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]

A Prince's Perspective

It was loud. Papa said there was a pa-wade cuz Mama was back from S'Pain. Papa was havin the pa-wade cuz Mama and frens did good in S'Pain. Of course Mama did good! Mama is Mama! But Papa says it's 'portant for Mama's frens to be happy. Even when Papa's busy being Emp-rah Papa makes time for Sandy and Rolly. But Papa was extra happy when Mama came back. He said a bunch of long words that sounded the same and made Mama turn red and whap his arm before they made kissy-faces. Kissy-faces are gross, but Jeanie says Unca Sevy and Auntie Evie make kissy-faces all the time, and 'dults are always making kissy-faces. Rolly doesn't believe Jeanie, but she's always right, so it must be true. And since Jeanie is way way way older than Rolly and Sandy, she's gonna be 'dultin before we do. And Jeanie making kissy-faces with other 'dults don't make Sandy happy.

But the pa-wade was awesome! Horsey-man's souljas were shiny and horsey, and Nicky's souljas cranked like a clock! But Mama's souljas were even more clocky than Nicky's! They supa cranked it! The pa-wade was nice, but the best part was that Unca Sevy came back! Rolly likes Lansy more, but still likes Sevy! Sandy was sad that Jeanie wasn't with Sevy, but she was spending time with Auntie Evie and baby Selmy. Sandy got to play with the Hat-Hat again, but even if Sevy is the fun Unca, as he says, he didn't let Sandy play with the Ax-aton, even though he made it do tricks and flips! It was so unfair!

After the pa-wade, Sevy and Lansy carried Sandy and Rolly into the huge church. Sevy said Horsey-man and Auntie Carol were gonna get mawwied and make kissy-faces, and make a baby cousin! Sevy said after it was done Sandy and Rolly could call Horsey-man Unca Jockey, since getting mawwied makes him family. Lansy made a really funny face and turned super red after Unca Sevy called Papa Emp-rah Tuna! Now Rolly and Sandy know the secret to making Lansy play the funny faces game! It's a 'portant secret, like how wearing Hat-Hat makes it so nobody can see you! Unca Sevy has the bestest secrets! Like he has the bestest stories! Sandy thinks Unca Sevy is funner than Lansy cuz Sevy puts Sandy on his shoulder and let's him climb around wearing Hat-Hat! Unca Sevy showed Rolly and Sandy a new game too! Climb all the way to the tippy top and shout 'I claim this land in the name of France!' Lansy made a super funny face when Rolly did that on his head when Unca Jockey and Auntie Carol were getting mawwied! Silly Rolly, everybody could see you cuz Rolly wasn't wearing Hat-Hat!

*Yawn* Being a Prince is hard work! Unca Sevy's head is really comfy now. Too bad for Rolly that Lansy don't let him go nap-nap on his head too... Zzz...

Spoiler: Author's Notes

Had some time and I wanted to get this out to vent some frustration with customers acting like children. It's an omake from Alexandre's perspective, but being a toddler still, he doesn't quite recognize the difference between "Sandy" and "Rolly" since they're almost always together, but knows that Sandy feels different things than Rolly.

I was recently reminded of the existence of Crank That, so I am spreading the suffering around. Mawwige is a Princess Bride reference. Severin has long learned that the best way to mess with Lannes is to teach the twins to call important people with silly nicknames. The twins have picked up that "Lansy makes silly face when we use nicknames" and "we like it when Lansy makes silly faces." Kids learn to do something or not do something by the reactions they get from the adults around them. Sometimes they learn the wrong thing. For example, they do something silly and inappropriate and get laughter. Laughter is good right? They so the same thing again. Nope, that's a paddling.

 

[AvidFicReader]

New Century, Same Old Severin

3 January, 1800

"All right lads! Back to work! Paris was fun and all, but I couldn't bear to leave my dear lads without attention any longer! There's a thunder in the east, I can feel it in my bones!"

"God in Heaven! Where'd he come from? Wasn't Marshal Severin in Paris for the big event? He wasn't here yesterday!"

"It's the Marshal, for all we know he just sprinted back here from Paris to make sure us soldats weren't slacking off."

"That sounds like him all right. And to think, he's the "fun" Marshal."

"I mean, you can't spell fun without an F U-"

"Oy! I can see you two over there! If you've got breath for gossip you can be practicing your drills! I want you to show the world that you're the best troops in the army when the time comes! No time for lollygagging!"

The two chastened soldiers hurry off to escape the Marshal's attention.

"Marshal Severin, you're back! A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. What brings you back to Namur so soon after the new year? "

"Ah, Captain Roche! How have your Chasseurs been doing? With, heh, Captain Falcon out of commission, you've been busy no doubt. And no need for formalities, especially since you and your boys helped save my ass at Milan!"

"Aye sir, but he's mostly recovered by this point. Charles and Julian have been pestering him to do paperwork rather than anything more strenuous, though he has been practicing his marksmanship. He's not about to let a "small thing" like being near beaten to death take away his title as the best sharpshooter in the French Army."

"Small doesn't mean irrelevant, Roche, you may be small, but you fight like a whole company of grenadiers. After all, who was it that captured an entire battalion singlehandedly after the Austrians routed at Marengo?"

"You honor me sir, but that does change the fact that the men call me "the Little Severin," especially since Charles is now taller than me!"

"Don't pout, Roche, you're not that wet-behind the ears youth that joined the army in Toulon. You're a veteran of two campaigns, and many would think what you achieved in Italy an impossibility. Should some modern-day bards tell your tale, you'd be legend among men."

"Regardless sir, you say you have a feeling that we'll see action soon?"

"That I did, Roche, whether it be the Prussians or the Russians, or a whole damned Coalition, I get the feeling that someone is done giving us enough time to get our house in order, and they want to take a pound of flesh from us. It's our job to prevent it, and failing that, to avenge it."

"Any specific preparations for the Chasseurs?"

"We'll be following the Meuse to Venlo, when it begins to wind westward. From there, we'll march east into Westphalia. Depending on if the Brits are going after us or not, we might end up invading Hanover. In that case, we might end up striking for Hamburg or Bremerhaven, then marching east for Prussia proper. If, somehow, we don't end up at war with the Brits, then we'll end up striking through Westphalia and around Hesse and southern Hanover, damn the Holy Roman Empire and their despicable bordergore. At that point, we'll likely link up with Jourdan and the Rhine front. It'll be I Corps' dragoons on flank security, while Poppy's boys scout ahead. I'll need the Chasseurs to screen the main column on the march. Make sure your Frogs and Fleas aren't too trigger happy, regardless of whether Poppy needs his head deflated."

