Chapter 56
Chapter 56
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 056
Chapter Title: Outbreak of War (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The sky stretched clear and blue, while a fierce wind howled through the mountainous regions of northern Italy.
The moment the hoofbeats fell silent, the military band erupted with thunderous drums, drawing every soldier's gaze to a single point.
Beneath the fluttering Habsburg banner, I ascended the podium in my gold-trimmed uniform.
Prince Eugene and Leopold Joseph—who would soon become Count Daun—followed close behind.
Tens of thousands of soldiers held their breath. Then, the voice they had all been waiting for rang out powerfully over the fading echoes of the drums.
“Austria's warriors!”
In the tense, electric silence laced with fervor, I raised my arm confidently and declared,
“Right now, French forces are marching over those mountains! They're smug, thinking their sly preemptive declaration caught us off guard. But there's one thing they don't know. It's the reality right here: we, the Austrian Imperial Army, are waiting for them!”
The officers immediately raised their swords and roared.
“Austria is waiting!”
The band's trumpets blared triumphantly, further igniting the soldiers' morale.
Even I, who had orchestrated this display in advance, felt my chest burn with heat. How must the troops have felt? I could clearly see sparks flying in the eyes of the soldiers as they exchanged determined glances.
“They see Milan here as easy prey. But I dare ask: is this place we're holding an easy target?”
“No, sir!”
The officers' swords sliced through the air as the dignified drums thundered menacingly.
“That's right! They'll soon realize that the treacherous Alpine passes they crossed were like paradise compared to the hell awaiting them here. Fear not! Austria's greatest commander, the legendary hero Prince Eugene, will stand with you to the end!”
The soldiers' cheers now spread like a storm.
Prince Eugene, standing regally at my side, gave a slow nod. Tens of thousands thrust their pikes and muskets skyward, responding with even fiercer roars.
“Long live Prince Eugene!”
As Eugene casually clenched his fist in acknowledgment, Leopold Joseph stepped forward from behind him.
Perfect. The mood was ripe now—I could pile on the embellishments.
“And Leopold Joseph here is none other than Prince Eugene's personally trained protégé! A genius of slaughter born for war itself! The incarnation of destruction, who will dye the white Alpine ridges red with enemy blood, will lead you on the battlefield!”
“Ooooh! Joseph! Joseph!”
“Genius of slaughter! Incarnation of destruction!”
I caught Leopold Joseph's eyes twitching at the off-the-cuff hype he'd never heard before, but I breezily ignored it.
These were just hype lines to boost morale—objective truth was beside the point.
“And I too will stand with you here, sharing life and death! As a member of the imperial family and as your comrade-in-arms! I, Franz Stefan, swear I will not retreat a single step!”
Therefore! There's no path of retreat behind us today. Only victory! Will you plant the banner of triumph with me and return home alive?”
“We will return victorious!”
The soldiers' cheers bordered on screams.
The officers arrayed before the podium repeated the cry at the top of their lungs.
“We will return victorious!”
I slowly lowered my hand, placing my fist over my heart.
Naturally, every soldier mirrored the gesture, pledging their loyalty.
“You and I—we are one. In Austria's name! For the glory of victory!”
As every arm shot skyward, the band's majestic trumpets filled the field.
And the ecstatic roar of countless soldiers transformed into an irrevocable declaration of victory.
As I finished and stepped down from the podium, the immensely satisfied Prince Eugene gave me a slight bow.
Stockpiled supplies? Check. Reorganized units? Check. Prepared troops? Check. Boosted morale with a speech? Check.
I'd handled everything, Your Highness Eugene. Truly.
Of course, I wasn't crass enough to say it aloud.
I had no desire to be the fool heckling an eagle spreading its wings for the hunt.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ A month after declaring war on Austria.
No sooner had hostilities begun than France seized the Duchy of Lorraine and pressed on to capture the fortress of Kehl across the Rhine.
Marshal James FitzJames, Duke of Berwick, then set his sights on shattering the Ettlingen defensive line east of the Rhine.
“Once we take Ettlingen, we can strike straight for Philippsburg. Securing that opens the road to Mainz, tilting the war in our favor.”
Anyone with even a shred of strategic sense could guess the Austrians would fight tooth and nail to hold the Ettlingen line.
Berwick assumed as much, yet the line proved shockingly feeble and exposed.
“What is this? Did we move too fast after our declaration, leaving them no time to respond?”
“Perhaps they're abandoning Ettlingen to hole up in Philippsburg for a siege.”
“Even so... shouldn't they at least try to bleed us here a little?”
The French forces puzzled over the enemy's unexpected response but weren't rattled.
Whatever the case, this flow favored France—no way around it.
But when France drove onward to claim Philippsburg, they finally took a hammer blow to the back of the head.
“Ah! Just as expected—their main army's there. See that black double-headed eagle flapping in the wind, Austria's symbol?”
“...Your Grace? Doesn't that flag look a bit off?”
“Off how? It's their black double-hea—wait.”
Why had the eagle's two heads suddenly become one?
Such a trivial doubt lingered only briefly.
