Shall We Call It a Draw?
September 1781. The Pan-European Order Protection Alliance—the anti-France coalition—had confirmed their defeat.
The Electorate of Bavaria, Elector Maximilian III Joseph, supported by a French doctor, received word from a messenger that the Bavarian expeditionary force had been utterly annihilated.
"Good God, give me back my soldiers, you Austrian beasts!"
Bavaria had contributed five thousand troops to the anti-France coalition. For a mid-tier electorate like Bavaria, five thousand would normally be a serious loss, but manageable with some effort. Yet Bavaria was still struggling in the aftermath of the previous economic crisis. Short on funds, they had already reduced their standing army from twenty-five thousand to eight thousand, making the loss of five thousand utterly catastrophic—impossible to recover from.
"Messenger, say it again. Truly... all of them are dead?"
"Out of one division—5,280 men—only 48 returned. The wounded were abandoned on French soil per Austrian orders. Even those 48 are lightly injured and receiving treatment at the garrison."
Bavaria's noble officials could scarcely believe it. They had expected losses of perhaps a thousand if they won, two thousand if they lost—but total annihilation of five thousand? Unthinkable.
"You Austrian beasts! Give me back my army!"
Maximilian III collapsed from the shock. And he never opened his eyes again.
*
The mood in Austria was far from calm as well.
"How on earth do we bear this responsibility...?"
All allied forces except the main armies of Austria and Prussia had been wiped out. This was a severe blow to the prestige of the Holy Roman Emperor.
"Your Majesty, this is all because of those mercenaries we filled our ranks with just to pad the numbers. When serious fighting broke out, they devoured our supplies, then scattered in terror before peasant militias. Even the mercenaries who didn't flee couldn't defeat twenty thousand with seventy thousand—they were no better than armed civilians."
"I understand Baron Loudon's report well enough. You've given me much to think about. Return for now."
Archduke of Austria and Holy Roman Emperor, head of the House of Habsburg—Joseph II—agonized over the report. From the battle summaries by Loudon and the field generals, it truly wasn't his fault.
In the initial advance on Lorraine, Austrian forces had led the vanguard; in the siege of Metz, Austrian-Prussian artillery had been the mainstay. But when supplies ran short and retreat became necessary, the hordes of mercenaries and expeditionary troops from the electorates surrendered to peasants or fled. In the final battle—the rear-guard action at Pfelsberg—Loudon's ingenious tactics had allowed a bloodless withdrawal, with Austrians once again as the protagonists.
By this report alone, Loudon appeared a true soldier who had conserved funds better spent on incompetent mercenaries and protected the regular armies of the major powers.
"Appoint Marquis Kaunitz as special envoy with full powers. Have him go to France, sign the peace treaty, and return."
But defeat was defeat. Even if Austria and Prussia's armies remained intact, Austria had no capacity left for further military action.
*
September 25, 1781, Versailles Palace.
Ambassadors from various nations arrived in Paris to negotiate the peace treaty. They first headed to the Foreign Ministry offices for preliminary talks—the office of Foreign Minister Mirabeau, housed in the Foreign Ministry building. Even that was part of Versailles Palace. From my own office, I could see it through the window.
Holy Roman Empire ambassador Marquis Kaunitz, Prussian ambassador Hertzberg, British ambassador George Germain. Sardinia had sent someone too, though I had no idea why.
"Your Majesty, this is the Director of the National Intelligence Agency. May I enter?"
"Come in."
"Intelligence from agent François. As soon as the foreign ambassadors arrived in Paris, remnants of the old regime factions mobilized. Planned date: sometime in November. Main force: scattered Sardinian mercenaries. They've been hired with cash—the ones who were banditizing in the forests near Sens."
"Suppression plan?"
"We're fortifying rooftops in the target area with police positions. The rebels' main army plans to advance from Sens through Fontainebleau to Paris. Their leadership will sow chaos from within the city."
Rebellion. Rebellion... To be honest, it made me uneasy. All my carefully laid preparations had gone awry.
The psychological ploy of sabotaging the Lorraine steelworks to paint them as victims had failed. My plan to wipe out the old regime in one stroke had missed the mark. My prediction that the anti-France coalition would conscript their own men and go all-in was wrong. Even my hope that foreigners would aid France had fallen flat.
