Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 096
Chapter Title: Full-Scale War (2)
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The brave, invincible French army brushed aside Austria's pitiful resistance, crossed the Rhine, and marched straight through to the Black Forest.
Marshal Adrien Noailles of the French army had this to say about the miraculous offensive.
"A lightning advance achieved through bold and preemptive assaults."
François de Franquetot, who had crossed the Alsace plains to link up with the main force, chimed in as well.
"If we couldn't produce results in a situation like this, we'd all deserve to be sacked."
Ninety thousand strong. How long had it been since such a massive force marched right up to Austria's doorstep?
If they seized Ulm, pushing on to Munich—not to mention Vienna—would be well within reach.
Should they take Vienna, they could laugh off the humiliation from the last war.
Not only would they reclaim Lorraine, but they could demand the Austrians cough up every last Alpine fortress without a peep of protest.
"General! The Austrians are digging in at Ulm."
"Send the cavalry around to cut their supply lines. And keep an eye on them—they might try crossing the river to hit our rear."
Ulm's plains were bisected north to south by a massive river, boasting length and breadth enough to accommodate tens of thousands comfortably.
Even so, with both sides fielding nearly ninety thousand troops, a head-on clash could spawn any number of variables.
Marshal Adrien allowed no such uncertainties. He stayed ever vigilant, ready to throw his full might against the enemy at any moment.
The next day, around 5 a.m.
The French vanguard, advancing along the road, ran headlong into the Austrian outpost. Combat erupted.
The cavalry, sent ahead in advance, joined the fray, and the Austrians fled in rout, abandoning even their colors. French morale soared.
At dawn, atop a low rise, Adrien surveyed the field and pierced the enemy's flaw: their line was inefficiently elongated.
"A formation that stretched like that means the right flank can't support the left if it's attacked."
"Yes, sir. And their left is right up against the riverbank—tough to assault."
"Then the answer's clear. Shift our forces discreetly to the left and hammer their right flank. They mustn't catch on, of course, so I'll feint at their left myself. Meanwhile, General François, take the main body around and smash them."
"Understood."
Musketeers, sluggish on the move, couldn't reinforce the opposite flank if one collapsed.
This was a hard lesson France had learned the previous war, getting pummeled by Prussia's Frederick.
The French had a knack for absorbing superior tactics, no matter the source—even from nations they'd dismissed as inferior.
Line infantry formations were no different.
Through years of grueling study and drills, Adrien had mastered the tactic—not perfectly, but convincingly enough.
That confidence let him embrace a decisive battle where everything was on the line.
Just like Rome, beaten bloody by Hannibal yet learning and avenging itself in the end.
In the final tally, the Kingdom of France would triumph.
Time to repay the humiliation in full.
Adrien was utterly convinced. Victory was certain.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ François de Franquetot, tasked with striking the enemy's main force, executed a stealthy flanking maneuver. About three hours later...
Adrien paraded a small detachment before the Austrian left, deploying his cavalry to feign pressure.
At the same instant, François's main body materialized on the Austrian right.
They unfurled line formations and charged.
"The enemy main force is pulling back!"
"Signal the center! Advance in sync with the left flank's push!"
Taking in both armies' movements at a glance, François felt a near-certainty.
The enemy was thrown by the sudden reinforcements on this flank.
Their center was already yielding ground, leaving their right exposed and floundering.
"Full advance!"
"Open fire on any unit in range! Artillery, give full support!"
The French charged like they were paying back Frederick in spades.
The Austrians faltered, retreating steadily.
François envisioned clipping one wing, then encircling the lot—just as Frederick had done.
That instant.
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
"Argh!"
"Incoming fire! Enemy volley!"
The French vanguard, advancing at a safe distance, crumpled in droves.
"Ambush? Enemy ambush!"
"You idiots! I said watch the flanks!"
François barked reflexively, but this was open plain. Gentle rises, sure, but no cover for a large force.
By the time that thought hit, horrific gunfire roared again.
Advancing troops fell like leaves in a gale.
"Aaaagh!"
"Fire! Austrian fire!"
"Where from? Where the hell are they shooting from?!"
Wide-eyed, the French spotted the shooters: distant Austrian lines.
"D-don't panic! Just a lucky hit. Just..."
