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

[AvidFicReader]

Game Night

An eclectic mix of officers occupied one of the meeting rooms of Tuileries Palace on a particular evening. Amidst various maps, organization tables and sheafs of loose papers were half-eaten platters of finger foods and trays laden with decanters and glasses. The richly decorated room featured more finery than the majority of the present officers, risen from the ranks, had ever experienced. Although they all sat at the table to make common cause, their various cliques were quite visible. The infantry officers formed a tight knot at one end of the table, while the cavalrymen coalesced on the other end. The middle was split in twain, between the artillerymen and the staff officers surrounding their corps commanders.

"So, given your prior experience campaigning in the Netherlands, what would you suggest to start off our war plans for the northern theatre, Dumas?"

"The city of Lille is the obvious choice. Heavily fortified with a Vauban-style citadel during the Ancien Regime, built on the river Deûle, and as a trade city, it sits at the junction of various well-maintained roads. It came under siege back in '92, and when I was there, some of the buildings still had cannonballs embedded in them. Alternatively, we could posture extremely aggressively and establish our headquarters in the Batavian Republic, or Kingdom of Batavia, should our exalted emperor get his way."

"I assume there would be difficulties with such a plan? Moving our two corps- forty thousand men and all the accompanying horses and cannons- by sea or through the Austrian Netherlands would involve a great many complications."

"Aye. Crossing the border by land would start a war, though with the recent Austrian delegation headed by an archduchess, things might be changing soon."

"I heard about that! Therese was at court for it, right? Charlie mentioned her bemoaning her lack of pistol to shoot some courtiers, and complaining about lady stilts that made her feet bleed."

"So between the archduchess and the recent troubles in Austria, there might be some truth to the rumors that they might cede their Netherlands holdings in exchange for assistance in consolidating their territories closer to home."

"In any case, we should write up a plan for the current situation, and a backup for a jumping off point in the Netherlands itself. And you had something to say about the sea route?"

"Right, moving two corps' worth of men, horse and cannon by sea is slow, obvious, and vulnerable to the whim of the Royal Navy. Even the short trip from Dunkerque to Rotterdam would be fairly exposed, and depending on weather and how many ships are available, along with naval escort, the full transfer might take weeks. The benefit of this plan is we have no need to rendezvous with the Batavian army, as we will be able to muster together."

"How's the state of your corps? You tested them on a route march yet?"

"I have. Colonels Abel and Mathieu have been whipping the men into shape. Some of the better battalions have been able to complete a ten-mile march in two hours, while the rest can finish within another half hour. Much faster and they might be able to keep pace with the cavalry, hah!"

"Abel and Mathieu know their stuff, just make sure to keep a tight leash on Mathieu. He always wants to attack. Nick plopped him in the center of the line so he could sit right behind Mathieu so he wouldn't go off half-cocked. Mathieu may be more senior, but Abel's got his head screwed on better. At least he doesn't lead with his lower head!"

"Hey, screw you Marshal Nerd! I get up to plenty of fun without being tied down!"

"Hear, hear!"

"Shut up, Poplin!"

"Back to the war plan, men! Johnny, Achille and Hector have gotten their boys to about five miles an hour, though they have to slacken the pace after about four hours. So moving fast isn't an issue, and we might be able to catch any enemies out of position with our speed an independent movement. The real limitation is the speed of the artillery and supply train."

"If I may, Severin, if we can mount the artillery crews and have spare draft teams for the wagons and cannons, we could increase their speed at the cost of additional fodder. Assuming we can graze them periodically, we can mitigate that aspect of the supply burden. From there, we only have to worry about poorly maintained roads, or if we need to go off-road at some point."

"Colonel Cazerne is correct. The further out from major cities and trade hubs, the worse the roads get. Additionally, Wallonia and Flanders can get very wet and muddy, and an army could easily get bogged down. Tens of thousands of boots and hundreds of wagons can turn a road into a mire."

"Couldn't we use plank roads? Er, duckboards, right? Would that help fix the problem?"

"Severin, we'd have to clear cut the whole of the Ardennes to lay enough duckboards for two corps advancing through the whole of the Netherlands!"

"It's too bad we can't take the boards with us and reuse them as we go, then."

"It's... possible, but re-laying sections of duckboard, or even two parallel boards to run the wagons on would be slow, tedious and backbreaking work. The simplest way would be for a crew to lay down two half-dozen yard sections, roll the wagon from one to the other, moving the sections as they go. Rough enough for one wagon, but imagine doing that for dozens, then hundreds. It'd be a nightmare and our pace would slow to a crawl."

"Too bad we can't nail the boards to the wheels and save a whole bunch of time, eh?"

"Hah! If only- wait. Hold that thought. Surface area of a wagon wheel, circumference by width, contact area is a fraction of that... multiply by four... now, width of an average plank board, similar length to simulate a wheel's contact surface... times four... weight divided by area for both... holy shit!"

"What? Don't keep us in suspense, Cazerne! What have you divined with your arcane arithmetic?"

"It's- I need a drink first." Quaffing a glass of wine before pouring himself another, Cazerne presents his findings. "Severin, you idiot savant! It's doable! The average plank is two to three times as wide as a wagon wheel, so that means a wheel of that width has double or triple the contact area. That means the weight of the wagon is distributed over that much more area, meaning the ground pressure is half or a third of what it was. So there's much less chance of getting stuck in mud, and going wider, it might even float on mud!"

"So, you're saying it's like a boat, or a duck? Fewer slow downs means faster speed on the march, right?"

"Yes Severin, duck wheels means faster marching speed."

"Heh. Heheheheheh. So we might be able to get the entire corps going five miles an hour for a bit? And somewhat slower, maybe four, for the rest of the day? Then depending how hard we push the men, we might be able to get forty miles a day out of them. More if we're willing to march longer. Maybe as much as fifty? No one will expect us to move that fast! Bwahahahaha! We catch them out of position and encircle them, they can surrender or die! We can beat them by marching!"

"Before you get your hopes up too much, this is only calculations, we haven't built or tested anything yet. And refitting enough wheels to equip every wagon and cannon in two corps is bound to be time-consuming and expensive."

"Best we get started now, then! Work with some carpenters and wagoners, see what's possible and then what's feasible. Once we get a good enough model, we can try mud testing. And if the results are even half as promising as what your calculations propose, I won't mind shelling out some of my own money. Lord knows my father has been making cartloads overseeing Therese's projects in Lorraine."

"Agreed. The artillery and supply train being able to keep pace with the infantry and cavalry will be an indispensable advantage. I would be willing to put forth my own funds towards this project."

"That's the spirit Dumas! The Austrians won't know what hit them! We'll be the Armee Fantôme!"

Spoiler: A/N

Since dorritos and Mountain Dew hadn't been invented yet, I had to make do with generic descriptions of food and drink. And yes, those Austrian cannonballs remain in some building facades to the present day.

Dunkirk is the nearest port to the border, and Rotterdam is the largest port in what at the time was the Batavian Republic, and remains the largest port in Europe today.

If Severin is a jock, then Mathieu is the himbo jock.

This whole omake came from the idea about wider wheel bases to improve flotation and reduce ground pressure. The duck joke was not planned, and I blame it on Severin being Severin. Cazerne has been fully corrupted by this point. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

It's a 7th Panzer Division reference (Ghost Division/gespensterdivision/la division fantome).

Edit: I wanted this to tie into how wargaming has become a huge hit among the marshals and their officers, as well as the sheer insanity hinted at in War Plan Eagle and it's crit roll of 181.

 

[AvidFicReader]

The Twelve Days of (Louis') Christmas

Julian and Louis sat in the gardens of Tuileries Palace enjoying the crisp December air. It was but a few days before Christmas, and while the Army Headquarters had calmed down for the lead up to the holidays, particularly with the departure of the ever-boisterous Marshal Severin to his home, the emperor's court was a bustling as ever. Louis made the conscious decision that discretion was the better part of valor, and now he hid from the circling courtiers out in the cold where they were loathe to follow.

With a sigh that brought forth a billowing cloud in the winter air, Louis spoke.
"I understand politics is unavoidable, but I hate how much I get dragged into them. I still think you are mad for how much you want to get into them, Julian."

"Hah, well, I'm just the son of a groundskeeper and a housemaid, I stick out in court like a sore thumb, and unlike Marshal Baguette, I don't have the reputation and social imperviousness he does to bull though and ignore court gossip. As much as he may dislike it, his close ties to your mother give him a lot of leeway, aside from his proven competence."

"Severin is just built different, I suppose. In any case, I hope his brother is as good as he is claimed to be, considering how long it's been since I've had word from my sister. Bad enough she is hiding in the British capital, but with only two guards and no news of late? I can't help but worry."

"Agreed. I worry that she may overstretch herself in trying to do too much for France and for your mother. She was always kind and willing to go out of her way for a nobody like me, what must she be like for those she loves and believes wholeheartedly in? Regardless, I think you have much more pressing things to worry about, Lieutenant Falcon."

"Enough with that nickname! Of all the habits you could have learned from Severin, it had to be the damned nicknames!"

"Half from Marshal Baguette, half from Charlie, I'd say. And with how long it's been since you've seen your Lady Marie, and with Charlie gone home, does that mean Gabby has gained another leg up?"

"Quiet you! My love life is no concern of yours! If I knew who you liked, I'd tease you mercilessly in return!"

"Is that so? I'm not so sure you would, Lieutenant Falcon."

"Besides, Gabrielle is at Versailles, and I can't bring myself to go there. So we only meet when she comes to the city on leave, and you're there as well."

"Huh, so nothing changes much, and letters to your lady love are few and far between?"

"Enough! I'll get you back, mark my words! And I still remember the Francs you scammed me of!"

"Ah, but sulking ill befits the famed Falcon of France! How about I cheer you up? I've been working over a song I heard, adjusting it just for you! 'Tis the season, and all that!"

