Chapter 191: Members of the Grand Army (4)
Chapter 191: Members of the Grand Army (4)
“Soldier, are you injured anywhere?”
“No, sir.”
“Unit?”
“Corporal Pavlovich, 72nd Infantry Regiment.”
“Age?”
“Forty-two this year.”
“Place of origin?”
“Syzran.”
“Syzran? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a small rural village near Kazan.”
“Hm. Kazan, you say. Go wait over there for now.”
The officer jerked his chin toward the area where other soldiers had gathered. Pavlovich trudged over, stamped his boots a few times on the ground, and sat down.
Looking around, everyone nearby either stared blankly into the air or buried their heads toward the ground. The shock of the previous day’s events must have been too great.
“What happens if we can’t board that ship?”
“What else? The French will drag us around like Hector.”
“Sniff… Mom… Grandma… I want to go home…”
Among them, the older soldiers spoke grim stories that sent chills down one’s spine, while a young soldier who looked barely twenty buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
Time passed in gloomy silence.
At last an officer approached carrying a pen and a stack of papers.
“Attention!”
“Attention!”
“The following soldiers will board the ship when their names are called. Vladimir of the 60th Infantry Regiment…”
One by one.
Each time the officer called a name, someone beside Pavlovich stood up and boarded the ship. Gradually, the number of men sitting nearby dwindled.
But there was something strange.
Not a single soldier with bandages had been allowed to board.
“Next… Pavlovi—”
“Excuse me, officer?”
“Do you have a question, soldier?”
One soldier with a bandage over his left eye raised his hand.
“Well… none of the wounded have boarded yet.”
“Ah. That.”
“Yes, sir. I just thought maybe—”
The officer rolled his quill between his fingers for a moment.
“Name.”
“Nikolai, 70th Infantry Regiment.”
“…I’m sorry, but you are not on the list.”
“W-what do you mean?”
“Officer! Are you abandoning us?!”
A soldier with a bandaged arm jumped up and shouted. The officer’s brow creased slightly.
“Abandon? Mother Russia does not abandon her soldiers.”
“Then take us with you!”
“Do not worry. After prisoner negotiations we will retrieve you.”
“That means you’re abandoning us!”
“Take us too!”
“If we must die, we want to die in our homeland!”
“Enough nonsense. Wounded soldiers remain behind. Only those with sound limbs will board.”
Now the wounded all stood up, veins bulging in their necks.
“Let us board!”
“I don’t want to die here!”
“You insolent dogs! Silence! How dare you challenge a noble!”
Noble.
The moment that magical word left his mouth, fear flickered across the wounded soldiers’ eyes.
“I—I didn’t mean—”
“From this moment on, anyone who disobeys will be considered as rejecting the social order!”
The feudal ideas drilled into their heads since birth were powerful enough to overcome even the instinct to survive.
Five thousand.
Five thousand men who could return to their miserable log cabins back home.
Seven thousand lay cold on the battlefield, and another thousand were missing.
That meant seven thousand would remain on French soil.
“Soldiers from Saint Petersburg and Moscow have been prioritized for boarding.”
“If we want to farm next year, we need men with healthy bodies. At most we can allow lightly wounded. Severely wounded must never be taken.”
“That is correct. Even if we force them onto the ships, they will simply waste away and die during the Rasputitsa.”
The war was over.
Now they had to think about what came next.
With reparations looming, how much food and supplies would be consumed by disabled veterans if they returned to backward Russia?
Thus the unlucky soldiers who had been struck by stray bullets or blades—those wrapped in bandages around their heads or limbs—not only suffered their injuries but also lost the chance to return home.
“Bastards! May a storm swallow you on the way!”
“Filthy landlords!”
Around seven thousand Russian soldiers left behind in Vecchio cursed the five frigates disappearing beyond the horizon.
“Chaaaarge!”
“Surrender! Don’t shoot! We’re wounded! We have no weapons!”
“The enemy has surrendered. Their weapons were all loaded onto the ships. They are completely unarmed.”
“Is that so? Then shall we step into the conquered city?”
With the sound of hooves striking stone, Napoleon entered Vecchio.
“…We’re all dead.”
“Why?”
“You think Buonaparte will spare us? We burned his house and sided with Paoli.”
“Whistle! Whistle! Corsicans there! Gather in the square! The commander orders it!”
“Look at that. Why else would they gather us? They’re going to execute us all!”
