The trooper saluted and wheeled his horse away, spurring it in the direction of Pratzen. Napoleon turned to see the first men of the front line turn and flee.The fear was contagious and at once scores more men followed suit, some throwing down their weapons as they ran for their lives. The braver hearts amongst them fought on, and died as the Russians cut them down and bludgeoned them to death where they lay. As the fleeing soldiers ran towards the second line their comrades there whistled and jeered and roughly cuffed and kicked those who attempted to run through their formation.A handful broke through and continued to run even though they were safe, and Vandamme rode up to them with a fierce scowl.

‘Get back into line, you cowards!’ He thrust his arm towards Napoleon. ‘Would you disgrace yourself in front of the Emperor himself, you curs?’

One of the soldiers scurried past, hands raised protectively above his head. As he saw Napoleon he called out, ‘Long live the Emperor!’ and dashed on by, sprinting towards Pratzen. One of Napoleon’s escort angrily snatched a pistol from his saddle holster and twisted round in his stirrups to take aim.

‘Leave him!’ Napoleon ordered. ‘Save your bullet for the Russians!’

Hot on the heels of the survivors of the front line came the Russian Guard, chests heaving from their uphill charge and the frantic fight with the first French line. Some, still fired by their earlier success, came rushing on, faces fixed in snarls or shouting incoherently. The volley from the second line crashed out at less than forty paces and as the smoke cleared Napoleon saw Russian bodies littering the ground in front of the French. Behind the killed and wounded the others had stopped in their tracks. Some just stared wildly at their enemies, others looked aghast at their fallen comrades.Those with harder hearts lowered their muskets and fired into the blue ranks ahead of them. Several of Vandamme’s men spun round and collapsed under the impact of the Russian bullets, while their comrades swiftly reloaded and brought their muskets up for another volley. Another cloud of smoke, pierced by bright orange flashes, billowed out and a hail of lead tore through the head of the Russian mob.When the smoke cleared this time Napoleon smiled grimly as he saw the enemy recoiling with fearful and panic-stricken faces.