Chapter 58
Chapter 58
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 058
Chapter Title: Outbreak of War (4)
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Around the time northern Italy plunged into chaos due to Spain's declaration of withdrawing from the war...
Heinrich von Jeckendorf, the Austrian commander tasked with defending the Rhine, couldn't conceal his bewilderment.
"...You're saying we're going to engage the French in full-scale battle? On purpose?"
"Yes. We've clashed with them in a few skirmishes so far, and we've gauged the enemy's level. I have a good sense of the commander's capabilities too."
"No, no, Your Highness Friedrich. Our goal here is to hold Philippsburg. If we sally out to intercept them and lose, they could take this place too."
"But if we win, we can push all the way into Alsace."
That's exactly why it's too risky, you young fool.
The sixty-year-old veteran felt like his vision was going black at the Prussian crown prince's declaration, driven by youthful hot-bloodedness.
The enemy had roughly 70,000 men. They had a little over 20,000, and the Prussians added another 40,000-plus.
Even combined, they'd be slightly outnumbered. So why take such a gamble?
This is why I didn't want to support some arrogant kid who thinks he's the only competent one here.
"Your Highness... France's army is strong, and the commander leading them, the Duke of Berwick, is a seasoned veteran who's weathered countless battlefields. We can't underestimate—"
"I'm not underestimating him. He's an excellent commander. He sticks faithfully to the textbook and handles his troops with crisp precision. That's exactly why we can beat him. And since big victories like this don't come twice, we have to push hard when the payoff is biggest."
"...Haa... What in the world..."
What nonsense is this?
If the enemy's commander is that good, you double down on defense. Does he think he gets stronger the tougher the opponent is?
The words Have you read too many knightly novels? rose in his throat, but he barely held them back.
"Once we step out, the enemy will definitely meet us in open battle. They'll think it's a gift and set up camp on the plains."
"...Because it's an unreasonable decision by any common sense."
"Exactly. So they'll move just as we predict."
Was that sarcasm? Or does he really have some stratagem?
It would be nice if he changed his mind now, but Friedrich was the supreme commander on the Rhine front.
His duty leading the Austrians was to support the 40,000-strong Prussian army that had come to their aid, body and soul.
Screw it. If we lose, it's all on you. I've washed my hands of it.
Jeckendorf could only pray to God that Friedrich wasn't just a smooth-talking greenhorn.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "The decisive battle will be on the plains beyond Speyer, north of Philippsburg. Cross the river there, and Alsace is right below. They'll have no choice but to fight."
Especially since they were abandoning their advantageous defensive position for what amounted to outright provocation. The enemy couldn't back down without losing face.
"The Duke of Berwick's temperament means he'll stick to the textbook without fail..."
Friedrich eyed the scattered hills dotting the plains that would become the main battlefield.
Perfect terrain, and a perfect orthodox commander to face. An ideal stage for deploying the new tactics he'd drilled into his troops.
There might be no better opportunity than this.
"We could wait for things to wrap up in Italy, but that wouldn't be enough."
Thanks to Franz's flawless groundwork, he considered an Austrian victory in northern Italy all but certain.
But France's reserves were vast. Even if their northern Italy force was annihilated, they could muster more troops anytime.
It would be a massive loss, but not an irreparable one.
To truly cripple France and force them to the negotiation table as the defeated party, they needed to inflict far greater damage.
"If the forces we've poured into the Rhine suffer a crushing defeat too, even Louis XV won't have any moves left. Right?"
"Yes. Holes punched in both fronts would leave any Frenchman white as a sheet. But that Austrian general seemed skeptical of you, Your Highness..."
"Doesn't matter. They can just hold the rear and support us."
No point explaining in detail to people who wouldn't get it anyway. Better to let the results speak.
These generals who'd fought by Europe's textbook tactics for decades would just tune out no matter how much he said. Waste of breath.
They'd learn once they saw it in action. Once they felt it.
How flimsy and full of holes those "truths" they'd clung to really were.
"Thank you for enduring the grueling training so far. If we win today's battle, I'll make it clear it's not my achievement alone—it's all of yours."
"The honor is ours, fighting under Your Highness."
The elite Prussian troops, handpicked and trained by the king himself, already followed and respected Friedrich from the depths of their hearts.
Just because he treated them well and valued them?
Soldiers weren't idiots.
They staked their lives in battle, so they instinctively honed a sense for judging a commander's ability.
Could they trust this man? Would they make it home alive?
And every officer of Prussia standing here now was utterly convinced.
Once this battle ended, all of Europe would know how exceptional their lord truly was.
Just as he said—results would tell the tale.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Boom!
Rat-tat-tat!
The ground shook with explosions.
Every gunshot brought screams and red streaks splattering the earth.
The French force advancing north from Philippsburg faced relentless Prussian assaults without respite.
"...What is this? How is this even possible?"
The bewildered voice didn't come from the French.
They were in no position to even voice doubts—a luxury they couldn't afford.
Jeckendorf of the Austrians stared blankly at the battlefield, mouthing a question no one could answer.
This was no ambush or trickery.
A pure clash of strength against strength, undeniable by anyone.
Even to Jeckendorf's eyes, the French had formed up perfectly, without flaw, and engaged.
A textbook linear formation, ideal enough for the manuals.
Friedrich countered the enemy's orthodox firepower projection—effective from any angle—with unorthodoxy.
Jeckendorf recognized that bizarre formation all too well.
The symbol of ancient Europe's great captains: the oblique order.
But as firearms advanced and firepower took precedence, it had naturally given way to linear tactics.
The intricate maneuvers essential to the oblique were impossible for modern armies, and overwhelming the enemy with superior firepower across the entire line was the accepted wisdom.