Clearing his throat, Julian begins to sing:
"On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
A falcon in a Liberty Tree!

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
Two rival loves, and a falcon in a Liberty Tree!

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,
Three rifled muskets, two rival loves, and a falcon in a Liberty Tree!

On the fourth-"

"Shut up, shut up shut up!"
With a flushed face entirely unrelated to the cold winter air, Louis pelted Julian with his hat and shoved his balled up coat into his face to prevent his friend from singing the embarrassing lyrics.

"Revenge! Revenge will be mine, Ensign Pasta Boy!"

Dashing away from his incensed friend, Julian runs deeper into the gardens, shouting his reply over his shoulder:
"Ha! You'll have to catch me first, Lieutenant Falcon!"

"Graaah!"

Spoiler: A/N

A quick little omake for Christmas, set in the previous turn. I had been turning the lyrics over in my head, and got the first three verses down pat. Wasn't sure about the rest, so I had Louis cut Julian off there. Might have gone for ten field marshals and twelve army corps, but I didn't have ideas for the rest that would match the cadence.

 

[Alexander Sturnn]

Les Quatre Caballeros


It was a strange group of men that rode into Barcelona that evening, as the Sun was beginning to set. Their Horses, all fine and robust specimen bred for War, trotted down the Main Street, their hooves hitting the cobblestones.

To the outer left rode a Man whose very appearance screamed 'Soldier'. With black hair and a scar running across his rugged, but strangely handsome face and piercing blue eyes taking in the sight around, he wore the dusty and torn Uniform of a Captain of the Infantry. His tall and muscular frame cut a somewhat intimidating figure as he looked around, nodding to the French Soldiers on patrol in the street. He carried a Sabre by his side and, most intriguingly for an Officer, a Musket over his shoulder.

The man to his right, however, looked even more intimidating. While just as tall as his companion, his face had a much sharper and angular look to it. A mustache connected to mutton-chops went across his face. His brown hair was unkempt and sweaty. What really sealed the deal, however, was his milky-white left eye that focused on nothing in particular, and yet seemed to direct it's blind gaze at anyone looking at the man. All of this gave his face dark, almost cruel features. His Uniform of a Colonel was adorned with a wolf pelt around the collar and then draped across the right shoulder. He carried a Sabre as well as two Pistols on his belt.

The next man in line could not have been more different from the previous two. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb from the entire Group. He wore not a Uniform, but an expensive looking black traveling coat over what seemed to be civilian clothing. He wore a black top-hat, under which long strands of faded blonde hair ran down his back. His face had aristocratic features and sported a short full-beard. His intelligent eyes scanned the streets around them and he nodded politely whenever they passed a Spanish Citizen of Barcelona. He was armed as well, with a Rapier and a Pistol. Unlike the Military Models of his colleagues, however, his weapons were finely crafted and expensive works, probably custom-made for him alone.

The last man, on the outer right, was clearly a Soldier again, but he looked much less wild then the other two on the left. He had short black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. His brown eyes seemed to hide a certain playfulness of at least joviality as he let them wander over the City. His Uniform was that of a Colonel of the Chasseurs, although his Trousers and especially his boots were of much finer craftsmanship then usual, indicating a certain amount of personal wealth to his name since he could afford that. His Cavalry Sabre hung by his side, swinging as his horse walked down the road next to the other three.

"Well, here we are again. Back in Barcelona." Guy Loup, Colonel of the Infantry-Batallion that had come to be known as La meute de loups, The Wolfpack, turned his head to the man in Civilian clothes, his left eye seemingly focused on him despite it's blindness. "I hope you did not get too uncomfortable being away from soft beds and heated rooms for so long, your Lordship."

Tomas Vivar, Count of Mouromorto and one of the political Leaders of the Anfrancesado-Faction in the Spanish Court, rolled his eyes at the teasing Comment. "I believe I have proven by now that I can handle myself in the Field, Colonel. However, I AM glad to be back here...for your sake, that is." He grimaced with feigned disgust. "I know you Soldiers are averse to any kind of Hygiene, but dear God, you are truly due for a bath. You stink as much as the Animal that you have adopted as your and your men's moniker."

The Wolf of Spain, as Loup had come to be called after his Successes in recent Months, snorted. "An Aristo like you would know what stench smells like, wouldn't you?"

"Gentlemen, please, I think this is hardly the time." Pierre de l'Eclin, Colonel of the Chasseurs, looked at the two men to his left, shaking his head. "Besides, I think all of us could use a bath now. We all stink from blood, sweat and horse."

"Always so quick to defend your Aristo, eh, Pierre?" Guy let out a barking laughter. "Come on, you know we both are just teasing a bit."

"Of course, of course. Although, at this point, is he not rather OUR Aristo?", de L'Eclin mused with a wry grin.

"I was unaware my Person belonged to anyone here", Tomas Vivar remarked with a dry grin. "And here I thought the Revolution abolished Slavery in France. Do you plan to go back on this now?

"Of course not!" Jacob Dulong, a Captain of the Infantry under Loup's Command and the man riding on the outer left, spoke up for the first time. "What do we look like to you, Liars? Oathbreakers? Or worse, God forbid, Englishmen?"

The three soldiers let out a roaring laughter at that last comment and even Count Vivar could not help but chuckle at it.

Tomas looked at his three Companions and, not for the first time, he marveled at how things had turned out in the end. After his desperate ride to Paris and delivery of intelligence on Spain to the Imperial Couple, he had truly feared that his Country might still be lost. That even if one of the sides in the Civil War won, they would still drag Spain into oblivion by failing to stabilize it. That even if France moved now, it was too late to save his Homeland from itself.

And yet, despite all odds, the French had triumphed. In a single battle, Marshall Suchet had destroyed both Armies of the Civil War and brought the King under the protection of the French.

Vivar snorted. Carlos, now King of Spain at least nominally, had his respect for staying with his Nation while the rest of his cowardly family fled, but he had nonetheless been a fool to believe that he could win this by himself. Even if he had won, he would not have been able to pacify Spain all on his own. Accepting French aid was the only way to not only save their home, but to finally drag it from the superstition and reactionary thinking of the past into a new Future. At least the King somewhat seemed to understand it now, since he was willing to cooperate with the French. And at least in Barcelona itself, the People seemed to come around as well, accepting the French presence in the city and expressing hope for Spain due to their presence.

Of course, not everyone agreed. Much of the Country was now controlled by Bandits and Warlords, intent on carving out their own Kingdom. Egged on by their infernal British Allies, the Portugese eyed their unstable Neighbor hungrily. And Partisan Warfare reaped a bloody toll on both the French and their Allies loyal to the King of Spain.

At least some Partisans were on their side as well, but not many. And these irregulars that fought them were starting to become a true Plague upon the land.

Which was why Suchet had, a few months ago, created a few Task-Forces of Troops picked specfically to deal with Partisan Forces and crush them. Said forces were usually comprised of a mixture of troops from different Units, mostly Cavalry and Light Infantry, though with some Line-Infantry put in as well.

Guy Loup and de l'Eclin, as Colonels, shared Command of one of these Task Forces. Both had during Suchets initial Invasion displayed great skill at hunting down and smoking out Partisans, making them and their Soldiers obvious choice. Dulong, meanwhile, had shown a penchant for leading fast and devastating attacks, ideal to overrun Partisan Positions quickly and efficiently, which was why he had been assigned to command their Task-Forces Infantry on the Assault.

The only thing that their force had been missing was a Translator, a Guide, someone who knew Spain and it's People. Suchet, while designing his Anti-Guerilla Tactics, had put great emphasis on establishing a working relationship with local Civilians to at least try to get what you wanted from them peacefully, instead of just threatening or killing them en masse, which was an all to often abused practice.

Tomas Vivar was one of the men who understood the common People of his Homeland and had some experience in diplomacy, so he had volunteered to serve in this capacity, officially a 'Civilian Liaison', with one of the Task Forces. And that was how he had ended up with his present Company.

It actually had turned out better then he had at first feared upon meeting the Military Commanders. Dulong and Loup had been dismissive of him and his Status as an "Aristo" at first and he had cared little for their somewhat boorish attitudes in return. But de l'Eclin had worked with him before when he had accompanied Suchet's Army back into Spain. He knew him and had convinced them all to give each other a chance.

And they had succeeded. Their Operations had, in the last few weeks, destroyed a Number of Partisan Forces in the Area that would've otherwise harried the French Supply Lines. All the while spilling little to no Civilian blood. Loup had advocated for a brutal and harsh approach, but thankfully Vivar and de l'Eclin had convinced him otherwise and instead give Diplomacy a chance first. And indeed, Vivar had been able to convince the local Spanish People to cooperate and aid them in their fight. Bereft of their support from the People, the Guerillas had been defeated quickly. Some surrendered, but those who resisted had been crushed quickly.

All four of them had come to respect each other greatly during this whole affair. In fact, by now, Tomas would honestly count at least de l'Eclin as a friend of his. And even though he and Loup and Dulong still clashed verbally from time o time, they knew by now that in a pinch, they could rely on one another.

"At any rate", Loup finally said as their laughter died down. "We had a good hunt together. I hope we can do this again soon. We make a good Team!"

"I agree...but that will depend on what Orders the Empress has for our Forces", de l'Eclin said.

"Hmph...still kinda hard to believe that we'll be lead by Empress Therese herself now", Dulong muttered. "I just hope she's as good as the Stories claim she is. We'll need someone in charge who knows what they're doing if we wanna pacify this Hellhole."

Vivar said nothing as he let that thought go through his mind. The Empress herself was now leading the French Forces in Spain...

He had heard a lot about Therese Auclair, now Therese Bonaparte. How could he not have? The Female General turned Empress had been one of the most discussed Topics in all of Europe for years now.

Some saw her as one of the greatest Vanguards of the Revolution, a Champion of it's Ideals. Others regarded her as a Traitor to said Ideals, corrupted and twisted by Power. And a few still believed she was a jumped-up fool who had gotten lucky, nothing more.