Was I truly in control here? Or was I deluding myself into thinking I could manipulate what was beyond my grasp?
"Police alone feels unreliable. Use the Paris garrison for suppression, not police. Have police handle civilian evacuation and protection in the area."
"Shall I issue martial law?"
"Yes. That's what martial law is for."
*
October 3, 1781. Versailles Palace, cabinet chamber.
"Your Majesty, sorry to interrupt the meeting. I lost track of time negotiating."
"No matter. The peace treaty is far more important. How go the talks?"
"I'll report."
The peace negotiations with the various nations were... not going smoothly. Our perceptions of the war differed fundamentally.
"Austria cites the Metz withdrawal and Pfelsberg rear-guard as proof this war was a draw. They emphasize that at Pfelsberg, they still had 210,000 troops left, comparable to France's current standing army of 230,000 including mercenaries, claiming evenly matched forces. They're demanding a simple ceasefire."
"And?"
"We highlight how their 700,000-strong army dwindled to 210,000 in two months, and the annihilation of the Netherlands forces at Pfelsberg, stressing the destruction of their main army. We're demanding the Rhine River line in the south and the Meuse River line in the north."
I hadn't realized Mirabeau had such large appetites. On the map, it looked like swallowing northwest modern Germany whole. Not sure how accurate the map was, but roughly a third of mainland France's territory.
"Isn't that demanding too much?"
"Yes, but starting low means ending low. We opened high."
Trump-style negotiation, eh.
"Marquis Kaunitz of Austria keeps rejecting, insisting on the sovereignty of the electorates. But the west bank of the Rhine River is solid. Considering the Netherlands border, we can secure down to the Ruhr-Rhine River confluence in the south."
Ruhr? The Ruhr Valley Ruhr?
"We must secure the Ruhr River area."
"Noted."
If future generations botch it and lose the country, handing back the Ruhr should suffice. Better not to take too little and end up ceding even Lorraine, birthing monsters like the Versailles regime.
"The others?"
"Prussia admits defeat but is lukewarm on reparations. On territorial division, they defer to Holy Roman Emperor Joseph II. Seems they just tagged along to represent minor electorates' interests."
Of course. Prussia, like Austria, were the traitors of the Holy Roman Empire. Minimal losses unlike the others. No point sticking their necks out now—they're here for show. Real talks are with Austria.
"Sardinia came too, but..."
"Yes, I'm curious why Sardinia's here. What do they want?"
"Release of Sardinian POWs."
Those POWs are plotting rebellion in our country right now.
"Problem is, we don't know where the Sardinian troops are either. Police patrols catch small groups in cities and villages, but rooting out the banditized Sardinians requires more manpower and budget than we have."
Not the National Intelligence Agency, so they don't know the base. Maybe best not to tell. If the Sardinians march on Paris and get crushed, they'll have to bow to us.
Still uneasy. Like with the old Lorraine steelworks.
"Carry on, then. Next issue."
"Yes. Interior Undersecretary speaking. Domestic anti-foreigner sentiment has peaked. We're rounding up new refugees on sight and shipping them to Lorraine, but the intimidating mounted police have driven some deep into border towns, causing all sorts of ills."
The reports confirmed the frustration. Terrified of police, they shunned public works; ignorant of lye, they lived in filth. Holding medieval medical views, they sought barber-surgeons and quack bloodletters for skin ailments or infections, slashing themselves open. Bleeding everywhere, the border town slums reeked of blood.
"Horror novelists love the atmosphere, but aside from those eccentrics, everyone's trembling in fear. The Church demands purification, calling them demon-possessed, but lacks funds for action."
"No solution yet. Wait until the peace treaty. Police handle the infiltrators; once we secure the Rhine River west bank, options will open."
Internal refugees: police catch them. The issue is external inflows...
"Until the treaty, build garrisons along the border for vigilance."
"Your Majesty, that..."
In the 18th century, garrisons were typically in infrastructure-rich cities. Border troops cost money, but no choice. Cheaper than riot suppression or protests.
"Expensive, but necessary. Skimp now, pay more later. Proceed."
"...Yes, understood."
Steel production's still low—no barbed wire yet. Wooden fences will do.