"Aye sir, I'll keep the boys in line. Even if the Horsey set are all too big for their fancy pants."

"Good lad, Roche don't get killed, you've got a lot of promise. Just keep an eye out for Louis and my son. And Julian, I suppose."

Spoiler: Author's Notes

A brief glimpse I to what the common soldiers think of Severin. Paris to Namur is a bit over 300 km by road, doable to make the trip overnight by horse. Severin would totally do it to screw with the troops and make sure they're not getting complacent or worse, complaining. No Severin, this isn't Skyrim, no one is stealing sweet rolls, and you didn't take an arrow to the knee.

Hello there! General Kenobi! The new character is Albert Roche, expy of Albert Severin Roche, the First Soldier of France from WWI. One of the maddest of madlads. I've retroactively made him one of the riflemen that were with Louis at Genoa, holding the crossing at Marengo to cut the Austrian line of retreat, and one of the twenty madlads with Louis who saved Severin and Murat near Milan. As Roche is from the south of France, I had him join the Army of the Orient when it was mustering in Toulon. OTL Roche was 5'2" with a middle name of Severin, I couldn't help it, so he's the Little Severin (Le Petit Severin). Roche's combat record is sheer insanity (captured 1000+ German soldiers, mostly singlehandedly, cleared a blockhouse on his lonesome, held a section of trenchline by himself after his comrades were killed by artillery, constantly volunteered for risky scouting missions (once got captured with an officer, broke out, captured everyone in that area and rescued prisoners), spent 10 hours (6 in, 4 out) crawling though no man's land to rescue his wounded captain. He immediately collapsed from exhaustion with no witnesses, only to be found and accused of dereliction of duty and literally about to executed by firing squad before a messenger from the now awake captain gave testimony of his innocence. After nearly being executed, continued to fight valiantly for the country that tried to execute him. One of several soldiers selected to dine with the British king from a delegation of French heroes to Britain, one of the pallbearers who laid the (French) Unknown Soldier to rest. Wounded 9 times in combat, close to death countless times, only to be killed in 1939, months before the German invasion by a speeding car of all things as he got off a bus.

This is the battleplan for the Army of the North for War Plan Eagle. The Electorate of Hanover is a possession of British Empire (specifically, the King of Great Britain is also the Elector of Hanover) and makes up much of modern Lower Saxony. The Holy Roman Empire truly has some of the most disgusting bordergore, take Hanover as an example. Two enclaves (Bremen and Bremerhaven) spindly borders that remind me of the Greek coastline (I had to freehand draw that so many times in school!). Ugh, gross.

 

[Alexander Sturnn]

Le son de la liberté


Fireworks rose into the night sky, exploding and shining their clorful lights on the City below. Cheers and celebrations sounded through the streets of Port-au-Prince. Former Slaves, Free People of Color, Big and Small Whites alike could be seen in the streets, drinking, laughing and cheering as one to the News that had reached them today, as the Royal Navy lifted their blockade and their Admiral informed the Garrisons of the Island per Signals what had happened.

The War of the Second Coalition was over. France and the Revolution once again reigned victorious. And the British, defeated for a second time in less then a decade, had been forced to return any gains they had made in the Caribbean back to Haiti, having never even managed to set a foot on the Island, despite repeated landing attempts and a months-long blockade.

This was Victory. And it felt like a Victory for all of Haiti, Black and White alike, former Slaves and former Masters. They all had managed to defend their home and their freedom. And now, for the first time in History, all of the Islands groups openly mingled together, united in celebration and festivity.

François-Dominique Toussiant L'Ouverture, former General of the Haitian Slave-Revolt and now Governor-General of not just Haiti but all of the French Caribbean, could not help but smile as he looked at this display of Unity, fleeting as it may yet prove to be, from the Window of his Office.

For all the Power he wielded, nothing made him feel more satisfied then the Feeling of Victory and the Pride of Unity. However, there was still moments of doubt, moments of strife that plagued his mind.

The Motherland had won the war, won by the power of arms and the Personality and skill of it's leaders.

They had held to their promises for now and things were good, a victory well earned and respected.

For Now...

It was a simple fear, that the present Unity will give way to the Future strife and more things yet unknown.

The Uncertainty of Tomorrow...the only constant in this age.

Toussaint's thoughts where interrupted by someone knocking on the door of his Office.

"Come in", he said, already knowing who it was.

And indeed, General Andre Rigaud entered the room, placing a stack of Papers on the desk.

"The reports are finished, Governor-General", he reported dutifully. "Your rationing Plans fulfilled their purpose well. Despite the British's best efforts to starve us out, we have enough food supplies to last us until the first shipments arrive."

Toussaint nodded. One issue from the Slavery Era that they still struggled with was Haiti's reliance on food shipments from other Caribbean Islands and Europe, since the Bourbons had wanted the Colony of Saint Domingue, as it was called back then, to be entirely dependent on the Motherland and had thus prohibited the farming of any Plants other then Sugar, Tobacco and Coffee. They were already working on solving this Problem, now that this Prohibition was no longer in effect. Taking the Spanish side of the island had helped with that, but it would still take a while before enough Farmland was available for the Colony to be self-sufficient, making the rationing of food during the Blockade a vital necessity.

"As for Arms and Ammunition, the fighting against the British depleted our stocks quite a bit, but overall, we should still have enough to deal with any...surprises coming our way", Rigaud finished his summarizing of the reports.

Despite everything...it seemed that they had weathered the Storm of War.

The Ration riots had been small, the freed Blacks and the Whites hadn't killed each other at this critical juncture...or worse.

And now, with the matter of the war resolved, came the battle for Peace.

A Peace few had really failed to see and even comprehend.

"The Demobilization of the Malita's?" Toussaint asked calmly. "That is the surprise I'm waiting to see now, not our own issues. The British are close, but they are far enough away for now that we don't need them armed."

"Ahh...that is more complicated, Sir", the General said.

"Is it because of the Spanish?"

Rigaud nodded. "With what happened in New Spain, many of the Officers fear that the Spanish Royalists may get...Ideas to retrieve their former Caribbean Colonies and more."

Toussaint looked at Rigaud. "...And you share this concern." It was a Statement, not a Question.

Rigaud said nothing, but the look in his eyes told Toussiant that he was right.

