La Chanson de la Victoire (The Song of Victory): La Petite Arpenteuse (Non, SV, you are a General of France in the Napoleonic War!)

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Storytime with Papa Matteo

Matteo Anselme Severin smiled broadly as he bounced his darling granddaughter Jeanne on his knee. His work for the Empress kept him extraordinarily busy, so time spent with his slowly growing family was precious indeed.

Especially with all the pests loitering around the factories and work sites he was responsible for overseeing. It was a good thing that his workers liked to patrol their towns and work sites in their off hours. It seems that military discipline stuck, and it helped keep their homes and jobs safe from crime and foreign provocateurs. Truth be told, these persistent spies reminded Matteo of a time in his life that he had hoped was past him. In any case, they hadn't been much of an issue, mostly diagrams and sketches of the machinery rather than weapons or bombs. Nothing that warranted a report to his boss, at any rate.

But back to his treasured family time. Little Jeanne, like most children, and especially those of Severin blood, possessed an abundance of energy. Once she was able to walk, she would surely be running all over the house and the woods. She had been awake for quite a while now, and she was due to lie down for her afternoon nap soon. She certainly took after both her parents in that respect.

The sound of the door opening drew Matteo's attention, though he did not so much as shift his head. It would seem the hinges needed some oil soon.

"Pops, I'm back from the market! I was able to get a lot of those blackberries you're so fond of, since old man Laurent's twins found an untouched thicket outside of town. Has Jeanne behaved while I was out?"

"Ah, Evelyn Amber, darling Jeanne Therese has been naught but an angel since you left. Isn't that right, dear?"
Adorable gurgles and giggles are his reply as Matteo bounces his knee in double time.

"You spoil her so much, it'll be a wonder when she will fall asleep at her bed time."

"Well, I certainly remember a rambunctious youngster that refused to listen when she came into my care. You were always bickering and wrestling with Denis Martin, as I recall. It's wasn't until you both grew up that you two started "wrestling" with one another. Or did you think a father wouldn't notice?"

"Pops! Why must you be so damned embarrassing?"

"It's my duty as a father, dear. And I'm all about duty."

"Of course, of course. Since you've gotten Jeanne all riled up, why not do storytime to calm her down? I remember your voice being soothing, and Charlie would often nod off."

"Certainly my daughter. How about a tale from my youthful adventures?"

-----------

February, 1756, Stralsund, Swedish Pomerania

Twenty-three year-old Sergeant Matteo Anselme Severin stepped into the shady Straslund back alley to meet with his contact about a job offer.

"All right, enough of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit. You've led me on a merry chase all though the city, so let's get right to it. Your note mentioned something about a job?"

"Ah, Herr Severin, thank you for coming. Your, rather impressive, if I may add, records crossed the desk of one of our people, and it came to our attention that your term of enlistment is soon to expire. It is well acknowledged by those knowledgeable of military matters that your company is among the best line companies in the Straslund garrison. Indeed, a memo from your captain mentioned, and I quote: "I would be lost without that Frenchman. He has drilled the men into excellent form. Only the grenadiers can truthfully claim to be better." High praise from your commanding officer, Herr Severin. In fact, he was willing to recommend your transfer to the grenadiers, should you reenlist. However, I have a much better offer for you.

I am here on behalf of an individual who is interested in founding a mercenary company, and based on your proven excellence, he is will to pay premium coin to hire your services to lead it as its captain. The various princes of the Empire are constantly embroiled in border squabbles with their neighbors, and mercenaries are always in demand. I imagine a free company trained to your exacting standards would be among the best, and could charge top thaler for your services. What do you say, a surfeit of excitement, adventure, and coin? My employer offers a generous stipend, an exorbitant budget for arms and supplies, and a free hand in recruitment and training. All he requires in exchange is that you train your men to be the equal of any country's regulars, give preferential treatment to contracts bearing a certain seal, and to not ask too many questions. It's need-to-know, don't you know? Besides, knowing too much is bad for business. So, what do you think Herr Severin? A rather generous offer, wouldn't you agree?"

"It's quite generous indeed. Sounds almost too good to be true. And to be an officer? Pah, I'm a sergeant, I work for a living! Besides, being in charge sounds like a lot of paperwork and a lot less time in the field. And if me and my lads were to be in such high demand, that'd mean having to rub elbows with those hoity-toity nobles all the time. My mother raised to be honest, and kissing their asses sounds like a shit ton of lying, pun intended."

"Well, Herr Severin, I have been authorized to offer you a 300 Reichsthaler signing bonus, I believe that is about a month's pay for you? Quite the windfall, straight into your pocket. And with the latest news out of Britain, they've abandoned their traditional alliance with Austria for Prussia. With tensions in Europe this high, there's sure to be a major war, and soon! Business will be booming, I'm sure. You'd make a killing! No pun intended, of course."

"Hah, coward. You should always intend your puns! Always! Anyway, all I'm hearing is big promises about money and having to deal with people I don't like. The fortunes of war can turn against you at the drop of a hat. Your boss got plans for that?"

"But of course! With Prussia lured to Britain's side, France stands alone. Their rival Austria looms to the East, Britain lurks across the channel, and Prussia strains at its master's leash. Why, one might say the whole of Europe stands against France. What is one more free company to take its pound of flesh, or gold, in this case? So, what say you, Herr-"

-----------------

September 30, 1796

"Now I will admit, I lost my temper at that moment. But to be fair, how was I to know the man had a glass jaw? Or that he had been abandoned wholesale by his guardian angel. My punch knocked him flat, and he bashed his head on an unfortunately placed cobblestone. I did help myself to his purse, though. No sense letting good coin go to waste when the man wasn't breathing no more to enjoy it."

"So you killed the man who offered you a job and robbed his corpse?"

"He was shit talking France! You know I'm all about duty to king and country! Well, Empress and Nation, nowadays."

"Not the Emperor?"

"It's not like his father saved my life as well as Denis Martin's and all of my company's lives at Yorktown!"

"What? I don't think I've heard this one before. But back to the story, what happened after that?"

"Well, my contract was up a few days later. I went to say my goodbyes to my Swedish Severin family. Did you know, one of them had managed to join the Livgardet? Quite the feat for a commoner of foreign ancestry! Apparently, that mystery employer took offence at my rejection and sent killers after me. One actually caught me at the docks as I was about to board my ship. I only had my belt knife on me, and he had a sword and a pistol. Then an act of divine providence showed me that my guardian angel was hard at work, as a piano of all things fell from a crane and quite literally flattened my attacker. Helped myself to his purse as well. Most I was able to fend off myself, others by acts of divine providence. One idiot broke into my family's house and shouted "Death comes for you Severin!" and got killed by a bunch of my military cousins, home on furlough. Only found out he was after me by the seal on his purse, same as all the others. After a month or so of failures, a messenger showed up all professional-like, handed me a fat purse with that same seal and a note that said to get out and never return to the Holy Roman Empire. So I left. Returned to France. That recruiter had mentioned that France stood against all of Europe, so I went to enlist in the French army. I joined Regiment Touraine just in time for the war to kick off. Wasn't my fault I ended up heading straight back into the Holy Roman Empire with the French Army."

"Wow, pops, you do have the best tales. Has Darling heard this one?"

"Actually, no. I only thought to bring it up what with all those overly persistent snoops hanging around the factories. Heavy coin purses with that same damned seal on it. Not that I know enough heraldry to know what that means, or who that is."

"Well, a mystery for another day. Looks like Jeanne is finally asleep. I would like to hear more of your war stories. Don't think I forgot about you knowing the Empress' father!"

"A story for a story, then? I'm sure you've spoken with Denis Martin about your war against the British between your "wrestling," my daughter. I would be glad to hear the tale of another veteran."

"Sure pops, let me just lay Jeanne down. I picked up some cider at the market, so we can swap stories over some alcohol."

"Right, I'll fire up the stove to warm it up, help chase off the autumn chill."

Spoiler: A/N

So this omake is based on something @Magoose mentioned (a few sentences) in response to my "What the hell did you do, Matteo?" post a few pages back. After about 10-15 minutes of napkin math and looking up a few details, I did this:

Spoiler: Timeline rambling

I think I can work out a timeline for this. Let's say Matteo was born in 1733. That would make him 26 when he was at Minden (1759), and 33 when Denis was born in 1766. Assuming between 2-5 years between kids to work around deployments and not having multiple infants at the same time; maybe 1764 for Louis (born after the end of the Seven Years' War) and 1769 for Jules. At present in the quest, that makes him 63. He's getting old, but still fit and active. Able to run militia and work crews (and unfortunate corporals) into the ground.

