanish losses were 6,953 dead and wounded, while the British suffered just 449 dead, including Nelson, and 1,241 wounded. Most of the nineteen captured ships were lost on passage to Gibraltar in
a storm (two escaped). Other French and Spanish ships sank or were captured in the next few days; of the thirty-three combined Franco-Spanish ships, twenty-three were lost and the rest badly damaged. Napoleon raged at news of the defeat, but Villeneuve was now safely a British prisoner.

  Trafalgar did not bring the war with Napoleon any closer to a conclusion. French shipyards turned out more vessels to replace those lost, but the balance of power at sea remained with the Royal Navy, an outcome that only in the long run contributed to the eventual collapse of the French Empire. Nelson became the most famous British hero of the nineteenth century, and in 1843 his completed granite column finally gazed out over the capital, its metal friezes fashioned from melted-down French guns captured at Trafalgar.

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  No. 12 BATTLE OF AUSTERLITZ

  2 December 1805

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  There is perhaps no finer example of Napoleon’s remarkable military genius than the comprehensive defeat he imposed on a numerically superior Russian-Austrian force near the small Austrian town of Austerlitz at the height of the war between France and its allies and the Third Coalition of Britain, Russia and Austria. Napoleon was not diffident about his military reputation. In 1804, he had had himself crowned emperor in what was until then a new revolutionary and republican state; he had little respect for his enemies and great confidence in his capacity to out-think and out-fight them. This confidence was infectious. On the eve of Austerlitz, 1 December 1805, he was almost captured as he went with his guards to reconnoitre. On his return to camp, his troops spontaneously lit straw torches to light his way and struck up a strident chorus of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ With the cries echoing around him, Napoleon was heard to mutter ‘it has been the finest evening of my life’. The following day, the first anniversary of his coronation, was a remarkable triumph for Napoleon and his enthusiastic soldiers.