The Weight of National Defense
September 1789, Nice. The thirty thousand reinforcements gathered at the port were memorizing the newly released military anthem as they waited.
"Our death, yours or mine... uh, what was it again?"
Among the soldiers were those who had volunteered for the American War of Independence, and others who had fought in the Hundred Days' War.
"Is that the chorus right?"
They were reciting the anthem that had come out just three months prior.
"The lyrics and melody are great, but memorizing them is a real pain."
It was an anthem that sacrificed a unified chorus for deeper meaning, so forgetting the words often threw off the tune.
"Sergeant, sir? Why is the chorus of this song so weird? Every anthem I know has the same refrain..."
Even so, the soldiers strove to commit it to memory.
"Hm? Ah, you might not get it. Only those who've charged into battle can truly feel it."
"Pardon?"
Veterans with battlefield experience especially savored it, overlaying their own memories.
"Let's go home. To the homeland we left behind... damn."
That didn't mean they memorized it any better.
"The distant home we left..."
One thing was certain: the soldiers connected with the anthem. Some to its vivid depictions of the battlefield, others to the futility in the opening verse, still others to the humility in the final one. Once they resonated with one part, they tried to empathize with the rest, figuring it must reflect a comrade's different war.
"I can't make heads or tails of a single word."
But the green recruits couldn't understand their seniors' fervor. Anthems were supposed to invoke God, king, and country—heart-pounding stuff. This one was just difficult, devoid of that thrill. If typical anthems were spicy street food, this new one was plain home cooking.
"Know what's the common point between this anthem and cucumbers? You wonder what's going on in the heads of the people who claim to like them."
"Cucumbers? They're delicious! Eggplant, maybe, I'd get."
"Eggplant's good when stir-fried. Nah, it's not eggplant or cucumber—it's just green peppers."
The rookies craved songs praising the greatness of the French army over the complex emotions of the battlefield.
"All we've got to give the Austrians is lead~"
"All we've got to give the Austrians is lead~"
The recruits, practicing the new anthem, soon clustered together, twisting the lyrics to their own.
"What the hell are they doing? I'll just..."
A few seniors immersed in the original shot them dirty looks, but
"Hey, Henri. Let it go."
others watched their juniors with pitying smiles and held them back.
"Kids playing around—no need for the grown-ups to butt in."
"Ha, yeah, you're right."
To show some senior generosity—and not wanting to spoil the innocent high spirits of those yet untouched by war—
"All units, attention! His Highness has arrived! Fourth Legion! Board the Piombino direct ships!"
*
As the thirty thousand French troops headed for Italy, Venice was plunged into chaos. It started with the demolition of Udine Fortress in early July.
"We're dismantling inefficient fortifications and reinforcing only what's essential."
Venice garrison commander Napoleon Bonaparte, marshal, framed the disarmament of Udine as "efficiency."
"See? I told you!"
"Yeah... so what do we do now?"
This inflamed the conspiracy theories already swirling.
"Obviously pulling back to the Papal States, right? They're shifting the front to Ferrara."
"What? They're withdrawing from Italy altogether."
"Whatever—Venice is doomed. Pack your bags."
It was simply to prevent Austria or turncoat Venetian forces from using Udine as a fortress—tearing down walls and turrets. But Italians preferred juicy conspiracies over straightforward strategy.
"Your Holiness, rumors like that are circulating among the civilians."
"Garrisoned in Ferrara? Did the French ambassador say that?"
"Just rumors, sire. Ferrara couldn't survive without French supply lines—it's a provincial town."
Italy's elites dismissed the talk.
"Well, the French are reliable enough."
No matter how dire the theory, it was mere fantasy until it happened.
But nothing happens out of nowhere.
"Commence withdrawal."
On July 21, 1789, Napoleon's legion began pulling out of Udine.
"Time to execute. Administrators—secret funds secured?"
"Yes, Governor. Explosives set on the Friuli bridges too."
"See you in Nice."
The Friuli governor and officials, hearing of the French pullout, prepped sabotage at key points and planned to flee.
"Governor, by decree of the Senate and Council of Ten: with the Austrian Republic's threat now real, all Udine personnel are to evacuate to Venice immediately. Your duties are suspended; the Council of Ten assumes evacuation control. Thank you for your service. Report to Venice as ordered."
But Venice's pro-Austrians beat them to it, invoking the Council of Ten's emergency powers for "evacuation control."
"We're the French army. Who dares block our path?"
"Legion commander Napoleon, please understand Venice's predicament. Civilians first, no?"
"Hmph. We'll see."
Venetian constables, citing civilian priority, stalled the withdrawing twenty-three thousand French troops. Though just three weeks, it let pro-Austrians declare mobilization and assemble an army. As a small state without a standing force, they used unvetted constables as officers and press-ganged recruits—but an army was an army.
"Councilor Capi, sir: four hundred usable constables as officers, nine thousand conscripts. Twenty Austrian advisors trained them hastily, but quality is abysmal."
A shoddy, low-cohesion division, but armed enough.
"Doesn't matter. We just hold till the Austrian Republican Army arrives. We sent word to Trieste the moment Udine blew— they'll be here in a month."
Above all, Venice's goal wasn't annihilating the French but tying them down till Austrian reinforcements—military skill be damned.
"Civilians seem gone. You're free to go."
Once Venetian forces massed on the west bank of the Tagliamento, the constables and sentries released Napoleon's army.
"So transparent."
Naturally, Napoleon had them all seized and summarily executed.
"On plan so far. Plans derail fast, though—even squad skirmishes go sideways in thirty seconds. No reason a clash of tens of thousands should go perfectly."
Through the "Sharpe Trading Company"—a French firm disguised as a civilian mill on the far bank—Napoleon, per homeland orders, stripped nearby villages, woods, even installed roads, and began field fortifications east of the Tagliamento.
Near half a year prepping withdrawal from Udine meant no modern reinforced concrete, but classical fieldworks: brick temporary redoubts, refitted field artillery as fixed guns, hay bales fired atop molded mud for shaped bastions. Functional field forts.
"What? Another supply route? Nah."
Venetian forces west of the Tagliamento just watched. Holding the river's sole bridge, common sense said Napoleon had zero reason to hole up east—cut off from supplies and retreat.
Even a battle-avoider should force a crossing now.
"The French are isolating themselves? Perfect. Let them starve."
Venice's pro-Austrians chalked frontline commanders' inaction to incompetence, staying optimistic.
"Something gives them confidence. Dispatch troops to Trieste, Gorizia, Monfalcone—seal off the isolated force."
The Austrian Republican Army sensed the odd complacency and opted for encirclement and annihilation.
Austria's urgency and Venice's ease stemmed ironically from the French isolation. Venice needed only survive; Austria faced a continent-spanning war and demanded total victory in the first clash.
"Tell the Venetians: seize all couriers and pigeons nearby. If word reaches Paris, French relief—hundreds of thousands—will flood Italy."
The Austrians would tighten the noose slowly for total kill.
But they overlooked one thing:
"No matter how mighty the hammer, a weak anvil renders it useless."
The commander they aimed to crush was Napoleon.
"Carpenter-trained infantrymen—fell every tree in the woods. Engineers—assemble bridges and pontoons from the ground up starting now."
Napoleon had no intention of just waiting for reinforcements.