Chapter 175: Sleeping Lions (5)
Chapter 175: Sleeping Lions (5)
Versailles National Guard Headquarters.
“This is the expected invasion route of the Russian Imperial Army. If the Holy Roman Empire grants them passage, then just like the previous war with Prussia, their first objective will be Alsace–Lorraine. The second objective will be Meuse–Argonne. The third will be Verdun–Reims.
Depending on the size of the enemy forces, approximately thirty thousand—”
Everyone attending the meeting watched in silence as one of the staff officers tapped the large wall map with a wooden pointer.
Members of the Plain faction. Members of the Mountain faction. And me.
However, among everyone present, only a handful truly understood the words coming out of the staff officer’s mouth, or what the scattered pieces arranged across the map actually meant.
“Excuse me, Major? Could you explain that one more time?”
“Yes, Representative. First, the Nancy regional militia—”
“I see… I see.”
“Do you understand any of that?”
“No.”
Now I understood why Representative Robespierre had once pushed so hard for that suspicious policy of appointing some sort of political commissioner back during the Trier days.
Just look at the two leaders themselves—Robespierre and Sieyès. One was a lawyer, the other a priest. Both were far removed from military affairs and practical command.
They could not tell whether the units shown on that map were rebellious forces trying to overthrow Paris or actual guardians defending France. They did not know what military logistics, supply chains, firepower, or artillery batteries were even for.
Instead of feeling reassured, they only felt fear.
The revolutionary government had shed the shell of absolute monarchy only four years earlier. As a newborn regime, every minute and every second must feel unfamiliar.
To dispel this anxiety, the parties needed former soldiers or people deeply knowledgeable in military affairs.
But it would take considerable time before people from such diverse professions entered the Assembly.
“I trust this does not mean you expect me to remove my uniform, Director.”
“I’m simply saying that the situation is what it is. Other than Commander Lafayette, who else could calm the National Guard without complaint? Dumouriez?”
“Hmph. It would have been nice if someone hadn’t made the defense budget so tight.”
“If that had happened, the National Guard’s standard weapons next year would probably be bows and arrows. Should I bring you a biography of Genghis Khan? If we’re going to use bows and spears instead of guns next year, perhaps we should benchmark the great conqueror in advance—”
“Enough, enough. Fine. I surrender, Director.”
After the briefing ended, Commander Lafayette met me and raised both hands in defeat.
“What’s wrong, Commander? If you want, I can even send a trade ship all the way to Mongolia to obtain them. Seeing how considerate I am of others really proves I’m a good person.”
“Let us end the tragic tale of the miserly Controller-General and the unfortunate soldier unable to secure funding through politics, and speak of Russia instead. The British are lending us their fleet?”
“More precisely, only the Mediterranean Fleet stationed in Toulon.”
“…I see.”
Lafayette leaned back deeply in his chair and paused.
“To be honest… it irritates me.”
“What does?”
“The British wandering freely through French territory.”
“It isn’t exactly pleasant.”
“Damn it. If those naval officers hadn’t deserted their country and fled for their own safety, we would not be in this situation.”
The moment Lafayette finished speaking, someone beside me sighed deeply.
“Indeed, Lafayette.”
“Admiral de Tréville. Is the French Navy truly so short of personnel that it cannot even stop a single Russian fleet?”
“The cadets who entered the Naval Academy after the Revolution have only just reached their second year. We cannot send those young sprouts to their deaths.”
Admiral Louis Latouche-Tréville, commander of the National Guard’s naval forces, shook his head with a troubled expression.
In truth… things were already fortunate enough.
If not for him—who possessed real combat experience as commander of the French Mediterranean Fleet, commander of the Channel Fleet, and chief of staff of the expeditionary fleet during the American War of Independence—the French Navy might have vanished entirely beyond the River Styx.
Eighty percent of the old naval officers had disappeared. Many sailors had already left the service and joined merchant ships simply to survive. Meanwhile, many instructors at the Naval Academy were royalists.
The school’s curriculum had to be rebuilt. The fleets had to be reorganized.
At the same time, France still had to defend the West Indies—its lifeline and most valuable colonial region.
They squeezed every available ship to escort merchant vessels.
As a result, the homeland fleet that should have deployed to the North Sea, the English Channel, and the Mediterranean barely managed to maintain its vessels at naval ports.
“If fighting breaks out in the Mediterranean… the French Navy can deploy exactly one ship of the line. If we strip down the crew and scrape together every available sailor, perhaps one frigate as well.”
“That’s rather dizzying.”
If they rejected Britain’s proposal, they would have to fight the Russian army after it landed on French soil.
“No matter how careful we are, civilian casualties will be unavoidable.”
“They burned people alive in Poland—the land they claimed as their own. Who knows what barbarities they will commit in France, which they cannot even claim as theirs? Civil administration operations? More likely looting, arson, and rape.”
But if they accepted Britain’s proposal, France would suffer the humiliation of relying on foreign help to defend its own territory.
“Most officers will harbor resentment. It could develop into distrust toward the government.”
