Chapter 182: Corsica (5)
Chapter 182: Corsica (5)
“Hehehe! It is an honor to serve Your Excellency! In the name of Horatio Nelson, I will ensure you experience not the slightest inconvenience! …So if it would not be too presumptuous, the next time you visit London, perhaps you might mention my name just once to the Lords of the Admiralty…”
The fleet commander kept rubbing his hands together and grinning obsequiously whenever he had the chance.
“Guaaah!! This tastes good!!”
And the man introduced as his adjutant—First Lieutenant Allison—had already emptied three bottles of wine today alone.
This is the Royal Navy?
Even to someone like me who knows absolutely nothing about naval warfare, they looked less like a proper navy and more like a bunch of freeloading gluttons.
Should I just climb aboard Villeneuve’s flagship up ahead right now and say, “Well… after thinking about it, Captain, I suppose you were right. We should run before we get sunk at sea”?
Somehow it felt like hanging alone from a cliff.
Soon a black lion would approach me, shout Long live Guillaume, pry my fingers loose, send me falling to my death, and then found the Greater France–Serengeti Republic together with the hyenas…
While I was stuffing this nonsense into my head, a sailor approached Nelson and reported.
“Fleet Commander! The lead ship HMS Trowbridge has sent a boat over!”
“Trowbridge? Did Captain Colloden send it?”
“Yes, it seems so.”
“Bring them up.”
Not long afterward, several officers climbed up the side of the Agamemnon, gripping the ropes.
“Fleet Commander, the reconnaissance ship reports that many of the enemy vessels have been spotted near the neutral Italian Republic of Genoa.”
“The scale?”
“Fewer than twenty ships of the line. No auxiliary vessels in sight.”
“So they plan to keep their main force safely inside port and only bring them out when fighting us?”
“That would appear to be the case.”
“Good. Return and inform Captain Colloden to prepare for engagement. Ah—have you encountered any enemy patrol ships?”
“We believe they are somewhere in these waters, but we have not yet encountered them.”
“Understood. I will consider for a moment and then send signals with the signal flags.”
“Yes, sir.”
After the officer from the lead ship departed, Nelson stroked his chin several times, apparently deep in thought.
“Your Excellency.”
“Yes, Nelson?”
“It would be best if you transferred to the Guillaume Tell, where Fleet Commander Villeneuve is stationed.”
“…What?”
“Once the battle truly begins, we will not be able to fight while ensuring Your Excellency’s safety. Please move to the Guillaume Tell.”
The Nelson who had been groveling moments earlier was gone.
In his place stood a soldier staring at me with determined eyes.
I had no choice but to nod.
Corsica, Ponte Nuovo.
Rustle—
The jägers of the National Guard belonging to the Toulon Regional Command, who had departed from Ajaccio, advanced eastward through the dense forest with rifles in hand.
Maintaining extreme tension so they could fire aimed shots the moment the enemy appeared, they moved step by step until the French jägers finally reached a ridge overlooking the eastern plains of the island.
“Senior Sergeant. Did you bring the telescope?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Hand it here.”
The company commander leading the jäger company raised the telescope given to him by the Senior Sergeant and began carefully surveying the eastern plain.
“Enemy numbers: between twenty thousand and thirty thousand.”
“Twenty to thirty thousand.”
“Formation: a long line across the plain.”
“Plain, line formation.”
“Artillery: roughly ten to fifteen guns.”
“Ten to fifteen.”
Each time the captain spoke, the Senior Sergeant wrote a short note on the map with his pen.
However, while the French forces took advantage of the high ground to observe the soft underbelly of the Russian army, they eventually encountered a Russian patrol scouting the area.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Это французский!”
The Russians seized the initiative and fired first. Fortunately, the Russian jägers’ bullets struck nothing but the dirt nearby.
“Enemy!”
“Take cover! Fire in sequence while retreating!”
“First platoon, fire!”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Aaagh!”
“Блядь!”
“Our goal isn’t to capture them! Fire once each and withdraw quickly!”
The jägers calmly used rocks and trees as cover, firing carefully aimed shots that dropped several green-uniformed pursuers before retreating westward like an ebbing tide.
“The Russians have formed their line on the eastern coast?”
“Yes, Commander.”
Napoleon Bonaparte, standing in the command tent studying the map, stroked his chin.
Why?
Why had the Russians chosen to form their line on open ground instead of holding a defensive position like Ponte Nuovo, where a small force could block a larger one?
If he had been the Russian commander, he would have stationed jägers along every mountain pass to prevent the enemy from advancing carelessly.
“…Rather than dragging out a slow battle, are they confident they can crush us in a decisive engagement? What was the enemy commander’s name again?”
“Field Marshal Alexander Suvorov of the Russian Empire.”