As for himself? Well, her accomplishments were undeniable. And while he still had doubts...Therese Auclair had worked Miracles before.

Perhaps now, she could perform one for Spain and heal his homeland.

"Well, Gentlemen, that remains to be seen", Vivar finally voiced his own thoughts. "But with some luck..." A smile came to his lips. "Things will finally turn around for us."

Loup's face twisted into a Wolf-like grin as he took a sip from his flask. "I'll drink to that, your Lordship."


A.N.: I made a Roll of how well these four Sharpe Antagonists would work together when put on a Team.

It was a Crit.

So, here you have a small group of Minor Heroes, The Four Caballeros! Specialized in hunting down and crushing Partisans while trying to keep the Civilian Bloodshed at a minimum.

 

[AvidFicReader]

There Are Many Like It

Following the handover of the Austrian Netherlands to France in the Pact of Vienna, the Army of the North moved its headquarters from Lille. The city was an excellent base for an offensive into the Austrian Netherlands in the event of war, but situation with the now French Netherlands meant Lille was nearly a week's march from the frontier. thus, the Army of the North made the hundred-mile march to the city of Namur, strategically located and featuring a Vauban citadel.

"Marshal Severin, why is it we are headquartered at Namur rather than some other city, like Brussels? Do we not have to oversee the integration of the new territory?"

"I'll give you a bunch of reasons, Lieutenant Falcon." Ignoring Louis' sound of annoyance at the nickname, the marshal continued. "First off, remember the mission. Losing sight of that is what leads you into getting bogged down chasing vague political agendas instead of completing the mission. Our mission, assigned by Emperor Tuna himself, is readiness to execute War Plan Eagle at any moment."

"Emperor... Tuna? Is this some new nickname for my stepfather? How did you even get tuna from his name?"

"Aye, he's Napoleon Bonaparte. That's two "na" right there. Get it? Tuna!"

"Urgh, now that I've heard it, I can't unhear it. Why must you plague my brain so, Marshal Baguette?"

"Borrowing Julian's nickname while he's away, eh? He ought to be rejoining us soon enough. But back to why we're here in Namur. Back in the day, your many-greats-grandfather Louis the Great, Le Roi Soliel, conquered the city from the Spanish, and erected a Vauban citadel. It changed hands a few times, and has been in Austrian possession since the War of Spanish Succession. Until just recently, of course. Being near the eastern border of our new territory, it makes an ideal base should War Plan Eagle come into effect. It also helps that the region of the Netherlands we're in, Wallonia, is primarily French-speaking, and we have an easier time communicating than in Flanders or a German-speaking state."

"Ah, that is true. Imagine the difficulties of enforcing military edicts or requisitioning supplies, much less speaking day-to-day. It would also make rooting out insurrectionists and rebels more difficult."

"That's not all. In addition to its location being ideal as a jumping-off point for War Plan Eagle, Namur is also located on the confluence of the Sambre and Meuse. Major rivers that offer defensive and supply advantages."

"I can see how the rivers limit an army's movement, forcing them to cross using bridges or rafts, but how can rivers help with supply? I assume you're talking about more than fishing and fresh water?"

"Major rivers see constant traffic of goods, both with and against the current. I'm not sure how the math scratches out exactly, you'd have to ask Cazerne about that, but the long and short of it is that you can send a lot more of a thing by boat than by wagon. Even going against the current, you can have a draft animal pull a barge with a dozen times more capacity than the same animal could pull in a wagon."

"Ah, so you can send a lot more supplies in the same amount of time, or looking at it another way, you need a lot less animals, and thus a lot less fodder to move the same amount of supplies."

"Now you're getting it. And in furtherance of carrying out War Plan Eagle, the Meuse flows east and north from Namur, allowing us to march toward Prussia for about a hundred miles, where it begins to flow north and west from Venlo. Additionally, we can rely on the Meuse to bring us supplies from France. To the south is the Charleville Arsenal, where the muskets of the same name are produced. It is some seventy miles as the crow flies, closer to ninety accounting for the meandering that gives the Meuse its name. But the ability to rapidly bring large quantities of powder, shot and muskets is invaluable. Should we need to rapidly stand up a new formation of troops, Namur is as close to ideal as it gets."

"So is that why we are waiting here at the docks today? We're expecting a shipment of arms?"

"Aye, while I mentioned that the arsenal at Charleville produces muskets, Mon Soleil established a rifle factory in Mezieres, the town just across the river. The first shipment is set to arrive today, with another fully loaded barge the week after. Come summer, we should have enough rifles to equip a whole division, a third of II Corps. Of course, I'll be parceling them out. No sense concentrating the rifles in one division and leave the other two lacking. The veterans of our Italian campaign know just how effective rifles can be, and I'm sure Abel and Mathieu have convinced Dumas of their effectiveness, if Therese's wargames have not already."

"Wonderful. Even if we can't convert the whole corps over, the light infantry training the men have received will be vastly augmented by the increased range and accuracy the rifles provide. I'm sure the first batches will simply be rebored muskets, given the existing stocks and proximity to the arsenal."

"Indeed. Mon Soleil said as much. But she was able to write some people she served with back in Virginia, who had experience in making and using their Kentucky long rifles. So it may not be too much longer before we see true specialist rifles."

"Ah, I can't wait to get my hands on them. After all, Julian went and borrowed the three rifles I previously owned."

"Well, you won't have to wait much longer, I can see the barge now, and Julian is there as part of the escort."

"Oh, I have an earful for him all right. I got a letter from mother about what happened with him. Turned out he rescued Charlotte and her guards near the Russian border, then escorted them to Vienna, where Therese found them and brought them home."

"Well damn, he really did have visions about her. The note he left when he took off said he "dreamt of her in peril." I thought it was just more dreams of a lovestruck boy."

"Wait... Julian... is in love... with Charlotte?"

"... Yeeess? Did you not know? Uh, surprise! I guess you were too wrapped up in your own romantic drama, eh?"

"Now I can't decide whether I should deck him for taking my rifles and disappearing, thank him for saving my sister, of threaten him to stay away from her!"

"Better choose fast, because he's almost here."

"Ahoy, Marshal Baguette, Lieutenant Falcon! Lieutenant Minci reporting the delivery of the first five hundred rifles to the Army of the North from the Severin Arsenal."

"Good to see you Julian. I think Louis has some heartfelt words for you." Turning to the gathered soldats at the dock, Severin shouts, "Oy lads! Get over here and help me unload your shiny new rifles! While you're doing that, repeat after me! 'This is my rifle. There are many like it-'"

Spoiler: A/N

The omake title is a reference to the Rifleman's Creed, brought to pop culture awareness by Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket. From the top, used Pact of Vienna for the name of the treaty that sealed the alliance between France and Austria and turned the Austrian Netherlands over to France. Then our bloc (France, Batavia, Italy, Naples, Spain, Austria) can be known as the Vienna Pact, like the Warsaw Pact referred to the Soviet bloc aligned against NATO during the Cold War.

I had Dumas submit Lille as the AoN headquarters before the Pact of Vienna, which invalidated a lot of their planning. Namur is about 100 miles due east of Lille, near the edge of the Austrian Netherlands, but in central modern day Belgium, with borders being redrawn over the centuries. Keeping to a leisurely 30km/day to account for the supply train, the 140-150km distance would be covered in a bit under five days.

Blah blah, mission creep, blah blah.

The tuna nickname is a reference to the fan nickname of a certain gacha game character whose first and last name end with na. Na na, two na, tuna. QED.

Louis XIV was the great-grandfather of Louis XV, who was the grandfather of Louis XVI, the father of our Louis. That's five greats, or seven generations. Louis XIV captured Namur in 1692, lost it to the William III of Orange-Nassau in 1695, the Dutch were given the right to garrison the city by the Barrier Treaty (a series of treaties to form a Dutch-held fortified buffer zone between French and Spanish territories between 1709-1715) of 1709, but the Spanish Netherlands were given over to Austria in the 1713 Treaty of Utrecht that concluded the War of Spanish Succession. Namur was captured after a twelve-day siege on 1 December 1792 (not long after the Battle of Valmy on 20 September), then again in 1794 OTL.

The rest is explained in the omake itself. I had a lot of fun with the dialogue and this whole thing was inspired by @Magoose's one-line mention that "Severin got his rifles."

 

[Alexander Sturnn]

A.N.: Now, I had originally planned to post this Series of Omakes while we were on our Adventures in Spain.
But with that now resolved and wrapped up, I fear I'll have to write and post these now in quick succession.
Basically, the premise is following our Team of four Sharpe Antagonists whom I introduced before on their Journey in Spain, meeting certain People, influencing the War there and having some crazy Adventures along the way.
Have fun!

Les Aventures des Quatre Caballeros, Part 1: La Aguja


14th of March 1798, somewhere in the Central Spanish Wilderness

"And you are SURE that the Information given for the meeting is accurate, Ducos?"

Pierre Ducos, French Spymaster for Empress Therese on the Spanish Peninsular, pushed up his glasses and looked up in irritation. "Captain Dulong, as I have repeatedly stated, my Information is VERY accurate. The Partisans agreed to meet us here, under the trees on this cliff, on the 24th Ventôse at Midday."

Jacob Dulong just rolled his eyes. "Christs sake, why are you still using that idiotic Calendar?"

Ducos voice now turned frosty. "Unlike certain People, I have sworn to uphold the ideals of the Revolution. EVERY ideal of the Revolution, in fact. The choice to honor the new Era with a new measurement of time was quite a correct one and I will not forget that, no matter what our current Government-"

Dulong raised his hands. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry, I was just asking."

Somewhat mollified, Ducos turned his gaze back to his notebook. "Do not worry too much, Captain. I am sure the Partisans are already here and watching us. They just want to make absolutely sure this isn't a trap. Now, please, return to your men and leave my to my Preparations until thy decide to come out."

