Mikhail Kutuzov left
the warming glow of the campfire and his Corps Commanders. He needed
to be alone to think. He carefully walked to the edge of the bluff on
which his headquarters were situated and looked down on a myriad of
twinkling campfires that stretched in both directions as far as the
eye could see. Smoke, cooking food and snatches of men's voices could
be heard as they mingled together and drifted up to his position.
How many of those men
would still be alive to eat an evening meal tomorrow?
His raised his eyes to
the distant hills, they too were blanketed by twinkling campfires,
that looked for all the world like the stars in the sky. The enemy
too, would no doubt be cooking food, the men talking and laughing,
living for the moment and not thinking about what the dawn will
bring.
Was the enemy commander
looking across to this very position at this moment? Was he also
alone and struggling under the weight of his command.? Had he too
tried to allow for every possibility that may occur in the battle
that would be fought in the morning?
Mikhail Kutuzov had
hammered home to his Corps commanders the importance of
communication, they could carry out their orders as they saw fit,
they were all competent men. But he needed to be kept informed at all
times, being blind on the battlefield had always been his greatest
fear.
He turned back to the
campfire, he would sleep little tonight, the fate of this army and
perhaps his nation, would depend on how he and his men performed in
the heat of battle...
It will be interesting how much information he actually does receive.
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