August 2nd, 1796, on the outskirts of Mantua, General Count von Wurmser took full command of the Austrian Army of Italy. His primary objective was to relentlessly pursue the French forces, as time was running out and he feared the French might overrun the fortress of Mantua.
As Wurmser rode on his horse, he used his spyglass to observe the situation. He spotted a French line facing them, indicating that the French had finally decided to confront them instead of retreating once again.
Shifting his gaze upwards, Wurmser directed his spyglass toward the fortress of Mantua. The flags of the Austrian Empire waved proudly above its seemingly impenetrable walls. A slight smile formed on his lips reassured that he hadn't arrived too late and that there was still hope to relieve Mantua.
"Gather round, my generals!" Wurmser addressed his officers. "Our utmost priority is to relieve Mantua by any means necessary. Prepare for the march!"
The Austrian soldiers, dressed in their distinctive white uniforms, stood ready for the upcoming operation.
Meanwhile, on the French side, Generals Augereau, Massena, La Harpe, and Serurier sat atop their horses, observing the Austrian forces as they prepared for a frontal assault.
Augereau turned to his fellow generals. "Gentlemen, the Austrians have taken the bait. It seems they believe they can relieve Mantua. Write a telegraph to General Bonaparte, inform him that the Austrians are fully committed."
"Will do, General," Augereau's aide-de-camps acknowledged the order and spurred their horses into action.
As the aides galloped away, the four French generals continued their observation of the Austrian forces.
"Their line appears solid," Massena commented. "Can we really hold them off? We are even in numbers."
"Just stick to his plan, Massena," Serurier interjected, his voice brimming with confidence. "General Bonaparte has entrusted us with this crucial task..." he paused, as he noticed the Austrian lines are nearing their defensive lines. "They are coming now, signal La Harpe! Begin the operation!"
The French generals swiftly relayed the orders to their respective divisions. La Harpe, positioned in the center, received the signal and immediately set his plan in motion.
Minutes later.
With a well-executed feint, La Harpe's division began a strategic retreat, enticing the Austrians to advance further into the French positions. The Austrian forces, believing they had gained the upper hand, pressed forward, their sights set on the retreating French.
Unbeknownst to the Austrians, Massena and Augereau, commanding the right and left flanks respectively, had already initiated their wide flanking maneuver. Their divisions moved swiftly attempting to wedge the Austrians in between.
As the Austrian forces pushed deeper into the French lines, confident in their progress, they suddenly found themselves ensnared. Massena's division emerged from the sides, striking the exposed Austrian right flank with a ferocious assault. Augereau, coordinating his movements with Massena, swiftly followed suit, crashing into the Austrian left flank.
A mix of emotions overwhelmed Wurmser—disappointment, anger, and a deep sense of defeat. The fortress he had hoped to relieve was now under enemy control, slipping through his fingers despite his valiant efforts. A bitter taste of failure lingered in his mouth as he realized the gravity of the situation.
"General!" Lipthay called out. "It seems that the Mantua has been overtaken days or weeks ago. We have been lured! We have to retreat now while our flanks are still holding the ground."
Wurmser's gaze hardened, his mind racing to find a solution amidst the turmoil. He knew that time was of the essence, and he needed to salvage what remained of his forces.
"Sound the retreat!" he bellowed.
The Austrian forces who broke through the French center, began to fall back, fighting a stubborn rearguard action as they retreated. Wurmser, his disappointment transforming into determination, led the retreat, rallying his officers and urging them to maintain discipline amidst the chaos.
Little by little, Wurmser and his army are making their way back as they retreat. Bitter of the defeat, Wurmser swore that he will retake Mantua at another time, doing so will need rethinking and restrategizing. They couldn't let the French control Mantua, it was that fortress that strengthened the grip of the Austrians on Italy.
As minutes passed by, the French Forces squeezed the Austrians out of the outskirts but remained in pursuit. The operation to capture Wurmer's army is not yet finished.
"Any moment now, General," Massena whispered.
And at that moment, Wurmser, who was on retreat, raised his hand, signaling his men to stop as he noticed something over the horizon. He grabbed his spyglass and scanned the landscape. To his astonishment, he saw a sea of French soldiers heading towards them in earnest.
"What is happening..." Wurmser stammered, he counted their number. He approximated fifteen thousand. "Why is there a division heading towards us? What happened to Quasdanovich?... Oh God..."
Wurmser now realized that he had unwittingly played into the hands of the commander of the Army of Italy. Quasdanovich's forces had fallen, and they had strategically positioned themselves to cut off the Austrian retreat. If Quasdanovich hadn't suffered defeat, they wouldn't find themselves in this predicament. It became clear that the French had meticulously planned to exploit his fixation on Mantua and lure him into a trap. The realization struck him like a devastating blow, leaving him with a mix of anger and despair. He berated himself for falling into such a carefully orchestrated scheme.
As the French forces closed in from behind, cutting off their path of retreat, Wurmser understood the gravity of their situation. The enemy's numbers likely doubled their own.
Surrender.
Wurmser snapped out of his reverie as that word flitted across his mind. It's the word that he feared the most, and probably the most logical thing to do to avoid total onslaught or massacre.
However, surrender is not an option for him. He will not bow down to the enemy without a fight, at least for him. But, his resolve wavered for a moment as he surveyed the faces of his men. Their expressions of fear and nervousness mirrored his own inner turmoil. How could he ask his soldiers to continue the fight when their spirits were already shaken?
A sense of responsibility washed over Wurmser as he realized that his duty as a commander extended beyond his personal pride. He had to consider the welfare of his men, their families, and the lives entrusted to his leadership. Surrender, as distasteful as it seemed, might be the only way to ensure their survival.
Turning to his officers, Wurmser swallowed his pride and spoke with a somber tone.
"Gentlemen, it is clear that our situation is dire. The odds are against us, and the French have effectively cut off our retreat. Continuing this battle would be a futile endeavor that would only lead to more unnecessary loss of life. It is with a heavy heart that I must make the decision to surrender."
After announcing his decision, Wurmser did not think anymore.