If Matteo wasn't the eldest and wasn't expected to carry the family obligations, he could have gone abroad and enlisted in a foreign military. Possibly Sweden, to return to his roots, or a Baltic German state (definitely not Prussia or Denmark) Assuming he returned to France to enlist in Regiment Touraine in 1756 at the outbreak of the Seven Years' War at age 23, that leaves between 5-7 years' worth of military experience that would make him an attractive recruitment target (whether he left home at 16 or 18). If Matteo had a track record of good training, decent leadership, and a tendency not to ask too many questions, that makes him a better pick. Willingness to enlist in a foreign military signals (true or not) that he's not overly fussed with loyalty to king and country, and that he seeks excitement and adventure (and coin). No one will miss a foreign NCO, and he has all the right qualifications, so why not?

So, the recruiter gives him the sales pitch, but tensions are ratcheting up across Europe, so Matteo says no, intending to fight for France. Recruiter gets a bit pushy, he tries the 'war can be a profitable business, and it looks like a major war is in the offing' angle, then says something about dogpiling France. Matteo, who is (unbeknownst to the recruiter) driven by duty and loyalty to king and country, takes it as an insult, and strikes the recruiter, possibly killing him in a rage. That gets the Rothschilds angry enough to put out a hit on him, but between luck (Divine Providence, according to Matteo) and his own combat prowess, he is able to survive, returning to France to enlist in time for the Seven Years' War. What do you think?

Regarding Matteo not taking industrial espionage seriously, while he may have a wisdom born from experience, he's not well educated, and it shows in this case. "It's only sketches and drawings, they weren't planning on sabotage, so it's fine. No need to tell the boss lady."

The currency the recruiter is offering is the North German Thaler (12 to a Cologne Mark of silver), also called the Reichsthaler (not to be confused with the other Reichsthaler, at 9 to a Cologne Mark of silver). As for the amount, I kinda pulled it out of thin air, though I based it on the expenses listed here at the bottom of the page.

A bit of background on the diplomatic situation leading up to the Seven Years' War:

Spoiler: A general outline including a bunch of diplomacy and politics

Austria and France were longtime rivals over who got to be king of the hill in Europe, especially Catholic Europe. Britain and France were also longtime rivals, and fought the Hundred Years' War over who was the rightful king of France. Prussia was an emergent state that was gobbling up bits and pieces of the HRE, and saw Austria as it's biggest obstacle to great power status. Traditionally, Britain would bankroll Austria when they went to war with France, and Prussia would peck at Austrian territory to get swole. Britain would occupy France's colonies and style on the French navy, then France would win hard in Europe and get their colonies back at the peace settlement. By the 1750s, things are starting to change. France and Britain's North American colonies were squabbling over who owned the Ohio River Valley, then this militia colonel named George Washington started some shit in 1754. Britain was getting tired of paying Austria to lose to France, and they wanted a better way to protect Hanover (King George II was also the Elector of Hanover and very invested in protecting it) from France. Meanwhile, Austria was gearing up to take Silesia back from Prussia, and were willing to team up with Russia to do it. Britain tosses a bunch of money to Russia to station troops on the Prussian border, so Russia is getting ready to throw down with Prussia too. Britain then turns around and says: "Hey Prussia, have a bunch of cash, and protect Hanover for us the next time we throw hands at France." Prussia says "make it rain!" France is now diplomatically isolated (January 1756, just a month before Matteo gets the offer he can't refuse). Austria is going all in to get Silesia back and offers to give the Austrian Netherlands to France if France helps Austria get Silesia. France says oui. Negotiations to deescalate the conflict in North America fall through, war were declared. Prussia looks at their strategic situation and realizes they have Austria to the South, Russia to the East, France to the West, and Sweden has been saber rattling to get Pomerania back. Prussia launches a preemptive attack on Saxony to protect Hanover. Everyone is angry at Prussia, because Saxony is still neutral (Austria hasn't put forth the motion to call the member states of the HRE to war in the Imperial Diet yet). HRE member states pile in against Prussia. It's only 1756. The war continues until 1763.

Whew, that's just the brief overview, and the war only just started.

Sabaton wrote a song to commemorate the 500th anniversary of the founding of the Swedish Royal Guard (Livgardet) and did a history video on it.

After making an offer you can't refuse the mafia says: "God forbid, a piano should fall on his head."
Matteo Severin's guardian angel: "Uno reverse card"

Expect more story time in the future. Got Matteo's Seven Years' War tale and Evelyn's Revolutionary War stories, and each deserves its own omake, just by virtue of who they served with/under and the battles they fought. Also have an idea for what happened with Matteo's company of Swedes. But now it's 2:30 am, time for sleep.

 

[AvidFicReader]

A Meeting of the Marshals

A dozen figures occupied the finely appointed room in Tuileries Palace, each dressed in immaculate uniforms, and each bearing the blue baton that was their symbol of office. Kellerman sat with Lefebvre, Berthier and Suchet at a table where they spoke animatedly over a stack of reports. Massena and Lannes shared their differing experiences as theater commanders with a recovered Jourdan, while Ney and Murat swapped war stories, with Mortier and Serurier occasionally chiming in, or Davout correcting an exaggeration of Murat's.

However, three of their number were currently absent. The Empress, Therese Bonaparte, was busy with affairs of state. Her brother, Brian Auclair, had departed for the Americas to serve as the Emperor's voice and representative with two of the undisputed great powers in that hemisphere; the Spanish Empire and the United States. The final marshal not present was Denis Severin, whose absence was the source of discussion among those who knew him.

"We held out against those cowardly Austrians until the Falcon swooped in to save the day, with General Davout and a brigade of infantry hot on his heels. That's how I got this handsome scar. Say, General Davout, where is that churl of a footman, anyhow? I can list any number of the man's faults, but his sense of timing is not among them. Else Messina and Marengo would have turned out somewhat differently, though my dashing horsemen would have carried the day regardless."

"Denis mentioned something about picking up a custom order, but you are right. A simple thing would not cause him to be so late."

"Oh, would you care to shar-"

The loud crash of the door impacting against the wall drew the eyes of all in the room, each general reaching for swords and pistols that were absent. The booming shout that followed calmed everyone, reassuring that this intrusion was not an attack on some of the most highly-ranked officers in the army.

"I AM HERE!"

"Damnit, you up-jumped sergeant, where the hell were you?"

"Missed you too, Prancing Pony Princess! Picking up my special order took longer than expected, and then I got held up by the guards. Hey Ney-Ney! Your boys are pretty paranoid! At least they're professional and well-trained. Something about running full-tilt at the Emperor's Residence not being acceptable? One of 'em almost shot me- don't worry, he's all right. Going to wake up with a hell of a headache, though."

"Ney-Ney?!" Michel Ney can only sputter incoherently at Severin's travesty of a nickname.

"Denis, let me get this straight. You were running late, so you, a large and intimidating man, charged right up to the palace, and when challenged by the guards, you knocked one out?"

"Sort of? I ducked under his musket and ran into him, knocked the wind out of him. Poor man had the misfortune to take an accidental butt-stroke to the head from another guard on the way down."

"And they held you up for that long out of spite?"

"No, no, they were professional about it. Accidents happen, the corporal recognized I was someone important- not that I like wearing this damned fancy target suit- and let me in. It was the next part that took a while."

"You were coming to a meeting with a dozen of the most important men in the army, what could possibly take so long?"

"Well, they had me disarm. Had some close calls with assassins in the past, and that bombing, too."

"Denis, we all had to disarm. That's why your... brash... entrance didn't see you stabbed or shot."

"Weeeellll... I handed over my sword, then they asked for my pistol. Handed that over, then my two spares. No time to reload when you're in the thick of it, right? They just stared at me for a bit, then I gave 'em my belt knife. Patted my vest down and handed over my stash of throwing knives. I'm not great outside of ten feet, but it's nice to have a ranged option when you're out of ammo. After that, I remembered I had my boot knife and my spare, never know when you need a holdout weapon, especially when you're outnumbered and surrounded, just like at Milan, right Murat? You wouldn't stop whining about how your face was hideous."

"Shut up Severin! And why in the devil's name are you carrying an armory's worth of weapons in the streets of Paris?"

"Habit, I guess? It's not the most dangerous place in the world, but I feel a bit naked without my weapons. Anyway, I'm here, we can start the meeting."

"Right, Lannes, you're the one who asked us here."

"Ahem, as entertaining as that bit of excitement was, let me call this meeting to order. I felt we could use the time to get to know one another, unofficially, as we will have to work together extensively in the future for the sake of France, surrounded by the hostile nations of Europe. I know it is a formality, but please present your batons."

One by one, the marshals present their batons as a symbol of their office. Except for Severin.

"Denis. Where. Is your. Baton?"

"Well, funny story, that-"

"What. Happened."

"Nick, you're pretty damned scary right now. Eh, I brought my baton, but Ney-Ney's boys took it."