The Governor-General turned around to Rigaud, looking over the man and musing how they had gotten to this Point. Like Toussaint, Andre Rigaud had grown up chafing under the Racism of the White Slave Owners. However, while Toussaint had been born into Slavery with no familial ties to any Elites and had only been freed some years prior to the Revolution, Rigaud had been born as a Free Man of Color. His Father had been one of the Free Black Men to own a Plantation himself and his Mother had been one of his Fathers Slaves. He had been raised and educated as a political Champion of the Free People of Color's Rights, but not those of the Slaves. In fact, when the Slave Revolt had first started, he and his Militia Troops had fought the Rebels as well as the White Elites. However, when the War of the First Coalition began and the Commission sent from France to administer the Colony had abolished Slavery and gotten Toussaint and the Rebels on their side, Rigaud and his Army of Free People of Color had sided with them as well.

Toussaint knew that Rigaud and he had disagreed on many Issues in the past and still did on some. While they both were of black skin, that did not make them automatic Allies. Rigaud was the political Leader of the Free People of Color, who had always tended to see themselves as separate from and above the Black Slaves. In fact, he knew that Rigaud, while he was not necessarily pro-Slavery, had envisioned a Caste-System for Haiti that placed the Free People of Color on top. Toussaint on the other hand had grown to envision a free and peaceful Haiti, where Whites, Free People of Color and Former Slaves alike could live together as equals. At first, their views had seemed irreconcilable.
Still, over the War, they had become unlikely Allies. While leading Campaigns across the Caribbean, taking Spanish and English Colonies for France, they had grown genuine respect for each other, as well as a sense of Brotherhood amongst their Soldiers. Rigaud had even accepted the Orders from France placing Toussaint as his Superior without issues, dutifully continuing his Work as his Subordinate.

Toussaint was not sure if Rigaud was entirely trustworthy, but he did believe that the General had earned himself the benefit of the doubt by now. He had made no move so far to undermine the Governor-General or his attempts to build this new, equal Society he envisioned. Fighting side by side in a War could change ones outlook on many things. Perhaps Rigaud truly had been convinced that Toussaint's way was the right one.

The Governor-General sighed. "For now, we must adhere to the Peace that we have slowly built. The Spanish are still in disarray and cannot truly begin to force itself upon the Carribian at this time, they don't even have a firm grip upon their own homeland and former colonies. They would be hard pressed to do much of anything if they can't even maintain their holdings now."

He then grabbed the bridge of his nose. "Its not that I don't share your fears, Rigaud, it's that I see what Spain is now: Insecure and struggling to maintain dignity when it lost so much. It makes them dangerous, yes, but also predictable."

Rigaud nodded reluctantly. "...I see your point, Sir."

"Good. ...That said, we should not lower our Guard completely either. Demobilization will continue, but I can promise you that we will keep our eyes open." Toussiant looked out of the Window. "We fought hard to win our freedom. We won't lose it now. Not to Spain, not to Britain...or anyone else."

"...You are worried that the Emperor will go back on his promise?"

Toussaint nodded. "He is a man of Ambition, and ambitious men work for their own interests. While he has yet to interfere with our rights, we are still at his mercy...that's the issue with Emperors that rule in far away lands."

Rigaud remained silent for a while. "...I cannot say your fears are unfounded. But who knows...he has kept the promise so far. And if the rumors one hears about his wife and her influence on him are true..."

Toussaint sighed. He wanted to believe Rigaud. But ultimately, Rumors were just Rumors. Neither of them had ever met the Emperor or the Empress face to face. He knew what kind of People they appeared to be...but was that really what they were? Or had France and by extension Haiti only exchanged one tyrannical Regime for another?

He shook his head. "In the end, we can only go forward and hope for the best...while preparing for the worst."

He gave a gesture to Rigaud, dismissing him. The General saluted and turned to leave. But before he left the room, he hesitated and looked back.

"...Sir, if I may say this..." He took a deep breath. "I know the two of us have not always seen eye to eye. For a while, I only saw you as a Rival for Power. But, after fighting these last two Wars side by side with each other and defending our home from Invasion...after our People bled together on the field of Battle...I trust you more then I do anyone over the Sea in France."

He looked straight at Toussaint. "If it really comes to the worst...then I promise that me and my Soldiers will not stand by and watch as you and your men are forced back into chains. We'll have your back as fellow Haitians...even if it's against the Motherland."

That made Toussaint smile. "Haiti could stand against the entire world with that confidence, Rigaud. Let us hope it is not misplaced."

Rigaud nodded, saluted once more and left the room. Toussaint turned back around, looking over the celebrations in the streets.

He watched as a Free Man of Color, recognizable by his fancy clothes, had a friendly talk with a former Plantation Owner sitting on Chairs outside of a Cafe. He saw black Children, likely former Slaves laugh and play Games with white Children as they ran across the street. Through the window of a Tavern, he could see a group of Whites and Blacks sitting at a table, raising their glasses in cheers for their Victory in this War. He saw a white Woman pulling a black Man into a hug and kissing him on the lips at a street corner. And he saw the Crowd of People from all walks of life, Soldiers and Civilians, black and white, former Slave Owners and former Slaves, standing on the Plaza, cheering at the Fireworks above.

Toussaint L'Ouverture smiled brightly. No matter what the future would bring...this one moment of Unity, even if it was brought about by the overall joy and sense of Victory and may not last for much longer beyond this Night, had been worth all of his struggles so far.

And as the People on the streets began to sing a certain Song that had recently become very popular in Haiti, Toussaint could not help but join in the choir of Voices ringing up into the sky...

Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!​

A.N.: Written by both @Cyberphilosipher and me in cooperation. I hope you all like it.

Toussaint L'Ouverture's worries are not unfounded. In OTL, the French Revolutionary Governments infamously flip-flopped on the Rights of Black People in the Colony of Saint Domingue and later Haiti. First only a few Free People of Color got full rights, then those were stripped away after the Slave Revolt began, then ALL FPoC got full rights again and lastly, Slavery was abolished entirely...until Napoleon brought it back, mostly for economic reasons.
And while Haiti's Situation is MUCH better here then it ever was in OTL, making Nappy reinstating Slavery and thus losing the Colony unlikely, it still is a worry that would Plague the Governor-General's mind.
At least he has Rigaud on his side ITTL. While in OTL, the two were bitter Rivals for Power in Haiti, I figured after the massive Successes Haiti enjoyed and after they all conquered much of the Caribbean together, they now see each other as fellow defenders of Haiti and all of it's People. Come what may and no matter who they will have to fight...Haiti will remain free. Or die standing.
Let's hope they can keep the ball rolling...and make the Dream of a truly equal mixed Society in Haiti a reality.

