Episode 114: What Do We Fight For? (3)
Episode 114: What Do We Fight For? (3)
Mid-June, 1791.
Eastern Kingdom of France, Marne Department.
Valmy.
What you need in battle is to increase the moves you can make, and restrict the moves your opponent can make.
The stylish uniforms they had worn until just recently in Paris to flirt with young ladies were stuffed into their packs, and the soldiers traded them for shovels, pickaxes, and shabby work clothes.
Tens of thousands of able-bodied men rolled up their sleeves and began changing, piece by piece, the wide land that would soon become the battlefield—into something different from the enemy’s map.
“Men, burn the windmill! Smash anything they could use as a landmark! Move!”
“Yes!”
Under the National Guard commander’s orders, the huge wooden windmill on Valmy’s hill went up in flames with a crackle.
“Stomp it out!! Clear even the wreckage so it doesn’t smoke! Anyone who drags their feet, I’ll beat you until you come to your senses today!”
“Yes!”
While soldiers and non-commissioned officers worked in a frenzy, Marquis de Lafayette and the officers stared grimly at the map inside the village church they were using as headquarters.
“They won’t want to fight facing the sun, so they’ll cut in from the north.”
“““Yes, Commander!”””
Red pieces slowly descended from the north of Valmy.
“Amiens Regiment, hold the high ground with the Bionne River on your right. If that breaks, the main force is annihilated. Regimental commander—can you do it?”
“No matter what happens, the Amiens Regiment will defend the high ground to the last man, Commander.”
“Good.”
A blue piece climbed onto the right-hand hill at Valmy.
“General Kellermann.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“I’ll send you signals as the battle develops, so stand by with the reserve at Cohière.”
“I will obey your orders, Commander.”
Two blue pieces took position behind Valmy, at Cohière.
“All regimental commanders, ensure your batteries have ample reserve rounds and can prepare for a long-range artillery duel.”
“““Yes, Commander!”””
This time, blue pieces split and climbed in parallel onto the two hills facing Valmy’s front.
“I will personally command Valmy’s central force. May God’s protection be upon everyone. Amen.”
“““Amen.”””
Dozens of men crossed themselves at once.
All that remained was to wait for the enemy to arrive.
“You said the enemy commander is a man named Lafayette?”
“Yes, Commander-in-Chief.”
“Hah. That Lafayette—he’s not just some greenhorn. He didn’t beat the British by luck.”
Click.
The Duke of Brunswick said it as he folded up his telescope.
The French had yielded terrain suited for defense—the Meuse River and the Argonne Forest—just to draw the Prussian army deep inside.
And the price the Prussians paid for swallowing the Meuse and the Argonne was now rolling in waves before the Duke of Brunswick’s eyes.
The windmill they had planned to use for landmarks and hand signals was gone without a trace, and French cannon on the hills glittered in the sunlight.
“Have you roughly determined how many enemies have gathered, adjutant?”
“Yes. According to the scouts’ report, approximately seventy thousand, Your Grace.”
“Seventy thousand…”
Seventy thousand enemy troops. That meant it was no exaggeration to say half of France’s standing army was gathered here.
The Duke of Brunswick handed the folded telescope to his adjutant.
“We have sixty-four thousand, so it’s worth having a good, blazing fight. Adjutant, bring Lieutenant Colonel Blücher.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
A short while later, the adjutant brought a cavalry lieutenant colonel with an impressive mustache to the commander-in-chief.
Wearing the shiny leather boots typical of cavalry, the lieutenant colonel snapped up a salute with a loud shout.
“Salute to Commander-in-Chief Duke of Brunswick! I heard Your Grace summoned me!”
“You came quickly, Lieutenant Colonel Blücher.”
“When the duke who built Prussia alongside King Frederick the Great calls, of course I must come quickly!”
“Mm…”
The Duke of Brunswick let out a short groan—he could not get used to that fiery temperament, if nothing else.
But no one surpassed Blücher in handling cavalry, so despite his damnable nature, the Duke of Brunswick spoke to him.
“Lieutenant Colonel Blücher. When I drive back the enemy’s right wing with infantry along the Bionne Riverbank and give the signal, you will lead the cavalry and strike the hill on the enemy’s left. I leave the timing of the charge to your judgment.”
“I will obey!”
“Good. You may go.”
“Yes, Commander-in-Chief!”
Left alone in the tent, the Duke of Brunswick slowly swept over the map again.
“Seventy thousand…”
Seventy thousand enemies before his eyes. In other words, everywhere else in France would be weaker defended.
“King Frederick the Great—this nephew will lead Prussia to victory again.”
All preparations were complete.
The Prussian commander-in-chief quietly lifted the cross at his neck and kissed it.
Boom! Kwa-boom! Boom!
“Hey! Water!! Bring water! Cool the barrel!! If we keep firing like this, it’ll burst!”
“Yes, Corporal!”
“Ram it with the rod!”
“Ram it!!”
“……Acrid.”
“It’s been an artillery duel for two straight hours, so that’s to be expected, sir.”
“Damn it. At this rate, we won’t even be able to see the enemy through the smoke.”
The commander of the Amiens Infantry Regiment spoke with a pipe stuck in his mouth.
The distance between the Argonne Forest hill where the enemy had set up batteries and Valmy Hill was 2.5 km—far too distant for either side to score quick, meaningful hits.