"Severin, you are a Marshal of France, and the baton is a symbol of your office. Why would my men confiscate it?"

"I did say they asked me to disarm."

"Denis. What did you do."

"Nick, you know how I hate fancy shit that's only for ceremonial purposes. And the baton... so I turned it into something more practical. Imayhavefitteditwithanaxehead."

Davout can only stare blankly at his friend for a long moment before he facepalms and slumps back in his seat. As the other marshals process what Severin said, they too join Davout in expressing their exasperation. At that moment, Therese steps into the room.

"So, I heard that the marshals were all meeting up here and-"

Surveying the scene, Therese is witness to the greatest military officers of France sharing a collective facepalm as a sheepish Severin vainly attempts to hide his burly frame beneath the table.

"Severin! What did you do this time?"

Spoiler: A/N

So I had this idea as soon as the vote for the marshal list started and I realized Severin was likely to get a baton. He hates what he views as 'useless window dressing,' so he tried to give it some practical use. Can't turn it into a pistol, it's too long for a sword hilt, but it's just about the right length for a small hand axe or hatchet. Plenty of assassination attempts so far in the quest, then the twins almost got blown up, so security around the palace is tight, and Nappy has entrusted Ney with security. That means I can play with the "asked to disarm, turns out a mountain of weapons" trope. I figure between his armored vest (replaced after getting torn up at Milan), the Minci saber (as described, it would be a backsword (single-edged cutting sword) about 1 kilo or 2ish pounds), his pistols (best info I could find is 4 pounds (a bit less than 2 kilos) each), and his assorted knives, he's carrying 15 kg (30-ish lbs). That's definitely something you'd notice not having on you. Severin loves giving people nicknames, and since the guards are Ney's men, he calls him Ney-Ney. Then I thought about how the marshals would react to the news in a meeting, and how such a meeting might come about.

Lannes is Nappy's pal, and he wants Nappy's France to succeed, especially in a Europe that has proven to be so fickle and hostile to France. So why not try and get the marshals, the best and brightest officers of France, to get along and be able to work together. He wouldn't want to pull the Empress away from vital matters of state for what amounts to a social gathering, so Therese is not specifically invited. Though even if she couldn't stay long, she would certainly be curious what the marshals are doing meeting up without her in what is basically her house.

Severin:

Spoiler: Big Image

 

[AvidFicReader]

Matteo's Tour of the Holy Roman Empire

Matteo and Evelyn sit by the fireplace, sipping at their warm cider, Jeanne having been laid down for her nap.
"So, you went back into the Holy Roman Empire with the army?"

"Ah, yes. Spent the rest of the year mustering troops into two large armies. Served in both, but that's skipping ahead. The Prussian bastards had been busy, turning from Saxony to fight the Austrians down south. France's job was to knock Hanover out of the war and take some of the pressure off the Austrians. The Russians were a big threat, but they're slow to mobilize, and they're only good for one or two battles. Then they've shot their load and can't get it up. Don't matter how big your army is if they've got no powder and shot."

"Crude, but understandable."

"Hanover was defended by a chain of forts along the line of the Weser, notably Hamelin and Minden, which saw a lot of fighting in the war. So the first major battle we fought was the Battle of Hastenbeck. We cornered the Hanoverians near Hamelin, setting up a battle line on good ground around the town of Hastenbeck. Their right was anchored on Hamelin, and their left on the Obensburg, a bald-topped hill that was unassailable from the south, which was our angle of approach. But one of ours had scouted it out and discovered the slope on the east and especially the north were much easier to traverse. So the right wing of the army under General Chevert set out for a night march to flank the Oldenburg. The commanders had brigaded several grenadier companies into assault battalions to head the attack columns. My company went at the head of Regiment Picardie. We ended up on the far right of the advance, and were the first to encounter the enemy. They had built up a strong position, anchored on a tall, steep rock, using fallen trees and breastworks for cover in a very dense wood. They let us close, then unleashed a devastating volley that sent the lead company reeling. We rallied and returned fire from cover for a while to little effect. It took a while, but eventually, some officer realized there weren't all that many enemies in front of us, so we formed up and ran them off with a bayonet charge. While we were occupied doing the actual work, some ensign from Regiment Picardie planted their colors on the summit. The Center and Left had launched a frontal assault under artillery cover. The fighting on the right only got harder as we had to force the Hanoverians back from their positions behind deep ravines, even as they were slowly reinforced. Then we ran into an artillery battery that gave us hell. Only after it was flanked by reinforcing troops were we able to continue the advance. The main force had pushed through the town and pressed the Hanoverians, halted as well until this battery was also overrun. By then, we had fought our way out of the forest and were able to take their defenses from the rear. We were winning, and then one of our trailing brigades took a surprise counterattack that chased them off. From here on out, things get rather confusing. According to rumor and hearsay, we were facing counterattacks from across the line, and the Hanoverians had turned the guns we had dragged up the Obensburg on our forces. The Marshal called a halt to all attacks and ordered a general withdrawal, even as I watched the Hanoverians withdraw before us. There was a great confusion for a few hours as the army withdrew south of the Haste and beyond Hastenbeck. Then, the Marshal apparently came to his senses and ordered the attack resumed, as our pause gave the Hanoverians the time to organize and orderly withdrawal. I think it was the smoke from when they burned their camp that let the Marshal know our foes were on the run. By then, the enemy was beyond our reach, and soon, beyond our sight. So, both sides assumed they had lost, and it was only because were were slower in withdrawing that we held the field. Our victory at Hastenbeck allowed us to force Hanover to peace, though they repudiated it later."

"What a shitshow. A random counterattack lands at the perfect time and place behind your line of advance, then your commander loses their head and panics, letting the enemy escape."

"Yes, as well as that one brigade I mentioned, the Eu Brigade. In their flight, they ran into our Swiss Regiment Reding, and opened fire on them due to their red uniforms, thinking them to be Hanoverians."

Evelyn shakes her head. "That's even worse."

"Oh, it was a terrible situation, but it definitely got worse. After the battle, Regiment Touraine was transferred to Prince de Soubise's Army of Saxony to join the Reichsarmee, a grand name for a patchwork force comprised of the member states of the Holy Roman Empire. We marched to meet up with the main Austrian army in Bohemia, but ran into the Prussians in Upper Saxony. It took several days of maneuver and skirmishing before we gave battle. Soubise and his counterpart were rather timid and passive, and it was only on the fifth of November that the action started. We were ordered to execute a complicated wheeling maneuver in front of the Prussians to get on their flank. Things went wrong almost immediately. The ragtag Reichsarmee was poorly trained and terribly uncoordinated, and the vast majority of the Army of Saxony was no better. So a maneuver that is complicated on a parade ground turned into an awful snarl on the battlefield. At that point, the Prussian cavalry attacked. Our cavalry was able to intercept them, but a second wave routed them. A few battalions of Prussian infantry engaged our tangled formation, but the battle was over once the Prussian cavalry reformed for a third charge, which set the army to flight."

"So, another grudge against the Prussians, I take it?"

"Aye, first for Malplaquet, where my grandfather also fought in Regiment Touraine after his return from Sweden, and another for Rossbach. My experience there taught me to be respectful and wary of cavalry, something I passed on to my boys."

"So Darling's enmity with this other general, Murat?"

"The cavalry commander, yes? I suppose my bad experience at Rossbach may have colored Denis Martin's impression of the man. At least now, they can respect each other for their respective skills and prowess."

Spoiler: A/N

A lot of the details for both Hastenbeck and Rossbach were sourced from kronoskaf.com, a wiki on the Seven Years' War. Strangely enough, Regiment Touraine is not listed as participating at Hastenbeck there (its wartime records for the regiment start in late August, a month and a half after the battle), even though Wikipedia cites them being there. Hastenbeck has the dubious honor of both sides believing they had lost the battle. Also, knowing the terrain FTW!

This omake picks up immediately after Storytime with Papa Matteo.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Storytime with Evelyn

"Hey pops, top you off?"

"Ah, yes, thank you dear. Now where was I?"

"The disaster at Rossbach. At least you didn't have to put up with that idiot prince, right? Anyone who presided over such a debacle would have been sacked, surely?"

"Hah! You would think. But rumor had it de Soubise got his command because he was friends with the king's mistress. He stayed in command through the rest of the war. Pah! The only good thing about him is that he got an onion sauce named after him!"

"Haha! I'm not sure if Darling would be happy that it's an onion sauce or incensed that it bears the name of such an awful officer."

"That's not even the worst of it! That idiot prince would go on to gain a marshal's baton for the Battle of Lutterberg, where he outnumbered his foe three to one! His subordinate, Duc de Broglie, who would later earn his own marshal's baton by his own merit, had fought and won the Battle of Sandershausen three months earlier on that exact ground, counseled de Soubise on exactly how to cut off and surround the enemy, and the maneuver was to be carried out by General Chevert, who had executed the crucial flanking attack at Hastenbeck the year before. So the idiot prince is granted a marshal's baton for the advice and actions of his subordinates to win a battle where he had a three-to-one advantage!"