Also, I really love the "Do you hear the People sing?"-Song that was written for a Theater-Play of Les Miserables in the 90's. It's an amazing Song. So, in this Timeline, I declare it to be written almost two centuries earlier by the former Slaves of Haiti, where it soon became a popular Song and spread across the French Dominion, an Anthem for Freedom.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Outpacing the Post

22 August, 1795

General de Brigade Louis-Nicholas Davout led Le Corps d'Acier Trempe into the outskirts of Naples. He had expected at least some resistance, given that Ferdinand had (stupidly) declared war on France. Having destroyed Ferdinand's army at Messina, Davout was well aware that aside from his battered King's Division, Ferdinand had only levied conscripts to resist. But even now, within the outskirts of the kingdom's capital, there had been not an iota of resistance. Instead, the peasants and citizens had hailed the French army (one that Davout had taken to calling the Army of Naples, for simplicity's sake; who had time for flowery titles when there was a war on?) as liberators. Indeed, as the infantry column came up to the city gate, it was thrown open, with cheering crowds perched on rooftops and the walls, shouting greetings in Pasta (damn Severin for infecting his brain!) and throwing flower petals to rain on their heads.

Murat had led the cavalry at the head of the army (no doubt the dandy man was eating all the adulation up), making him and his men the first troops to enter the city. Severin marched at the rear of the column with his (ridiculously named) Bridge Guards protecting Severin's charges. Davout himself rode at the head of Mathieu's division, having long resolved himself to keeping the excitable man on a short leash. As his merry band of idiots made their way along the main avenue into the city square, he took off his hat to shake out the mess of flower petals, garnering a riotous roar of cheers from the crowds. How bothersome.

Once the army had assembled in the square, they were greeted by the revolutionary council that had been running the kingdom since they had thrown the old king out. Apparently, immediately going back to war with the country that had just destroyed your military and still had an army nearby was a bad decision. Prideful idiot indeed. Spending an hour in the afternoon sun of southern Italy while listening to a bunch of self-important windbags bluster on in a language he barely understood only served to make him irritable. 'What a waste of time. Don't they know there's a war to be fought? If they don't need us here to give Ferdinand the boot, then end this farce and let us go and fight the Austrians up north, far away from you idiots.'

"Hey, Nick! Julian says they're throwing us a party and letting us stay however long we like. One night of fun will be good for the lads, then we can head on north to beat the Austrians like a drum. If they overindulge, they can puke on the march bright and early!"

And there was Severin; that bloodthirsty viking at least knew how to prioritize when there was a fight to be had. While Davout himself hated the thought of having to be polite to the pack of pasta-munching windbags, he could at least put in a token appearance and let Murat be the center of attention. Let the cavalry fix the enemy's attention for a change.

As the festivities commenced, a harried rider in French uniform arrived.
"General Davout! Dispatch from high command in Lyon! I was ordered to deliver these to you in person, but by the time I reached Rome, you were long gone!"

Wordlessly, Davout accepted the dispatch, breaking the seal and reading the missive. Orders, dated August 15th: "Make for Naples and make an example of Ferdinand, though I expect you will have departed upon hearing the news of it yourself. This is a mere formality. Additionally, compliments of Grand Marshal Bonaparte, you have been promoted to General de Division for your exemplary service at Messina. Colonels Murat and Severin have been promoted to General de Brigade as well. --General de Division Therese Auclair, Armee d'Orient" Running the math in his head, Davout compared the travel times. One day for news from Naples to reach Rome by horseback, assuming remounts. Rome to Lyon, another five. His men made the trip from Rome to Naples in under four days. Six days and change for the dispatch to get from Lyon to Naples. The timeline made sense, and assuming high command was preoccupied with the civil war and the frontiers, the Naples situation may have been left alone, what with the minimal threat Ferdinand posed compared to the Austrians, Prussians and Robespierre.

"Very well, dispatch received. I'll have my report ready for you first thing in the morning. Dismissed."

"Aye General."

As the messenger wanders off to join the celebration, Davout summons Murat and Severin.

"Oh, you called General? I was having a most fascinating discussion with the mayor of the city. He-"

"I've no interest in gossip, Murat. Dispatch from Lyon, read it."

"Aye, my fearless leader. Oh dear, how awkward for that poor messenger. Delivering an order to march on Naples in the city itself. And what's this? How lovely, promotions all around for our sterling work in dispatching Ferdinand's army! If that is all, General?"

"Be ready to depart in the morning. We march to link up with Massena and face the Austrians tomorrow."

"Very well, mon Generale I have a party to attend and high society to rub elbows with. Toodles!"

"It's a good thing that dandy is so competent. I wouldn't be able to stand him, otherwise."

"Hi there, Nick! Done talking with the horsefucker?"

"Yes. Read. If you can."

"Yes, yes, me meathead viking, no read good. Well damn, what a time to get those orders, amirite? And promotions? Congrats, Nick, General de Division, you've earned it!"

"Keep reading, idiot."

"Promotion for Colonel Fancy Pants, now General Fancy Pants. I suppose he did kill a bunch of them. And... What? Me, a general? What has the world come to that they promoted a sergeant to General de Brigade?"

"It's long overdue, Severin. Man up and accept it."

"Thanks Nick. I needed that. You're a good friend."

"Don't mention it. Really, don't."

"Well, let's get some food and drinks! It's not like some earth shattering news is on the way. We already know we're fighting half of France and the rest of Europe."

"Indeed, I can't imagine anything else will surprise us at this point."

Spoiler: A/N

Oh Davout and Severin, you know not what you're saying. Your boss is getting married to the bigger boss, and they're being crowned Emperor and Empress of the French. Depending on the date of the wedding/coronation, the news of it might be headed your way right this moment! Then, each will independently talk down Robespierre's troops and end the civil war with practically no bloodshed! (Not counting Therese getting shot and commissar dude getting murdered to death)

Also, Davout is such a chad that when he tries to shake flower petals out of his hat, the crowd takes it as him saluting them with a flourish and cheer him even more.

Anyway, estimates for travel times comes from orbis.stanford.edu, an online tool to calculate travel time and cost for getting around the Roman Empire. I plugged in the Lyon-Rome, Naples-Rome and Naples-Lyon routes for horse relay, and the Rome-Naples route for rapid military march. Lyon=Lugdunum, Naples=Neapolis, Rome=Roma. The only fixed date is August 15, when we voted for Therese to send the orders. 6.4 days from Lyon to Naples, and 3.6 to match from Rome to Naples. For the orders to arrive the same day as Davout, they have to arrive on August 22, and Davout would have left Rome on August 18. From whenever Ferdinand sent the war dec to Davout's departure can be responsiveness as waiting for orders in transit, then Nappy's staff being more concerned with the 100k+ republican troops around Paris and the 160k angry Prussians and Austrians swarming the frontiers. Then Davout figures he might as well do something while he's down here. Also, spot that Sabayon reference!