Yet Friedrich had boldly arrayed his forces in oblique order.
"Compress the French left flank at 60 degrees. The battle line is straight, but our artillery strikes diagonally."
"Concentrating the cannons like that leaves our own right flank too exposed to their left..."
"The left will provoke them in small groups as trained, avoiding attrition. The right will smash their left and advance—match breaths with your officers' commands."
When he'd first heard the plan, Jeckendorf thought it sounded good on paper, but would it work in reality?
Yet here it was unfolding flawlessly.
"Fire!"
"Look at them! Those frog bastards getting pushed back like dogs! How dare they call themselves Europe's strongest! The true strongest is His Highness Friedrich's army! Shoot the lot of 'em!"
It worked. Smoothly, as if scripted.
For generals who'd competed in straight lines—whose firepower was greater, who timed their cavalry flanks better—this was a cultural shock.
Only then did Jeckendorf realize Friedrich's assessment had been chillingly objective.
The enemy was a model commander who'd mastered the classics.
Caught off-guard without a counter, they couldn't respond properly.
He should have realized sooner—this was the talent Prince Eugene himself endorsed!
"...Still, can even regular soldiers move like that while firing, if trained? Ruthless guy... How hard did he drill his men?"
This wasn't just Friedrich's brilliance alone.
Artillery barrages seamlessly into volley fire, then swift advances to pin the enemy.
Without universal proficiency from leading officers to rank-and-file, such tactics were useless.
"...No. The very fact he trained them this well is proof of the commander's ability."
To conceive such a plan and drill his men to realize it—at just twenty-one years old.
He couldn't help recalling Alexander the Great, who at twenty-three crushed Darius III.
If even allied Jeckendorf was reeling, what must the French feel?
"Our left flank collapsed already? What the hell does that mean! Hold! Throw in the center if you have to—hold longer!"
The Duke of Berwick refused to accept reality.
Three hours.
No more, no less—just three hours.
Before they could even do anything.
The world-proud strongest French left flank had utterly crumbled into chaos and self-inflicted rout.
Of course, he hadn't just watched.
He'd pulled from the center to reinforce, advanced the right to shatter the enemy's weak formation.
"Impossible! We can't break through!"
"Reinforce the left over trying to breakthrough on the right!"
"General! Left's too late! Save the right for a counter-push!"
"Pulling the center collapses the center! General! Orders!"
"......"
With even his officers losing objective judgment and clamoring chaotically, Berwick's lips twitched.
How to explain this battle back home?
If it were an ambush or enemy ploy, he could at least blame his own folly.
But truly, he still couldn't grasp what he'd done wrong or how this happened.
His head spun, fingers trembling.
"General! At this rate, it's annihilation. We need escape routes now to save as many as possible! General!"
Shouts from soldiers and officers rang from all sides, but they sounded like distant muffled drums, not piercing his ears.
His aide Maurice de Saxe cried out in anguish, the only one keeping calm—but the supreme commander, Duke of Berwick, had lost it.
A catastrophe. One for the history books.
With the Rhine behind them, escape to the homeland meant somehow heading south, but enemy cavalry was poised to pursue.
Even this played into their hands.
"...Who is it? The enemy commander... Eugene? Was Eugene on the Rhine instead of Italy?"
"Your Grace! Pull yourself together! It's not Austrians—it's Prussians!"
"Prussians... Brandenburg mongrels humiliating mighty France like this?"
Was the shock too great? His memory returned.
That black eagle banner fluttering afar belonged to Prussia's crown prince, barely past twenty.
Forty years of glittering campaigns—from Almanza to Barcelona's siege—torn apart by a total novice's first command.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "The actual fighting wrapped up in under five hours. Enemy prisoners and casualties total over 30,000. We captured more than 100 guns, and our losses are less than a fifth of theirs."
"I thought we could've nabbed 5,000 more prisoners by using the Rhine better... First battle, so the pursuit was lacking."
Friedrich took the report calmly, turning to Jeckendorf, who gaped at the absurd victory.
"Prince Eugene told us to pin the French until Italy resolved, but it turned out like this. Still, the result's good, so no issue, right?"
He'd been told to grab their ankles, but he'd delivered a historic rout.
Even capturing and courteously escorting their commander, the Duke of Berwick.
Yet Friedrich stayed cool, reviewing the win objectively.
Luck had favored them quite a bit.
First time using the tactic meant errors here and there, plenty of unsatisfying moments.
If it hadn't been Berwick, who knew only the classics...
Against a versatile improviser like Villars, a counterattack wouldn't have surprised him.
Though they wouldn't have sallied from Philippsburg then anyway—moot point.
Unaware of Friedrich's thoughts, Jeckendorf muttered hoarsely, almost to himself.
"Of course... It's to our advantage. Can't complain."
With France's main force shattered, the road to Alsace lay wide open.
"Your Highness Friedrich... So next is Alsace?"
"We'll hit Alsace too, but first, shouldn't we evict the fools squatting in His Highness Franz's homeland without knowing their place?"
"Ah! You mean retaking Lorraine. Brilliant plan. France'll expect us in Alsace, so we can strike where they're thin again."
"Ah... Yes. Exactly. Hit 'em where it hurts. You grasped my intent perfectly."
How far ahead does this man plan?
Jeckendorf felt anew the insurmountable wall of talent he'd sensed watching Eugene long ago—deeper, richer now.
Thus, three weeks after repelling France...
The Prussian-Austrian alliance reclaimed Lorraine, spreading news of the French debacle across Europe.
From this battle onward, every front in Europe would remember the name Friedrich.