Chapter 179: Corsica (2)
Chapter 179: Corsica (2)
August 1793.
Knock, knock, knock.
“General, it’s time.”
Captain Jean Lannes, battalion commander of the Toulon Regional Defense Force infantry, knocked on the door of the commander’s office at the time Napoleon had requested the night before.
“Hmm. Orderly, is the general still asleep?”
“No, sir. He woke up at seven in the morning.”
“…Really?”
“I-I’ll go inside and check again!”
The orderly, who had only recently shed his recruit status, hurriedly rose from the desk and quietly opened the commander’s office door before stepping inside.
“Um… General?”
“Ah, Private Pétain. You came in at just the right time. Which of these two uniforms do you think looks better?”
“Y-yes?”
Even if he was a superior officer—a general—how could he be picking clothes while the stern and terrifying Captain Lannes was waiting outside?
Private Pétain’s heart pounded. The memory of the weeks he had spent being drilled by Captain Lannes still lingered in every bone of his body.
“Pétain? Didn’t you hear me? Which of these two do you think looks better?”
“Uh… the one on the left suits you better!”
“Really? Why?”
Uh… well…
“The decorations are much more elaborate. They seem more fitting for a general!”
“Then I shouldn’t wear it. Thanks.”
“…What?”
He had asked for a recommendation, but then chose the plain uniform with almost no decorations instead. Was he some kind of contrarian?
Pétain tilted his head in confusion, but Napoleon’s next words snapped him back to attention.
“By the way, why did you come in?”
“Ah! Captain Lannes is waiting outside. He said it’s time…”
“Already? Hmm… Tell him to wait a little. I just need to put on my coat.”
“Yes, General.”
After Pétain left, about five minutes later Napoleon finally stepped out of the commander’s office wearing a modest uniform.
Except for the epaulettes with stars on his shoulders, his uniform looked almost identical to that of the noncommissioned officers and soldiers. Captain Lannes tilted his head.
“General… that…”
“What is it?”
“Isn’t that rather plain for a general’s uniform?”
In an era when even junior officers such as lieutenants eating with soldiers was frowned upon, a general wearing clothes little different from those of NCOs and soldiers was unusual. Lannes’s question was genuine curiosity, not mockery.
“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable too?”
“I’m just a commoner, sir. It doesn’t bother me. But I wonder whether the officers of noble background will feel the same.”
“Nobles? What nobles? In a world where all that has disappeared, I didn’t realize anyone still cared.”
Napoleon smirked.
“There’s no better bargain than capturing the hearts of many people at the cost of a few people’s discomfort.”
“…Pardon?”
Lannes asked instinctively at the strange remark, but Napoleon gave no explanation and simply walked out of headquarters.
They had served together for two years, from Amiens to here, yet Captain Lannes still could not guess even one-tenth of what went on inside that young general’s mind.
—Rise up and fight against the invaders.
—But do not fight for the government. Do not fight for the nation. Do not fight for a king or for anyone else.
—Fight not for someone else, but to defend yourselves. Fight to protect the rights of human beings.
Napoleon still could not forget the first time he saw those powerful words in a newspaper.
For the first time, soldiers were not going to the front for honor or promotion, but for the sweet reason of defending justice.
It was the first time.
His youthful blood had boiled, and he had felt an overwhelming urge to grab a rifle and run straight to the front.
For the first time, the rulers of a nation asked for cooperation instead of issuing commands. People who only a few years earlier had nearly burned the country down now rolled up their sleeves and gathered at recruitment stations.
An army that fought for a king they would never meet,
and an army that fought for themselves and their families.
An army that fought for money,
and an army that fought for values they believed in.
An army that fought expecting reward,
and an army that gathered voluntarily.
Two years earlier, on June 23, 1791, those armies clashed.
And on that day Napoleon realized something.
There was no weapon more powerful than soldiers who understood what they were fighting for.
A commander must present noble ideals, homeland, and family as the reasons to fight.
And it was fortunate that the genius who created such a weapon was not an enemy, but his friend.
“What are you looking at? Is there something on my face?”
“…Nothing.”
“What? That’s boring.”
Of course, the genius who created that terrifying weapon seemed completely unaware of what he had done. Or perhaps… he was pretending not to know.
There had been many times Napoleon had wanted to crack open Guillaume’s skull and look inside, but after those words he truly wanted to ask a doctor to do it.
If the all-powerful God that priests preached about really existed, He must have opened Guillaume’s head hundreds of times already.
Unfortunately Napoleon was not an omnipotent god, and his field was artillery rather than medicine, so he could not open Guillaume’s head himself.
A shame, really.
The most ridiculous part was that someone whose brain worked so well had no interest in sitting at the top of the world. Instead he had even abandoned the position of Finance Minister and fled to Britain.