Many of those gathered in Vecchio had come from Ajaccio and other regions. They were the most radical Corsican independence supporters.
And if Buonaparte wished to hand Corsica cleanly to France, there would never be a better opportunity.
“Let’s go. If we must die, let us die as Corsicans.”
The Corsicans clenched their lips and gathered in the square.
Leaving wounded soldiers behind while only taking the healthy ones.
Could that even be called an army?
In the modern era a head of state would be dragged out, pelted with eggs and insults, and impeached for something like that.
But perhaps it was only fitting for the chaotic, pre-modern eighteenth century.
Still, next time I must bring that steam carriage on the ship.
The distance from Ajaccio to Vecchio was dozens of kilometers. Riding a horse for an entire day nearly shattered my tailbone.
I’m only twenty-two. I can’t already be suffering from hemorrhoids.
Maybe I should invent a donut cushion with a hole in the middle and sell it…
“You’ve arrived, Your Excellency. The commander is waiting.”
Guided by an officer, I entered the former Vecchio mayor’s office that Napoleon was using temporarily.
“You’re here.”
“I just rode a long distance, and a mere brigadier greets me so casually.”
“Come. Let’s go to work.”
“I’ve been on horseback all day. How about letting me rest a little first?”
“Time is gold. Gold.”
Cold-blooded bastard.
Why did I ride all the way from the comfortable rear lines for this in the first place?
Napoleon begged and begged me to come because he needed me for the “show” he was planning.
And as a man steeped in Confucian virtue, I, Guillaume de Toulon, generously agreed.
Yet instead of learning such generosity, he works me like the yellow ox of Prime Minister Hwang Hui’s household.
“Finished insulting me?”
“Yeah. That should do.”
“Good. Support me properly.”
“Just worry about speaking well.”
Together we walked toward the square packed with people.
“Corsicans!”
The twenty-four-year-old young general Napoleon stood with his hands behind his back and shouted to the crowd.
“Do you recognize me?”
Hostile eyes stared back in silence.
“As you know, I am Napoleon Bonaparte.
I know what you are thinking. Traitor Bonaparte. French puppet Bonaparte. Or perhaps Bonaparte the grim reaper who will send you to the afterlife.”
He paused.
“Perhaps all of those things are true.”
Still the square remained silent.
“As that Bonaparte, there is something I wish to give you.”
The Corsicans swallowed nervously.
Surely his bullets would soon pierce their chests.
Instead Napoleon drew the pistol at his waist and placed it on the ground before them.
“…?!”
Everyone stared blankly at the pistol.
“If any of you wish to shoot the cursed Bonaparte, here is my chest.”
The young Corsican general smiled.
“Shoot. The Bonaparte you hate stands here.”
“W-what…?”
As confusion spread across the crowd, another man stepped forward beside him.
“I am Guillaume de Toulon, the Finance Minister of the French Revolutionary Kingdom, whom you also despise. My chest is here as well. Shoot if you wish.”
“G-Guillaume?”
“That can’t be! Why would Guillaume be here?”
“If you don’t believe it, pull the trigger.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds.
Napoleon spoke again.
“Corsicans. Why did we seek independence?
Because Genoa oppressed us and discriminated against us.
I too am a Corsican. I speak your language, eat your food, and grew up on the same land.”
“Then why betray us?!”
“Betrayal? I never betrayed Corsica. You betrayed me.
You burned the house of Buonaparte and followed Paoli blindly.
And what has Corsica become as a result?
You tried to serve Britain, and when that failed you sought to serve Russia. Is that independence?
Look outside. Ten thousand corpses lie there—French, Russian, and Corsican alike.”
He paused.
“Are you still certain you are right?”
Silence.
“Is living under Britain or Russia truly the right path?”
Still silence.
“France has embraced even the Black people of the West Indies as brothers after the Revolution. We have welcomed exiles who lost their countries.”
“I promise you this. France will never discriminate against the Corsicans and will respect your will.”
“And why should we believe you?”
I turned toward the voice.
“Because the freedom, equality, and fraternity we proclaim belong to everyone.”
Now choose.
Shoot us and live as dogs of Britain and Russia.
Or embrace us as brothers.
Fortunately, the Corsicans were intelligent people.
“Brother, are you insane? Why did you throw that pistol? We could have died!”
“Relax. The chamber was empty.”
Damn it…
You could have told me that beforehand.
At this rate I’m going to die of stress before anything else.