Chapter 197: The Empty Seat of the Little Giant (4)
Chapter 197: The Empty Seat of the Little Giant (4)
“Are you perhaps dissatisfied with your current treatment? A promotion, perhaps, or a decoration you would like to receive? Or maybe a position you desire?”
“Your Excellency! Do I, Dumouriez, look like the sort of petty man who throws tantrums like that?!”
Uh… well.
To be honest, he absolutely did look like that—but as a civilized adult who received proper upbringing, saying something like that to a man over thirty years older than me would ruin my reputation. Just look at how many people were in this office.
So I spoke gently, wearing the smile of a courteous banker.
“Ha ha. I’m not sure what’s troubling you, but it seems General Dumouriez has been suffering quite a bit internally. Why don’t you begin by telling me why you had such thoughts?”
“Discharge! I demand discharge!”
Hmm. Was I having a conversation with a person, or with a cassette tape stuck on repeat? This was completely impossible.
No matter how much I shouted ‘Sir, you can’t behave like this,’ if the other side simply lay flat on the floor saying ‘I can’t hear anything!’, there wasn’t much I could do.
Problems are solved through dialogue. If the other party is a chimpanzee, even Doctor Oh Eun-young from Our Child Has Changed could not solve the problem.
So to resolve this issue, I needed to consider what might be inside Mr. Dumouriez’s cerebral cortex right now.
Who exactly was the man shouting at the top of his lungs in front of me—Charles-François Dumouriez?
A veteran who fought in the field during the Seven Years’ War. Afterwards he served in the national counter-intelligence service—something like a staff officer in a modern intelligence command—and later rose to deputy commander of the supply command. An elite officer.
Following the proper career path, he kept being promoted until he finally earned his stars and was transferred as commander of the Nantes regional command.
Then the revolution erupted. He attached himself to the Duke of Orléans, weighed the situation between the royalists and the revolutionaries, and eventually joined our revolutionary army—like a migratory bird.
Finally, in the two wars that broke out in 1791 and 1793, he achieved defensive victories against Prussia and Spain. In the last battle in particular, he crushed the jaw of the Spanish army crossing the Pyrenees using a light infantry regiment, achieving a decisive victory.
Hmm.
Although the stain of being a political turncoat remained in his file, the fact that he had repelled the invasions of the Old Regime states twice—whether intentionally or not—meant that he was now effectively in the same boat as the revolutionary army.
Because of ability?
No. His ability had already been proven.
In RPG games, if a rogue learns a paladin’s shield throw or a priest’s healing skill instead of dagger techniques, the character becomes a ruined build with misallocated stats.
Reality is different.
Just look at job postings in the twenty-first century. Office jobs in the humanities say “prefer candidates with technical skills,” while research jobs in the sciences say “prefer candidates with humanities-style thinking.” They look for people with both sides combined like the villain Asura Baron.
I myself, a humanities guy, chose a business major because of things like that.
But this man Dumouriez had walked the elite officer course so faithfully that I almost felt grateful.
A counter-intelligence background meant he was good at catching spies. Service in supply command meant his brain worked quickly. And since he had rolled around in the field, he understood how battlefields actually functioned.
Wonderful. What an excellent slave I had obtained.
After being discharged as a mere sergeant from the South Korean Army—having seen every ugly side of incompetent generals—I could say with confidence that although this man’s character was questionable, he was definitely not one of those useless “shit-star” generals.
From the perspective of Commander Lafayette and myself, who could legally employ him, this was extremely satisfying.
The reason he had no choice but to remain in the same boat with us was not his ability.
It was the filthy realm of politics, intrigue, and betrayal.
A man who had stabbed the Old Regime in the belly three separate times—what noble of the First Estate would want to embrace him?
If such a person existed, I would gladly open a psychiatric ward for them at the Bastille Tower.
Even Lü Bu in Romance of the Three Kingdoms changed fathers three times, and when he was finally captured by Cao Cao, he tried to adopt Cao Cao as his fourth father—and lost his life for it.
So if Dumouriez fled abroad right now, would there be more nobles who wanted to cut off his head, or more who would welcome him with open arms?
I personally believed the former.
Which meant that no matter what schemes he tried behind the scenes, he was already sitting in the palm of my hand.
And since I was nominally his superior, if I decided to drop the friendly banker act and simply lie on the floor saying ‘I can’t hear anything either,’ he would have no way of forcing his will through.
“Your Excellency, please discharge me!”
“Wait a moment. I’m thinking.”
When we first met after he sold out Orléans, he seemed quite interested in rewards. If he simply stayed quiet now, promotion to lieutenant general was practically guaranteed.
So why?
Let’s see. Selling out Orléans could be explained by immediate danger to his life. Selling off his entire fortune to defend the city during his time as Nancy regional commander could also be explained by self-preservation.
Wait a second.
Why was this man stationed in Toulouse in the rear?
Considering Lafayette’s personality—someone who would squeeze every last drop out of people in the name of serving the citizens—he should have placed a man like Dumouriez right on the front lines.
Spain had been France’s long-standing ally. Their attack on us this time happened only because something went wrong in their heads. It wasn’t rational or normal.