 

[Alexander Sturnn]

Courage et sauvetage



The worst Part of being imprisoned was the waiting.

Paul Barras knew that something was being planned for him and brave General Kellermann ever since they had declared their support for young Bonaparte and been thrown in prison for it. It was inevitable. Now that Robespierre was back in Power, he would waste no time to kill anyone he perceived as a threat.

And yet, even after weeks, no Guards had come to drag him and Kellermann out of their Cell in the Bastille. He liked to think that they both still had too much public support for them to just be killed...but it was far more likely that Robespierre didn't consider them as big enough threats to do away with immediately and that he had others to kill before them. A Theory that had much credence, considering the many poor souls they saw getting put on the Guillotine from the Window in their Cell.

However, they knew that their time would come eventually. And what had happened less then two weeks ago had proven that when Elissa Auclair, Sister of Napoleon Bonaparte and Wife of Brian Auclair, had been thrown into their cell along with her Baby Daughter.

Barras still remembered Kellermann's anger as he furiously screamed after the retreating Guards if Robespierre's madness had now gone so far as for him to accuse Mothers and little Toddlers of Treason. He himself had not felt much calmer. That mad Butcher was truly going too far now.

Even Elissa revealing why she and her Daughter had been thrown into Prison rather then staying in House Arrest, namely her Brother marrying Therese Auclair and crowning both of them as Emperor and Empress of the French People, had not done much to quell the anger that they both felt at the First Consul...especially since the Executions by Guillotine they witnessed through the Window seemed to double after that.

Still, for two weeks, nothing had been done to them. But none of them let that fool themselves. Elissa, Kellermann and Barras all knew that their Death Sentences were now only a matter of time now.

It was then that Barras decided that he would rather die like a man then a Summer Fair Festival attraction. "Kellermann? If you have enough courage left in you, I need some help getting something heavy", he had said.

He remembered the surprised look that the General had given him. "Barras, the bed is bolted to the floor, and unless you find a way to cut iron, we aren't getting much off anything on that front."

Barras had gritted his teeth. "There must be SOMETHING we can do! Even if it's just...I don't know, trying to jump the Guards when they finally come to get us!"

Elissa had looked at them with wide eyes, pressing her crying daughter to her chest. "Monsieur Barras...they'll kill you if you try that!"

Barras had just smiled sadly at her. "Lady Auclair...I believe we all know that, barring a miracle, we're dead anyway." He clenched his fists. "But I refuse to die under the eyes of that mad butcher Robespierre, being led to the Guillotine like a Pig to the slaughter! I'd rather go down fighting."

"As would I", Kellermann said. "Despite my age, I have no wish to die in some kind of festival organized by Robespierre. And I will not sit by and watch you and your little Girl are murdered either, Lady Auclair. I owe too much to your husband to let that happen."

Elissa smiled weakly. "I appreciate it, Monsieurs. But what can any of us do? We have no Weapons, not even an improvised one. And we're stuck in here."

"True", Kellermann had nodded. "But I disagree with your first Point." A small smile came to his lips. "Perhaps...we do have one weapon."

In the days after this, both he and Kellermann had tried their best to pretend that their imprisonment had weakened them much more then it had in truth. They had huddled themselves in corners, doing their best to look as pathetic and listless as possible. It seemed to work. The Guards barely spared them a glance anymore when bringing food and water into the Cell, clearly not considering them a threat.

And while Prison had indeed weakened them, they still had enough Energy in them for one last act of desperation once the Butcher's man came to drag them away for execution. Surprise was the only weapon, the only chance they had. And both Barras and Kellermann were ready to use it.

Then, today, something had changed. The Guards had not shown up to their Cell to give them food and water. In fact, not a single Guard had marched through the Corridor on patrol at all.

Elissa, gently rocking her little Daughter, gave a sigh. "I suppose today is the day then. No use to feed Prisoners who will be executed soon anyway..."

None of the two had answered that. They knew she was likely right. And then, the sound of a door opening at the end of the Corridor only reinforced her Statement.

Barras and Kellermann exchanged a brief nod. This was it. They may die today, but they would not make it easy for Robespierre's henchmen.

Elissa took a deep breath and hugged her child close before looking at the two men. "...Monsieurs. It was an honor to know you", she whispered quietly.

Barras smoothed his coat and Kellerman prepared himself for battle for what may very well be the last time.

They waited for footsteps to come closer.

Soon enough, two of Robespierre's Commissars came in sight. They both looked a bit frazzled, as if they had run here in a hurry. One of them fumbled with the keys to the cell.

"Come on!", the second Commissar snapped. "Let's get this over with and then let's get out of here while we still can!!"

"Shut up!", the first one shot back as he finally opened the cell. "I have enough stress as it is without your whining! Besides, this will be easy." He threw a disdainful glance at Barras and Kellermann, both of whom did their best to look as weak and sunken in as possible. "None of these Traitors can put up a fight anymore."

"Let's still not waste time", the second Commissar growled as they both entered the Cell and drew their Pistols. "You know Saint-Just's Orders. The Bitch and her little brat die first!"

Kellerman knew his duty and as they had entered the cell, he charged and tackled the first Commisar to the floor, wrestling for his pistol.

The other one didn't have time to fully cock it, shocked as he was, before Barras charged him as well.

Barras had never been much of a fighter. He had, technically, seen some 'Combat' during the Second Anglo-Mysore War, but his real Talents had always been political in nature.

Thankfully, the Commissar he now wrestled with for control of his Weapon did not seem to know what he was doing either. A lot of the political Officers in Robespierre's Forces had been chosen for Loyalty to the Regime, not ability to fight.

Still, he was a younger and stronger man. Barras knew that, once both of them got over their shock and surprise, the Tables would turn on him and Kellermann quickly. The feeling of impending death gave his struggle a desperate strength. Barras reared his head back and smashed it against the Commissars nose with all the force he could muster. With a muffled curse, the man stumbled backwards...and Barras managed to wrestle the Pistol out of his hand. Before the Commissar could recover, Barras hastily aimed at him and pulled the trigger.

By more luck then skill, his shot hit the man right in the throat. With a horrific gurgle, the Commissar grabbed his own throat with both hands as sunk down against the Wall, blood pouring out of his wound and mouth as life left his eyes.

Whirling around, Barras saw that the fight between Kellermann and the other Commissar had shifted to both of them standing up. In a feat of strength that probably surprised even himself, the elderly General threw the Commissar out of the Cell before he charged after him.