"What a shame, it seems like they would make just about anyone a marshal based on who they knew, even if they weren't qualified."

"True enough, though some earned their baton by their own merit. I'm sure Denis Martin would hate such political appointments. But enough on that. I've shared two stories, so I believe it is your turn, daughter."

"Right, where to start? Well my family was originally from the Saint Lawrence valley. They had their farmstead burned down and were pressed into service by the Redcoats as they laid siege to Quebec. They were released from service after the war and settled down in Virginia, near the James River. Had a few older brothers, I was the youngest, born in '66. We made a new life there, and Pa got along well enough with the other settlers that he didn't consider them the same as the Redcoats who tuned their lives upside-down. So when the shooting started up in New England, Pa was quick to join the Virginia Line, the Virginian volunteers to what would become the Continental Army."

"Ah, I see. So hatred of Le Bretagne flows in your veins as our grudge against the Prussians does?"

"More that my grudge against the Lobsterbacks was written in blood of my loved ones. My brothers signed up as soon as they could. They grew up on Pa's stories of the war. It's known as the French and Indian War on the other side of the Atlantic, rather than the Hanoverian Sausage Maker, pops."

"Yes, I suppose you've heard enough of my ranting about the war over the years."

"So, the Philadelphia Campaign of '77-'78 was a bloody one for the Virginia Line. Pa made it though, but my eldest brother died at Brandywine, and my middle brother died at Germantown. Youngest brother was killed at Monmouth. It was really hard on Ma, and I was only twelve, I didn't understand most of what was going on. Ma was still trying to protect me. We scraped by for a couple of years, then Pa was killed in mid '80 in the Waxhaws Massacre by that butcher, Tarleton. Him and his green-coated Tory raiders."

"Sorry, but Tory? I'm not familiar with that term."

"It's from British politics, politicians that follow the king. It's what we called the people that backed the the Redcoats. Like that traitor, Arnold. When he raided Richmond in early '81, Ma was caught up in the attack, and I had no one left. I was fourteen, and a good shot, so I could hunt game and look after myself for a while, but the war had come to Virginia, and I signed up with the militia soon enough. Disguised myself like a boy, went by Edwin. Close enough to my name that I could respond naturally enough. Kept mostly to myself, but since I spoke French, everyone just called me "Frenchie." At the time, the Virginia militia was under General von Steuben. He drilled us relentlessly. I know you don't like Prussians, pops, but he was good, and I probably wouldn't be alive if not for his training and leadership."

"I can respect a man's skills and achievements just fine, but why did he have to be a damned Prussian? If not for that, I might actually be able think fondly of the man!"

"Well, since I was a good shot and an experienced woodsman and I had my own rifle, I was placed in the light company. While rest of the militia mostly garrisoned strategic positions, we did a lot of detached scouting and patrols, and we took every chance we could to harass and ambush the Lobsterbacks. Nothing like having your enemies walk right into an ambush like lambs to the slaughter, hehe."

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Matteo can't help but comment to himself, 'Dear Evelyn is usually so kind and polite. It's so easy to forget that she is easily the most bloodthirsty and vicious of all my children. And before the revolution and the wars, the one with the most blood on her hands. I can see why Denis Martin is so fond of her!'

"A-nyway, not every ambush went perfectly, and a few times, I had to kill some men hand-to-hand. Once, I ended up pinned under a dead body in a swampy stream after I strangled him to death. I was so embarrassed that my comrades had to drag the corpse off me, even though I was able to kill him myself. Helped with my gangly young man cover, though. I made sure I could handle myself in a fight after that, as Darling learned the hard way."

"I recall reports of fighting in Virginia before the main body of the army arrived. Were you involved in many battles?"

"Yes, there was skirmishing through April, and by that point, the brass decided it was time to make a stand. So we dug in near Blandford, a small town outside of Petersburg, on the Appomattox River. My company deployed forward on a hill, a good position to catch the Brits and Tories in enfilade. They sent their Jaegers to push us off the hill before the lines clashed. We held them for half an hour, and it was only the threat of their artillery and a flanking action from their overwhelming numbers that forced us to withdraw. We held off two assaults at our second line for more than an hour, and only as they brought their artillery to bear that we pulled back again. We were militia, we didn't have many of our own guns to answer theirs. Eventually, we pulled back across the river over the Pocahontas Bridge, and the last company tore up the planks to deny the bridge to the enemy. We returned to Richmond, where we linked up with Lafayette's Continentals at the end of April. There was a lot of back-and-forth skirmishing and maneuvering over the next several months, Eventually, Cornwallis withdrew to fortify Yorktown, and we penned him in with the help of the marsouins of the French West Indies fleet. Then you and Washington's army arrived at the end of September to invest the town. You know what happened after that."

"Quite interesting. And the Marquis de la Fayette! A true son of France! It was unfortunate that those rascals ended up chasing the man out of France. He was, and is, a hero of two worlds. Actually, I did serve together with his father in the Army of the Lower Rhine in Hanover. If I recall, he was with the Grenadiers de France, and they were at Hastenbeck, Krefeld, and Minden, though I believe the elder marquis met his end there by cannonball."

"Ouch, nasty way to go. Do we have time for more storytelling?"

"Of course, there is always more time for war stories."

Spoiler: A/N

Charles de Rohan, Duke of Rohan-Rohan, was friends with Louis XV's mistress Madame de Pompadour, and got his command by her recommendation. Not sure if that's friends or "friends," tbh.

Prince de Soubise's English Wikipedia page has a section on his legacy, and the only thing there is the sauce named after him, made from onions and bechamel sauce.

At Lutterberg, Prince de Soubise had 42k men, his opponent Oberg had 14k. He got his marshal's baton for winning this battle and Sandershausen (won by de Broglie). de Soubise got hard carried to marshalship by two of the best French commanders of the war.

Matteo and Evelyn throwing some mad shade without even realizing it, huh?

'Hanoverian Sausage Maker,' Matteo's attempt at censoring the violence and brutality of the invasions of Hanover. After all, to make sausage, you have to grind meat finely and stuff it into intestines.

The Virginia Line was the collective name for the "regiments" of the Continental Army that came from Virginia. The Philadelphia Campaign all but gutted them, and even after several regiments being brigaded together, some units numbered less than 500 men total. Brandywine, Germantown and Monmouth were major battle in the campaign, and Monmouth was the last battle fought in the North during the war.

The Battle of Waxhaws Creek/ Waxhaws Massacre took place in North Carolina in May 1780. Whether it was an actual battle or a massacre depends on which source you reference, but it was a propaganda point for the Americans, and was the origin of the phrase "Tarleton's quarter" (none at all). The end result was most of the Continental troops slaughtered, and a tiny proportion captured, all wounded. Many church communities we're pressed into service as aid stations, and the story of the battle/massacre spread at the speed of gossip.

General von Steuben was in charge of the Virginia militia at the time, and Benedict Arnold was deployed on a raiding campaign targeting the tobacco industry that was the core of Virginia's economy. The Battle of Blandford was fought on April 25, ending with an American retreat to Richmond where they were reinforced by Lafayette. The British and Americans chased each other up and down Virginia with minor skirmishing until Yorktown. Lafayette is known as The Hero of the Two Worlds (Europe and America), and supported the revolution until radical revolutionaries threatened his arrest.

The Battle of Krefeld deserves its own Matteo omake, even if it occurred between Rossbach and Lutterberg, chronologically, due to the events of the battle, and the role Regiment Touraine played in it. Touraine was at Lutterberg, but was not seriously engaged. Minden is a big one, and was brought up by General Severin in one of the omakes on the road to Paris.

 

[AvidFicReader]

News from the Mouth of the Marshal

Captain- no, Colonel Jules Leo Severin could only feels cold and numb as he was dismissed by Marshal Auclair. The relayed words of his elder brother echoed in his ears. 'Marshal Severin finds your exploits... underwhelming.' Jules was the youngest, and had always stood in the shadows of his father and brothers. Louis had always been the biggest and the strongest, and only father was able to best him in wrestling and brawling. Denis had gotten an early start, having joined the army at fourteen, then going on his first campaign in the Americas! And even if Denis had only been a drummer boy, he had still managed to kill a redcoat. Even the new sister that had joined their family when Father and Denis returned from the war was better than him, better than Denis, even. In wrestling, brawling, marksmanship and woodcraft.