“Hey, Guillaume.”
“What now?”
“Don’t you want to succeed in life?”
“Succeed? Haven’t I already done enough? Even now I think my position is a bit… excessive.”
“…Forget it.”
Yes. Thinking back to their school days, he had always been like that.
He would say, “Why bother with something so troublesome?” and slack off. But once someone forced a title onto his head and shoved him into the position, he would squeeze that mysterious brain of his and produce the strangest ideas imaginable.
And somehow, those strange ideas always became the catalyst that pushed events in the best possible direction.
Who would have guessed that distributing those “instant meals” to the poor would save the lives of their classmates from the Equality Club?
Someone like him should be forced to serve as lifelong Finance Minister—or better yet, Prime Minister like they had in Britain.
Put an unremovable hat on his head, tie him to a chair in an office, and he would eventually produce endless bizarre ideas.
Yes. If someone like that—who preferred to idle lazily instead of working—was not nailed into the seat of government, it would be an insult to twenty-seven million citizens.
Someday, if Napoleon himself rose to become Commander-in-Chief of the National Guard, he would make sure to seat Guillaume on the throne of administration.
“Attention!”
As each company commander shouted, the soldiers assembled on the parade ground straightened their backs and lifted their rifles.
“At ease.
Men, did you sleep well last night?”
As Napoleon raised his hand from the podium, the soldiers’ rigid tension gradually eased.
“You must all have been looking forward to the weekend. I apologize for gathering you here early in the morning.”
Several NCOs walked through the ranks, pressing the soldiers’ backs lightly with the hilts of their swords. Loud voices answered from all sides.
“No, sir!”
“I will not waste your time, so I will speak plainly.
Last month our National Guard counterintelligence unit reported that the Russian Imperial Navy has passed through the Bosporus Strait. Does anyone know what that means?”
But none of the soldiers dared answer the question posed by a man whose rank seemed as high as the sky.
“What? Not one among so many? Very well. I will ask directly. Private Pétain!”
“Y-yes, sir?!”
“What is it? Do you need time to think?”
“N-no, sir!”
Standing in the center of the formation, the orderly Pétain shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Then go ahead and tell us.”
“If they passed through the Bosporus Strait, it means the Russian forces must have come through Constantinople into the Mediterranean!”
“Well done. Reading the newspapers seems to have sharpened your mind, Private Pétain.”
“Th-thank you!”
Laughter rippled among the soldiers.
Several officers frowned, but Napoleon was satisfied.
“That’s right. As Private Pétain said, the Russian forces have entered the Mediterranean. At this very moment they are sailing somewhere in those waters, enjoying the warm Mediterranean sun near southern France—right where we stand.”
The enemy had entered the Mediterranean.
Murmurs spread across the parade ground.
Napoleon raised his hand again and continued.
“And now you and I will march to defeat them.”
“…!”
If earlier there had been murmuring, now the parade ground sounded like a bustling market.
“W-war?”
Some stammered. Some froze. Others swallowed dryly.
Napoleon watched them briefly before drawing his pistol and firing into the air.
Bang!
The sudden gunshot silenced the parade ground.
“Men, who are we?”
“….”
“Men, who are we!”
“The National Guard!”
“That’s right. The National Guard. Our mission is to defend the people—to protect the innocent.”
Napoleon began pacing slowly across the podium.
“When the Russian army lands on this soil, they will destroy the homes where our mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers live. They will plunder our golden wheat fields and drink the wine that has only just begun to mature.
Men, we stand at a great crossroads in history. Will our noble values—liberty, equality, fraternity—prevail? Or will their corrupt values—submission, exploitation, oppression—win?
And the front line of that struggle lies right here where we stand. If we fall, we will once again surrender our lives to corrupt kings. But if we win, we will finally be free!”
Every soldier held his breath.
“Men, before us lies the Mediterranean—the same sea where Scipio of Rome and Hannibal of Carthage once clashed. That witness to thousands of years of history is now watching where our boots will march.
Will we sail to Corsica, where the Russian army is stationed, and write a new chapter of history? Or will we be defeated by the stale history of the past?”
Napoleon drew his sword and raised it high.
“Men! Where must we go?!”
“Corsica!”
“Where must we go?!”
“Corsica!!”
“Where must we go?!”
“Corsica!!!”
“Show the Mediterranean—the witness of history—who the protagonists of the new age are!”
“Waaah!”
The soldiers filling the parade ground were already raising their rifles and waving them wildly.
“Guillaume, is that enough?”
“Wow. When you retire, do you want a job at our magazine?”
“Get lost!”
But his face was clearly beaming. I had no idea why he was pretending to be angry.