The second Commissar, sadly, was made of sterner stuff then his counterpart, for he quickly recovered himself and managed to stay on his feet. He had lost his Pistol during the struggle, but he quickly drew his Sabre. And as Kellermann charged at him, trying to follow up on his throw, the Commissars blade slashed through the air.

Kellermann suppressed a scream of pain as he stumbled backwards, his left Ring- and Littlefinger lying on the ground as blood spurted out of their stumps. But just as the Commissar tried to follow up on his attack and finish the wounded General off, the butt of the now empty Pistol that Barras had thrown after him hit him square in the head. The Man stumbled backwards, dazed and out of balance...and Kellermann, despite the pain he felt, used his chance.

With a strength like it can only come from desperation and life-threatening danger, he grabbed the Commissar by his Uniform and threw him against the Iron Bars of the Cell. Before the Man could regain his bearings, Kellerman grabbed his head with both hands and, with a strength that belied his old Age, slammed it against the Bars. Two, three, four, five times...until the bars were stained red with blood and the Commissar's body had gone limp. Panting with exhaustion, Kellermann let go of the Man's head and the Commissar sunk to the Ground. Whether dead or unconscious, Barras couldn't tell.

Silence reigned for a few seconds. Then, Elissa hurried over to Kellermann, who had returned to the cell, and ripped parts of her clothes off to create a makeshift bandage for his wound.

"By God...", she murmured as she looked at the two men. That was...incredible!"

Barras chuckled mirthlessly, the reality of their survival just now fully hitting him. "Thank you Lady Auclair, but...I don't think we can repeat that success."

And indeed, the ysoon heard more footsteps coming, beyond the door that lead into the Corridor their cell was located in. Barras, steeling himself, grabbed the Sabre of the Commissar he had shot and marched out into the Corridor, facing the door.

Kellermann, despite gritting his teeth in pain, took the other Commissar's Sabre as well after following Barras. They both knew that their Action had only bought them a little bit of time. No doubt Guards had heard the Noises and were now coming to-

Both Barras and Kellermann looked on in shock as the Door to the Corridor opened and they saw just who was approaching. It was not more Guards, but rather a contingent of French Soldiers. And leading them...were none other then Brian Auclair and Napoleon Bonaparte themselves.

Kellermann's eyes widened. "B-brian?!"

"Sorry we're late, General. We had...altercations in need of dealing with", Brian replied with a tired smile. However, his tone told of the relief he felt at seeing his old Commander again. "We only just now learned that you were held in here."

Barras let out a tired chuckle. "Better late then never, Auclair. I take it the City has fallen then?"

"Without a single shot fired", Napoleon confirmed. "The entire Garrison and the National Guard surrendered peacefully to us as soon as we offered it to them."

"Well, shit...", Barras muttered looking at the General...no, he supposed it was Emperor now, wasn't it? "I take it you already have plans to form a new Government?"

"All in due time, Barras", Napoleon replied. "For now however-"

"B-brian...? Napoleon...?"

The two men froze as they saw Elissa exit the Cell, still holding her Daughter in arms. For a second, she and her Husband and Brother just looked at each other. Then, Brian rushed forward and pulled his Wife in a hug, though careful to do it in a way as not to hurt their daughter.

"Y-you're here...!", Elissa whispered with tears of joy in her eyes. "I had almost given up hope to ever see you again...but you're really here...!"

"Oh don't mind us..." Napoleon said as he walked forward. "We had a good deal of buissness to take care of." He put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes telling the sheer relief he felt despite his calm tone. "But we're here now, dear sister."

He then looked at Kellermann, who was still clutching the stumps of his fingers, before his eyes wandered over the two dead Commissars.

"It seems I have to thank both of you for the lives of my Sister and my Niece." The Emperor gave Barras and Kellermann a respectful nod. "I owe you a great debt."

"As do I", said Brian, still holding his wife and daughter.

Kellermann, despite his pain, managed to crack a smile. "Think nothing of it. We couldn't let that Butcher have his way and have a Woman and her Baby murdered out of spite." He grimaced. "Though if I may make one request right now...a Doctor for my hand would be nice."

Napoleon gave a smile before turning around to one of the man accompanying him. "Pierre, fetch my Doctor. And quickly now." The Emperor of the French People looked once more at everyone else present. "As glad as I am about how things turned out...there is still much to be done."


A.N.: An Omake written by @Cyberphilosipher and me, detailing not only the survival of Barras, Elissa, her daughter and Kellermann, but also of how the old General lost his fingers. Despite his Age, he's still a badass who knows how to overcome bad odds.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Earth-Shaking News

Rome, Papal States, 28 August, 1795

Newly promoted General de Brigade Severin sat in war council with General de Division Davout and General de Brigade Murat as they considered the next course of action for the Army of Naples. There had been precious little news, good or bad, from Milan and Massena's Army of Italy. Following a brisk march from Naples, they had bivouacked in Rome, gathering supplies as they decided their next move. A rapid march from Rome to Milan could be done in ten days, but the men would be worn out, they would be going into the situation all but blind, and they would have little in the way of supplies. Accompanied by an extensive wagon train loaded with all the supplies an army would need, the army would arrive in fifty days, far too late to be of any help, and in late autumn, verging on early winter. A balanced approach with a moderate supply train could see them there in thirty, again slowed by their carts and porters.

"Murat, your cavalry will be in the van. I want extensive scouting reports, deliver them by horse relay if necessary. We cannot march into the Austrians blind."

"Aye, Mon Generale! You may rely on me for any of your cavalry needs. Though if I may coopt the rest of the army's cavalry, it would see my job done much more efficiently."

"You may have Leclerc's Division Strasbourg. I would like to retain Severin's 34e Division for screening and foraging closer to the main body of the army."

"Not to be impudent, Mon Generale, but I could use those men to cover the army's march and run security duties. Division Strasbourg is but two thousand men and Lucien is quite competent enough, but when Chamans was in command, he attached himself to 34e Division and ran it as a competent, if unimaginative commander. As things stand, the... Bridge Guards... have no such guidance."

"Then it behooves you to see your duties done superbly, so we will have no need to throw 34e Division into sudden combat. I shall hear no more on this."

"You heard him General Fancy Pants. Do your job so I don't have to. If you want your horsy-boys to have good leadership, recommend a good officer to run them instead of trying to take them for yourself."

"And what would you do with them, foot-slogger? You haven't a head for cavalry command!"

"Enough! We have enough enemies within and without our borders, there's no room for discord within the army as well!"

