The cavalry around him charged forward, mouths open and swords poised. Some roared their anger; others yelled in fear or mouthed savage oaths as they advanced toward the enemy. In front of them, a mass of French waited, white coated infantrymen formed in lines, with squadrons of cavalry on the flanks and the sun glittering from a thousand swords.
Captain Otway saw a battalion of infantry split to reveal a battery of cannon, with the artillerymen waiting to fire. An officer barked an order, and the guns roared, with dirty white smoke and orange-yellow tongues of flame jetting from the muzzles. A second later, the iron shot slammed into the British cavalry. Men and horses screamed as grapeshot scythed them down, and a film of blood rose in the air. The rider immediately to Otway’s left yell