Dulong walked off, snorting derisively. "Pompous little shit", he muttered. "The cunning Bastard's lucky he's so useful..."

As he walked along the cliffside at the edge of the Plateau they had encamped on to his fellow Soldiers, Dulong did not look at the beautiful landscape below, but rather at the nearby woods. Was Ducos right and the Partisans were already watching them?
Certainly not impossible. The damn buggers were as sneaky as they were distrustful.

Their force, a motley crew of around 400 men put together from Soldiers of his, Loup's and d'Eclin's own Units, had come to this place to answer the invitation of a local Partisan Leader who called himself La Aguja. 'The Needle', as Tomas Vivar had helpfully translated. Apparently, he had risen to some renown due to his Actions against the Rebel Forces in Spain in this Area, as well as other Partisan Groups who terrorized the land and People. The local Population seemed to regard him as some kind of Folk hero, even though nobody had ever seen him face to face. Or at least, nobody who had been willing to tell them.

While not hated, the French in Spain were looked upon wearily. On one hand, they were former Enemies and 'godless Revolutionaries'. On the other hand, so far, they had hurt the People of Spain less then the Rebels and Partisans, even helped them on occasion.
The Result was a feeling of confusion and uncertainty among the Spanish regarding the French, adding to the brewing Chaos.
The Wilderness and difficult Terrain in Central Spain did not help matters. Simply marching in with an Army to restore order here was currently dangerous at best.

Ducos and Vivar however saw potential in the Chaos of Central Spain. If they could prop up and support a local Partisan leader and convince him to trow his weight behind France and the King in Barcelona, then it could go a long way to pacify the Region. And so, they had convinced the Empress to allow them to court La Aguja, in hopes of turning the local Hero with a clear grudge against the Rebels and other Guerillas into a French Asset in the Region.

Vivar had 'volunteered' his friends for the task, the other three of the 'Four Caballeros', as they had come to be called. Dulong, Loup and d'Eclin had agreed, all seeing the wisdom behind this move and none wanting to leave their friend to head into danger alone.
So, they had set out from Barcelona into the Wilderness with a small force accompanying them. Luckily, they had quickly managed to get into contact with some of the Partisans local Supporters, who had soon set up a meeting with La Aguja.

On his ground and on his Terms, of course.

Dulong glared balefully at the trees as he reached the others. He knew this Alliance would be a great boon to their cause, but the thought of being at the mercy of a local Partisan leader did not do good for his nerves.

"Well, Jacob? Still nervous?"

Dulong turned his glare to d'Eclin. "Oh please, Pierre, we're ALL nervous. You're just better at hiding it."

The Cavalry Officer stroked his mustache with a wry grin. "Touche, my friend. But there is little we can do now. Our men are on high Alert and my Cavalry waits in hiding. If this is a trap, the Enemy will find no easy prey here."

Loup grunted, his blind eye glaring at nothing in particular. "I still wished we would meet on more neutral ground. I don't like to give a potential Enemy so many cards!"

"Potential Enemy being the Keyword, Loup." Tomas Vivar rose from the crate he had been sitting on, having finished cleaning his pistol. "Us agreeing to this meeting is a gesture of trust. One without which La Aguja may never agree to even entertain the idea of an Alliance."

"I know, I know", Loup waved it off. "But it still doesn't sit well with me. I've gotten healthily paranoid since I lost my eye...and the thought of walking into a potential trap like we just did makes me uneasy as fuck."

Tomas shrugged. "Fair. But we have little choice in the matter if we want this to succeed."

d'Eclin looked at Dulong. "What did Ducos say?"

Dulong spat on the ground. "The slippery little fuck said he was certain about this being the right place and time and that we should just be patient. He said the Guerillas were already watching us and waiting to see if this is a trap on our part."

Vivar nodded. "He's probably right about that. I'm sure they will come out soon...hopefully with peaceful intentions."

"Hmph", snorted Dulong. "Just to make this clear, Tomas: If we get killed in an ambush, I will kill you and Ducos again in the Afterlife. With my bare hands!"

The Spanish Aristocrat chuckled wryly. "Duly noted, Jacob."

Loup let out one of his barking laughs. "Would be nice to see that cocky look disappear from Ducos face before he eats a bullet, at least!"

All four of them chuckled at that. They respected Ducos for his Skills, but neither of them liked the little, bespectacled man very much. Aside from his sneaky profession as a Spy, there was his weird adherence to Revolutionary Customs that Empress and Emperor had long since abandoned and his past as a former Supporter of Robespierre, though he had long since announced that these days were behind him after that bastard had disgraced himself and died unmourned and unloved by the People of France. Plus, Ducos always had this superior Attitude when talking to Soldiers, as if he was looking down on them.

Tomas got along better with him then the others, perhaps precisely because he wasn't a Soldier...but he still had no great fondness for the Spymaster.

Still, they all knew that he was needed and-

Movement from the Treeline let them and the Guards all whirl around. A group of Men and women dressed in civilian clothes under long ocats and armed with Muskets, Rifles, Sabres, Knives and other weapons had just emerged from the woods, heading towards the Guards while waving a white handkerchief on a stick above their heads.

"Well, well", muttered Loup. "Looks like they want to talk after all."

The four of them headed towards the front-most line of the Guards, waiting until the Guerillas stood right before them. All had their hands on their weapons, but did not draw them or aim them at the other Party. Hopefully that was a good start.

Leading the Guerillas was a woman whom Dulong guessed to be about his age. She was tall, had short, brown hair and wore a brown coat over a shirt, as well as black trousers and boots. She held a rifle in her hands, but had it lowered. Two Pistols and three knives were held in a belt around her waist. She mustered the four of them with prying brown eyes before she began to speak...to the surprise of Dulong, in clear French.

"So, you are the Froggies who wanted to meet me so badly, eh?"

Dulong blinked as the meaning of these words hit him. He had thought this Woman was one of La Aguja's Adjutants, but apparently-

"That we are", Tomas nodded, stepping forward. "I am Tomas Vivar, Count of Mouromorto." He reached a hand out to her. "It is an honor, La Aguja."

The Woman mustered his hand with some mistrust, before shaking it. "Likewise, Count. I heard a lot about you...a Leader of the Anfrancesados in Barcelona." Her eyes scanned over Loup, d'Eclin and Dulong. "And the same goes for your Companions. 'The Four Caballeros', as many have taken up to calling you."

Loup grinned. "That's us, Mademoiselle. I am Colonel Guy Loup."

"Colonel Pierre d'Eclin, at your service", d'Eclin said with a polite bow.

Dulong nodded curtly. "The name's Jacob Dulong, Captain. Nice to meet you."

La Aguja's eyes lingered on Jacob a bit longer, a spark of interest in them, before she nodded. "Well met, all of you. I am Teresa Moreno, or La Aguja, as my own Troops and the locals have taken up to calling me." She rolled her eyes. "It seems every Partisan Leader has to have a nickname these days..."

Dulong looked at her with renewed interest. Teresa Moreno? Well, what were the odds? A female Guerilla Leader in a traditionalist ('Backwards', as Tomas would say) Country like Spain...and to top it all of, she had the same Name as the Empress?
Now that was a funny little coincidence.

Teresa shook her head, turning her attention back to Tomas. "Well, you wanted to talk to me, here I am." She nodded towards the Camp. "So, let's get to it."

As they lead the Partisans into the Camp, Dulong's eyes kept going back to Teresa Moreno. She was certainly an interesting Person from what he had seen so far. Assertive, smart and clearly commanding the respect of her troops, seeing how they followed her without Question. Barely older then he was at most, and yet she had carved a Name and respect out for her in the Chaos of Spain. And now, she might become an Ally of France.
If nothing else, this excursion might soon get quite interesting...


A.N.: Not very many wacky fun times in this one, but those will come, don't worry.
For now, our Heroes meet Teresa Moreno! Let's see how she and the French get along in this Universe in future Parts...

 

[AvidFicReader]

The Goings on Down North

20 September, 1799
Namur, French Netherlands, Headquarters of the Army of the North

"All right, lads, give me your readiness status, I'll get one for Dumas' corps later to submit for the quarterly report. Johnny, start us off."

"Right. My division has met and exceeded the standards set for marching and firing drills. Their speed at formation drill is acceptable, and I shall proceed to improve their times. In truth, my recruits are nearly as good as they can be without being blooded in combat."

"That's good to hear. Is that the case for your lads as well, Achille, Hector?"

"Aye, Severin. The lads can march at a good clip, and they can reload right quick. Three rounds in fifty-eight seconds is the record."

"Heckie's boys maybe faster to reload, but mine are better with the bayonet. Those new vests sure leave a lot less bruises in melee."

"Skill with the bayonet only matters if you can get there first. If the men can volley fast enough for long enough, no one will be able to touch them with those pointy sticks, Sheelie."

"Enough of that, lads, we're on the clock. Poppy, you're up."

"Sure boss, my dragoons are as good as they're going to get without combat, and they can do scouting and road patrol missions in their sleep. Wouldn't mind another regiment of horse, but that's on high command. In any case the ladies like a dashing cavalryman, and they can't resist me! Besides, if you can ride fast enough, you don't have to worry about parenthood, unlike a certain Marshal I could name."

"Cram your spurs further into your mouth, Poplin, I think there's still more room."

"Screw you, Fontenot, go use your guns for signal duties! They're worse than useless if you can't keep up!"

"Heh, looks like it's my turn. I've been running through firing drills, and my crews can give you three shots a minute. Just signal if you want staggered salvos of continuous fire or one big wall of screaming metal. And those new duck wheels mait a lot easier to move and reposition the guns."

"Good to hear. Cazerne?"

"Our supply situation is good. Powder and shot is plentiful, muskets are easily available, though rifles are not. We only received three shipments of the promised thirty. As you're the one with the family connections, could you explain, Severin?"

