You, You've Got Talent.
You, you've got talent. Napoleon's reverse retreat—the audacious plan of smashing the enemy ahead and fleeing—had utterly shattered the Austrian Republic's formation. Once the thick infantry lines were pierced, the entire army's array collapsed.
In general, the 18th-century troop type matchups followed a rock-paper-scissors dynamic: infantry beat cavalry, cavalry beat artillery, artillery beat infantry. But that was meaningless against the Austrians, whose lines and formations had crumbled in a one-sided rout.
"Cavalry, all units—find autonomous targets!"
The moment they clustered, they became artillery fodder; scattering left them vulnerable to charging cavalry rampaging through their lines. Even if infantry could handle cavalry well, they needed to form dense bayonet squares for it to work. Lone infantry, no matter how many pikes they held, couldn't match cavalry speed. By the time bayonets fixed on one rider, he'd simply bypass to strike another foot soldier—then a flanking or rear cavalryman would trample the distracted infantryman.
This irrational chaos afflicted the Austrian cavalry too. Fundamentally, artillery packed the heaviest punch, so cavalry tactics emphasized closing in before guns could fire, neutralizing them. Naturally, artillery never operated alone, so standard cavalry doctrine involved flanking maneuvers and ambushes to isolate and hit guns without tangling with frontline infantry or skirmishing horse.
But Napoleon's artillery was different.
"Cavalry approaching! Greet them with grapeshot!"
They weren't the ones getting ambushed—they were the ambushers. No matter how fast the cavalry charged, they couldn't build momentum in a melee tangle of friendly and enemy infantry and horse. Even breaking free from the mess, a quick swivel of the gun barrel ended it. Above all, once foes fled into open ground, French gunners could unleash full barrages without fear of friendly fire.
This turmoil pushed French infantry combat efficiency to its limits.
"Bayonet broken? Grab the enemy's! If too far, reload and shoot!"
The disorganized Republicans couldn't face advancing French columns in formation. In line-vs-line firefights, you only fought the man in front; but against intact enemy lines while disordered, you faced multiples. Simply put, ten French soldiers slew one Austrian ten times over.
"Rally! Rally! Form square... urk!"
Austrian officers desperately tried to restore order amid the melee, but every commander who raised his voice drew a sniper's bullet. Common musketeers were mired in the fray, but Napoleon's sharpshooters with rifles hung back, picking targets. Even if they dodged snipers to form squares, unsupported squares fell to cavalry and infantry picking easy kills—while advancing French guns pulverized the rest.
"Hold just a bit longer! Our forces are hitting their rear!"
The Republicans clung on, believing encirclement troops would strike from behind. But:
"Charge! Let's see the majors' marksmanship!"
"Why is the corps commander here?!"
Napoleon's staff was right in the thick of it.
"Don't hesitate to attack! If you want to live, fight! Élan vital! Push yourself to the brink! March to death's edge until it flees from us!"
Napoleon's innate belligerence synergized with Louis XVI's excessive expectations and the jealousy of peers envious of a lieutenant-turned-major general, manifesting as raw ability.
"Don't die! If you drop now, no next battle for you!"
Napoleon had evacuated supplies and key staff via the right flank breach opened in the initial clash, then swept forward with cavalry. Normally, generals avoided combat: too easy a target in the center, a momentary daze could shift the tide, and death reversed any advantage.
"Entire army, advance! Kill anything blocking the path! Any foe aiming at comrades ahead—strike their backs!"
But Napoleon was different. Or rather, this Napoleon was. A major general in name only, with a lieutenant's actual experience, a combat specialist without administrative duties—mid-level officers who handled real work didn't discourage his frontline frenzy.
"Don't pursue fleeing enemies. Show mercy. Our goal isn't annihilation!"
Hours of such fighting later, the French 53,000 had successfully retreated forward.
"Corps commander. We've looted the entire Austrian command post. Orders?"
"Any gains?"
"Food's loaded on wagons. Plus, substantial ordnance in pounds—we're remelting shells and such into kilograms at field forges."
The forward-retreating French had seized an Austrian outpost, plundering its stores. Most were on supply wagons, but 200,000 in reserves fed 30,000 French with surplus.
"Besides that—the command docs."
"Ah, no significant intel. Overlaps National Intelligence Agency reports, no internal Austrian files. Captives top out at captain—slim pickings."
Still, reserves were reserves: mostly administrative mid-low officers and non-combatants.
"I see. No matter. Win the next one."
Napoleon shrugged it off.
"Now I get it. The Republic's caliber."
Even without fresh intel, he trusted his edge over the Austrians. Victory was certain.
*
On the opposite side, the Austrian Republicans had captured the prior French HQ—though vital docs were ash, stores gone, a ghost shell of a command post. Still, captured.
"Headache."
On paper, Joseph Steve's Republicans had traded HQs evenly: yielded main base, seized enemy's.
"Commander. Letter from Napoleon's drawer. Addressed to you."
"Let's see."
Napoleon had anticipated Austrians hitting this post from the op's start, leaving one letter as Joseph's "gift."
Greetings, Joseph Steve. Or Smith? If you're reading this, the Austrians have taken this command post. So, how's it feel? Stepping into Major General Napoleon Bonaparte's lair. Bet I smashed you good. But what can you do? Opponent's me. You've fought well enough for your level. Keep at it. Stack twenty years' experience, maybe match me. Ah, if you're a grizzled vet already, ignore. Experience never tops talent.
But Smith, I believe you've got talent. Aesop's fables or Talmud—wait, not familiar? Anyway, us gifted types laze and lose to grinders every time, cliché. So grind. I'm starting too.
P.S. Oh right, surname's Schmidt? Slipped my mind. Earn merits, get nobility, change it anyway. Why not Smith now? Next battlefield, say hi. For this, I'll spare you once.
— N. Bonaparte —
"Commander?"
Austrian Republican Southern Commander Joseph Schmidt felt seething rage upon reading it.
"Napoleon Bonaparte!!!!"
It dripped with the aristocratic disdain he loathed.
"...How many."
"Pardon?"
"Our losses. Number."
Stuffing grudge deep, Joseph checked results to cool off.
"Tallying, but... artillery losses horrific. First wave shelled, second cavalry, third infantry and captures..."
"No prattle. Results."
Not good news.
"Yes. Infantry: 82,000 to 26,000 dead. 43,000 wounded, 40% combat-ineffective. Cavalry: 18,000 to 1,300 dead, 900 wounded, 10% ineffective. Artillery... annihilated. 14,000 to 12,000 killed/wounded, most guns wrecked or seized."
Joseph wielded classic tactics masterfully via experience; Napoleon struck with novel feints.
"Commander! Disaster. Encirclement troops contacted ours. Defeat rumors spreading wild."
Worse, results reached the remaining 80,000.
"Haa... Before morale tanks further, end it. Order officers curb rumors. Execute if needed."
Joseph opted to defuse the bomb pre-detonation.
"Confirmed."
"Resume battle at dawn. Inform all."
Despite sensing defeat, Joseph couldn't withdraw. Unlike Austrians marching on Venice, now French blocked their retreat.