La Chanson De La Victoire Novelization
Valmy Hill Part 1.
The year is 1792, Anno Domini. The date, the 20th of September. On the fields of eastern France, two armies gather to do bloody battle, one retreating in the face of its objectives that have become untenable, the capture of Paris, and the removal of the Revolutionary government, the Legislative Assembly that claims to be the rightful authority of France, the other, an army of the North, a citizen army, a militia sent forth by the Assembly, commanded by two bright minds of the French Army.
François Kellermann was a career officer, same for his superior Charles François Dumouriez. Both men were at the height of both their military talents and their careers.
Kellermann was a general who had served with distinction for the French crown for nearly forty years, ever since he turned 15. He had seen conflict for several decades, rising through the ranks until he became Maréchal de camp. He was the only man currently serving with the new government that had achieved such a rank. The rest had either fled to hostile nations, seeking asylum, for many were of noble birth. Those that remained in France had left the army in protest, if not outright deserting into the French countryside, to plot and plan a counter-revolution that may soon come.
Charles François Dumouriez was the same, though not achieving such a high rank in the army before the revolution came. He had been a career officer yes, and a skilled one at that, even if he fell prey to the Indian threat during the Seven Years War. And after many years, his disgrace led him to be the administrator of Cherbourg. He was crafty, clever, and above all else, a true supporter of the revolution, a general who's ambition was just as great as the cause he was serving.
Both these men, were it any other tapestry in history, would have led the defense at Valmy Hill, a defense that would begin the republic of France.
Who's actions would lead to a man who would shape the world in his own image, and that world would never be the same.
But time and history were the side of others, men and women of great conviction and heart, whose young hearts and minds would lead to the fire of revolution and their own personal convictions to the hight of the world, touching the sun for a brief moment, until gracefully falling into a cavernous abyss.
Shaping the world and its people because of it.
This is their story.
Valmy Hill was nothing short of a mud-soaked tragedy, the rains of Noah coming again as the downpour seemed ceaseless.
The hillside was slick with rain and mud. A tyrannical downpour unlike any that had come before it in the year.
The army of the North was shivering in the autumn wind, many were counting the days when they could be resupplied with fresh provisions in Paris, while others counted on the fact that they may soon be resting for the winter, safe behind high fortifications, and allowed to take part in activities that would soon relieve them of their worries and stresses.
But none were worried, as a horse rode past the line of infantry standing in position. A man in a brown jacket with his damp, dirty uniform hidden from the men who looked upon them.
Following close behind him was another figure, clad in a regular French army blues followed close behind.
The man, or rather, a woman, was shouting to the man following close behind, in a shrill voice that was frantic, but controlled, the worry less on her own personal safety, but that of her brother. "Brian come on!"
The soldier who followed, an officer, now identified as Brian, quickly followed with another shout. "Stop talking and keep riding Therese!"
The two were siblings, a brother, and sister, both surveyors for the French Army for that was the only reason a woman would be riding in on a horse in the middle of a battle. They were scouts, masters of terrain, and people that generals could count on to see a battle through.
One could have easily mistaken them for twins, if not for the large frame of the boy. He stood head and shoulders above every man on the battlefield. His broad frame was thin and lanky, a sign of malnutrition from a lifetime of… well, a not so steady diet of bread and water and what little foodstuffs he could scavenge from a life in the fields of France, working with many of the surveyors of his father and of the Royal cartographers.
His uniform, save for the mud, was in tatters. The blue coat, torn by the explosion, shrapnel, and gunfire from the battle that had been prevailing. His pistol and officers Sabor, long forgotten in the chaos of battle that was now being waged. His brown hair caked in mud and rocks, and grass.
The girl was smaller but no less tall than a man of the army. The
And in their view, the two generals that would quickly be hearing the dire news.
The Prussians beat them to the high ground. Prussian forces were assembling their infantry for a bayonet charge...
The Army of the North was in a killing field. The only thing preventing the enemy army from immediately charging was the rain, and the mudslide that they feared may befall their position if they displaced too much of the wet soil. But they would soon meet the lines, and soon there would be death.
'We must find a way to dislodge them.' Therese's thoughts were quiet in her mind, knowing her place in the world.
But all those thoughts were muted, when the two men pointed to her and Brian.
General Kellerman was surprised that the two surveyors of the army had dared taken part in a run across the lines to speak to them, and they understood any information that they had would be vital in making sure the battle could be won on his own terms.
General Dumouriez was less thrilled, and Therese knew that he despised their reckless attitudes and cavalier approach to danger and death.
They were beginning to shout something, something that could not reach Therese's ears...
All before an explosion engulfed them.
'Non.'
Her horse reared in shock from the cannon fire that was now beginning to rain down upon them, throwing her into the mud that was so thick and watery, that it was sucking her into the ground, the earth swallowing her whole.
But, ever her protector, Brian came down from his horse and clasped the outstretched hand of his slowly sinking sister.
"Get up!" He screamed as Therese's eyes snapped open again, her mind going back to the thoughts and the terror that had engulfed them.
'Orders… we need orders' Those were the only words her mind spoke, much to her body's aching and burning skin.
