It was a most queer feeling, lying on the ground, every breath coming as though through a thin reed, nearly crushed by the weight of the surrounding, thick swamp. He knew that one of his lungs was destroyed; shot to pieces by a musket ball, the lead had plowed into his chest, crushing a massive chunk which was slowly bleeding away. Another wound from a bayonet had gored him through the belly; he felt lightheaded from all the blood he had lost.
His vision took in the revolving sky with a mild interest; the day had started out overcast, the night before had been rainy. The Austrian cannons had been stunningly ineffective in the mudthey plowed into the mud instead of bouncing through the ranks of the French. If it had not been for the remarkable eye for ground that Archduke Charles had displayed in the battle, then all would have been lost...
He laughed sourly at himself. All was lost for him, that much was obvious. A steady trickle of blood dripped sickeningly from the corner of his mouth; the hair on the side of his face were soaked from the bloody that had begun to crust inside them. His mouth was parched from lying there under the now increasingly bright sun. He could feel the hoarse rattle of his breath as it scraped over his bloody, raw throat.
He blinked once, twice, at the increasing glare of the sun. His hands felt something, a bloody cloth, that was not his uniform. With tremendous effort, he lifted his head and gazed at it for a second... It was the yellow banner of the Hapsburgs, bearing a double-headed eagle. He clutched at the cloth, amazed that it had somehow come to land in his hand... and then it was gone. Im mad. Im seeing things. He would have laughed, except that he heard voices.
Wary and yet, at the same time, malicious, the French troops were treading through the battlefield carefully, occasionally bending over to loot a corpse. One of them was wearing an Austrian banner tied mockingly as a cape around his neck, laughing uproariously as he stepped deliberately upon dead Austrian soldiers.
He ought to die... If the gods are just... His hand found his carbine, loaded and ready to fire. If I were just... The man was getting closer. The Austrian officer feigned death.
Look at this one, Pierre! An officer, Id judgenot looted yet. Could get a hefty lo
He opened his eyes to find the Frenchman standing over him, knife in hand. He lifted a trembling hand, cocking the carbine.
wha
He fired.