Wearing British clothes as a second-generation aristocrat

49. Battle of Asayer 3

The frontline commander of the Maratha coalition was French Colonel Antoine Poulman.

At that moment, Polman was standing on a platform behind the central front, observing the battlefield through binoculars.

He watched as the British troops advanced clumsily and tenaciously, falling one after another amidst the artillery fire, only to fill the gaps again.

A cold smile appeared on his lips.

Typical British tactics: relying on discipline and brute force to charge forward.

In such open terrain, facing his meticulously positioned artillery and well-prepared infantry, such an attack would be tantamount to suicide.

"Order the left-wing artillery to concentrate fire on the enemy's right flank." In Polman's view, the British right flank seemed relatively weak.

His attention was completely drawn to the feint attack from the front, and he did not notice that on the reverse slope marked "Old Brick Kiln" to the left rear of his artillery position, 1,200 Scottish Highland infantrymen had been lying in ambush like cheetahs before their hunt all night long.

Colonel Colin Campbell, commander of the Highland Brigade, a 45-year-old veteran with a scar on his face from fighting the Afghans, was peering through binoculars from behind the broken wall of the brick kiln, observing the left flank artillery positions.

He could clearly see the busy figures of the gunners, the flames constantly spewing from the cannons, and hear the deafening roar of the cannons.

He could smell the strong smell of gunpowder in the air, mixed with the stench of blood and earth.

"Colonel, is it time?" Campbell glanced at his pocket watch: 8:47 a.m.

The feint attack had been going on for twenty minutes, and the Allied artillery on the left flank was bombarding the front with all its might, completely exposing its flank and rear.

"Wait a little longer," Campbell said with unusual calm. "Wait until they finish their next reload. The gunner is most vulnerable when reloading."

They waited for what felt like an eternity for two more minutes.

Ahead, the artillery fire on the left flank of the Allied forces suddenly subsided as gunners cleaned the gun barrels and loaded new powder packs and shells.

A sharp glint flashed in Campbell's eyes, and he abruptly raised his binoculars, clearly seeing:

The Allied gunners lowered their gun ropes, bent over, some used tools to clean the residual gunpowder from the gun barrels, and others carried heavy gunpowder bags and projectiles. Their busy figures appeared particularly vulnerable at this moment.

"Now!" Campbell shouted, and the Highland Brigade surged out from the reverse slope, charging toward the Maratha artillery positions.

Meanwhile, Wellesley led his main force in close pursuit and launched a general attack.

The Allied artillerymen on the left flank were the first to notice the anomaly. They looked up and saw a surge of red figures suddenly appearing on the hillside, and heard the chilling sound of bagpipes.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, a terrified scream rang out: "The British, on the flank!"

The distance of 800 yards takes less than three minutes for soldiers charging down the hillside. And those three minutes can determine the life or death of many.

Polman heard bagpipes and screams from the earthen platform.

He whirled around to his left, his pupils contracting sharply. He saw the suddenly appearing force, their speed and momentum of charge, and instantly understood the British army's true intentions.

"Left flank artillery! Turn! Fire!" Polman roared.

Numerous highlanders and native soldiers charged toward the enemy's artillery, heading straight for the enemy's positions. Maratha shells tore people apart, turning the fierce warriors into pink clouds of mist, but they never stopped or slowed down.

With the roar of bagpipes, the men in kilts joined their enemies, unleashing a devastating volley of rapid fire before fixing their bayonets and charging toward the wavering marathon gunners and infantry.

However, Wellesley somewhat underestimated his opponent, Polman, who was no pushover either, and the Maratha soldiers he trained were no pushovers.

Despite the surprise attack, Polman quickly mobilized four battalions of Samru, the entire Polman Brigade, and four battalions of Philos to carry out the defense mission.

Furthermore, Polman established new positions, with their right wing extending to the Ketna River and their left wing to the village of Asaye.

This turned the sneak attack into a head-on confrontation.

Faced with this change, Wellesley adjusted the deployment, ordering Colonel O'Lack on the right flank to move to the right front, with follow-up troops filling in and expanding the front line to prevent any gaps.

He also warned Olak against being rash.

The Cindy artillery was turning more and more, and more shells were coming every minute. Without delay, Wellesley launched a general attack immediately.

His troops advanced under intense artillery fire. The Cindy army fought tenaciously, but the hastily turned troops could not withstand Wellesley's fierce offensive.

British Indian troops quickly seized the first line of artillery positions. Some stubborn enemy artillerymen pretended to be hit and fell to the ground. After the British Indian troops rushed over, they picked up the guns on the ground and fired from behind, but were immediately knocked down by the second line of British troops.

Deprived of their artillery, the Marathas gradually lost their fighting spirit and, as Wellesley had predicted, retreated toward Asayah on the banks of the Joah River.

Meanwhile, in the village of Asaye, Colonel Stevenson and Colonel Dugan's two infantry regiments were on high alert, ready to deliver the most fatal blow to the Marathas.

According to pre-war intelligence, the village of Asaye was garrisoned by at least 10000 Maratha soldiers and 40 artillery pieces, making it a formidable and well-defended force.

Therefore, Wellesley's orders to Dugan and Stevenson were very clear: position the troops outside the range of the Maratha cannons to hold back the enemy, and wait for the main force to converge before launching a general offensive.

Colonel Olak, who had just led his troops to the front lines in Asaye, stubbornly misinterpreted Wellesley's orders.

He firmly believed that Wellesley's orders to him were not to tie down the defenders of Asayer, but to launch a direct attack on the village of Asayer.

This led to a heated argument between Dugan, Stevenson, and Olak.

"Colonel Orak, I'm pretty sure our orders are to keep the Marathas at bay outside the range of their cannons, not to launch a rash attack."

Dugen tried to persuade Orak, "The enemy forces in Asaye village outnumber us several times over and have artillery support. A rash attack will only result in heavy casualties for our troops."

"Colonel Dugan is right," Colonel Stevenson nodded in agreement. "According to intelligence, Asay has at least 10000 enemy troops and 40 cannons. The general will never allow us to launch a frontal attack with such a small force; it would be too risky."

"No, no, no, fleeting opportunities are fleeting. If we miss this chance, we'll never have another opportunity like this to take Asaye." Colonel Olak shook his head repeatedly, his tone stubborn and unwavering. "I trust my ears. The general's order is to attack, to take Asaye!"

Colonel Stevenson shook his head helplessly and patiently explained, "That's impossible. The general is always cautious and would never make such an illogical deployment. You must have misunderstood the order."

"That's right, it doesn't make sense, and it doesn't reflect the realities of the battlefield." Dugan quickly chimed in, trying to bring Orak back to his senses. "Our primary task right now is to hold them back, wait for the main force to regroup, and then launch an attack together. This way, we can minimize casualties and ensure victory."

Colonel Orak was not a good debater or a logical person. He was stubborn and once he made up his mind about something, he would not change it easily.

He slammed his cap on his head, looking resolutely at Dugan and Stevenson: "I'm sticking to my plan. If you're unwilling to provide support, then I'll do it myself!"

Having said that, he ignored Dugan and Stevenson's advice, mounted his horse, turned it around, and quickly returned to his own group.

Then, the stirring "Grenadier March" resounded among Orak's troops, and under his leadership, the soldiers lined up in formation and resolutely launched an attack on the village of Asaya.

Dugan and Stevenson stood there, watching the retreating figures of the Orak troops, their expressions solemn.