Wrong Flank

In fourteen years of war across two major continents, General William Henry Magellan had never, NEVER, been defeated in combat. By cannon and musket and the sheer courage of Her Majesty’s men, he had marched against the enemies of Great Britain and brought them to her knees. From an officer in the Light Dragoons to commanding ranks upon ranks of his very own army, he had never once lost a battle.

Until now. 

The battle had started well. Despite being outnumbered, his men had been the swiftest off the mark and had seized the high ground. With their constant fire keeping the enemy at bay, artillery had been wheeled up onto the hill and set firmly into the ground, the watchful cannons discouraging approach from the front as they overlooked their enemy. The clear ground around the army ensured that they couldn’t be taken by surprise on the flanks. Thick forest was down the hill to their left flank, but the growth was out range of even their cannons, guaranteeing that any attack launched from the greenery would be spotted and responded to in plenty of time. 

 Twice during the long day, their enemy had attempted to drive them from their position. Twice, those forces had failed, leaving many of their number behind, while General Magellan’s own men suffered only light casualties. They were in high spirits, knowing that a fortified camp waiting for their return as the day started to fall, the sun setting off to General Magellan’s right. This was no accident, as General Magellan had chosen the position with the sun in mind, ensuring that the close of the day wouldn’t send blinding rays into his troops’ eyes. He had used that particular trick himself with great success, and only a fool allowed themselves to be blinded and lose a battle due to bad positioning. After all, preparation was the key to battle, alongside a little trickery. It was a formula he had proven time and time again.

Lost in thought as he assumed the battle was done for the day, he was taken by surprise as cannon fire erupted from the opposing lines. The enemy artillery was only a stone’s throw out of range, being unable to advance without being in range of the cannons at Magellan’s superior position. However, it didn’t stop the enemy cannons from raining thunder and throwing up explosions of dirt too close to Magellan’s lines to make him feel comfortable. The opposing ranks began marching forward steadily, causing Magellan and his accompanying officers to frown at the tactically inferior maneuver. 

“Why aren’t they quitting the field for the evening?” He muttered before standing in his stirrups. “Hold fast!” He roared, his voice booming out over even the thunder of the artillery.

“They believe we are exhausted, Sir?” His aid guessed. “Or, they may be growing desperate. No doubt numerous scouts have reported that our reinforcements are on the way. They no doubt know they won’t be able to defeat the combined forces and thus believe storming our position is the only chance at victory, cost be damned.”

“No, no, he’s too clever for that.” Magellan muttered in reply. If it were any other adversary commanding the opposing force, he’d agree with his aid, but not with the commander across from him. “This...this must be a diversion. But where is he coming from, truly?”

His eyes fell on the blinding rays from the right, eyes widening in realization as he stood up again.

“BRING THE RIGHT FLANK AROUND! PREPARE FOR A FLANKING ACTION BY CAVALRY!” He roared. It was the only maneuver that made sense, and one that was certainly used by his foe before. The artillery to cover the sound of the hooves, infantry approaching from the front to distract his men, and blinding sunlight to camouflage. It was an excellent strategy, but if his ranks could form up to let loose volleys of lead, it would all be for naught and the enemy cavalry, their most valued piece of this chessboard, would be gone.

Then the cavalry hit. 

He had planned out his response perfectly, and it could have very well worked. That is, if it had been deployed to the correct flank.

The cavalry had taken most of the day to work their way through the forests down the hill, waiting for nearly an hour after they had gotten into position before launching their attack across the killing field. When Magellan had ordered the defense of the right flank, the distraction was complete. True, the cavalry streamed out in small numbers, and they were spotted, but the unorganized resistance wouldn’t be enough to stop them. 

The cannons fell silent as the approaching infantry charged. Magellan watched in disbelief as the blue uniforms of the enemy cavalry washed over his left flank, with his right flank and reserves deployed to the wrong side of the battlefield.

He folded his hands over his pommel, knuckles going white from the force he was gripping it with. There was no outward sign of his fury other than that. Any further offensive orders were useless, only adding to his fury, and his lines began to crumble as the two sides clashed, the fighting quickly devolving to close-quarters combat. 

“General! Your orders, Sir!” His aid yelled at him in a panic.

“Sound the retreat.” He said calmly, the order drawing stares from those around. It was the first anyone had heard him utter those words, the phrase shocking them more than any enemy action could.

“Sir?” His aid asked in disbelief. 

“Sound the retreat. We have lost the battle. I refuse to lose the army as well. Now, give the order to sound the retreat before I find myself having to search for a new aid.” He said tightly. His aid gave a hasty, panicked salute as General Magellan turned his horse, glancing over his shoulder only once. Even though his adversary was out of sight, he could swear he felt the smug, amused gaze on his back.

“Well played, Napoleon, you bastard.” He muttered. “Well played indeed.”