"Lord in Heaven, since when did I become the well-connected officer having to make excuses for familial failings? Well, shortly after the rifle factory is Mezieres went into operation, the factory hall caught fire and burned down during the night. Given there were no scheduled shifts at the time there was no loss of life, but the machinery and existing rifles were a total loss. As there was no one supposed to be around when the fire began, my father suspected sabotage, and I wrote to Emperor Tuna to request a garrison of gendarmes to protect the Mezieres factory and the Charleville Arsenal across the river. Considering half of France's muskets and all of its rifles are produced in that area, so close to the frontier, he agreed to deploy a battalion of the newly stood up Third Imperial Guard Gendarmes to garrison the region. In any case, it has taken some time, but the specialized machinery has finally been replaced, and the factory is set to resume operations tomorrow."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that shipments will resume momentarily. In other news, the padded cotton vests Colonel Geroux praised so highly have been trickling in. The factory supplying them is fulfilling our order as fast as it can, and a second factory is set to open soon to meet our demand. Could I ask what prompted you to place the order? As far as I am aware, no one else in the Army is making use of them."

"It was something mentioned in a letter from my little brother. A while back, he had attended the Convention of New Orleans as part of the honor guard. He spoke briefly with the head of the Spanish guards, who made mention that he had been suppressing rebels in Peru who had been making good use of quilted cotton vests against their bayonets, and had equipped his men in kind. Jules mentioned that Diego guy being rather salty about it."

"I... see. I'm not sure how cotton vests would protect against bayonet points, but I can see the use in blunting butt strokes and being clubbed by a musket. Well, moving on. Well are well stocked on preserved food, salt pork, hard tack, baguettes, soldier's wine and the like. We have agreement with the local farmers for fresh fruit and vegetables, and yes, before you ask, a steady supply of onions. I swear, you serve under the Empress and you become as addicted to onion as tobacco and alcohol!"

"What can I say, Cazerne, we got a taste for them at Metz and it hasn't been the same since. Just... don't eat them raw be themselves. Trust me on that."

"Oh, right, Heckie, remember that one time the boss was running the recruits through their paces, tried to act like eating an onion like an apple was something 'real men' did?"

"Right! I remember, he was all but bawling from the smell, tried to pass it off like it was raining when there wasn't a cloud in the sky! Funniest shit I've ever seen!"

"A-heh-hem. Getting back on topic, the duck wheels have passed our rather rigorous trials, and we have finished outfitting our logistics wagons and cannons with them. While not quite as effective as the math would say, they're still much better than normal wheels in mud. Current estimates have us finishing the outfitting of I Corps around New Year's."

"Excellent! I'll include that with my report to Emperor Tuna to give the rest of the army a leg up-"

"Actually Severin, I've spoken with General Dumas and his chief of staff about this. It might be best to keep such an advantage close to our chest for now. Get the most out of the surprise as we can before the Prussians know about it and can plan around it. Especially is we have enemy spies operating so brazenly nearby as it seems."

"Right, I know I'm not great about sneaky shit, so I'll trust your judgement on this. All right, looks like I've got what I need. I'll talk to Dumas before I send this report to Emperor Tuna. Dismissed."

Severin follows his officers out of the meeting room, only for a tiny body to slam into his leg.

"Found you papa! Let's play! I miss Sandy and Rolly, and Selmy is too small to play fun things! Charlie is fun when he plays, but he's busy soldiering!"

Scooping his daughter up, she whoops and hollers as Severin swings her around and settles her astride his shoulders.

Hello there, Jeanne Therese, papa's busy right now, give me half an hour to finish things up and we can do something fun. Do you want to play tag, fight the papa monster, or... tell you what, it's been a bit, and I'm sure he's hankering for another bout. Do you want to see papa throw down with the Black Devil himself? It'll be really exciting, no matter who wins."

"The Black Devil? Sounds scary! Is he the funny-looking guy that shouts as the soldats?"

"Hey now, Dumas isn't funny-looking. He's just a regular person- no, he's an awesome person. Just because his skin is different from yours or mine doesn't mean he's strange or weird. He has a wife and children, some older and some younger than you. Get to know him for who he is, rather than being afraid because he looks different. Let me explain how awesome he is, okay?"

"Okay papa. I'm sorry I said Doom-Guy is funny-looking."

"Apology accepted. Now, Doom-Guy, as you called him, is one of the best commanders in all of France. Right now, there's fifteen really really good commanders, one of them is Emperor Tuna and most of the rest are Marshals, like papa."

"Wow, so pap really is the best!"

"No, no, thanks for the vote of confidence, but papa isn't the best, but papa is up there with the best of them. Now, remember how many people are up there with papa?"

"Papa said... Fif-tween? How many fingers is that, papa?"

"Fifteen is all the fingers on both hands, and all the toes on one foot."

"Wow, all of that? That's a lot, papa!"

"That might sound like a lot, but France is a really big place, so there's hundreds of good officers. Take all your fingers and toes, then count them again by as many fingers and toes that you have. That's how much papa is talking about. And Emperor Tuna, Papa, the Marshals and Doom-Guy are at the tippy-top of that. That's how good Doom-Guy is!"

"Wow! The tippy-top of all that?!"

"Yep! And you'll see it later, but Doom-Guy is a really good fighter too! We fight a lot to prove who is better, and while papa wins lots of bouts, Doom-Guy wins more, so papa hasn't won any matches against Doom-Guy."

"What! But papa is super strong, and Charlie says papa is made of steel! How can Doom-Guy keep beating papa?!"

"It's because Doom-Guy is also super strong and he's faster than papa, and really really skilled too. Just watch, he'll surprise you with how fast he is. At first you won't be able to see him move, but as you get better and watch more closely, you'll be able to see all the little things that he can do to bring him victory."

"Victory? Like Selmy?"

"Sort of. His first name is Granpere's middle name, and Selmy's middle name is Victor, they boy version of Victory."

"Okay. Wanna watch papa throw down with Doom-Guy!"

"Hey, hold your horses."

"But I'm riding papa! Hay is for horses! Giddyap papa!"

Spoiler: Author's Notes

I was worried that this would be a short and boring report-style omake, but I got back into the flow and banter of the dialogue and it just ran away from me in a good way. For the title, the Netherlands are low-lying area and the rivers flow Northward, so by heading North your going down. The Army of the North established their headquarters in Namur way back in the Game Night omake. Date is set one day before Therese's return to Paris, hence no mention of her or Severin's Marshal friends that went with her. 21 September (Do you remember, the 21st night of September?) Is the Autumnal Equinox, so it makes sense the quarterly report is due by then.

While Therese was policing Spain, the draugr the Army of the North were training. The officers of II Corps and their nicknames were introduced in the Weekend at Bernie's omake. I asked @Magoose about the rollout of rifles per the There Are Many Like It omake, and he said there was a fire at the factory and Matteo suspected sabotage, and there was little proliferation of rifles. So I expanded on it and, based on the rising internal and external tensions, had Nappy stand up another regiment of Gendarmes for security. Also, for shame Severin, leaning on your political appointment and family connections to the military-industrial complex!

The quilted cotton vests are a reference to the vests the native rebels were using in the Restoring Order in the Name of the (Spanish) Emperor omake, Diego was introduced in Loyalty, Duty, and Honor omake, and the Convention of New Orleans came up in the Last Battle of the American's Savior omake. The joke is that Diego was 'salty' about the vests, and misses that the reason the vests were bayonet-resistant was that they were brined and dried, reinforced with salt crystals.

The duck wheels come from the Game Night omake. The onion thing Hector and Achille refer to happened in the Quartermaster's Dilemma omake.

Then Jeanne came in and took the omake by storm. She should be 2.5-3 years old at this point, so she's running around with the limitless Severin energy. The nicknames for Nappy and Therese's twins come from the An Offer He Can't Refuse omake. Then Severin showing he gives no fucks about race, just how good of a commander and fighter you are, then turning it into a teaching moment. Also, Dumas' nickname is Doom-Guy, now and forever.

 

[Alexander Sturnn]

Les Aventures des Quatre Caballeros, Part 2: Une négociation espagnole


14th of March 1798, somewhere in the Central Spanish Wilderness

Loup let the gaze of his one good eye wander around the tent, subtly moving his head as he did so. Ever since he had lost an eye, he had needed to adjust his movements in order to see as much as he wanted to. On the other hand, it felt as if his hearing and other eye had gotten much sharper ever since the loss, so that helped him compensate for it.

Teresa Moreno and two of her Lieutenants sat in front of a table on hastily put up chairs, holding their rifles across their laps. Ducos and Tomas Vivar sat behind the table across from them. Jacob, Pierre and he meanwhile stood around the table, doing their best to not look threatening while also being ready for a fight to break out at any second.

Admittedly, they were probably overly cautious. If Moreno hadn't stabbed them in the back until now, she probably wouldn't do it at all. Still, it never hurt to be too careful, especially giving their past encounters with Partisans.

Ever since the French Army had entered Spain, battling against the irregular Guerillas had become a fact of life for the troops. While some Partisans were neutral or even supportive of the French and the Royal Government in Barcelona, many others were outright hostile, either being loyal to another Group or out for themselves. Their Ambushes and hit-and-run Tactics had hit the French Army hard in the first few months of the conflict.

It was a godsend blessing that Marshall Suchet had been given Command of this Campaign. He had quickly developed Tactics to deal with these Insurgents and their Attacks more effectively, which had allowed the French to stabilize at least the Area around Barcelona.
But they all knew that, to pacify all of Spain, they would need the Support of at least some of the larger Partisan Groups and, more importantly, the Population that often supported them.

Units like their own, small forces of a few Hundred Soldiers, were often sent out to meet with friendly Partisans and crush hostile ones. They themselves had gotten quite some experience in both regards.

Loup looked to Tomas Vivar, once again thanking God that they had met this man. He freely admitted that, before meeting the Spanish Aristocrat, his own Ideas for dealing with the Guerillas had been...harsh. Bloody. And he still believed that he had a point about some cruelty being necessary to win this fight.
But Vivar had made clear to him that the bloody retribution he had envisioned upon the Partisans and their Supporters would only make things worse. They needed to win the hearts and minds of the Population, not their fear, if they wanted to stamp out the enemy Guerillas.

