Reincarnated as Napoleon II-Chapter 111: Battle of Staouéli

Five days later.

French outposts positioned along the low ridges beyond Sidi-Ferruch had spent the previous days expanding the perimeter. Trenches had deepened. Gun pits reinforced with packed sand and timber. Supply routes between the beach and the forward line were already marked by wagon tracks and trampled scrub.

At dawn, the air felt heavy.

A thin haze hung over the plain of Staouéli, flattening distance. Beyond the cultivated fields and scattered olive groves, shapes gathered.

Algerian banners.

Columns forming.

Drums carried faintly on the wind.

Inside the French forward camp, bugles cut through the morning quiet.

Infantry companies formed in staggered lines rather than tight ranks. Officers moved down the rows, adjusting intervals. The lesson of the landing had already settled in: spacing meant survival.

Marshal Davout observed from a slight rise behind the first line.

Through his field glass, he watched the Algerian host assemble—cavalry in broad sweeps along the flanks, infantry clustering toward the center. Tribal contingents and regular troops mixed together, numbers swelling as more riders emerged from behind low ground.

They were not probing this time.

They were advancing in force.

French artillery crews completed final sight adjustments on the 75mm field guns positioned along the crest. Ammunition chests lay open. Fuses cut and prepared.

The first Algerian cavalry elements began to move.

Davout lowered the glass.

"Hold until they commit."

The distance closed slowly.

Infantry behind the cavalry spread in irregular formations, some taking advantage of shallow depressions in the terrain. Muskets flashed sporadically, smoke drifting sideways in the rising heat. Shots fell short or scattered wide.

French riflemen did not answer yet.

They waited.

When the Algerian cavalry pushed within effective range, the command came.

"Open fire."

The first volley cracked across the line in uneven rhythm.

Bolt-action rifles answered with a roar. Riders flinched in their saddles. One fell cleanly from his mount. Another clutched at his chest before sliding sideways.

The cavalry accelerated.

Hooves pounded the hard earth. Lances dipped forward. Dust rose in a rolling cloud behind them.

Machine gun teams, now fully entrenched, began their work.

The rattle tore through the open ground. Horses stumbled mid-stride. Men pitched forward into the dust. Momentum faltered as gaps opened within the advancing ranks.

The Algerian infantry behind them attempted to push forward to support the charge.

French artillery answered.

The first 75mm shell left the barrel with a sharp crack.

It burst ahead of the densest cluster of riders, spraying earth and metal fragments. The second landed further back, striking among infantry forming to advance.

Gunners adjusted elevation quickly. Observers signaled corrections with hand flags. Shell after shell landed with tightening accuracy.

The plain began to fracture under fire.

Algerian cavalry veered to avoid the artillery’s impact zones, splitting their formation. Some attempted to swing toward the French flanks, only to encounter entrenched rifle companies already positioned in depth.

At nearly eight hundred meters, French rifle fire resumed in disciplined waves.

Not a single continuous barrage.

The difference in fire control became visible across the field.

Where Algerian musket fire rose in scattered smoke and noise, French fire cut in deliberate arcs, thinning formations methodically.

Still, numbers pressed forward.

A second wave of cavalry attempted to exploit a shallow depression in the ground to mask their approach. They emerged suddenly at closer range than expected.

For a moment, the left flank wavered.

Davout saw it.

He signaled without raising his voice.

Reserve companies stepped forward from behind the second line and filled the gap. Machine gun teams shifted slightly, angling fire across the depression.

The cavalry charge broke under intersecting fire.

Some riders reached within two hundred meters before falling. Others wheeled back sharply, colliding with those still advancing.

Behind them, Algerian infantry began to falter.

Without cavalry momentum to shield them, they faced sustained rifle and artillery fire across open ground. Attempts to form cohesive lines dissolved under pressure. Officers gestured, regrouped, and were struck down in turn.

French artillery shifted to counter-battery. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Where smoke revealed the position of Algerian guns, shells were walked steadily onto them. One enemy cannon overturned under impact. Another fell silent after a direct burst near its crew.

By mid-morning, the plain of Staouéli had transformed.

Scattered horses lay still or limped away riderless. Clusters of Algerian fighters withdrew toward higher ground, carrying wounded when they could.

French lines held.

No pursuit was ordered.

Davout maintained formation discipline. He knew better than to chase across unfamiliar terrain without securing flanks.

Instead, the artillery advanced incrementally.

Guns were limbered and moved forward in short bounds, always under cover of infantry fire. New firing positions were established closer to the retreating enemy’s last line.

The message was clear.

The French were not merely defending a beachhead anymore.

They were pushing inland.

By noon, Algerian resistance at Staouéli had broken into fragments. Groups retreated toward fortified positions nearer Algiers. Others scattered into the countryside.

French infantry advanced cautiously across the plain. Engineers followed behind, marking ground, establishing forward supply points, and preparing for the next phase.

As for the casualties, there were none, but for the Algerians, they knew it was in the thousands.

At the hill, Marshal Davout looked through his field glass and there he saw the port city of Algiers. And he could see the preparations they are making to defend their city. He scanned the city defenses and what he noticed was the city walls and the Bordj Moulay Hassan Fortress.

In order for them to capture the city, they’ll have to bombard it. He knew that if he destroyed that fortress, morale on the enemy side would drop.

"Send a telegram to our fleet," Davout said. "Commence bombardment of the city in conjunction with our field artillery."

An aide stepped back from the signal party and relayed the order without delay. Flags rose along the ridge, repeating the instruction toward the shore. Moments later, the wireless set crackled behind the lines as the coded message went out to Admiral Duperré.

Out at sea, ships of the line adjusted their headings in slow, deliberate arcs. Gun ports opened one by one. Crews ran out the heavy naval guns, rammers and powder teams moving in tight sequence.

On the plain, French 75mm batteries shifted their elevation toward the distant walls of Algiers.

Davout lowered his glass.

"Begin."