As for Jules, he had been the baby of the family, and he didn't get to leave to join the army until he was seventeen. He hadn't been as strong or as brave as the rest of his family. He just wanted to see the world and step out of the long shadows he had lived in all his life. Joining the Troupes de Marine had been his shot, but his first deployment had only been garrison duty in port. It wasn't until his recent deployment to Haiti as a fresh sergeant that he truly had his chance. Then, the revolution happened. The officers of the nobility dithered over what to do, and only after L'Overture took power did anything come of it. Haiti had remained out of the fighting as Europe was engulfed in flames, only the widespread revolts in the Spanish Empire spurred the Haitians into opportunistic land grabs in the Caribbean. The capture of Havana and the fighting at El Morro had been his first taste of combat, and despite their ultimate success, his company had been nearly wiped out. Between that and the short, victorious war, Jules had no other chances to win glory. Even holding El Morro against the British during the War of the Second Coalition was not a glorious endeavor, but a grinding, monotonous siege interspersed with brief, bouts of violence and terror. There was no decisive battle, only the British retreat as they ran out of supplies.

So while Jules had survived one battle and one siege, Denis had been winning battles and waging campaigns along the Rhine and the length and breadth of Italy. Denis had quickly risen from a sergeant to a general in under five years, while Jules had made captain for formality's sake. Even stubborn, brick-headed Louis had made captain, and now he was on some hush-hush mission. Jules might have just made colonel, but Denis was now a Marshal of France. It would seem Jules was destined to live in his brother's shadow.

"Eh, Captain, what's eating you? You just got through talking to the Marshal? Bad news from home?"

"Sorry Clinton, just a lot on my mind. It was good news, actually. We've fended off the numberless hordes of Europe and forced them to pay out the nose for peace. My family now has more money than they know what to do with, and my brother is now a Marshal of France. Oh and the marshal promoted me to colonel."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Wonderful news all around. Now that we're free of that Cuban charnel pit, we can celebrate properly! I'll tell Albert to break out the good stuff. He brought a crate of his good spirits back from Havana."

"Right, nothing but good news. Wait, shit, now I'm a colonel. That means I'm in charge now. What the hell am I going to do about officers?"

"Hah, good luck with that, lad! Albert probably knows some good picks, he's ministered to just about every man in the legion. As for me, I'll not take more'n a company of sharpshooters. 'Aint got many rifles, but I can teach a few of the lads how to shoot off a fly's wings. I'm one of the best after all. Only one I could rightly say was better'n me was this one lad back in '81, couldn't've been a day over fifteen. Most bloodthirsty sort I ever did meet. Don't recall 'is name after all these years, but I saw him pick off every officer in one company afore the rest of the lads opened up. I may be getting long in the tooth, but I'm still damned good!"

"Eighty-one? Was that Virginia? My father and brother were in the Expedition Particuliere. Both fought at Yorktown. That brother is the one the became a marshal; he went on to marry a Virgina girl that served in the militia. She once told me a story that sounded similar to that."

"You're shitting me! What a small world! Seems like everyone in your family is just larger than life, huh?"

"It sure seems like it. It feels like nothing I do is enough to live up to their accomplishments. Hell, I'm not sure I'm fit to run an entire regiment!"

"Horseshit! Son, you led us through some long damned odds. Hell, I was there for the first Siege of Havana. It took us months and twelve thousand men to crack that damned fortress, and under you, we captured it in hours, with a hundred and a half men. Then, we held it against assault for a day. That's damned impressive. Just because your family are a bunch of badasses doesn't mean you aren't one as well. You've been in for what, ten years now? Did your brother make colonel in ten years? Did he build a regiment from the ground up, or lead the most suicidal assault and tenacious defense I've seen in all my decades? Buck up Colonel, you've got a bright future ahead of you."

"Right, thanks for the reminder, Clinton. I needed to hear it."

"Hah! Better me than whatever mad stunt Samson would think up."

"He probably drag me from my bed and string me up somewhere in the jungle to knock some sense into me, knowing him."

"He would, wouldn't he?"

"Well, no rest for the wicked, especially not for a "demon-possesed pagan heathen" like me."

"Yep, you're the boss now, boss."

"Right, time to get back to work. I'll show you underwhelming, Denis, just you wait."

Spoiler: A/N

Jules is the youngest of three brothers, who all grew up on Matteo's war stories. The man who is one step removed from legendary badasses, who survived the carnage of some of the biggest battles of the Seven Years' War, then retired after the American Revolution because he figured there wouldn't be another big war anytime soon. So yeah, Jules is definitely an unreliable narrator. Especially considering it was peacetime when he enlisted, and even when France was on fire from the Netherlands to the Med, Haiti was pretty far removed until Spain's empire imploded. Sure, Spain got a handle on it, but not before abandoning the Iberian Peninsula. Haiti gobbled up the Spanish Caribbean and peaced out, then spent the next year digesting their conquests. Then Coalition 2: Electric Boogaloo had Britain trying to landgrab the Spanish Caribbean from Haiti. So while Denis was fighting in Sicily and Italy, Jules was sitting tight in Havana. He didn't get as many chances to make a name for himself, but the times he did? Hoo boy. Basically, the baby of the family has an inferiority complex due to all the crazy shit the rest of them get up to. But Jules has made Colonel after only ten years in service, most of that as an NCO. What he has achieved is pretty mind-blowing in itself.

 

[AvidFicReader]

How I Met Your Mother

Severin drew his coat tighter as the brisk December wind blew a flurry of snow into his face. He would have preferred to travel home earlier in the year, but between the appointment of the marshals and other social obligations in the capital, his return home had been delayed. As much as he enjoyed soldiering, Severin did miss his family, and it pained his heart that it had been nearly a year since his daughter's birth. A year that she had been without her father and older brother.

"Papa, are we there yet?"

"Another hour or so, son. I recognize that big rock up ahead. I'd the Lord has mercy, we'll get home sooner. Your grandpere has been hard at work; the roads are much better than I remember."

Charlie was unusually downcast. Then again, this was the first time he had been separated from Louis and Julian for more than a few hours. He had experienced a lot of firsts; his first campaign, his first battle, his first real friends.

"Something weighing on your mind, Charlie? You can always talk to me about anything."

""It's- it's dumb. I miss them so much! Louis and Julian stayed behind in Paris, even after we invited them to meet our family! We've always been together ever since met! I can't imagine being without them!"

"Charlie, you remember how much you missed your mother after we left Toulon?"

"Yes. It was the first time we were apart for more than a week."

"Now, think about how long it's been since we left Sicily. That's how long it's been since Louis saw Therese. I'm sure he missed her as much as you missed your mother. He took the opportunity to spend time with her, the first person outside his sister that he was able to place any faith and trust in. As for Julian, well, he and I don't always get along. Besides, the boy's been besotted since the day he first laid eyes on Charlotte. He wants to make a good impression on her, now that she's a princess. Well, now that she's a princess again. I don't think he knew who she was, just love at first sight."

"Papa... do you believe in love at first sight?"

"Haha, no. Did I ever tell you how I met your mother? In the celebrations after the victory at Yorktown, we got into a damned fool argument over whether Lafayette or von Steuben was the better commander. I of course picked Lafayette, as he was a fellow Frenchman, while she defended that Prussian drillmaster, as he had been her commander longer. She had been disguised as a young man, so we got into a brawl. I'm not too proud to admit, but she kicked my ass. In my pained flailing, I accidentally copped a feel, and she nearly throttled me to death. Even after she agreed to live under the care of your grandpere, she and I still argued and fought, even as we grew more accustomed to one another. She still won more often then not over the years, and she likes to fight dirty. Then one day, as we fought, she tripped me and pinned me. While I was on the ground, she slammed her hand next to my head and stared me in the eyes for what felt like an eternity. Then she kissed me. You can guess how things went from there."

"So how did you go from beating each other up to using those cutesy nicknames?"

"They actually started as mocking nicknames, though your mother started them, so she might have been serious on her end. But way she said it would always make by blood boil and go for another round. Then again, that might have been what she wanted in the first place. She said I might as well call her the sun, since she would be the first thing I would see after she put me on my back. Hmm... now that I think about it, nothing about her approach was very subtle at the time. I can only blame the thickheaded obliviousness of youth. Your mother has really mellowed out, though. She's gotten rather polite, and she only picks a fight when she wants sex."

"Thanks for that papa. More than I needed to know, but thanks."

"What brought on the question about love?"

"Well, there's... someone I like. But how do you know if you're in love?"

"Well, I'm not the best person to ask, as you've learned, but I'll give it my best shot. You should able to be open and comfortable with the person you love. You should be able to be as goofy or hammy and over-the-top with each other as you want. Being with them should make you happy. As often as we fought, and as infuriating as she could be with her smug attitude, I enjoyed spending time with her. We always pushed each other to be better than before, and even after I became stronger than her, or had longer reach, she could be more cunning and flexible. And, those rare times when I could see she was genuinely happy and enjoying herself, I couldn't help but smile broadly in turn. In any case, that is what comes to mind when I think love."