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
"Gaaah!"
"General! We can't close! They're firing from impossible range—with pinpoint accuracy!"
"What... what the..."
The Austrians, who moments ago had been recoiling, now aimed and fired with impunity.
The issue was range.
French Charleville muskets topped out at about 50 toises—100 meters. The enemy was firing from easily double that.
A 2.5-fold effective range gap? A fit man sprinting flat-out needed 15 seconds to close it halfway. Marching in formation? Thirty seconds, minimum.
Stand there eating lead for half a minute?
Bang-bang-bang!
"Argh! General! Orders!"
"How are they reloading so fast?!"
"Even their rate of fire? Must be seeing things..."
No illusion.
Their volleys came palpably faster, deadlier.
Austrian elite marksmen, all drill-perfect? Unlikely.
"Our left flank! It's buckling!"
"No... no!"
Ignoring François's desperate cry, the left crumbled.
They'd stacked their best against the Austrian right. If it gave, the line would collapse.
Cannon fire? Useless against the bullet storm. No favorable exchange rate.
Visibly, eight to ten hundred French down for every four or five Austrians.
"A-advance! Push forward somehow..."
"Aaagh! Fuck off!"
"You want to advance? Go die first! We're just targets out there!"
Thunderous cracks split the air.
Bullets of impossible range and power shredded flesh, spraying blood.
Thud-thud-thud.
Corpses piled like mountains.
The front ranks, full of victory's fire.
The cavalry, wheeling for gaps.
Even the reinforcements rushed in desperation.
Before such overwhelming range and firepower, none struck back. They were just meat.
The slaughter dragged on. Massacre.
This wasn't battle. It was extermination.
💥 DEFEAT 💥 The word François never dreamed of—thirty minutes prior—flooded his mind.
"N-no... This is their front yard!"
Collapse here meant more than defeat.
Having reached Ulm, retreat meant trekking the dense Black Forest, then crossing the Rhine to Alsace.
Without strength to counter pursuers... return was iffy.
Officers could gallop away. But cannons? Ninety thousand troops?
"This... can't be. They had guns this superior—why hold back till now...?"
Denial shattered. Epiphany struck François.
"All... for this...?"
Austria let them cross the Rhine unhindered.
Sloppy raids until the Black Forest.
Retreat after every skirmish loss.
All to stage this slaughter.
From French left collapse to right-wing rout: barely an hour.
Adrien, spurring to the left, stared aghast at the annihilation.
"What... am I seeing? Tell me it's a nightmare."
"Marshal..."
"Not... not over yet..."
"Retreat, sir! Save who we can. Order all right-flank units to fall back!"
Sacrifice left and center as shields. Salvage right and cavalry.
Cold logic. Adrien squeezed his eyes shut and wheeled his horse.
"Retreat... Retreat! Clear the field—all of you!"
No orderly withdrawal possible. No orders needed.
Adrien and François bolted without looking back.
With France crushed, Bavaria and the Palatinate? Obvious.
Annihilated.
Munich falls to Austria. They'll swarm the Rhine, trampling French soil.
Even such foresight fled the fleeing officers' minds.
They craved only escape.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The battle, from dawn, wrapped up past 1 p.m.
Not fierce protracted fighting.
Just three extra hours handed to the enemy for prep.
The clash itself ended just over an hour in.
"General! Most enemy officers have fled."
"Already? Quick, aren't they."
"Pursuing, but capturing their generals looks tough."
"They learned from the last war, eh? One skill they've honed: fleeing without a backward glance once defeat sets in."
Doesn't change abandoning their men as bait.
Eyeballing it, casualties and prisoners wiped out over half their force in one go.
Annihilation so total, "rout" feels generous.
Zero cannon recovery? Catastrophic.
France was done.
Conscript all you want—threefold range gap, all their guns? City defenses? Laughable.
"General! A great victory! One for the history books!"
"Indeed. Send word to Vienna. Joseph should be smashing Bavaria and heading here by now. Rest the troops till then. Once his force arrives, we cross the Rhine together."
Enemy main force obliterated. Time to ravage France at will.
"Your Highness Franz, we can keep our promise."
We can let you hold the coronation... no, victory treaty at Versailles.
Force march now: four weeks. Five at most.
No obstacles barred the road to Paris.