And, to his credit, he had been proven right. More often then not, the grateful Populace of a Village that they had saved or supported had helped them take down a nearby Partisan Group or two by supplying them with Information or Guides through difficult Terrain.

Loup shook his head. He was a Soldier, a Warrior through and through. He was cut out for killing, not talking.
But he still understood that sometimes, it was necessary to have People like Vivar around, who made sure he only killed those who had to die in order to win.

He chuckled as he remembered the Name their Group had been given by the Locals and which had been eagerly taken up by French Propaganda: 'The Four Caballeros'. A lot of Spaniards, at least in the East of the Country, seemed to regard them as Heroes.
Hero...not a term he had thought he would be saddled with. But if he was honest, he liked it.

And he enjoyed his Company. Tomas, Jacob, Pierre...they all were good men and good fighters, when it came down to it. And despite being an Aristo, a rude boy from the Gutter and a poncy Cavalryman respectively, he liked being around them. They had become friends and a good team.

And now, they would face their greatest Challenge yet: The Pacification of the Countryside in Central Spain, so that the Army could move on Madrid unhindered. Which brought them right back for the Negotiations.

After terse greetings had been exchanged, Teresa Moreno leaned back in her chair, a confident grin on her face.

"Now that we are done with the niceties, let's get down to business. What do the French want with a Needle like me?"

"An excellent Question, Mylady", Ducos replied politely, pushing back the glasses on his nose. "To put it simply: We would like to enlist your aid in sewing shut the festering wound that your country has become."

Teresa laughed briefly. "Oooh, clever!" She then frowned, her eyes narrowing at Ducos. "And for what reason should I possibly entertain this idea? After all, this wound may never have opened up if you French hadn't marched into the Peninsular."

Jacob snorted. "Well, perhaps your former King should've known better then to declare war on us, then. Or not run with his tail between his legs and abandoning you like a Coward when it became clear we were winning!"

Teresa glared at him, but didn't argue the point. Like many Spanish, she clearly held no love for their former King anymore after he fled to the New World.

Tomas cleared his throat. "Lady Moreno, the truth is, Spain was doomed to this kind of collapse sooner or later. With our country being so hopelessly backwards and superstitious, any kind of advancement and stability were rendered impossible in the long term. The French may have kicked the door down, but the house was a wreck already anyways when it came crashing down."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "I can see why you are a Leader of the Anfrancesados", she said. "You seem to be pretty eager to throw our country at the Frenchs feet."

"If it means that our Country will survive? Yes", the Count bluntly replied. "The Revolution has brought greatness to France. Just look how far they have come in just a few years! And with Spain coming apart at the seams, joining them is no longer our best Option. It is our ONLY option. And you know it, Lady Moreno."

Teresa's face darkened...but she once again didn't argue the point.

"Would allying us truly be so bad?", Pierre asked her.

Teresa shrugged. "Hard to say. You Frenchies haven't done anything to me or the People under my Protection yet...and so far, your conduct has been better then that of the Assholes in Madrid or Sevilla and their British and Portuguese backers, not to mention some of the other Partisans. But on the other hand, a lot of People are blaming you for the mess we are in, some of them among my own People. If I join you, I risk a lot." Her eyes returned to Ducos. "So, I ask again...what is in it for me? Because vague promises of greatness for Spain won't be enough to win me over."

Ducos returned her gaze without flinching. "We can offer you and your men good Rifles and Swords. Perhaps even small Cannons, if you are interested. We can offer you the aid of the French Army to bring peace and stability back to the People under your Protection." A predatory smile came to his lips. "And if that alone isn't enough...we can offer you revenge."

That one hit home. Teresa's eyes widened, shock and anger flashing in them as she jumped up. "You bastard...!! How do you know-?!"

Ducos chuckled coldly. "I would be a poor Spymaster if I didn't have good sources. How I came upon this Information is not important." His eyes met Teresa's own as his smile widened. "What is important, La Aguja, is that we offer you not just aid for your men and People, not just a hope for a stable and prosperous Spain under enlightened Ideals...but also a chance to avenge the Murder of your Family." He spread out his arms slightly. "What will it be?"

Silence reigned for a few Minutes. Breathing heavily, Teresa sat back down, getting her emotions under control. Loup exchanged a look with his friends. Ducos had played their trump card for these Negotiations. Now, it would be up to Teresa to make her decision.

Her two Lieutenants looked at La Aguja, their expressions giving nothing away. Though, given how obediently they and heeded Teresa's every order since they came to the camp, he had no fear of them not accepting her decision, however it may turn out.

Hopefully, it would turn out in their favor, of course.

Finally, Teresa looked back up to Ducos. Anger still flared in her eyes...but also a grim determination and an eagerness for vengeance. She drew a dagger from her belt...and stabbed it into the table. Loup gave a wolfish grin, already knowing what was coming next.

"...You clever french sons of bitches", she muttered with a wicked smile, her eyes wandering over them all. "I'm in."


A.N.: Further Elaboration on Teresa's vengeance and the Deaths of her Family will come in the next part.

 

[Tjakari]

The Burial of Astor Auclair: It took Brian seven Hours to dig his father's grave. It took him only twenty minutes after that to realize that if he did not work soon, he and his sister would die.

Click to shrink...

Memento Mori
​

It's supposed to rain when people die.

It's been nothing but sunny though. Sunny and hot.

There hadn't been even a touch of poetry to their family tragedy, just toil and sweat, and a bitter taste in the mouth. Where the pain of loss should have been was only dread and hunger.

Papa had left them little that would carry them past the next month, and now that he's in the dirt, there's no more excuse to do nothing. No more excuse for confusion. No more charity. A man must work. The world will have it no other way. Not even God has a tear to shed for their father.

If Brian had shed tears, he couldn't tell them from the sweat beading off his brow.
If Therese had cried, she hid it well.

The Church had pitied them enough to give them a few prayers, a small patch for a grave and lent them the shovel to dig it. Therese, to her credit tried to help. But this was not for her to do. It falls onto the eldest to care for the little ones, for their youngers. That was the way of things.

Father did what he could, when he could. Now he's gone and so turns the wheel another cirque.

"Requiescat in pace, Papa. Perhaps the worms will weep for you. Maybe one day I'll have the chance to."

Au revoir.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Memories of Minden

Matteo Anselme Severin sat on his new favorite chair in a hospital ward in Namur. In years past, this had been the domain of the Hapsburgs, but after decades of war and diplomatic exchanges, now belonged to France. It stood as the headquarters of his most accomplished son and heir's army, and base for forty-thousand of France's best soldiers, among them his old regiment, Touraine Infanterie. Well, it was now known as 33e Ligne, due to some anti-royalist tomfoolery during the Revolution. "Demi-brigades, my arse!" he harrumphed at the silly name. It still meant a regiment in every way that mattered, political meddling at it's murkiest.

"Did you say something grandpere?"

"Ah, just an old soldier's ramblings Jean Therese! Pay it no mind. Grandpere was just thinking about his old unit, since it's part of your papa's Corps. I was considering paying them a visit. In any case, given my, heh, captive audience, I might share some old war stories."

"Yay! Story time!"

"Hey guys, gather 'round, an old soldier is telling a story!"

"Julian, shut your smug mouth, it's not like we can leave."

"Yeah Julian, listen to Captain Falcon. Besides, Grandpere tells the best stories, even when France loses battles. Back in Toulon, he told us about Yorktown and how he met Therese's pop!"

Evelyn, the dear girl, swaddled his infant grandson who bore his name, spoke up to settle the matter.
"Come now, boys, Pops has been telling me his war stories from the Seven Years' War. The last one was about Krefeld, wasn't it? It feels so long ago."

"Right lads and lasses, what with how two of you are laid up from bad choices, let me tell you about a battle with a bunch of bad choices on both sides."

"Oh boy, here we go again."

"So, Evelyn, are you familiar with Britain's Annus Mirabilis of 1759?"

"How could I not, Pops? Might have been before I was born, but that was when Quebec fell and my family was uprooted from their home."

"Aye, for le Bretagne it was a year of triumph on the battlefield, one of the greatest of which was Minden. To set the stage, the army had set out on a campaign and in July a detachment under Duke de Broglie had captured the strategic fortress town of Minden, which like Hamelin, controlled one of the main crossings of the Weser into Hanover. The main army under Marshal Contades arrived at the end of July. Overnight, we broke camp and marched across the Bastau, a broad stream surrounded by wide marshlands. By 5:30 am, the army had mostly formed up in a convex crescent, anchored on the Weser on the right, and the village of Hahlen on the left. The far right flank was the Duke de Broglie's detachment, then the right wing, in which Regiment Touraine held the center right of the first line, brigaded as we were with Regiment D'Aumont-Mazarin. Poor bastards, the name of their regiment changed with their colonels. In any case, due to the limited ground suitable for deployment, the cavalry and artillery were positioned in the center, broad open heath where they were most effective. To make room for their deployment, every infantry brigade was forced to keep one battalion in column formation. Great big targets for artillery and cavalry. Back to the battle: from our position, we could faintly hear cannon fire from our right, which had begun from 5 am. This, I believe, was the first bad decision. The wind blew from west to east that day, and it muffled the sound of guns. If we who we so close could barely hear the cannonade, then the Allied army, much further removed, could not have possibly heard it and moved to reinforce. If the Duke de Broglie had immediately assaulted the enemy position at Todtenhausen, he probably could have overrun it, given he had the Grenadiers de France Brigade, eight full battalions of grenadiers, backed by three brigades of line infantry, three cavalry brigades, and twenty-two cannon. Instead, he bombarded the Hanoverians for the entire battle, some three hours, and allowed the Hanoverian heavy artillery to man their guns and devastate his infantry without engaging their opposite number.