"Wow papa, that was so tooth-rottingly sweet and sappy. Comparing you now and when you're leading the men is a world of difference. If I hadn't experienced it myself, there's no way I would think of you as a stern taskmaster."

"Haha, that's what your mother says all the time. I guess she brings that out in me. That and broken furniture. When she gets passionate, I can't help but be passionate as well. I remember that time-"

"And that's too much information! Changing the subject! How long 'til we get home?"

"We've made good time, despite the cold and the snow, looks like half an hour, less if we push it. The horses should be able to take it. And don't think I've forgotten about you live woes. We can talk about it later with your mother."

"Papa! Nooooooooo!"

"Hahahaha!"

Spoiler: A/N

I was originally going to call this 'Take me Home, Country Roads,' but I figured the current title fits much better. Starting off with a bit of introspection, then realizing his son is being unusually dour. Oh noes, tween angst! Tried to hint that Charlie is at least a little attracted to Louis without coming out and saying it, trying to talk around the subject. As weird as the Severin family can be, I still feel it would be weirder for Charlie to be comfortable enough to outright say that he likes his friend as more than a friend. I hope this bit helps explain why Severin thinks his wife is scarier than he is. Also, Severin got kabedon'd, lol. I picture Severin as 6'1" (185 cm, tall for the time), and Evelyn as 5'9" (175 cm, tall for a woman for the time), so the only way to get a proper kabedon would be by her pinning him to the ground. Their relationship started at a viewing each other as 'that jerk,' then as rivals, then to a couple over the course of several years. As for obliviousness, I'm sure we can all relate to some extent. I can think of at least two occasions where I told a girl that (I now know) liked me that I liked someone else to her face. Also, more Severin TMI and being a sappy softy when the troops aren't looking.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Matteo's Tale of Krefeld

"So pops, you mentioned another battle that happened before Lutterberg?"

"Aye, the talk of that damned Prince Onion Sauce got me all distracted. So, those horrible Prussians beat the tar out of the Reichsarmee at Rossbach, then turns around and does the same to the main Austrian army at Leuthen. Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick, the brother-in-law of Old Fritz, took his army of Hanoverians and allies and pushed us back to the Rhine in February. In June, he crossed the Rhine and tried to encircle and destroy us. We took up a strong defensive promotion south of the town of Krefeld, near the Rhine. The army built fortifications behind a double-walled canal topped with trees called the Landwehr. The right flank was a broad expanse of marshland, while the left was a patchwork of thickets and farmsteads. Visibility was low, cavalry maneuver was impossible, and maneuver for formed infantry was quite difficult and limited. Our center was extremely hard to assault, and we had half again their number. The battle should have been a foregone conclusion."

"Should? I'm getting a bad feeling about this."

"As well you should. Regiment Touraine was posted in the center of the second line of the left flank. From what I heard after the fact, the commander of the army, the Comte de Clermont, was so confident in our position that he ignored reports of enemy activity for four hours, considering we only began deployment around ten in the morning, and the allied artillery only opened up against our center around noon. That was about the time when Clermont must've learned about the flanking attack trying to hook around our left, because our entire division, some 15 battalions under General Saint- Germain, were ordered to reform and defend the left. So at 1pm, our right and center are being hammered by artillery, and there is a major assault on the western edge of our center, but the general had sat back down for lunch and is not to be disturbed."

"Holy shit, how did this man become a general?"

"I have no clue. Must've been nepotism among the nobles. Here's where my personal recollection becomes relevant. Around 2:30, I hear artillery opening up on our left, where Brigade La Marine's six battalions are holding around the Holter farmstead. The Allied right had finally found us. At 3pm, we can hear the sounds of a general engagement; the clatter of muskets, the thunder of cannon, and occasionally, we could even make out the tattoo of drums. Those mad bastards of La Marine held the Hanoverians for forty-five minutes at two-to-one odds. Tenacious as they were in holding those farmsteads, they were eventually driven back by overwhelming numbers. But those forty-five minutes they bought was just barely enough time for the rest of the division to arrive and reinforce them. With the whole of the division, some seven thousand men, we launched a counterattack on the Hanoverians, led by Charles Ferdinand of Brunswick."

"Wait, Charles Ferdinand? Wasn't that the Prussian commander who threatened to raze Paris to the ground should the king and queen come to harm?"

"Aye, the very same. It was fortunate that our illustrious empress halted him at Valmy, and again at Mayence. Denis Martin told me of the battle when I went to visit him at Metz. But back to Krefeld. The Hanoverians and their allies held the farmsteads in a good defensive position, but we were still able to make some headway and regain the line of the Niers River, though some would describe it as a wet ditch in the woods. It wasn't until Brunswick the younger committed his second line, another 4,500 men, that he was able to grind our advance to a halt. Even so, the fighting remained ferocious, and I lost myself to the motions of the firing drill. At the time, the battle seemed to stretch on forever, a blur of smoke, flash and noise. I'm certain that my hat had been shot off in the first hour, and my shoulder was a massive bruise from the hours of constant firing. I think it was a bit before 6pm that the situation changed. The allies had managed to force two crossings with converged grenadier battalions, and we were unable to unseat their toeholds before another development occurred. There was a report of enemy dragoons to our rear; they must have found an unguarded crossing and turned our flank. By that point, we had been fighting for near three hours, and had withstood three serious assaults by superior numbers, including their elite grenadiers. Casualties had been heavy, ammunition was low, and reinforcements were nowhere to be seen. We had to abandon the wood and withdraw over open ground. The only thing that kept us from breaking at that point was the arrival of the Carabiniers Royaux, charging through the enemy lines. Big damned heroes, and they nearly got Duke Ferdinand and his son Charles Ferdinand at one point. But they paid harshly for it. More than half their number, some seven hundred men including their regimental commander were casualties. By 6:30, the cavalry fighting had ended in favor of the allies."

"Damn, that must've felt awful. You fought your hearts out, only to be let down by your commander, and when you finally get reinforcements, they get slaughtered."

"Oh, that wasn't even the worst part. As the cavalry fighting wound down, our infantry reserve, a whole 18 battalions, Brigade Navarre, and the Grenadiers Royaux and Grenadiers de France arrived to reinforce us. We could still put up a turn the battle around, even if some of our best cavalry had been bled dry. Just as they began to form up for a counterattack, we received another dispatch from Clermont. This was an order to retreat. To quit the field. If only, if only. If Clermont had gotten off his ass and dispatched the reserve earlier, if he hadn't chickened out at the last minute. The allies failed to entrap us, after all. So we went from a nigh unassailable position to surrendering the field when there was still the chance to grasp victory. Our army suffered around 4,200 casualties at Krefeld. Of those, two thousand were from our division, which started at seven thousand strong. Regiment Touraine's commander, the Duc de Montmorentcy, was also wounded, though he was able to return to duty eventually."

"Pops... I-"

"Don't worry dear, I've had almost forty years to come to terms with it. Besides, there was so much more of the war ahead. Krefeld was only in '58, after all."

Spoiler: A/N

This omake takes place immediately following Storytime with Evelyn

Holy shit, Krefeld was a mess of mismanagement for the French. Talk about snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

Spoiler: Krefeld Map

note the cross-section diagram of the Landwehr in the top right corner. The center walls are also topped by trees. Easy to see why assaulting them would be suicidal.

So Clermont gets first warning of the allied advance at 6am, proceeds to do absolutely nothing until 10, when they start getting close. Even then, he just sets up behind the Landwehr. Noon, allied left starts bombardment of French right, then demonstrates (distracts with artillery and skirmishing) for the rest of the battle. Allied center attempts to assault the French center-left, makes little progress. Allied right encounters French left, French hold for three hours. For comparison, fatigue might start to set in after half an hour. The French held out for three. The allies have two lines of 4,500 each, with grenadiers concentrated in the first line. The madlads from La Marine have 6 battalions, about 2,800 men. They hold for 45 minutes. Then the French counterattack, and Brunswick has to commit his second line to stabilize the situation. The flank attack that is meant to roll up the French line in one fell swoop turns into a three hour grind. It isn't until 5pm that Clermont says 'hmm, maybe Saint-Germain could use some reinforcements.' Ferdinand comes over to see what's holding up his son just in time for the Carabiniers to YOLO through two lines of his cavalry and get entangled in his third. Ferdinand has to take cover with his infantry to avoid being captured or killed. More French and allied cavalry show up, but it goes in favor of the allies. French infantry reserve arrives, preps for a counterattack, Clermont says 'nope, we lost, let's get out of here, boys.' Ferdinand tells his left to advance and run down the French, but his commander there wants no part in assaulting the Landwehr line. When he finally moves forward, the positions have been long abandoned.