Even so, what else could they do? Even one or two rounds that happened to land in the enemy position would be profit.
“Sir! The water stockpiled at the battery has run out!”
“Is that so? Detail soldiers to fetch water from the Bionne River.”
“Yes, sir!”
The non-commissioned officer nodded, selected soldiers, and went down the slope carrying empty buckets in both hands.
“Now, hurry and draw it. Execute.”
“““Yes, Sergeant.”””
The soldiers plunged the buckets into the river in one motion and quickly hauled them up.
“Ah—ah!”
“You idiot bastard! One’s floating away! Go get it, now!”
“Ack! Yes—yes! Sorry!”
After taking a smack to the back of the head, the private hurried after the bucket drifting away.
With splashing sounds, he waded to midstream and grabbed the bucket, then turned to look toward the riverbank.
In that instant—
“Uh…?”
“Äh?”
“Enemy!!”
“Feind!”
“Rifles up! Fire!”
“Feuer!!”
Tatatang!!
Tatatang!!
The soldiers who had come down to draw water ran into a Prussian detachment creeping carefully toward the riverbank.
“Raise the red flag! Tell the main force we’re engaged with the enemy!”
“Yes, sir!”
An officer of the Amiens Infantry Regiment hurriedly lowered the blue flag and raised the red flag on the pole.
“Everyone except the artillerymen at the batteries—fix bayonets and secure the riverbank. Bandmaster?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Play that new piece the Finance Minister gave us—make it damn good. The one by that famous fellow called Ludwig van Beethoven. If we go, we go with honor and style.”
“Yes, sir!”
The bandmaster bowed once and gathered the band.
“Adjutant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring me my sword from the tent.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Thanks, Adjutant. Then I’ll see you at the Panthéon.”
The regimental commander of the Amiens Infantry Regiment bared a grin and spoke to the officers and soldiers beside him.
“Men of my Amiens Infantry Regiment.”
“““Yes, sir!”””
“Prussian Hun bastards are swarming up the riverbank. We caught one from the detachment and questioned him—he said it’s the Brunswick Grenadier Jäger Regiment. Right. The same bastards who massacred our French army at Krefeld twenty years ago.”
“““……”””
Tension flickered through the soldiers’ eyes.
“I know you’re afraid. I know. But behind us are twenty-seven million Frenchmen. Didn’t the Finance Minister say we should fight for the people themselves? If we get pushed back, the people are in danger. Am I wrong?”
“““You’re right, sir!”””
“Men! Who are we?!”
“““The people’s shield—the National Guard!”””
“The regimental commander will stand in front! Today, not a single one of those Prussians will cross this hill! Long live the National Guard! Vive la nation! Vive le peuple! Vive la révolution!”
“Vive la nation! Vive le peuple! Vive la révolution!”
The Amiens Infantry Regiment drew their swords, raised their bayonets high, and shouted.
“Bandmaster! Start the song the Finance Minister gave us—now!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Men! You all remember the lyrics, right? There are no idiots in my regiment!”
“““Yes!”””
The Amiens Regiment took positions on the hill and raised their rifles toward the riverbank.
—Do you hear it? The song of the enraged people! The cry that we will never live as slaves again!
“Sir! The enemy is in sight!”
“Front rank, aim!”
—When our hearts pound and become drums! Tomorrow will open, and a bright morning will come!
“Fire!!”
Tatatang!!
“Second rank, aim!”
—Fight together—who will stand with me! Beyond that barrier, a world we’ll enjoy for long!
“Second rank, fire!”
Tatatang!!
“They’re aiming at us, men! Hold!!”
—Come, fight with us—freedom awaits!
“Aaagh!!”
“Ugh!”
“Rear ranks, move up! Fill the gaps!”
—Give your life, raise the flag, and advance! Living or dead, advance forward! With the blood of martyrs, dye the homeland!
“The Hun bastards are coming up!!”
“Regiment! Prepare for bayonet fighting!”
—Do you hear it? The song of the enraged people! The cry that we will never live as slaves again!
“Amiens Regiment! Thrust in!!”
“Waaaah!!”
“You bastards! Not a single one gets through!!”
—When our hearts pound and become drums! Tomorrow will open, and a bright morning will come!
Mid-June, 1791.
France–Netherlands border.
Émigré Royalist Army.
“Lafayette and Kellermann are dealing with the Prussians—is that true?”
“Yes, Count of Artois.”
“Then what—there won’t even be proper forces left to block us! Hahahaha!”
The Count of Artois laughed loudly.
Would there really be any National Guard left in Paris and Reims to stop ten thousand elite troops? No. At most, one or two regiments. The Count of Artois found it hilarious.
“So—what was the name of the one guarding Paris and Reims instead of Lafayette?”
“Yes, Count. Guillaume de Toulon, Finance Minister, and a colonel named Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“……I know who Guillaume is, but I’ve never heard of this Bonaparte.”
“According to our informants, he’s a fast-tracked promotee who caught Lafayette’s eye.”
“Hah. How old is he?”
“Twenty-two this year.”
“Hahahaha! A greenhorn, isn’t he?! God hasn’t abandoned our Bourbons after all! All forces—move toward Paris!”
Napoleon-whatever—smash that bastard, capture Guillaume, and this war is over.
The Count of Artois couldn’t stop laughing.