Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 057
Chapter Title: Outbreak of War (3)
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"The enemy is holed up in Turin, ready to hunker down for a siege."
Eugene jabbed at Turin, the capital of Sardinia, just a stone's throw from Milan.
"Attacking a city defended by nearly fifty thousand troops is unrealistic. We need to draw them out."
"Will they even come out?"
I was hanging back, observing the meeting without getting directly involved.
No point in taking up space— it would just make Eugene and the other field commanders on edge.
"They won't come out willingly, but they don't have many options either."
Don't want to come out?
Fine, starve then.
It was a simple yet brutally effective strategy.
To get from France to northern Italy, they had to cross the Alps, making steady supplies impossible.
So they'd rely on sea routes for resupply, but unfortunately for them, Turin wasn't on the coast.
"We seize the ports to cut off Sardinia's supplies to Turin and sever the enemy's supply lines. Once they hear Prussia is holding firm on the Rhine, they'll get antsy."
"What if we pretend to march some troops north to make it easier for them to poke their heads out? Even just showing we're linking up with the Prussians to hit the French on the Rhine from both sides would have those rats in Turin shitting bricks."
"Good idea. We'll do that too."
Eugene nodded approvingly at his disciple's suggestion and pointed to the Po River valley southeast of Turin.
"The decisive battle happens here. The moment they can't hold back and crawl out, we end it."
Eugene already had the equation for victory mapped out in his head.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ As Eugene predicted, the French army bottled up in Turin seemed to hit their limit faster than expected.
I'd thought they'd hold out a bit longer, but maybe I'd overestimated French endurance.
"Your Highness, do you know why they reacted so quickly?"
"Hmm... no idea. And are you really going to keep using formal speech?"
"Of course. You're the future emperor of the Empire."
Coming from someone like Eugene, who was old enough to be my grandfather, it'd be nicer if he spoke casually like before, but his resolve was firm.
He probably meant it as his way of acknowledging me, so I should just take it as a compliment.
"Anyway, the reason I figured the French had no choice but to fight is Sardinia."
"Saving face as Europe's strongest power, something like that?"
"Close enough. I was once an ambitious soldier in the French army, so I know them inside out. There must be massive backlash against France in Turin right now."
Yeah, they trusted you and went to war, so what the hell is this?
If the capital falls, are you going to take responsibility? That kind of resentment must be boiling over.
"Allied forces inevitably breed conflict, especially when crammed into one city. And as you said, France has its pride as Europe's top dog."
It wasn't just empty pride— showing weakness here would lead to real losses down the line.
Even if it meant tightening the noose around their own necks right now, they had to push forward.
And objectively speaking, it wasn't a bad call.
Stay holed up, and supplies get cut off 100%— they starve for sure.
But charge out full throttle, and there's a slim chance to repel the enemy.
Especially since France believed their army was the world's best. Deciding to just go for it wasn't crazy.
Factoring in those subtle psychological pressures and diplomatic headaches into his strategy— scary stuff.
Once the enemy's moves converged on one path, countering it was straightforward.
Lure them out, then ambush and encircle.
With orders thoroughly drilled into every officer, and since Eugene couldn't command directly from the field, his disciple Joseph took over.
And so, the day of the decisive battle arrived.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Before dawn, when the sun hadn't even risen.
Thud thud thud thud!
The marching drums shattered the dead of night.
"Faster! We have to move even faster!"
The French army hustled like their heels were on fire.
"This is our only shot! Hurry!"
The deputy commander, who had taken command from Duke Villars still in Turin, barked at his officers.
"We seize the south bank of the Po as fast as possible while their troops are pulled north. Build defenses before they realize we've left the city!"
They'd spotted some Austrian forces heading north, so right now, numbers were roughly even.
But once the Austrians knew they'd sortied, they'd rush back— had to secure the coastal strongpoints quick.
The problem: to reach the sea from Turin, they had to cross the Po via bridges.
"Still, Eugene's gotten old. He can't pull off those lightning tactics anymore."
That was why the French were pushing full speed.
Just as Villars had to stay in Turin, Eugene surely lacked the stamina for grueling marches.
Cross the river fast, outpace them, or even if they were dug in, fight on equal terms.
Their commander was absent too, after all.
But studying the map as they crossed, the deputy felt uneasy.
"...Woods over there."
"Yes, but it's the shortest route. No way around it."
"What if they're hiding in there... Nah, they'd have hit us already."
The woods weren't big enough for fifty thousand anyway— half at best, and barely.
If the Austrian main force was there, wouldn't they have ambushed during the crossing?
