On a cold winter’s day in 1809, the battlefield of Corunna was a chaos of smoke, blood, and fire. The Napoleonic Wars were in full force, and British forces were engaged in a fierce retreat from the advancing French army. Among the British 95th Rifles, a regiment known for their green uniforms and deadly accuracy, stood a man who would soon etch his name into military legend: Rifleman Thomas Plunket.
Plunket was not a man of stature, nor one who would stand out in a crowd. But behind his weathered eyes lay a sharp instinct, a calm focus that had made him one of the finest marksmen in the army. He cradled his Baker rifle, a weapon that many believed to be the finest piece of British engineering. Its grooves and rifling allowed for incredible accuracy—perfect for a man like Plunket.
As the retreat continued, French forces, emboldened by their steady advance, sought to crush the British line once and for all. At the head of the French column rode General Auguste-Marie-François Colbert, an experienced officer, resplendent in his ornate uniform, urging his troops forward. He was flanked by his staff, confident in their superiority.
Plunket, crouched behind a low ridge, studied the battlefield through the haze of gunpowder. His eyes narrowed as they settled on the French general, easily recognizable atop his horse. At this distance—over 600 yards—most soldiers wouldn’t even consider firing. It was nearly impossible to hit a man from that far. But Plunket was no ordinary soldier.
Slowly, he lifted his rifle, exhaling steadily to control his breath. His comrades around him couldn’t believe what he was doing. "You can't make that shot!" someone whispered. Plunket ignored them. He lined up the sights, calculating the arc and drift the bullet would need to travel. Then, with a soft pull of the trigger, the rifle barked.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. The distant figure of the French general continued moving, shouting commands. But then, like a giant felled by an invisible hand, Colbert slumped from his horse, dead before he hit the ground.
The French line faltered. Confusion spread as soldiers saw their leader fall. But Plunket wasn’t finished. As his comrades watched in stunned silence, he calmly reloaded his rifle. His eyes sought out another target, this time one of the French officers near Colbert. Again, Plunket aimed, fired, and with surgical precision, another enemy officer tumbled to the ground.
It was as if time had stopped. The sheer audacity of the shots spread across the battlefield like wildfire. British soldiers cheered, while the French hesitated, shaken by the loss of their commanders. In that brief moment of confusion, the British retreat continued in an orderly fashion, and the legend of Thomas Plunket was born.
Years later, soldiers would speak of him with awe, the man who took down a French general from a distance most would deem impossible. Thomas Plunket had shown that even in the chaos of war, the steady hand of one man could change the course of a battle.
And he had done it with nothing more than his rifle, his nerve, and a single, perfect shot.
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