Richard Fage gripped his bayonet-tipped, flintlock musket. He crouched bravely within his battalion’s defensive square, deafened by the artillery and cannon fire of Napoleon’s troops. For hours they’d been on the edge of the battle, but the order to advance had finally arrived. Now on open flat ground, the men of the 3rd battalion of the 14th Regiment were sitting ducks. Their bright red coats and distinctive white cross straps were still unblemished by mud and blood. Richard, like nearly … Continue reading