"There was sporadic fighting on the left flank, from what I heard after the battle, around 7 am, a French battery opened fire on a marching column, and the Bretagne artillery unlimbered and silenced it within ten minutes. This is one of the reasons why I caution everyone not to make light of le Bretagne. Their army may be puny in size, but they are skilled gunners and fierce fighters, as they rest of the day's events will show. As the ten-thousand horse of the French army was still forming up in the center in their three lines, the Bretagne infantry, some six battalions, the two Hanoverian Guards and Hardenburg Infantry began their advance on our center in two lines, without waiting for the rest of their army. For some 150 paces, they advanced under heavy cannonade, which was soon knocked out by their own artillery. As the French cavalry charged them down, the first line halted, then held their fire until the horse was some ten meters distant. The deadly volley devastated the first wave, and most who survived turned back. The few that made contact were swiftly dispatched at the point of the bayonet, and the advance continued. God only knows, had the Bretagne cavalry arrived at that point, the army would not have survived the day.

"It was shortly after that first failed cavalry charge that we were ordered into action. Apparently, the Marshal Contades ordered our brigade forward with eight guns to hold a defensive position in and around the Malbergen farmstead in front of the cavalry. As we advanced, I could see a portion of the left wing coming around to flank the right of the Bretagne first line as the second wave of cavalry attempted to charge them down. The Bretagne second line wheeled to stem the infantry attack, and the first line unleashed a murderous volley that reaped a heavy toll on the second wave before the tide of horse crashed into them. It seemed they might waver and break, but they heroically reformed their lines and repelled the second wave with fire and steel. By this point, more Hanoverian infantry battalions were marching to support them, and a heavy artillery battery opened up to support them, but the Bretagne cavalry still failed to materialize. At this point, a third cavalry wave made their attack, attempting to hook around the Bretagne right and smash into their rear. This attack consisted of the cavalry reserves, the elite Gendarmeries de France and the Royal Carabiniers, who had fought and died so valiantly at Krefeld in a last-ditch attempt to turn the tide of battle, broke through the Bretagne line in several places and came around their left flank to charge their rear. The Bretagne third rank was forced to turn around to receive them while the front two ranks tried to hold back the elite cavalry before them. Some might call them bad soldiers, not knowing how to run. I would disagree. The Bretagne line held long enough for supporting battalions to rake the Gendarmeries with fire, alongside the heavy artillery, forcing them the third wave to retire having lost half their strength once again. The French detachment from the left was beaten off by the stiff resistance of the Bretagne second line and their supporting artillery, while to the south of us, a final cavalry brigade formed up for a final charge, but broke under artillery fire before making contact. At this point there was nothing left capable of fighting in the center. Still, the Bretagne cavalry did not appear, for which I thank God above to this day.

"Having already been ordered forward to cover the cavalry, we had now been ordered to attack the Bretagne left alongside Brigade Rouergue, but at this point, the cavalry had been routed. Instead, we were exposed ahead of our lines, and the Allied left collapsed upon us. Four Hessian regiments stormed Malbergen and seized it at the point of the bayonet, but it was the hammer blow of an Allied cavalry brigade and the Hessian Grenadiers turning our flank that drove us from the position. So sharp was the surprise of the flanking action that even General Beaupreau, the commander of our division, was briefly captured by the Allied cavalry, rescued only by a desperate counterattack of Du Roy Cavalry Brigade, which had been held back from the charges on the Bretagne line. Much of Rouergue Brigade was captured in the action, and our retreat from the homestead was anything but orderly. I was one of the last men out of Malbergen, and I nearly tripped over a fallen body on the way out. When I looked down, I saw it was an old private, perhaps a bit younger than I am now. He was bleeding profusely, his hat long gone, six sword slashes adorning his head. In spite of his wounds, he still lived, limbs waving weakly from blood loss. I hefted him about my shoulders and carried him from the field, shouting myself hoarse in a futile attempt to rally the men to some sort of order amongst the din of battle. Only when we made it into musket range of brigades Auvergne and Anhalt did the cavalry pursuit stop. Between the threat of a volley and Duke de Broglie's approaching cavalry, the Allied horse broke off to face their opposite number. La Marche Infanterie, brigaded with Picardie Infanterie, advanced and opened fire on the Prussian dragoons, who turned and charged them down, killing or capturing the battalion in its entirety. By this point, my part of the battle had ended, withdrawing with the multitude of broken units. The battle line was collapsing, and even unengaged units like Duke de Broglie's infantry were withdrawing. Our left wing near Hahlen was falling back, their position untenable in the face of fresh infantry and under fire by Bretagne artillery. The Bretagne cavalry had still not attacked, so pursuit fell to the hard-worked artilery once more. They chased our army to the edge of the marshlands, stopping every so often to pour fire into our retreating columns. Rather than cross the Bastau and head west, we ended up crossing to the east bank of the Weser to make a circuitous retreat to Kassel, as Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick had attacked and cut off our line of retreat during the battle. From what I heard after the battle, it was estimated our army had suffered over seven thousand casualties, while the Allies had taken less than three thousand, mostly among the Bretagne division. Of Regiment Touraine, we were reduced to half strength and removed from the order of battle to recuperate our losses, and we did not become combat effective until the next year's campaigning season."

"Jesus, what a disaster," whispered Evelyn in a horrified awe. She knew how implacable the advance of British and Hessian regulars could be from her own experience in the Virginia Campaign, but to think six battalions of British Regulars and three of Hanoverians could do that much damage and withstand such pressure: Three waves of French cavalry on near ideal ground. "Wait, Pops, you never mentioned anything about them forming squares, you'd never miss something like that!"

"Noticed that, did you? You're right, dear daughter, le Bretagne fought the entire battle in line formation."

"Holy shit!"

"Fuck!"

"Language!"

"Fuck!" All eyes in the room turn to Jean Therese, who looks especially pleased at having learned a new word. "Mama, what does fuck mean?"

"It's not a nice word, don't use it. I'll be washing Captain Fledgling's mouth out with soap in just a minute. It should help him learn to watch what escapes his mouth before bad things happen to him. Again."

"Ha ha, Louis, you're in trouble!"

"And you, my son, are also in trouble for enabling his reckless behavior. While I appreciate that you backed up your best friend and likely saved his life, if not for your squirrely friend Julian, you both would have died. I am... not prepared to lose more family, especially to needlessly reckless violence like a duel that Prince Louis here provoked."

"Teacher, I-"

"Louis, enough. It might sound strange coming from me, but your provocation that lead to the duel being issued was entirely unwarranted."

"But- That man-"

"He got off with a slap on the wrist!"

"That he did, Charlie, at a time when his corps commander has taken a leave of absence, and the army commander, your father, it scrambling to cover said absence. Things inevitable slip through the cracks, but make no mistakes, when your father called me down to look after you, he was furious."

"But when he came to visit, it was so brief, and he didn't say a word! It felt like he didn't care!"

"Charles, Darling is loud when he is happy, but when he is truly angry, outside of battle and his blood is not running hot, he is cold and silent. When a man tried to take me for his own pleasure on the ship from America, your father very nearly strangled him in near silence. I spared that man, but I left him with two broken thumbs, which ended his career as a sailor, as well as stomping on his groin, before turning him over to an officer to dispense justice. When he is angry, Darling becomes rather poor at communication, so trust me, he cares, but he is channeling his rage into being productive, so he doesn't murder that man out of hand."

"Well lads, the moral of the story is that you must always take le Bretagne seriously. Mock them for the tiny size of their army, but never question the quality of their soldiers. They recruit from men who would face imprisonment, or men who volunteer for combat. In this, both cream and scum rise to the top."

Spoiler: Author's Notes

@Magoose I finally got around to doing this (after Ten Thousand Years, I arise from my slumber!), and I tied it in with the recent turn's events. Given the general disdain continental armies tended to hold the British Army with, it felt prudent for Matteo to remind some of the currently serving members of the French Army of why he is utterly respectful of the capabilities of British regulars, which he passed down to his sons. The final line by Matteo is a callback to this omake, where Severin makes mention of Minden and the lesson he learned from that story.

Spoiler: Battle Maps for Minden

Spoiler: The River Weser

Spoiler: Situation at 6:30

Spoiler: Sporcken's Attack, French Cavalry Wave 1

Spoiler: French Cavalry Counterattacks, Wave 3

Spoiler: Hey guys, an Old Man is talking!

View: https://youtu.be/wvwbKfS44Fo

1759 was a charmed year for Britain, every battle they engaged in emerged as a victory, and even inconclusive battles at sea saw the French retire from the field, if not the entire theater. It was also the year in which the keel for HMS Victory was laid (July 23, 1759), which fit the theme of the year.

I mainly drew on this article for the details of the battle, as it is the most detailed I can find without cracking open books that I don't have. It's much better than Wikipedia's anemic article, and includes an order of battle. I've been using this site for all of the Seven Years' War omakes, including articles on the individual regiments, particularly Touraine Infanterie. Compare to the Wikipedia article.

Reports of the battle say that Prince Ferdinand could not hear the cannonade of de Broglie due to the high winds blowing west to east damping the sound. When de Broglie started his bombardment, the defenses he fired upon were largely unmanned, and had he pushed then, the elite Grenadiers de France alone could have likely stormed the defenses. As it was, he gave Wangenheim plenty of time to muster his men and get heavy artillery in place to dominate the artillery exchange.

The French battery at 7 am is put out of action within ten minutes by the actions of the British artillery brigade, which later shuts down the French artillery on the left wing, the attempted flanking attack on von Sporcken's right, and later pursues the retreating French army to the edge of the marshlands that border the Bastau and hammers them with artillery fire. Comparatively, the British cavalry under Lord George Sackville failed to cover themselves in glory. Failed to accomplish much of anything, in spite of 5 messages to attack, and Prince Ferdinand arriving in person, only for the opportunity to destroy the French army to have slipped by. Quite possibly the only thing that prevented the total defeat and destruction of the French at Minden was Sackville's incompetence and inaction. He would request a court martial to defend his honor, but was found unfit to serve the king is any military capacity. He would later become Secretary of State for the Colonies as George Germain... in the 1770s, when Britain alienated the American colonies into revolt. Talk about getting Sacked, amirite?

