When I awoke, it was 1:30pm - though I didn't know nor much care for the time of day just then. I had a throbbing headache, and a red haze clouded my vision. The boom of artillery shook me, and I remembered where I was and what was going on. I tried to get up, the room around me spun a few times before a set of strong arms gently pushed me back down onto the bunk. My heart rate was accelerated as my body reacted to the sudden shock of awaking mid-battle. I just had to breathe, big deep breaths in, long exhales out, big breaths in, long ones out - not too difficult once you got the hang of it.
The room stopped spinning, and the red haze cleared. The air was thick with the smell of musket powder, and Pierre, the leader of my company was standing over me. His head was bandaged, though the musket powder all over his face very nearly concealed it. I haven't any idea why I asked but Pierre's face broke into a grin when I said 'What is the time?'.
'It's half past 1 if you want to know my boy, you've been out for a couple hours'. I looked around curiously and gave him the "where the hell am I?" look. 'You are in barracks 1, surgery room - you took a nasty bump in the head when that wall came crashing down on you'.
Then I remembered - and rather I hadn't. The bombardment had been going on for some time, Russian infantry were advancing and the 2nd guards were engaging the troops from the ramparts when the walls began to buckle. The impacts from the continuous shelling made such a violent shaking motion that we never realized it when the walls finally did buckle underneath us. The last thing I saw was poor Jacque flying through the air. 'How many did we lose?' I braced myself to hear about the decimation of our unit. '40 dead, 20 injured including yourself' came the reply. All in all, not too bad a toll. ' Luckily the breach was very narrow, and most of our boys were able to make it off - you unfortunate soul were standing right on the center. If its any consolation to you, we drove the bastards back.' I would be sorely disappointed if we hadn't. Our howitzers were softening up the enemy infantry for 700 yards, and our muskets felled many of them. Still, to drive off 4 regiments of infantry with one fortified regiment and howitzer support was a feat to be proud of.
'But you're not badly hurt, a bump on the head, lost a little blood but now that your come to, here is your musket' he threw it on my chest ' and your hat' which he likewise with much sympathy placed on my head - read: that headache got worse. With a forced - and wholly unconvincing smile - I lifted myself up, steadied myself on Pierre's broad shoulders and asked where to be stationed. Pierre gave me a quizzical look, where to be stationed? The absolute ridiculousness of such a question struck me as soon as I heard the clamour outside. Shouts and screams of men locked in mortal combat. The Russians were through the breach, and the sharpshooters and line infantry were firing down on the enemy while our grenadier regiments held them off with steel and determination.
Running with a speed that surprised even myself I made my way out of the surgery room, turned right down the hallway and into the nearest room facing west. One of the men from the 27th, who was manning the window immediately in front of me, silently slumped forward and holding his hands to his breast drooped onto the window, and reached that relaxed posture that only the dead could find.
With as much respect as the occasion allowed, I pulled the fallen soldier from his post. Brining my musket to firing position I scanned the courtyard for a target - there was no lack of targets. A large brute Russian was climbing up the earthworks set up by the 1st guards, tossing French soldiers about as though they were mere toys - a rage emanated from his eyes. I lined up my musket and aimed for the center of his enormous chest, steadied my breath and pulled the trigger. When the smoke had cleared, the Russian soldier was lying prostrate and still at the bottom of the earthworks that he had been climbing just moments before. A whole platoon of Russians at least broke right then and there, it wasn't quite a route but obviously his doom had a profound impact on one regiments morale.
Amidst the chaos of battle, Napoleon in his grey cloak was steadily issuing orders to his subordinates, more than one of his guard lay dead about him, yet neither fear nor despair could be seen on his face - shaded now by the waning sun in the west. The day was getting on, the battle dragged on and on - the breach was won and lost many times, and my fingers burned from the relentless and incessant reloading of ball and powder.
The air was eerily still, the clap and thunder of artillery had for the moment subsided. Our own crews were devastated when their positions were engulfed by the melee, the enemy guns I could only guess were overrun by our lancer cavalry during the course of the battle.
The fury of the assault petered out, the last of the Russian regiments withdrew. The battle was reduced to sporadic exchanges of fire between our sharpshooters now on the walls, and retreating formations of infantry - until eventually all was quiet. Only the cries of the wounded, and the sharp barking of orders were heard as men scurried about bearing stretchers, ammo crates or fallen comrades.
Pierre tapped me lightly on the shoulder, I turned around and saw my old friend - bleeding from a giant gash in his arm, a bayonet strike no doubt, wincing in pain. We had been relieved for the night, the enemy was retreating.
I helped Pierre with assistance from one of the men of the 26th regiment - who knows how he found himself here - to the surgery room, and stayed there with him until slowly I dozed off. I had survived yet again, and luckily for my Lieutenant, the thought about the transfer had completely escaped my mind.
[NTW] The Budapest and the Bear - a Battle in NTW
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. Bringing was the intended word - the character had no intention of eating his musket which would make Brining a rather useless action. But it does explain how spellcheck missed it 
