Waterloo

At Waterloo, during mid-June 1815, after his return from exile, Napoleon led his army against two armies, to determine whether he would retain French political power. One of the armies, aptly named the Coalition Army, was comprised of 35,000–40,000 Dutch, German, and Belgian troops and about 30,000 British troops. Wellington commanded the Coalition Army, which British (warfare) bullshit refers to as the Anglo-Allied Army, or Wellington’s Army. The other army was Prussian, commanded by Blücher. British (warfare) bullshit infers that Blücher’s Prussians served as a detached corps under Wellington’s command. Yes, archival researchers have spilled many ink wells attempting to excavate Waterloo from British bullshit but have made little progress.

The battlefield, much changed during the intervening two centuries, holds an aura, particularly when viewed from the Butte du Lion. Although situated squarely in beer country, the place puts my mind to wine. If white, Demi-Sec Vouvray, and if red, Brouilly.

The decisive action was fought on 18 June. Boatloads of British bullshit do not alter facts. The Coalition Army came up short against the French army throughout the day. Late in the afternoon though, the Prussian army crashed into the French Army’s flank, as it was in the process of breaking the Coalition Army. Thus, Blücher and the Prussians saved Wellington’s bacon, which, most unfortunately, allowed the British to write bullshit narratives. That is, British bullshit credits Wellington’s alleged genius with a decisive British victory, aided by some rather hapless Dutch, Germans, and Belgians, along with the late arriving Prussians.

British bullshit detracts from a somber aura that graces the battlefield. Many tens of thousands of men lay wounded, dying, or dead at that place. The wines that come to mind when I think about the battle recognize them. Napoleon’s defeat, Blücher’s hard-charging style, and particularly, voluminous British bullshit regarding Wellington (some of it, his own), overshadow those men, and it is to them that I raise Vouvray and Brouilly.