“Y-Your Grace! That's not Habsburg—it's Prussia... Prussia's coat of arms!”
“No way...”
He wanted to deny it, but the single black eagle crowned unmistakably belonged to Prussia, not Austria.
“What in the world... Prussia intervening? I hadn't heard a thing!”
“We'll look into it immediately!”
If Prussia allied with Austria to defend the Rhine front, France's calculations would crumble entirely.
Worse—the main force committed here might even be in jeopardy.
Berwick's hackles rose, but he spotted something even stranger.
“Wait... if Prussia's siding with Austria, why are they just hunkered down there? Combined, their forces should overwhelm us in numbers.”
“...You're right...”
Sure, sieges beat field battles, but with vastly superior numbers, abandoning Ettlingen so easily made no sense.
“...What the hell? What's going on here?”
Had Austria skipped reinforcing here to concentrate on Italy?
“Clever little trick... No, wait. Heh heh heh—they've dug their own grave and tripped into it.”
“Pardon? What do you mean...”
“I'll explain once the scouts return.”
Berwick, the battle-hardened veteran of the War of the Spanish Succession, had seen it all.
As he predicted, the messengers reported Prussia had joined Austria's side—but the Austrians themselves were nowhere in sight, save minor detachments.
“If I'm right, Austria's left the Rhine defense to Prussia and sent their main force to Italy. It looks clever at first glance, but clever ploys aren't true strategies. They're just reactive counters based on predicting the foe's moves.”
Had France faced Austria alone, it might have worked wonders.
But with sturdy allies like Sardinia and Spain at their back...
“No matter how hard Austria strains, they can't counter Spain pushing up from southern Italy and the Franco-Sardinian alliance striking from the north. Something's bound to give.”
Above all, diverting their main force southward left the Rhine to Prussia alone. What chance did they have against France's vaunted army, the continent's finest?
“They can't hold the Rhine or Italy.”
“Then...”
“Yes. We've won this war.”
Victory declared at the war's outset.
French morale soared to the heavens.
For the moment, at least.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The first to sense something fishy in the war's progress was the Italian front's expeditionary force.
Claude Louis Hector de Villars, France's renowned marshal who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Britain's Duke of Marlborough and Austria's Prince Eugene of Savoy, felt a distinct unease.
At 80 years old, Villars opted against aggressive advances. Instead, he planned to link up with Sardinia's forces in their capital, Turin, and use it as a base.
Combining French and Sardinian troops neared 50,000; with Spain's 40,000, it would total a massive 90,000-strong army.
No enemy could withstand such numbers sweeping through Italy.
Then, regroup calmly and march north into Austria.
That was the plan. It should have been.
“...A huge enemy army camped at Milan?”
“Yes. Exact numbers unknown, but substantial.”
“Even scraped together in haste, they couldn't exceed 30,000. And they'd need to spare some for the Rhine...”
Defending southern Italy as well, Milan's actual force likely topped 15,000 at best.
That was the realistic estimate after war office calculations.
“...Maybe they abandoned the south?”
“That'd suit us fine. Spain sweeps their southern bases, and we wait for victory to tilt our way.”
It should have. It really should have.
Yet Spain's promised army showed no sign of arriving, no matter how long they waited.
As anxiety mounted—had storms sunk their fleet en route?—a message arrived beyond comprehension.
[The homeland declared war and dispatched troops, but per Austria's proposal, we have agreed to exchange Parma and Piacenza for Naples and Sicily.] “????????”
Villars momentarily suspected dementia; his officers doubted their own eyes.
But Spain, now expert at collecting rising galley crosses, didn't stop there.
[...Thus, per prior agreement, we declare a unilateral ceasefire and withdraw from the war.] “Ah, forgery.”
“Austria must be desperate—faking Spanish documents. Ha ha ha!”
Denial.
“Who the hell do these bastards think they are, quitting whenever they want?!”
“Declaration of war? Without sending a single ship?!”
Anger.
“Why not... demand more troops from them here? Squeeze Austria harder?”
Bargaining.
“...Spain stabbed us in the back like this—now we fight Austria alone?”
Depression.
“Their forces are split too! We still have Sardinia's support—we're stronger. Prepare for decisive battle!”
Acceptance.
True to his veteran status, Villars quickly rallied, steeling himself to end his long rivalry with Eugene.
However...
“Y-Your Highness! Austrian troops are massing in Milan by the thousands. Over 70,000 already!”
“What? That means they've stripped the Rhine bare?”
His fragile composure cracked anew.
Why this madness from Spain? Why this reckless strategy from the enemy? None of it made sense.
Commit everything here? Ignore your western flank entirely?
Abandon the Rhine altogether?
Were they stationing priests to pray the Rhine overflows instead?
Something... something was happening.
From age 20 to now—60 years in the military.
For the first time in his 80 years, Villars felt his mind reel.
📰 Battle Map This is a map of the main theaters: the Rhine front and northern Italy. In northern Italy, the Franco-Sardinian alliance is at Turin, while Austrian forces hold Milan. On the Rhine, Prussian troops occupy Philippsburg, as French forces breach the Ettlingen line to target it.