The Wikipedia article on the Battle of Minden has a letter from a Lieutenant of the 12th Regiment of Foot (labeled Napier on the maps, for it's colonel) describing the intensity of the battle on the far right of the British first line.

The victory, carried as it was by the six British regiments, raised British enthusiasm for the war in Europe, and the following year would see significant reinforcements to the Allied army by British troops. Minus a certain officer, and with a cavalry contingent hungry to avenge its dishonor. The popular tale of the battle is that von Sporcken's attack was due to a miscommunication or misinterpretation of orders, but given the French cavalry was still forming up when he began his attack, it is more likely due to Ferdinand seizing on an opportunity.

For the French it was a humiliation Duc de Choisul, French Chief Minister, wrote "I blush when I speak of our army. I simply cannot get it into my head, much less into my heart, that a pack of Hanoverians could defeat the army of the King".

A certain Marquis de la Fayette was killed by a cannonball at Minden, his son would one day be known as the Hero of Two Worlds.

Precocious child learns a new word. Isn't everyone supposed to be happy that they learned something new?

Some commentary and supposition about the turn events, and why they went so bad. Mostly that Severin was scrambling to keep I Corps in order after Dumas' leave of absence, though he doesn't fault the man for trying to spend time with his family. Between the shakeup in leadership, a new commander who hasn't led anything larger than a brigade, and Louis running his mouth and writing checks his adolescent stature can't cash, Something bad was bound to happen. With as wounded as Louis and Charlie would have been, I figured Julian would have been the one, a bit more distant from the foolishness after his own stunt and being separated from Charlotte while looking after her brother, would have hunted the pair of fools down and dragged them to medical attention. Severin has always been portrayed as happy and jovial, or in battle (still jovial, but running on bloodlust). He's never been depicted as truly angry. Like Spider-Man, Silent Severin is Scary.

 

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Best Wishes Before the Wedding of the Century

"So! How fares the Groom on the big day?"

"Damn you Severin, the first thing you ask me before my wedding and it's a fucking horse pun?"

"Now, my friend, I wouldn't be me if I didn't lead off with a pun. Why that would be out-of-character for me, and you'd have to check for an imposter among us!"

"Pah, as if there were other jovial, giant Swedes with the audacity to openly carry the only Marshal's baton fashioned into an axe in such a plain uniform! Were there such an imposter he would deserve to assassinate the Emperor and all of the Marshal's. You, Severin, are a unique existence in the world."

"Ah, my friend, you will make me blush with such a compliment!"

"Ah, ah, don't slap my back you brute! You'll wrinkle my uniform right before the wedding! And that was not meant as a compliment! Merely that you are such an oddball that none could replace you!"

"Such kind words from the Royal Brother-in-law! You say such harsh things, but mean the opposite, you big softie! And we all know why this wedding is happening on such short notice, you dog!"

"Again, hands off the uniform! Lord knows where that elbow has been! And stop winking, that expression you're making fills me with disgust!"

"Ha ha! You'll be joining the child-rearing club soon enough, Prince Pony Groomer, you'd better listen to the hard-won lessons from those who came before you!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! I'll not come begging to you for instruction! Davout, come help me wrangle this moron!"

"Oh, calling on Nick for reinforcements, are you? Not so proud that you have the infantry acting as the cavalry for once?"

"You can share about how you both are so lovey-dovey with your wives to each other, just let me compose myself before the wedding. You only get married once, so let me look my best for Caroline's and my big day."

"What's this now, Denis?"

"Nick, the Royal Brother-in-law wants advice about children, but is too shy to ask me. That and he's being adorable about wanting, and I quote: "Caroline's and my big day" to go smoothly! That's the first time I can remember that he's put someone else before his Dandy derriere!"

"Yes, heh, indeed."

"Not you as well Davout! Severin! How?! How have you corrupted the Iron Marshal's sense of humor from all the way in the Netherlands? We were in Spain! Hundreds of miles distant!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Joachim, letters exist."

"Yeah, Nick and I've been exchanging letters, and he's written some jokes, like the state of the Spanish army, haha!"

"Pft! Stop that! They are our allies now! And they- they've gotten much better! Davout saw to that! Don't just say things like that!"

"Carlos thinks he's intelligent."

"Heh- Davout, stop, I swear to God-"

"I told you, Nick is a riot! Funniest shit I've heard in a long while!"

"But, he, I- you can't just say that! The Spanish envoys are right there!"

"They would agree."

"They're his friends! He appointed them!"

"Then they'd know best."

"Davout, please, I beg of you, stop talking!"

"Fine. Your wedding gift from me."

"You- wha- Severin, you ape! I know you enjoy rolling around in the mud, but pick yourself off the floor! Make yourself presentable and have some dignity!"

"-Ahahahahahahahahaha! Oh, my sides! Nick, your jokes have gotten better than ever! And Jockey, dignity, me? Your jokes have gotten a lot better too, my friend!"

"Jockey? What fresh hell is this? I can feel my intelligence leaking out my ears from this conversation."

"Hey, it's a great nickname! Not only is it a horse pun, but it's based off your name! Joachim, the Swedish diminutive is Jocke, Jockey! My new nickname for you when I don't feel like making new horse puns!"

"You're running out of ideas, aren't you?"

"Hey now, I never said that! That being said, it is getting harder to get fresh ones without cracking open a thesaurus..."

"Question, Denis. Why did you want to organize the parade?"

"Oh, a couple of reasons! Firstly, I did it so Jockey here would sweat over how I would mess with him on his- I mean, his bride-to-be's big day."

"Shut up about that already!"

"Secondly, I wanted to give Therese and two of my best friends the best triumphal parade possible, since you're all so important to me."

"How cute, Denis."

"That is... surprisingly wholesome of you, Severin."

"Thirdly, I wanted to arrange the parade so that as many of the citizens could enjoy it, and I knew your lads could handle the longer, more winding parade route."

"Thoughtful of you."

"Ah, more people to witness our glorious march."

"Fourthly... You noticed how clean the streets were? No chamber pot dumping and no horseshit on the streets?"

"Unusually clean."

"Yes, I did notice the lack of... sewage and horse apples."

"Well... I did have someone in dire need of punishment detail, so I suckered him into the "honor" of -ahem- "Preparing the parade route for the Heroes of the Spanish Campaign."

"Sucker indeed."

"Who could possibly have drawn your ire for such a... creative punishment detail? You are surprisingly lenient for a renowned drillmaster befitting your family name."

"Well, there was this officer of I Corps who challenged a certain Captain Falcon to an honor duel, and when he lost, he proceeded to beat Louis and my son, leaving them for dead."

"Surprised you didn't kill him."

"Agreed, you don't seem the type to be lenient on those that bring harm to your family or proteges."

"France cannot afford to lose experienced officers, regardless of personal issues and feuds. That and I've learned to curb my temper from Mon Soleil. She has a much more vicious temperament than I, yet so deliciously creative while remaining within the bounds of the law. Mmhm, very sexy..."

"I see."

"And that's enough of that! So what, you put the man in charge of the cleaning detail, and he ordered a bunch of workers to clean the streets? Not much of a punishment to me."

"Oh no, he got to lead the cleaning detail. He had to inspect every inch and crack of cobblestone with his issued tool. A toothbrush! Mwahahahaha! The idiot had to get down on his hands and knees in the filth to make sure -every- single- inch- of the parade route was cleaned."

"How evil. Good job."

"That parade route was five miles long, winding through the Capital's most crowded districts... That's so evil of you, Severin. I almost respect you for that alone."

"Mwahahaha! He'll never get the smell of shit out of his nose! Usually it's "talk shit, get hit," but in this case, it's "beat kids whenever, smell shit forever!"

"That aside, Denis, how is the readiness of the North? I've not heard good things after Dumas took his leave."

"We're managing. He gave me a bit of notice, so I arranged for my second to transfer and take over. Johnny's good, but he hasn't led more than a brigade in battle. Served in the Netherlands the same time you did, Nick, then on the Rhine under the Fox. Led the holding action against Blucher at Mannheim while Jourdan collapsed his flanks. If not Johnny, it would have been the Hussar General, La Salle. He'd give Jockey a run for his money, but he's got less of a head for infantry than him too."

"Hey! No one is better than me at cavalry-"

"Kellerman."

"Kellerman."

"Ahem, no one aside from literally the most experienced Marshal of France is better than me at cavalry-"

Spoiler: Author's Notes

Oh look, another omake entirely of dialogue and banter!

Severin starting off strong with an actually appropriate horse pun, what a shocker!

Amogus and Murat being tsundere. Tsun with Severin, Dere with Caroline.

IIRC, I think every time I've had Murat speak, he's always listed himself before anyone else by name, unless it was referring to a superior officer by title.

I about killed myself laughing imagining Davout as an utterly savage, laconic, deadpan snarker, roasting everyone around him with every sentence. IRL, he was a man of few words, blunt as hell, and disliked by many of his peers socially. Exposure of Severin over the last fiveish years has corrupted him.

Murat's latest nickname, explained. And yes, it's been harder to make up new nicknames off the top of my head without looking up horse-related terms.

"O kawaii koto" -Louis-Nicholas Davout, The Iron Marshal, 31 December, 1799.

Severin playing mind games and resolving the plot thread around the officer that assaulted Louis by channeling big "NCO of Pure Evil" energy.

Severin hyping up Bernadotte, and a reveal for Doom-Guy's super-jacked cavalry commander. I've seen historians rank La Salle up there with Murat and Kellerman as the best cavalry commander of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars.

Davout and Severin roasting Murat about the Marshal wargame results.