We Welcome American Militia Volunteers!
1775 7 26, , .
A French-flagged squadron of medium-sized ships arrived. The frigates and large corvettes loaded with military supplies and food did not dock at Boston, where the British were garrisoned, but at the civilian port seized by the militia.
"Are you truly a French army division commander?"
The commander-in-chief of the Continental Army, George Washington, was there as well.
"Precisely, I'm the director of the military doctrine research institute. But in terms of rank, it's equivalent to a field division commander."
Lafayette had gone from prisoner to volunteer army leader the moment the flotilla arrived.
"I'm truly sorry. To commit such rudeness. I have no words, even a thousand mouths wouldn't suffice."
"I understand. It's natural to doubt an eighteen-year-old general."
"Thank you for understanding. Allow me a formal introduction. I am George Washington, commander-in-chief of the Continental Army. Speak freely. You and I are both greenhorn generals. This is my first time as commander-in-chief too."
Lafayette and Washington reconciled with a single firm handshake.
"As His Majesty's letter states, there will be no direct European intervention until the Franco-British alliance is formalized. However, volunteers and supplies will continue to arrive from now on."
"That's some good news at least. The Continental Army is a ragtag bunch right now. Militiamen, plain and simple. No muskets, no uniforms, no training. We're just relying on numbers to besiege Boston... but we're getting pushed back by the local garrison."
"That's why we're here. France's latest rifles, cutting-edge military doctrine. And young blood thirsting for liberty will keep pouring in."
"Can you share supplies with the militia?"
"Gladly."
The French aid forces couldn't hold back sighs upon seeing the militia's armament level. The American militiamen were clad in everyday clothes, armed with just a single pistol—barely the minimum lethal capability.
"Feels light for a militia."
And their numbers weren't even that impressive for a so-called "grand" militia.
"You're right. We tried importing weapons and supplies from Europe, but the Europeans claimed booming domestic markets and refused trade. No one paid us any mind. That's why even the liberty-hungry youth hesitate to rise up."
This was the aftermath of Louis XVI's promissory note operation. In the original timeline, America's youth should have been brimming with discontent, but under the material abundance inflated by those notes, they stayed silent.
"Commander-in-chief, don't worry. France stands with you. Rally all of America's militia with faith in French support. Once they know they're not alone against the British, America's young men will rise en masse to fight."
"I'd be grateful if you could... but I'm doubtful how many will respond."
Indeed, the American militia's state was far more pitiful than in the original timeline. The original wasn't great, but now it was even worse.
"Aren't there militiamen besieging Boston?"
"Even that's just over eight thousand. The British expeditionary force is six thousand, but their quality is incomparable. We'd need three times their number for any chance at attack..."
"There will still be young men who respond."
But France was different.
"Colonel Lafayette. If I'm not mistaken, that thing that just passed—was that a cannon?"
"Yes. You need artillery for war, don't you? Were you planning to fight without cannons?"
France had grown far stronger than in the original timeline. Even the near-bankrupt France of the original had been strong enough to secure American independence; now, backed by Louis XVI's infinite capital, it could provide support on another level entirely.
"I told you. They're militiamen, plain and simple. We have nothing. Absolutely nothing."
America gained its momentum for independence from this aid.
1775 9 2, , , .
"Here's the status on American Revolutionary War supply support. Two shipments via the Brest-Boston route, four thousand volunteers under Colonel Lafayette. Thirty thousand new-model flintlock rifles with nine hundred thousand rounds of ammunition. Two hundred cannons with ten thousand shells. Fifty thousand new uniforms, and... bulletproof helmets? Fifty thousand of those too. Do we really need helmets... Bullets pierce them anyway, right?
I remember even modern bulletproof helmets weren't that great at stopping bullets. Or were Korean ones just trash?
"It's to stop shell fragments, not bullets."
Whatever. Most heading to America now were green recruits, young officers, NCOs—every one mattered. They were the ones to help my plans later; I couldn't let something trivial like shrapnel send them home.
"Just imagining it is horrifying. Can't we let them have an honorable death?"
Ugh, you honor-obsessed maniacs...
"We still have to treat those we can save."
"Your Majesty, doesn't a severed head usually mean death?"
Why would it? No way.
"Above all, our soldiers would prefer an honorable death over handing their lives to barbers."
"Sigh..."
Fair enough. Medieval medicine sucks. But 18th-century medicine being this bad is still shocking.
"Can't we just disinfect and remove fragments?"
"Your Majesty, no matter how much you wipe the blood or use fine perfume, wounds always fester."
"No, like alcohol. Booze."
"Local soldiers might splash liquor on wounds... but it's folk medicine."
It's inductive reasoning, not folk medicine.
"Include it in this military doctrine research item. Send distilled potato spirits from the front lines for disinfection, distribute booze to civilians to win hearts."
"Can booze win hearts?"
"Terray, you might not get it, but in war, local sentiment is key. If civilians resent volunteers, even good plans fail."
Like Vietnam.
"I see. But Your Majesty, aside from the Indians, won't they all welcome us?"
"Eh, some hate war."
"The oppressors are the British. Even the silent ones will quietly cheer us."
Hm. Oddly persuasive. Something about those two words, "Britain."
"Whatever, good is good. Flood America with French distilled spirits, grab market share. Anyway, send that disinfectant alcohol. It's not our money anyway."
Military supplies, food—all paid by neighbors. Maria Theresa next door, Catherine, George—they'd foot the bill. If not, bankruptcy it is.
1775 8 5, , .
Washington's first order upon receiving French aid: conscript the militia.
He split his seventy-odd troops, loading wagons with weapons. Five wagons, ten recruiters. They carried thousands of uniforms and rifles, summoning independence fighters hidden across Boston.
"Young men of America yearning for independence! If you see this wagon, take heart!"
Washington's ad-hoc recruiters said only that. They circled Boston's outskirts. At every house, they shouted the call; ordinary men in plain clothes approached, and the recruiters handed out uniforms, rifles, ammo.
To puzzled new recruits eyeing the helmets:
"They say that's how they arm in France these days."
The recruits donned them without question. Fully armed, they naturally fell in at the wagons' rear, marching in double file.
The helmetless caps rattled. Pure iron, they weighed several kilograms like iron lumps. A hefty 3.5 kilos. In midsummer heat, sweat pooled, rust flaking into their hair.
When this war ended, many would suffer circular bald spots atop their heads, some scars. But afterward, they'd say:
We wove our hair and our comrades' into this nation's bedrock.
Even in death, they'd die content, having fought for freedom.
Never knowing they wouldn't meet old company comrades at Pennsylvania rail yards, griping about shoddy French helmets.
Regretting they couldn't complain as a great-granddaughter's palm swept a seventy-year-old's receding crown on his birthday, or share war tales.
If any survived to his seventieth, and his great-granddaughter asked what that bald spot was from, he'd have one word:
"Young men of America yearning for independence! If you see this wagon, take heart!"
1775 8 10, .
The besiegers of Boston had wildly varied arms. Some carried British muskets, others pistols. But all lacked ammo, stuck with jammed weapons. They didn't know how to disassemble; jammed rounds meant smashing barrels with rocks. Thus, they'd clumsily besieged for months.
They had one thing: patriotism.
"Young men of America yearning for independence! If you see this flag, take heart!"
And one who could arm that patriotism appeared.
The Continental Army commander-in-chief, leading thirty thousand militiamen and four thousand volunteers, cannons blazing ahead.
George Washington.