So…
If Lafayette didn’t assign him there, it meant Dumouriez himself strongly requested the transfer to Toulouse.
A general who wanted to go to the dull rear rather than the front where achievements were easier to build.
Rare.
Hmm…
Hmm…
Charles-François Dumouriez. Corrupt, but a cowardly soul who dislikes getting hurt.
Ah. I see.
“General Dumouriez.”
“Yes?”
“Shall we take a walk? There are too many eyes here.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Guillaume! What is this nonsense? Are you running away?”
“What are you talking about, Director Condorcet? This is also state business.”
The two of us left the office and walked into the streets of Paris. It was night, but the gas lamps scattered here and there kept the streets from being too dark.
“General.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“If we understand each other, why twist your words like this?”
“…Pardon?”
“What do you mean ‘pardon’? If you simply want to live a long and quiet life, you can’t keep ignoring the call of the nation.”
“A-a long and quiet life? Ha… ha ha. For a soldier pursuing honor, that is quite the joke, Your Excellency.”
Look at that. I only poked him lightly to test a guess, and he reacted as if begging to be stabbed again.
Damn it.
I’m screwed.
That is my conclusion.
Even Cerberus, the gatekeeper of hell, must surely possess more mercy than this vicious bastard.
I rolled up my sleeves and wiped the beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
“Why are you sweating so much? It’s December—it’s not that warm.”
“Sweat? N-no, Your Excellency. Ha ha… after spending so long in the field, I developed the habit of brushing dust off my clothes.”
“Hmm. Is that so?”
Monster. Absolute monster.
Just look at the way he smirks as if he already knows everything.
No—he probably does know everything.
I already suspected it when he first appeared at the Palais-Royal, but is this really a young man barely in his early twenties? It almost feels like the spirit of the dead Richelieu is coiled inside him.
“Well, anyway. My dear General Dumouriez.”
“Yes, yes?”
“If you dislike field command, you could come to Paris. A talent like you is needed everywhere. Ha ha.”
Beep. Beep.
The political instinct sensor inside my head began sounding the alarm. The next words I spoke would determine what my retirement life would look like.
Dumouriez opened his mouth carefully.
“…I appreciate the offer, but how could someone who has already sinned against the people hold public office again? And besides, Paris is the heart of France.”
“Really? So you can’t come to Paris?”
The little devil pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and spoke.
“Did you know something, General Dumouriez?”
“Pardon?”
“Thanks to you, the land we seized from Spain in North America this time is quite large.”
Spain? North America?
“T-that seems rather far away…”
“Oh? Why are you changing your words again?”
The devil grabbed my arm and slung it around his shoulder.
“You can’t work in Paris. You can’t work in the field. So I’m recommending a nice posting for you.”
“I-if I atone by resigning—”
“What are you talking about? If you committed a crime, you repay it through work. How can you irresponsibly run away?”
Trying to escape alone, are you?
Where I grew up in Korea, when celebrities committed crimes they said they would repay society by filming more movies. Baseball players said they would repay society through performance. Politicians said they would repay society by governing better.
After hearing that nonsense on the news my whole life, Koreans are not fooled by the line “I will take responsibility and resign.”
“So what’s wrong with North America? The Mississippi River alone is enormous. And all that nature! A natural healing camp!”
“I am already quite old. Such demanding external duties would be difficult…”
—You’ll live a peaceful life in a countryside mansion. Just handle a few administrative tasks on the side. Maintain security. Manage settlers. Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?
—No. I’m not going. Stop talking nonsense.
Tsk. I didn’t want to go this far.
“You know, the other day I happened to review General Dumouriez’s personal assets.”
“…Pardon?”
“You liquidated your entire fortune to defend the enemy, and the Ministry of Finance reimbursed you for it.”
“Y-yes… that happened.”
“I was quite surprised. I didn’t realize General Dumouriez was such a skilled investor.”
“Investor?”
“Really. Accumulating that much wealth on a soldier’s salary. Quite impressive. If you retire, would you consider joining the investment company I run?”
—Uncle, this isn’t fun anymore. I already overlooked the little thing you did before. Want the Ministry of Finance to audit you properly? Once we open the account books and balance sheets, nothing stays hidden.
“Uh… uh…”
“General Dumouriez. I, Guillaume, understand propriety. North America is vast. Surely there must be a profitable mine or two there.”
—…Damn it.
—Uncle, North America has plenty of good things. Take one or two for yourself—we’ll pretend not to notice. Come on, try it.
“…Please give me time. Time to think. Time to consult with my family…”
“Of course.”
I watched Dumouriez shuffle down the street toward his home, then hailed a passing carriage.
“Where to, sir?”
“Driver, take me to the Jacobin Monastery.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Director, what brings you here?”
“Oh, I came to deliver a gift for our leader Robespierre.”
“A gift?”
“General Dumouriez—the war hero—is currently in Paris. I thought perhaps if you had questions about military matters, you might invite him and ask a few things.”
“Oh ho. We have been quite curious about military affairs lately. I should arrange a private meeting with him tomorrow. Thank you, Director.”
Heh.
You’re welcome.