4,200 French casualties, 2,000 from Saint-Germain's 7,000 man division. 700 casualties from the 1,329 man Carabiniers regiment
Vs.
1,600 allied casualties

Can you believe I'm only in the second year of the Seven Years' War? It sure feels longer. Well, technically, Lutterberg was 1759, but I mostly glossed over it.

 

[AvidFicReader]

A Dream of Music

Claude de Lisle, retired colonel and former chief of staff of the Army of the Orient, was enjoying his newfound retirement. Unlike a certain nuisance of a friend he could name, Claude did not think himself well suited to a life of soldiering. The defense of France was is good hands with the new marshals, and good staff work could be counted on from Auclair and Berthier, even if the latter was an arrogant prick with an ego the equal of his skill with logistics. Rather than make the arduous trek home to Montaigu, he decided to rent a Parisian townhouse with a few other gentleman with an interest in music. Between his pension and the tuition fees he charged for music lessons, it was something he could easily afford. Claude had the good fortune to find a lovely piano in excellent condition, which he bought with the wealth he had picked up on campaign. Well, that a certain friend had set aside for him. A matter of semantics. All that mattered was he had a fantastic piano with which he could compose music.

Claude scheduled his lessons from noon to four, then reserved the early evening for his own composition and playing it out on his piano. Claude's composing often ran into the night, and if he imbibed a bottle of his favorite spirits, so much the better. It wasn't like he had to be up with the sun to manage the army's supplies any longer. And he had all morning to become a presentable human being before his first lesson of the day. But on this particular night, he had been carousing with one of his roommates, a fellow of Russian ancestry who could well appreciate both music and spirits alike. They had drank and played well into the night, playing for one another the songs and drinks of their people.

But now, Claude stumbled to wakefulness in the dark, the only source of illumination the keyboard of a piano. Strange, it wasn't his piano, it lacked the single stain on one of the rightmost keys. Not something eye-catching, but for Claude, who spent hours every day over those keys, it was a lack he couldn't help but notice. Then, it began.

A mote of light fell from the ceiling, and as it struck a key, that note rang out, breaking the silence. Then, another. And another. A stream of notes, at an accelerating tempo. Then, new notes, a rhythm, then a simple, vaguely Russian, melody. Then it repeated, faster and faster. Then an echoing, booming voice, proclaiming a single letter. Each time it repeated, the notes came faster, and in greater complexity, ascending to the realm of impossibility and absurdity. But even then, the riot of sound and light still maintained that damned melody, still able to be followed amidst that cacophony! Just as Claude's musician's sanity began to fray, it came to an end. So abrupt was it, that it felt physically jarring. There was a brief sensation of falling...

...And Claude hit the floor ant the foot of his sitting room couch, surrounded by empty bottles. The sunlight streaming IN through the window and the crowing of a rooster told him it was daylight, but it took several tries of blinking bleary eyes before he was able to make out the hands of the clock. It was 8:10, an ungodly early hour for a man who had be up drinking in the hours past midnight.

Pressing his eyelids shut, Claude attempted to shut out the world as his hangover flared to life. The strangest thing, though, was his headache pounded to a strange, half-forgotten rhythm, as did the chirping of the birds outside his window. Blinking a few times, Claude struggles his way to a sitting position, pressing a hand to his temple. A single sound rattles in the confines of his skull, a resonant "E."

At that, the contents of his dream (nightmare?) rush back to his waking mind. "Ah, shit. What in heaven was that? I should cut back on how much I drink before bed. At least Denis would quip something like "at least you're using the whole damned keyboard," the philistine. I could use something to drink- maybe that posca would be a prudent choice."

Spoiler: A/N

A Halloween nightmare omake for de Lisle, our favorite drunk (thanks for that, Severin). I was inspired to write this from reading a memey omake on another thread about the same song. Said song being Rush E. I have the feeling this dream/nightmare will haunt de Lisle for a long time.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Home at Last

Denis and Charlie made their way up the village street on foot, the quiet crunch of snow beneath their boots their only accompaniment. They had left their horses at the village tavern, as it was one of the few places with a stable not already full with livestock. Biffontaine was a small village nestled between several pine-covered hills, built around the single main road that ran through the village. The Severin family farm was located at a corner on the far end of town, where a dirt track branched off from the road.

Denis let out a deep, contented sigh, breaking the silence that the father and son had shared since their arrival.
"Ah, the sights of Biffontaine in winter. It's been so long since I've seen it. Snow that blankets the houses and trees, the flicker of firelight through windows, the gentle curl of smoke from chimneys, how nostalgic. This, son. This, is what we fight for. To protect this, the peace of our home, and safety of our neighbors and friends, is worth fighting and dying for."

"But what about honor and glory? Aren't they important too?"

"Son, let me share with you the wisdom that has been passed down the Severin line through the generations. Your grandpere learned it from his father, he passed it to me and your uncles, and now I hand it to you. You cannot cover yourself in glory if you do not conduct yourself with honor. And what is honor without fulfilling our duty? Our duty is to empress and nation, and what is the nation but it's people? We cannot know or care about everyone in the nation, but we know and care about friends and family and community. This is why we fight. To blindly seek glory is to abandon honor and duty, and thus, to abandon those we love. So hone your skills... to show the world what peak performance looks like."

"That bit at the end doesn't seem to fit, papa."

"Ah, forgive my rambling, son. I am distracted by the prospect of seeing your mother again."

"You want to surprise her?"

"Yes, I would like to get the drop on her, so let's be quiet. I want to try and pin her this time."

"You mean a hug, papa?"

"Well, that too, but I would like to win an exchange, since she won our last bout in Toulon. That was when your sister was conceived."

"Too much, papa. I didn't need to hear that."

"Shh, we're here. Hold onto these for a moment," handing Charlie his coat and belt laden with weapons.

Denis tested the door, finding it unlocked, as usual. Easing it open, he peeked inside, spotting his beloved wife facing away from the door. Giving a shout as he charges, arms spread wide, feet pounding the floor, carrying him the length of the room in seconds.

But it is not to be. Denis' arms close on empty air, then his lovely wife's shoulder impacts his stomach, taking him off his feet. Between his momentum and the assistance provided by his wife, Denis' world is a whirl of motion, as he finds himself tumbling head over heels, landing heavily on his back breathless, his wife kneeling upside-down over him. Slamming her hand next to his head, Evelyn smugly smirks down at him.

"Oh my, falling for me all over again, darling?"

"Just like old times, Mon Soleil," he wheezes, catching his breath.

Evelyn caresses his cheek, smile broadening as she leans down to kiss him.

"Ahem, not to interrupt this touching moment, but it is good to see you my son. And my dear daughter, did you have to smash my favorite sitting chair in your oh-so romantic reunion?"

"Sorry pops," said Evelyn, looking entirely unapologetic.

"Apologies, father."

"It is a good thing young Jeanne Therese is a heavy sleeper, lest your ruckus wake her. And you! General de Brigade! Where is your escort? Don't tell me you rode here from Paris without any guards!"

"I left our escort quartered down the road in Bruyeres. There wouldn't be enough room for them here, and I'll not force my men to camp in the open in the Vosges in December."

"It's good to know you haven't let command get to your head, son, but wouldn't there be room enough at the tavern?"

"Well, about that-"

"Papa, here~ your weapons!"

"Charlie, my boy good to see you after so long- what in the Good Lord's name?!"

Peeking out from Denis' greatcoat and belt was the bright blue surface of his marshal's baton.

"Father, I can explain!"

"You were made a Marshal of France? Not to disparage your abilities, my son, but of all the generals of France, you were elevated so?"

"It was a surprise, but the Emperor inducted a class of fifteen of the best and brightest officers as marshals, including Therese, and commanders of regional armies."

"I see, a marshal's bodyguard would likely outnumber the entire village in population."

"Ease up, pops, darling likely wanted the men to be comfortable, while having private family time. And darling, I can understand being promoted for your excellent performance, but I can't see you taking the purely ceremonial baton."

"Well, about that-"

"Papa turned it into a weapon and got in trouble with Marshal Ney-Ney's security! Louis told me about it after he heard it from his mama!"

"Snrk- ahahaha! Oh darling, that is so like you! Hahahaha!"

"A-anyway, father, sorry about breaking your chair, but with all the income from managing Therese's factories in Lorraine, surely it would be trivial to purchase, even commission a new one."

"Hmph, it's the principle of the thing. Besides, I divided the income into shares for each family member. You and your brothers' shares have just been building up, but Evelyn used hers for something or other."

"Mon Soleil, what could you have spent such a vast amount of wealth on?"