Troops were most vulnerable fording rivers or landing from sea.
"Cross first. Time's not on our side."
"Yes, sir!"
Urgency gnawed at him. If they were too late even now, no going back to Turin.
Heart pounding, he reached the south bank— and sighed in relief at the Austrians blocking them.
Not overwhelmingly outnumbered.
"Good. Looks like they really sent troops north. We can handle this."
On equal footing, the world's strongest army— France— wouldn't lose.
Break through, secure supplies, and flip the northern Italian front.
But that overconfident notion evaporated the instant battle commenced.
Bang!
Boom boom boom boom!
"Damn it! What the hell? Fire back!"
"They're on the hills— hard to counter!"
"Damn it... What about the center? Right flank! Advance and stop them pounding our left!"
"They're already formed up— can't break through... Aaaagh!"
Even numbers? Better because we marched fast?
All wrong.
They'd anticipated this exact move, perfectly arrayed.
Enemy artillery concentrated on high ground battered the left flank, on the verge of collapse.
To salvage this, create a wildcard— only one option.
"Cavalry! All cavalry to the left! If the left falls, we're done..."
"Commander! Rear! Austrians in the rear too!"
"...What?"
We crossed the river— how are Austrians behind us?
It clicked instantly.
That cursed woods they'd seen before crossing.
If the Austrians predicted this, they could've hidden a force there to cut the rear.
Meaning those "missing" troops didn't go northwest.
They feinted north to lure them out, then looped far around.
"You sneaky bastards!"
Bang! Boom boom!
Left collapsing, retreat cut off.
Tried cavalry wildcard, but Austrian detachment hit at the perfect moment, throwing right and center into chaos.
"Commander! Orders!"
"W-Wait... Send cavalry to guard the rear... No, if they're smart, they blew the bridges. Stick to plan, left flank... No, wait, rear attack then..."
"Commander! Hurry!"
"Rear enemies closing on our right! Commandeeeer!"
Something's off.
Eugene's in Milan, or at best slowly approaching.
This swift, organic command— it evoked Eugene in his prime.
"They said no one like Eugene anymore... What the..."
Commanders must stay cool.
But he couldn't.
With the river at their backs and retreat severed, even he felt primal fear— what about the rank and file?
"U-Uwaaaah!"
"G-Get out of the way! We gotta run!"
"You idiots! Run and you drown in the river! Hold formation!"
Even Europe's finest French army— once morale shattered, it was over.
Rout fleeing blindly.
Idiots charging the river mad.
Mob dropping weapons to surrender.
The Franco-Sardinian alliance crumbled completely in just six hours.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "...It really ended in days."
"If Villars had commanded personally, it wouldn't have been this pathetic. Bet he's clutching his neck in Turin hearing this."
Even top weight class— without brains, armies turn third-rate in a blink.
Eugene gave a wry smile at Joseph reporting the grand victory, mixed emotions flickering.
Proud of his disciple crushing the French perfectly.
Yet seeing Villars sidelined in this pivotal moment must've mirrored his own limits.
Still, monumental win unchanged.
Enemy main force over forty thousand— virtually annihilated.
Casualties and POWs nearly twenty thousand.
Couldn't haul cannons over the river, so all theirs now ours.
I hyped Joseph to the skies, emphasizing the feat before the troops.
"Mighty warriors of Austria! You did it!"
"Woooaaah!"
"With Prince Eugene and his disciple Joseph together, Austria will reign eternally victorious over Europe!"
"Joseph! Slaughter Chariot Joseph! Blood Incarnate Joseph!"
"Yes! But the war isn't over! Your commander Joseph thirsts for more French frog blood! Don't let these invaders who don't know their place cross the Alps home! Next target: Sardinia's capital, Turin! Your commander! Austria demands more frog blood!"
"Uwaaaaaah!"
"Blood! French blood!"
"No, Your Highness... my image..."
Sorry, but you're already the war-perfected killing machine.
With morale sky-high and Turin defenseless, crushing it ends the northern front.
Then, per Eugene's plan, French stuck headfirst in the Rhine face checkmate.
Grab their throat now, shake hard— war's ours...
But back at camp, an urgent messenger stared at me anxiously, stomping.
"Your Highness! Emergency dispatch!"
"What? Rhine requesting aid? Turin's fall is imminent, just wait a bit..."
"No... uh... no need to send reinforcements."
Huh? Why the sudden shift. Unsettling.
I snatched the report, scanned with Eugene.
And.
"Huh?"
"Wha?"
Our mouths dropped in unison, dumbfounded.