“Suvorov… Bring me Lieutenant Colonel Poniatowski.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Soon afterward, the Polish officer entered the command tent.
“What is it, Commander?”
“Lieutenant Colonel, do you know a man named Suvorov?”
The Polish officer’s face twisted violently.
“…Impossible to forget. He was the one who burned our Polish capital, Warsaw. Why do you ask?”
“Because he’s the enemy commander we’re about to face.”
“!!!”
The Polish officer strode toward Napoleon and spoke loudly.
“Commander! Let our Polish Volunteer Corps take the vanguard!”
“No. There’s no need for you to lead the vanguard.”
“Commander Bonaparte! We Poles do not fear death! Let us avenge our homeland!”
“Your cavalry is my joker. You don’t play a joker right in front of your opponent at the very beginning, do you? I will send you into battle eventually, so calm down.”
“…Understood. I allowed my emotions to get the better of me.”
Poniatowski dragged an empty chair over and sat down before speaking in a subdued voice.
“What would you like to know about Suvorov?”
“His tactics. His deployments. Everything.”
“…Hmm.”
The Polish officer rested his chin on his hand for a moment before answering.
“Perhaps… a master of maneuver.”
“A master of maneuver?”
“He favors bold offensive spirit and rapid advances. He drives infantry forward quickly, preferring bayonet charges over prolonged firefights. When he crushed our forces on the wide plains of Poland, that was the tactic he used.”
“A bold offensive spirit and rapid maneuver…”
Napoleon tapped the table with the map on it.
Bold offensive spirit… bayonet charges… rapid maneuver…
In other words: the soldiers are brave, aggressive, and physically strong.
…Something felt off.
Something just out of reach.
Napoleon reviewed once more the map provided by the jägers and the words of Poniatowski.
– Enemy strength: twenty to thirty thousand.
– Long linear formation on the plain.
– A lake protecting the left flank.
– Ten to fifteen artillery pieces.
– Skirmish with enemy jägers during patrol; inflicted casualties and withdrew without losses.
“Bold offensive spirit…”
“Advancing infantry quickly, preferring bayonet charges…”
“Crushing enemies on the plains…”
“Pétain.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Bring me the jäger company commander who went on today’s reconnaissance.”
“Yes, sir!”
The fresh-faced private hurried out of the tent and soon returned with an officer.
“You called for me, Commander?”
“You said you engaged Russian jägers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“…How good was their marksmanship?”
“…Pardon? Ah. Well… considering we took no casualties, I’d say it wasn’t very good.”
Napoleon continued.
“And how much damage did you inflict?”
“We landed about ten hits before withdrawing.”
“Ten hits while they landed none… Understood. You may go rest.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Jägers were the eyes and sharp blade of the infantry.
They received more training ammunition than even elite grenadiers and underwent constant marksmanship training. Their high pay existed precisely because training skilled jägers was difficult.
Yet…
Those jägers hadn’t hit a single shot?
A bold thought passed through Napoleon’s mind.
During the American War of Independence, British troops never launched bayonet charges first—whether facing American militia, French troops, or Native warriors.
Why?
Because they were excellent marksmen.
If you could simply shoot the enemy down from a distance, why risk uncertain hand-to-hand combat and increase casualties?
Furthermore, the Russians had anchored their left flank on a lake.
From a defensive perspective, it was a perfect natural obstacle blocking enemy attacks.
But if the Russians attempted an offensive counterattack, that same lake would obstruct their own advance.
They claimed to favor aggressive maneuver.
Then why restrict their own avenues of attack?
In line infantry tactics, grenadiers and jägers were normally placed on both flanks to expand the army’s firepower. If one wing was restricted, that elite firepower was effectively halved.
And their artillery numbers were low.
French doctrine placed great emphasis on artillery, but even for a force of twenty thousand men, at least twenty guns would normally be required.
Yet the Russians had brought barely ten.
Perhaps.
Just perhaps.
What if the Russian army was terrible—absolutely terrible—at shooting firearms?
Then everything made sense.
Their reliance on aggressive bayonet charges and maneuver existed because they would be destroyed if they stood exchanging volleys.
By concentrating their best shooters and elite troops on one wing, they tried to maximize breakthrough power.
And the small number of artillery pieces?
If they intended to close in for melee combat, friendly and enemy troops would mix together. Bringing more guns would only increase the risk of friendly fire.
Better to carry another soldier than an unused cannon.
Of course, this was still only a hypothesis born in his own mind.
It would take a light clash to confirm.
But if he was right—
Napoleon suddenly jumped to his feet, his face flushed with excitement.
“Pétain! Go outside right now and bring all the officers to headquarters immediately!”
“Yes? Ah—yes, sir!!”
“C-Commander, what suddenly—”
Lieutenant Colonel Poniatowski spoke in surprise, but Napoleon—already caught up in his excitement—did not hear him.