“Even gathering troops from across the nation will spark rumors. It was fortunate that the Director opened those public consultation offices earlier. Without them, chaos would have erupted already.”
War could be won. Victory was possible.
Although the navy had weakened, the French army was still among the strongest in Europe.
Yet both commanders of the National Guard knew how difficult the aftermath of victory could be.
A shadow fell over their faces.
Damn it. At this rate, everyone would fall into depression before the war even began.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
I filled my palms with air and clapped loudly.
Half air, half sound. Quite satisfying.
“Come now, lift your spirits. The Russian army still has a very long way to go before reaching France.”
“Do you have an idea, Director?”
“Let’s eliminate the worst possibilities one by one.”
First—civilian deaths. Absolutely unacceptable.
Of course, if such a tragedy occurred, hatred toward Russia would strengthen support for the revolutionary government.
But as a fellow Frenchman—and as someone with the sensibilities of a twenty-first-century person—I could not tolerate it.
“It is far better for us to be criticized than for our citizens to be killed by Russian bullets.”
“Some might argue that creating instability could be even worse.”
“I never said we would quietly accept criticism.”
“Then what?”
The power of the press was immense.
Especially now, when media consisted solely of printed paper rather than television, newspapers, and the internet.
Public opinion could be shaped far more easily.
Did not the American Revolution—and even this Revolution—begin with pamphlets essentially shouting, ‘Citizens! Isn’t life miserable?!’
“If <Forbes> runs a front-page article praising the government’s diplomatic achievements, public resentment would decrease considerably.”
“…Are you suggesting we deceive the public?”
“How is that deception? From a certain perspective, it is the truth.”
Was this outcome not the result of my negotiations with the British Prime Minister? Well… a few details were omitted, but that hardly counted as a lie.
“I’m not suggesting we do it immediately. Only if the scenario Commander Lafayette fears actually happens.”
“What about the soldiers’ morale? The public might be persuaded by the press, but what about the troops?”
“If we fight the Russian army, where will the battlefield likely be?”
“Probably… near Corsica.”
“And who will command?”
“The regional commander of Toulon is Brigadier General Bonaparte. He will most likely take command.”
“You see? There is nothing to worry about.”
“What do you mean?”
A man who used media manipulation to become an emperor surely could handle a few soldiers.
Kingdom of the French Revolution, Toulon.
National Guard Army Regional Command.
Every morning before attending the regular meeting, the young officer looked into the mirror while grooming himself.
Today again, he smiled at the perfectly shaved line of his jaw.
“Hmm, hmm~ hmm~.”
What a beautiful day.
Birds were chirping. Flowers were blooming.
And the golden epaulettes on his shoulders were shining brilliantly.
Ever since he had gained his star rank, life had changed.
At the military academy, he had been endlessly busy.
Writing notes, organizing lectures, barely eating breakfast, barely sleeping.
But now that he was Brigadier General of the National Guard and Regional Commander of Toulon, he tried to maintain the dignity expected of a general.
Recently, during an inspection of the night watch, he noticed a private dozing off.
Instead of scolding him, he simply stood beside the soldier until he woke up.
If Guillaume had been in Napoleon’s position, that reckless fellow would probably have shouted at the exhausted soldier immediately.
In the past, he had lacked money even to repair his clothes.
Now, when attending local social gatherings, he stood confidently and spoke loudly.
Even if something irritated him during the day, he would relax in the warm bath prepared in advance at the officer’s residence.
Then he would laugh and say to himself:
“Who am I?
Brigadier General of the National Guard—Napoleon Bonaparte! Hahaha!”
Perhaps that was why people said position shapes the person.
After enjoying his daily moment of self-admiration, Napoleon opened the door of the residence with the dignified composure of a general.
During the short walk to headquarters, he watched soldiers marching and training in formation and smiled with satisfaction.
“General, you’re awake?”
“Yes. Did you and your comrades sleep well?”
“Hehe. Yes, sir!”
“Good. Remember that rest is also part of training and battle.”
After exchanging a few encouraging words with the soldiers he passed, Napoleon slowly climbed the stairs to headquarters and entered the meeting room.
“Well then, did everyone sleep well last night?”
“Yes, General!”
“General.”
What a delightful word.
This was the taste of promotion.
His entire body trembled with pleasure, though he tried to appear composed as he sat in the commander’s seat and reviewed the weekly reports.
“…That concludes the weekly report, General.”
“Ah, that reminds me. Guillaume—that fellow. No, the Controller-General has returned to France?”
“Yes, General. A letter addressed to you arrived this morning. It appears to be from the Controller-General.”
“As expected, General—you truly are the Controller-General’s closest friend!”
“Ahem, ahem. Enough flattery… give it here.”
Guillaume. Even though they had not seen each other for two years, their bond as academy classmates remained strong.
Napoleon broke the seal and slowly read the letter.
Hmm. It began with greetings.
Oh? It seemed business was going well in England.
Perhaps when he visited Paris later, he could bring back some wine.
…What is this?
This—this is a bomb!
“You… you bastard!!”
Napoleon screamed.
Boom.