Prologue
Astride Marengo, the General surveys what was once a bloody battlefield. Now the field in Probstheida sits on the edge of a leafy residential district in the south-east of Leipzig.
He remembers the shame of it all. He is reminded of how the locals within his own army suddenly switched sides mid-battle and fought for the Prussians against him -under General Blucher of all people.
Angrily, the defeated Corsican digs his heels into Marengo's sides and the stallion rears a little before acquiesing to his rider's command. Rain falls steadily on the heavy once blood-soaked turf.
The monument they have built here is an insult. Today, 213 years later, Napoleon Bonaparte will have his revenge.
Marengo canters alongside the number 15 tram heading towards Meusdorf. For the best part of half a mile, the stallion keeps pace before the General pulls him up quickly with a sharp tug on the reins as the tram slows to a stop.
Napoleon surveys the crowd as they step off the tram, searching for recruits. He will raise an army again and Blucher will be defeated.
His gaze falls on four Englishmen. The English in battle are renowned with the pike, the sword and the musket. Yes, these four will lead us into battle, he thinks.
One hell of a hangover
The hangovers are properly kicking in now after last night's match between RB Leipzig and Borussia Dortmund.
Those last few drinks in the hotel bar have knocked us all for six and the motivation for a fourth division lunchtime kick-off on a wet Sunday is very low indeed.
We jump on Tram 15 towards Muesdorf in the South East of the city sheltering from the cold and the drizzle that's falling steadily from cranky clouds, bored of this tiresome winter.
Each tram stop along the route welcomes another group of hardy Lok Leipzig fans, distinguishable by their close cropped hair and/or their yellow and blue scarves.
The five-minute walk from Probstheida tram station to the Bruno-Plache-Stadion is eerily quiet but I remind myself this is a fourth tier match on a wet Sunday afternoon.
Soaked, we approach the stadium gates along Connewitzer Straße and it feels like we have travelled back in time to the 1970s.
1970s terracing hell revisited
The gates lead to an open patch of muddy ground: a kind of open concourse with steps leading up to the caged terraces.
We grab a pint and buy some merch from the fan shop. They only take cash so Darren subs me a few euros. I know he'll have that debt listed on a spreadsheet somewhere!
It's really pissing down an hour before kick-off and we figure the best thing to do is stay sheltered in the beer tent. It's not an invitation for any of us to drink much though, we all have to drive home after the flight back to Gatwick tonight.
As kick off approaches we make our way up the stairs to the terrace behind the goal. Each caged pen is covered in fag-butts and moss; metal barriers are caked in fan stickers.
To our right the Lok ultras are in full voice and getting involved in some synchronous jumping up and down. I don't know whether to admire them or pity their enthusiasm for a club on it's knees.
To describe the ground as decrepit is a disservice to the word and about half of the terracing has been deemed unsafe to use.
The away fans of FC Eilenburg are away in the far corner to our left. A few hundred have travelled.
The covered stand extends along the touchline to our right and I wish we had forked out for a seat up there instead of being exposed to the elements.
Chain smoking ultras
Around us, the Lok fans are chain smoking cigarettes and watching the two teams warm up. None of us are impressed by the quality of the warm ups or the finishing as the players practice their shooting.
It's no surprise that the score is 0-0 at half-time. Lok have been the better side but their finishing has been wasteful.
Sodden, cold and hungover we call it a day and head back to the hotel to collect our stuff and start our journey home.
Our train back to Berlin is delayed but we have given ourselves plenty of time to make our connecting train to the airport.
I check the Lok Leipzig score and discover that the home team found their shooting boots and scored three without reply in the second half.
On the flight home I reflect on another great football trip. The 2006 world cup in Germany generated some fantastic stadia. I've been to four of them so far and can't fault them for design and atmosphere.
But there is a part of me that still itches to stand alongside comrades on a terrace in a battered old stadium somewhere, singing our songs and teasing the opposition crowd.
I can safely say, after Leipzig, that itch has been properly scratched.
The General shakes his head as the four ‘soldiers’ leave the ‘battle’ behind and head away from the stadium.
He follows them all the way to the train station and watches them board the train heading North West.
“The British are weak,” he roars to the heavens - but nobody hears.
“We will meet again,” he snorts. “At Waterloo”.
Footnotes:
VfB Leipzig were the first winners of the German league
They are now officially called FC Lokomotive VfB Leipzig.
By the late 1980s, Lok were at the height of their power, reaching the Cup Winners’ Cup final in 1987 and claiming a fourth FDGB-Pokal win a year later.
‘In the GDR, everything that came before was seen as bad. VfB were traditionally seen as the bourgeois club in Leipzig, and everything bourgeois was demonised.
In 1966 they finally became 1. FC Lokomotive Leipzig: the club of the railways.
Lok’s Bruno-Plache-Stadion lies in Probstheida, a leafy, residential district in the south-east of Leipzig.
In 1813, this was where Prussia and its allies won a decisive victory against Napoleon, beating the French army back towards the west and setting Germany on the road to unification.