Both armies had been reinforced by smaller…

August 1759 CE

Both armies had been reinforced by smaller units before the battle; by the time of the battle, the Allied forces have about sixty thousand men, with another five thousand holding Frankfurt, and the Prussians have almost fifty thousand.

By 5:00 pm, neither side can make any gains; the Prussians hold tenaciously to the captured artillery works, too tired to even retreat: they have pushed the Russians from the Mühlberge, the village, and the Kuhgrund, but no further.

The Allies are in a similar state, except they have more cavalry in reserve and some fresh Austrian infantry.

This part of Laudon's forces, late arrivals to the scene and largely unused, come into action at about 7:00 pm.

To the exhausted Prussians holding the Kuhgrund, the swarm of fresh Austrian reserves is the final stroke.

Although such isolated groups as Hans Sigismund von Lestwitz's regiment put up a bold front, these groups lose heavily and their stubborn defense cannot stop the chaos of the Prussian retreat.

Soldiers throw their weapons and gear aside and run for their lives.

The battle is lost for Frederick—it had actually been lost for the Prussians for a couple of hours—but he had not accepted this fact.

Frederick rides among his melting army, snatches a regimental flag, trying to rally his men: Children, my children, come to me. Avec moi, Avec moi!

They do not hear him, or if they do, they chose not to obey.

Saltykov, watching the chaos and seeking the coup de grâce, throws his own Cossacks and Kalmyks (cavalry) into the fray.

The Chuggavieski Cossacks surround Frederick on a small hill, where he stands with the remnants of his body-guard—the Leib Cuirassiers—determined to either hold the line or to die trying.

With a hundred-strong hussar squadron, Rittmeister (cavalry captain) Joachim Bernhard von Prittwitz-Graffron cuts his way through the Cossacks and drags the King to safety.

Much of his squadron dies in the effort.

As the hussars escorts Frederick from the battlefield, he passes the bodies of his men, lying on their faces with their backs slashed open by Laudon's cavalry.

A dry thunderstorm creates a surreal effect.

That evening back in Reitwein, Frederick sits in a peasant hut and writes a despairing letter to his old tutor, Count Karl-Wilhelm Finck von Finckenstein:

This morning at 11 o'clock I have attacked the enemy. ... All my troops have worked wonders, but at a cost of innumerable losses. Our men got into confusion. I assembled them three times. In the end I was in danger of getting captured and had to retreat. My coat is perforated by bullets, two horses of mine have been shot dead. My misfortune is that I am still living ... Our defeat is very considerable: To me remains 3,000 men from an army of 48,000 men. At the moment in which I report all this, everyone is on the run; I am no more master of my troops. Thinking of the safety of anybody in Berlin is a good activity ... It is a cruel failure that I will not survive. The consequences of the battle will be worse than the battle itself. I do not have any more resources, and—frankly confessed—I believe that everything is lost. I will not survive the doom of my fatherland. Farewell forever!

Frederick also decides to turn over command of the army to Finck.

He tells this unlucky general he is sick.

He names his brother as generalissimo and insists his generals swear allegiance to his nephew, the fourteen-year-old Frederick William.