Davout's exclamation cows both his subordinates, a shameful reminder of France's current disunity. As he moves to resume the meeting, he is interrupted by a call from outside the room.

"General Davout! A messenger approaches! He carries a dispatch from Lyon!"

"See him in Capitaine."

"Strange that we receive another dispatch not a week after the last. What could have changed so abruptly that new orders would be cut and dispatched for us, given the distance and travel times involved?"

"Maybe Therese went and won the Civil War for us already? I wouldn't put it past her. Especially, since she's working with the best and brightest officers of France."

"Pah, in a week's time? Lyon to Paris is about the same distance from Rome to Milan! Unless she rode hard and swapped mounts with only an honor guard of horse, she wouldn't have made it there in a week."

"Maybe she talked them into surrender? She's a widely known war heroine across France, and no true patriot could think her an enemy of France. Robespierre excluded, of course. The man's obviously lost his head."

"Enough with the guillotine jokes, Severin, you're supply is coming up short!"

"Did you just make a joke, Mon Generale? What have you done to him Severin?"

"I'm so proud of you, Nick! Keep those jokes coming! As for you, horse-boy, while you've been prancing around on your high horse, Nick and I've been chatting and joking on the march. He's no natural comedian, but practice make perfect!"

"Mon Dieu, you've infected him with your low-brow ways, Severin! And here I thought you could stoop no lower! It's a good thing you are so good at fighting; I can think of no other redeeming qualities about you."

"That's my line, horsefucker!"

"Sirs! Dispatch from Lyon! I'm not interrupting anything, sirs?"

"I'll take that, soldat. The generals were venting their frustration before it boiled over. Dismissed."

"So Nick, what's it say?"

"Grand Marshal Bonaparte and La Generale were married back on the 21st. At the wedding ceremony, they were crowned Emperor and Empress of the French People. It looks like we've settled on a name for your men, Severin."

"So, the republican experiment has failed, has it? Only a few short years and we have returned to monarchy once more."

"Well shit. Didn't see that coming. Imperial Guard, though? Sounds good. Those bastards in the Consular Guard probably took the name first, though. We can still be distinct, though. Division Mayence of the Garde Imperiale sounds damned fine to me. That and Louis ought to be happy he's not bounds for the throne."

"The other news in the dispatch is that the Grand Marshal, excuse me, the Emperor, is marching on Paris with Chief of Staff Auclair and Colonel Ney, the man who saw them to power. La Generale marches on Orleans to intercept the Army of the North."

"Poor bastards don't know what they're in for. Therese fought and bled with the Army of the North at Amiens, and most of their manpower is fresh conscripts. If they don't surrender outright, they won't stand a chance in a fight. Not with Dumas, Kleber and Chamans as her corps commanders."

"The fight for Paris promises to be a bloody affair, though. Our Emperor, long may he reign, will have to take Robespierre's demense, fortified for months now, with however many tens of thousands he has pressed into service."

"However shocking the news may be, it doesn't change our immediate objectives. We march to aid Massena."

A gentle knocking sounds from the door. "Generals? It's Charlotte Capet. I've come with a proposal for you."

"Come in mademoiselle. Let us hear your offer."

Spoiler: A/N

Posted prematurely by way of misclick, added the rest in edit. Murat seeking to consolidate the cavalry of the Army of Naples, and the three generals (more Murat vs Severin and Davout keeping them reigned in) butting heads over a clash of personalities and authority. I tried to give Murat a distinct voice, more posh without being inherently unlikable, even if everything is colored from Severin and Davout's biased perspective. He is the preeminent authority of cavalry command in the Army of Naples, perhaps the whole of France and Europe; it would make sense to keep the cavalry under his leadership, especially since Neither Severin nor Davout are especially skilled with cavalry.

News from Lyon to Rome takes 5 days by horse relay, the distance between Milan and Rome and Lyon and Paris is nearly the same, so 10 days by rapid march, 30 by foot/porter, 50 by ox-cart. Once again, travel times and distances come from orbis.stanford.edu. Roma=Rome, Neapolis=Naples, Lugdunum=Lyon, Mediolanum=Milan, Lutetia=Paris. The news of the wedding/coronation was dispatched 2 days after the fact to allow for the wedding night then a day of planning. 30 days after August 28 puts it at the end of September, less than a week after Massena's October 2 dispatch about narrowly escaping destruction at Milan. Allowing time to gather supplies and accounting for unforeseen delays on the road puts the Army of Naples out of immediate range to assist at Milan, but still in play for Q3. The last bit with Charlotte is a lead in to her mission to London, which I will write another day.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Spy Games

Young Charlotte Capet sat demurely before the generals of the Army of Naples, outwardly composed, but nervously wringing her hands beneath the table. From her observations and what she had gathered from rumor around the camp, General Davout was extremely direct and would brook no obfuscation on her part. He made decisions pragmatically, balancing costs and benefits to achieve his goals. However, as shown at Messina, he was both amenable to and skilled at misdirection and subterfuge if it would benefit him.

General Severin was a man with little in the way of refinement and decorum, but he was trustworthy and loyal to a fault. It was why Therese had entrusted Louis' training to the then colonel. Charlotte did not particularly like Severin, what with his boorish ways and that he had turned her precious little brother into a killer. However, she could respect his skill, commitment and loyalty, and his strange sense of honor. It was his training that had kept Louis alive through the fighting in Palermo. She had no illusions that her brother, wracked by guilt and a warped sense of duty, would have found his way into the fighting regardless. At least this way, Louis was able to emerge from that hell unscathed, even working to turn the tide of the battle in their favor.

General Murat was a refined gentleman, dashing and chivalrous as a chevalier out of the Song of Roland. He could be incredibly charming and rub elbows with anyone in any court in Europe. However, his great sociability made it hard for her to get a good read of his actual thoughts on anything. The man had the frustrating ability to talk about himself a great deal while saying very little at all.

Considering the personalities at the head of this army, it should not have gone as well as it had. Davout was unsociable and standoffish, Severin was boorish and overly familiar, and Murat was posh and gregarious. It was surprising that Severin had leveraged his overly familiar manner to get through Davout's unsociable personality, to the point that they exchanged jokes on the road to Naples. Charlotte couldn't see either of the two getting along with Murat, nor he with them. They were just too different and ran in divergent social circles. Perhaps the only thing keeping them working well together was their mutual respect for the others' military prowess? In any case, that was a matter that was beyond her. She would have to ask Louis what he thought of how the generals got on. Having run through her mental profiles on each officer to distract herself from her anxiety, Charlotte daintily cleared her throat and set forth her proposal.