"I invested it. Rifles are the future of warfare, and having heard of the accomplishments of my adorable students, I knew there would be interest from the army soon enough. Soooo... I invested in a rifle factory. It hasn't started producing actual rifles yet, but for now, the workers are getting practice reboring older Charleville muskets. After all, you know how difficult it is to fight light infantry, and you've seen how effective they can be. But imagine, whole regiments with rifles! Line infantry wouldn't stand a chance on open ground, or trying to assault fortifications! I-"

"About that, love, Louis and I had an idea we wanted to run by you: an imperial training school for riflemen."

"Well, don't keep me waiting darling!"

Spoiler: A/N

Got a bit poetic and philosophical at the start. I wanted to show that Severin isn't just "all war, all the time," and as strange and twisted as it may be, he does ascribe to a certain kind of honor in war.

Spoiler: Severin's thoughts on his wife

View: https://youtu.be/wJGE0dFakCU

Then he gets practically suplexed, then kabedon'd, before getting a Spider-Man kiss. Evelyn is truly cultured.

Charlie trolling his dad, with the baton bit. A reminder for the family that they were throwing mad shade (unintentionally) only a month or so ago, dissing Prince Soup Base for becoming a marshal based on his connections.

Also explaining what the Severin family is doing with the money Matteo makes as Therese's on-site manager. And a mention of the rifle school to the local rifle enthusiast.

Edit: Editing pass for improved readability and fixing autocorrupt.

 

[AvidFicReader]

A Visit Between Friends

Colonel Antoine Chamans, commander of the First Regiment, Imperial Gendarmes, was taking a rare day off to visit an old friend who he hadn't seen since his retirement from the army. At present he stood on a street in a residential neighborhood of Paris.
"This is the address, but no one seems to be in, despite being eight in the morning."

Peering through the ground floor windows, Chamans can make out the interior of the townhouse. As he catalogues what he can see, he begins muttering the details to himself.
"Windows are intact, no sign of forced entry, evidence of candle stubs- allowed to burn out rather than extinguished. A decanter of... something on the table, not water by the color, but Claude wouldn't leave wine out in the open like that. No sign of empty bottles, hopefully a good sign that he's stopped drinking so heavily without the stress of army duties and Martin's antics chipping away at his sanity. A nice piano in the corner of the room, and quite a mess of papers spread across it and the end table placed next to it. Can't tell what is on it, but knowing Claude, it's likely to be musical notation. Then, beneath the end table! A boot! Don't have an angle from the window, but it's hopefully attached to a body."

With urgency born of concern, Chamans tries the window, finding it to be unlatched. In his haste to force it open, he causes it to jam, with barely enough room to fit an arm. Taking a moment to reassess, he calls out to de Lisle a few times, eliciting a few twitches of motion from the boot, but nothing more.

"Right so, he's alive, at least. Still can't get in, so maybe I can do something else to wake him?"

Dropping down from the window, Chamans spots a loose pebble broken from the cobblestones. Testing it's weight and tossing it in his hand a few times, he deems it adequate. Returning to the jammed window, the colonel wedges his arm through, before blindly casting the pebble where he can only guess de Lisle's head lays.

"Ow! The hell? A rock?"

"Claude! Are you all right? Why were you lying under the table?"

"Whuzzat? Antoine? The hell are you doing so early in the morning?"

"It's eight in the morning, you lush! I came to visit you, but saw you collapsed on the floor! Now, are you all right?"

"I- give me a moment- ow! Damnit! Stupid table!"

"Talk to me Claude!"

"I'm fine, just bumped into the table getting up. I'll be over to let you in the door in a minute."

In the longest, worry-filled minute of his life outside of combat, Chamans waited by the townhouse's front step. Hearing the door unlatch and creak open on its hinges had him whip his head around to take in his friend, squinting his eyes and rubbing the back of his head.

"Thank God, I thought something ill had befallen you, Claude! What happened?"

"Ah, it was nothing unusual, I had just worked late into the night and didn't feel like climbing upstairs to my bedroom."

The pair of friends walk through the townhouse trading banter until they seat themselves at the table in the music room.

"That can't be good for you. You're no spring chicken, Claude, you're the oldest of the three of us, and late nights and sleeping on the floor can't help."

"Ha ha, you baby-faced bastard. But it's fine. I've had some... inspiration... of late. An idea of a song that I've been trying to get out of my head and onto sheet music. I'm so damned close, I can feel it."

"Well, at least it seems you haven't been drinking as much, though as to whatever that is in the decanter, I have not clue."

"I had this dream- or nightmare- one night while in a drunken stupor. Entirely bizarre, but inspiration is as inspiration does. If the muse comes as an incomprehensible being like the angels of the Old Testament, who am I to argue?"

"And that made you swear off drinking?"

"I've sworn off the hard stuff. Bit difficult, what with one of my roommates preferring his Russian spirits, but I take nothing stronger than watered wine since All Saint's Day."

"Well, congratulations on being mostly sober, then."

"Thanks, Antoine. Would you like something to drink?"

"Certainly, I did get lost looking for this place, wandered the streets for a bit, then I was shouting to wake you from your slumber. By the way, what is... that, in the decanter. Your watered wine?"

"It is. Remember that last project I was working on back before I retired? This is it. It's a recreation of an old Roman drink called posca, drank by commoners, but more importantly, by legions on the march to ensure they always had potable water. It's vinegar and watered wine, flavored with herbs. I've used mint in this batch, sweetened it with a bit of Haitian sugar. I know, it doesn't sound appetizing, but the additives do a lot for the flavor. Try some. Better than Denis' German beer, in my opinion."

"Hmm... it is interesting. Surprisingly refreshing. Maybe a bit more mint, and serving it chilled? It would most certainly be a welcome refreshment after a hot summer day on the march. You know, you could follow in Therese's footsteps and create a factory for this posca. It could sell well, even among the civilians."

"I've thought of it, but working on this song has all of my attention at the moment. Even afterward, music is still my passion. That, and I'm basically living off my pension. I haven't the funds to start up my own business."

"Tell you what, I think there's promise in this, so I'll chip in some of my funds. But I also think you should write Therese about this, in her role as Inspector of the Army. If they have the funds to spare, you might get an army contract. If not, she might see the potential and contribute her personal funding. Lord knows she has cartloads of money after her foundries and factories in Lorraine got up and running. There's always buyers for cheap steel, and France can use all the weapons and ammunition it can get."

"Even if I could get this business started, that would likely require my undivided attention, and take me away from music."

"I'll cite Therese as an example again. She's up to her neck in work and raising her sons, but she's still raking in all that cash because she hired someone to manage her businesses for her. I think she hired Martin's father, Mathieu, or somesuch? In any case, he runs it for her so she can devote her attention to other things."

"I see. I'll give it some thought once I've gotten that song out of my head an onto paper. It's been nagging at my brain for months, now."

"In the meantime, we can complain- I mean, talk- about how Denis managed to be appointed as one of the Imperial Marshals."

"Right, who among us would have thought that that "upjumped sergeant" would one day become a Marshal of France? Certainly not him!"

"I heard he got up to one of his antics again that got him in trouble with the gendarmes stationed at Tuileries Palace. Something about an altercation with the gate guards, then turning over a veritable armory when asked to disarm."

"Hah! Sounds like him, all right. To Denis, long may he entertain! As someone else's headache!"

"I'll drink to that!"

Spoiler: A/N

Chamans remains a colonel, and has been placed in command of the gendarmes (more in their role as military police due to our chosen cavalry reforms than battlefield cavalry. OTL Napoleon had a unit of gendarmes as part of the Imperial Guard (their title translates to "elite gendarmes of the Imperial Guard), and were employed as to protect official residences and palaces as well as VIP security in peacetime, and headquarters security and military police in wartime. I'm assuming Ney is in charge of the Gendarmes or the Imperial Guard (former Consular Guard, as opposed to Severin's former Republican/Bridge Guard) collectively.) as part of his punishment after his war crimes conduct in Sicily. Still being used to army life, rising early comes naturally to Chamans, so 8am is late for him. Compared to de Lisle, who has become used to his retirement and is only fully awake by noon.

Chamans doing his detective schtick as a reference to turn option that has him investigating a series of murders.

I had to check the front page, but de Lisle (b. 1760) is 6 years older than Severin (b. 1766), and 9 years older than Chamans (b. 1769).

All Saint's Day/Hallowmas is the first of November, so de Lisle had his Rush E nightmare on Halloween, as befitting a Halloween omake. He's working on making a playable version.

de Lisle's drink is posca, referenced in this omake. It's invaluable for an army on the march that can't guarantee clean water everyday. The wine and vinegar would kill bacteria and parasites, not that they'd know about the former at the time (tiny, strangely-shaped monsters that make you sick? You mean demons, right? Or miasma). Maybe this might show up in the army or turn options, who knows?

The Severin antics reference this omake.