Therese ran towards the fallen generals with speed, even as the slick mud, clung to her boots and seemed to tear the soles off of her feet. The generals were down in the mud, their medals glistening and shining, even while covered in mud and dirt, with a few holding tiny bits of Shrapnel. They were thankfully facing up, their chests rising and falling, and not facing down into the mud that was caking the ground.
The bodyguard were scattered, trying to react to their fallen generals, but the cannon fire was too great, and the craters to impassable on horseback.
But one thought still clung to the mind of the young woman.
They were still alive.
'N'est pas possible.'
"Slow down Thérèse! For the love of Christ, slow down!" Brian's screams were muted and lost amongst the sound of battle, as confusion ran through the ranks.
Therese was also ignoring him as well. The officers were dying, and she needed to receive her orders.
'Nous ne tombons pas.'
We do not fall.
The chaos of combat was completely engulfing the frontline of the infantry. Prussians smashed full force into a line of waiting bayonets and occasional shots of musket fire. But Therese knew they needed to move the generals to safety.
Lifting the two men onto his shoulders, Brian Auclair silently did his duty, without questions from his sister, she was too weak and rattled to try a herculean effort of lifting a grown man over her shoulders, not now.
The siblings arrived at the small square of infantry and cavalry that had maintained cohesion in it's ranks. The other individual units were standing fast behind cover, those that were not engaged with the Prussian front lines. Those remaining were trying desperately to keep the army from shattering, routing back into the hills in a desperate retreat.
"Are they dead?" A soldier asked as the giant of a woman grabbed the reins of one of their frightened horses.
There was a pause as another explosion went off in the muddy fields. "They'll live, but we have to get them out of here, or we all die!" One of the infantrymen said as a shot rang out into the distance, a soldier was finally beginning to give the two generals medical attention.
General Dumoritz was unconscious, the explosion throwing from his horse, and the large bulge underneath his leg made it assuredly clear even if he was awake, he was in no condition to ride, let alone walk.
General Kellerman's eyes seemed open, but the blood coming from his head showed how much the fall from his horse did. His hat was down in dank mud. His general's sword, still attached to his side. He was mumbling words like he wished to give orders, but no sound, nor words left his vacant stare and blank eyes.
Until a faint word left his mouth. "Order… Order. Orders."
It took only a moment for the words to be understood in Therese's mind.
Orders had to be given… The order must be maintained. And there must be order if the Prussians are to be defeated.
The idea rose into Therese's mind like a dream, one that was fleeting, the memory, sublime, legs carrying her as quickly as they could carry her massive body. Brian screamed. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Someone has to save us!" You immediately handed him the reins of Dumouriez's horse, that had followed its master as Brian carried him to safety. The general was laying on the ground, as the woman madly stripped him of his sword to hand over to her brother. "Take the calvary, move it to the left flank. Bait their infantry towards you. Buy the artillery time to take positions so they can fire on that hill!"
Brian Auclair, the surveyor of the French Army of the North, was dumbstruck by the order that had been given by his sister. A woman with not a hint of command experience, or tactical knowledge. "But-" He tried to protest. What his sister was asking for was mad.
For it was mutiny to command the lower ranks, to take command of the army in such a way as to disguise themselves as the generals to command this battle.
If they were lucky, they would hang when the battle was over, if the generals awoke and were feeling vengeful. If not, the battle certainly would kill them both.
Worse, if they lost, they would be known as the fools who destroyed the republic.
"That is an order!" She screamed before her brother nodded, realizing that stopping an enemy army was preferable to running like cowards and letting the dream die.
The infantry and cavalrymen could only stare at the gall, the madness that they were witnessing… but could do nothing but stare in awe, as they realized one thing… she could lead them to victory, for there may be little choice or option.
Therese Auclair, Daughter of Astor Auclair and Véronique Auclair, both freemen of common birth, one a surveyor who's craft took him and his family to the far corners of France, another a seamstress who never amounted to anything, save for being a mother who loved her children, by all accounts... took the general's hat and sword from Kellerman's unconscious body.
And began her Song of Victory, that would echo through time, forever.
"Army of the North! Heed my orders!"
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The French Battleline was in disarray, but the commanders of the companies worked quickly to maintain order and wait for orders to do anything.
But they were, by virtue of luck and luck alone, not in the full sight of the Prussian canon. Brunswick had made a crucial error in the alignment of his canon. They had been able to fire onto positions across the field, but with the angle of the slopes and the mud of the hill, they had to constantly readjust their guns, for fear of losing their positions, and falling down the hill, into the melee.
Their cannons also had a fatal error, one that Therese saw immediately as she ran towards the cannons. The positions were going to weak and after the downpour of the previous nights… could easily be exploited.
If they aimed just below the positions… they could cause a mudslide, enough to knock their cannons out of the battle and even disorganize the enemy infantry that was in melee.
As she rode to the cannon, they only saw the hat and generals hat being worn by an officer, one that had, in their minds, understood that the generals were no longer in action, and had given the command to such an officer who could win.
"Cannoniers, aim for the base of the hill, then keep firing at the infantry's advance." Her voice, cracking from the orders, was quiet, but she spoke loud enough for them to understand.
They understood enough, and they took aim at the center of the hill.
And they fired.
AN: Hey everyone, here's the first part of the La Chanson Novelization I have been doing.
Enjoy.
