Reincarnated as Napoleon II-Chapter 185: Machine Gun in Action

Mantua Plain, South of Verona.

January 1836.

The ground here was flatter than the ridge to the north.

Open fields stretched toward a shallow river line, the frost thinner where the soil held more moisture. A narrow road cut through the center, bordered by low ditches and scattered farm walls built from stone. Beyond that, nothing stood high enough to block sight.

It was exposed ground.

The French line was visible.

Not fully—only enough.

Skirmish elements had been pushed forward deliberately, spaced wider than usual but not concealed. Infantry moved along the road and across the fields in loose order, rifles carried low, posture relaxed enough to be seen from a distance.

Behind them, just out of sight beyond a shallow depression, the real line waited.

Machine gun teams lay in position.

Tripods set low. Barrels aligned just above ground level. Ammunition belts arranged in boxes beside them, covered but ready. Each position had been chosen with care—fields of fire overlapping, no gaps between arcs.

Across the plain, the Austrian force responded as expected.

Their officers saw movement.

They saw exposed men.

And they reacted.

Columns shifted. Orders passed. The lines began to form again—long ranks extending across the field, tighter this time, more aggressive in posture. Drummers signaled advance. Officers moved along the front, correcting intervals, preparing the line to move forward in strength.

Behind them, cavalry assembled.

Heavy formations. Horses aligned knee to knee. Riders adjusting reins, checking posture, waiting for the signal.

A French sergeant watching from behind the depression lowered his field glass.

"They took it," he said.

The lieutenant beside him did not answer immediately.

"They see a gap," the lieutenant replied. "And they’re going to close it."

The sergeant gave a short nod.

"They’ll come straight."

The forward French elements began to withdraw.

They moved back at a measured pace, maintaining spacing, turning only enough to keep their direction controlled. From a distance, it looked like hesitation. Like uncertainty.

It was neither.

"Hold the pace," the lieutenant said quietly. "Do not break."

The men followed.

Behind them, the Austrian line advanced.

Then the cavalry moved.

The signal came from the rear of the Austrian formation. Riders pushed forward, first at a trot, then building into a charge. The line of horses stretched wide, moving across the open field with growing speed.

Hooves struck frozen ground in heavy sequence.

The sound carried.

"They’re committing," the sergeant said.

The lieutenant watched for another second.

"Good."

He turned his head slightly.

"Prepare."

Behind the depression, the machine gun crews did not move.

They were already set.

Each gunner had his hands on the grips. Feed assistants held the belts ready. Spotters lay just behind, watching the distance close.

The French skirmishers crossed back over the depression and moved through the gaps prepared for them. As they passed, they dropped low, spreading out to either side, clearing the field of fire.

The ground ahead was now open.

The Austrian cavalry did not slow.

The infantry behind them continued to advance, lines still tight, stepping forward in formation, closing the distance behind the charge.

"Range," the lieutenant said.

A gunner answered without looking away.

"Six hundred."

"Wait."

The cavalry came on.

Five hundred.

The riders lowered themselves slightly, tightening formation as they approached. Officers at the front raised their sabers, directing the line forward.

Four hundred.

The ground began to shake under the weight of the charge.

"Three hundred."

The lieutenant did not raise his voice.

"Now."

The first machine gun opened.

There was no pause between shots, no single report to mark each round. Instead, it came out as a continuous, grinding burst—metal cycling against metal, a rapid tearing sound that cut across the field and did not stop.

The barrel vibrated against its mount. The belt fed through in a steady pull. Spent casings spilled to the side, scattering across the frozen ground.

Then the second gun joined.

A fraction of a second later, the third.

The line came alive.

What had been silence a moment ago turned into a wall of sustained fire stretching across the entire front. Each gun overlapped the next, their arcs crossing so that no space remained untouched.

The cavalry rode into it.

The front rank broke first.

Not in a single motion—but all at once across the line. Horses at full gallop were hit mid-stride. Some dropped forward, legs folding under them as if the ground had given way. Others twisted as they fell, bodies rolling and sliding across the frozen surface.

Riders were thrown clear.

Some landed and did not move. Others were dragged as their mounts collapsed beneath them.

The momentum behind them did not stop.

The second rank drove straight into the fallen. Horses struck bodies and went down with them. The line compressed forward, piling into itself as speed forced the charge onward.

More guns opened.

Horses began to veer under the pressure. Some tried to turn away from the fire, pulling against the reins, but there was no room. Others kept charging forward, driven by force and confusion rather than direction.

The formation lost its shape.

What had been a straight line moments ago dissolved into fragments—small clusters, scattered riders, gaps opening and widening with each second under fire.

Still, parts of it continued forward.

"They’re still coming," the sergeant said, his eyes fixed on the field.

The lieutenant did not raise his voice.

"They won’t get through."

A few made it closer than the rest. Close enough that individual figures could be seen clearly—faces set, bodies leaning low over their horses, trying to drive through what they did not understand. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

The guns did not stop.

The crews held their aim, adjusting only slightly as targets shifted. Bursts moved across the field, cutting down what remained of the forward elements. Horses stumbled, collapsed, rolled. Riders fell and did not rise.

One group veered left, trying to escape the direct line.

Another pressed straight ahead.

Neither made it through.

"They’re breaking," the sergeant said.

The lieutenant watched the last of the movement.

"Not yet," he replied.

Beyond the fallen cavalry, the Austrian infantry line had slowed.

What had been a steady advance now faltered. Sections hesitated. Gaps opened where officers tried to restore order. The weight of what had just happened reached them, even at a distance.

Still, some continued forward. Still, they tried to hold formation. But in the end, the machine gun just made cavalry charges obsolete.