"Generals, as we have seen, the whole of Europe has declared war upon France, despite many of the belligerents having been soundly defeated and forced to the negotiating table. Even though France is riven with internal strife, few of those powers were in the position to exploit our weakness. Though I might not know the military details, the politics of it are clear enough to me. Few kings would immediately renege upon a treaty they had signed, even if it were on humiliating terms. They would want to shore up their positions domestically and among the family of nations. The only powers who had been defeated, but not crushed in battle, were Prussia and Britain. Prussia has had two years to recover from their defeat at Mayence, yet agreed to terms less than a year ago. Britain agreed to terms recently, but their government was ousted and replaced with a much more bellicose one deeply affronted with the treaty and the weakening of their navy."

"You say their government was ousted, yet George III remains king? Is this some British peculiarity or am I misunderstanding something?"

"The Brits have always been strange, Nick. Comes with being separate from the rest of Europe."

"As crudely as General Severin put it, that is the case. I'll spare you the lesson on history and just say that beneath the auspices of the crown, they have a parliament, their form of the National Assembly, that runs the day to day affairs, while the king remains a ceremonial symbol of authority."

"So the Brits are run by a bunch of owls? No wonder they're so weird."

"Ignore him, he does this sometimes. Continue."

"Ahem, the government that signed the treaty did so against the will of the rest of their assembly, and was ousted. A more bellicose revanchist group now sets their policy. Britain has always relied on their navy to keep them safe, and so long as it exists, they are under no true threat. Therefore, anything that weakens their navy is a dire threat to them. Thus, it is the new British government that is the most likely candidate to have fanned the flames of war against us."

"So Britain is agitating against us, likely with monetary and material aid, rather than men. What does this knowledge give us, operating as we are in Italy?"

"In the immediate sense? Little to nothing. But in knowing that the coalition dances to the pipers in London, if we can set up a spy ring there, we can deliver news of their decisions and movements back to France to counter them as quickly as possible. Furthermore, my royal uncle is in residence in London. Aside from Louis, he is the next claimant to the Bourbon throne, and any power seeking a Bourbon restoration would need his collaboration. Removing him from the board, temporarily or permanently, would take away one such threat and open up additional options."

"And who would you propose found this London spy ring? We have few versed in subterfuge, and not many with such skills join the army."

"Why, myself, of course."

The officers stare at the princess for a moment following her audacious declaration. Charlotte takes a small measure of pride that she can render men speechless with her words. She does wonder why none have yet protested. She knows they all harbor at least some monarchist sentiment, having served in the Royal Army before the revolution. Davout, at least, had been persecuted by the Republican government, at least from what she had gathered from Therese's correspondence.

"Charlotte. Are you certain you want to do this? Therese believes you capable and discreet enough to handle her mail, and I know how capable women can be. Hell, I married one! But have you considered what Louis would say about this? Have you made provisions for your security while in the enemy's capital? I would like to hear you have made plans and preparations."

"This is something I can do to aid France, and there are things only I can do in London. Louis is not the only one who feels a need to prove their loyalty to France, and this is a much less self-destructive manner than he has done! As for a bodyguard, I have no authority to order men to serve me, I am no longer royalty."

"That may be changing pretty damned soon. As for guards, I have a short list, and I can use one of the men from your security detail."

"What? I have a security detail?"

"Of course you do. Princess or not, you and Louis are valuable to our enemies. It's something Antoine set up with men I recommended. It's a measure we put in place after Amiens, when Therese got hurt and we found out she had taken on two wards. We hadn't known who you were at the time, but if you were important to her, then you were worth protecting. Though with you and Louis separating from Therese, the guard detail was halved as well. I hope nothing ill befalls her with a reduced bodyguard."

"Why is it we haven't heard of this, Severin? Given how you, Chamans and de Lisle were thick as thieves, de Lisle must have known as well."

"It wasn't anything done in an official staff meeting. We held working get-togethers after-hours. I know Chamans invited you a couple of time, but you were busy playing with your horsies. Then Nick only showed up after we were in Toulon, and he was busy with II Corps."

"I- all right. Who would you recommend, general?"

"For one, there is Louis Mashengo. Haitian-born freeman that returned to France, joined the Army of the Rhine when the revolution kicked off. Strong and stout, I'd bet on him against a dozen common soldats, let alone street toughs. He's been part of the guard detail since the beginning. For a second, my older brother, Louis Marceau. He's a capitaine in Division Lorraine of II Corps. He's a damned good fighter and he has no love for the Brits, given he was tricked by them in the Vendee. They may not be your brother, but at least you won't need to learn a bunch of new names!"

"Must you jape, Severin? That one wasn't even original, they're all the same."

"Hah! I see what you did there, Nick! Turning the joke around on me! We'll get you to grow a funny bone eventually!"

With the other two generals bickering, Murat continues questioning Charlotte's preparedness.
"So, Your Highness, I assume you have a cover story prepared, or will you sail into London as Charlotte Capet, Princess of France? And do you have a way to explain why both you bodyguards speak French?"

"Indeed I do, General Murat. I shall pose as a handmaiden of Princess Charlotte. If anyone remarks on the resemblance, well, it is not uncommon for royals to have body doubles in the case of assassins. As for the language issue, French is commonly used for both diplomacy and trade, and France has no shortage of former soldiers."

Severin breaks from his banter with Davout to interject.
"My brother can also speak German. always have to know when the Prussians are cursing you in Kraut! As for Mashengo, he can speak a bit of Spanish and English, what with growing up in the Caribbean. He's a quick learner, and I know you taught Therese how to speak Tea and Crumpets."

"I see, thank you general. I can play up the capitaine's Royalist ties; why would a Royalist rebel loyally serve France? If the British truly backed the Vendee rebels as you say, they would see no flaw in this line of thinking. If they question why he was in Italy, well, he was pressed into service there before deserting and coming into the princess' service! As for Monsieur Mashengo, I can say he is a fierce fighter and play on the mercenary angle. Louis XIV was known for his Croat mercenaries and their contribution to high fashion."

"Damned garrotes, is what they are," Severin mutters under his breath.

"Very well, Your Highness. You have satisfied my inquiries to my satisfaction. Both in terms of your preparation and your ability to improvise. Both necessary talents when it comes to subterfuge and intrigue."

"Mademoiselle Capet, so long as you agree to the two bodyguards, I see no reason not to approve your proposal. I shall ensure you receive some funds to start your spy ring, though you will need to procure a source of income while operating in London."

"Not to worry, General Davout, that is one of those issue that I was going to deal with while there anyway."

"Charlotte. At least speak to Louis. Charlie and Julian deserve some goodbyes as well."

"I shall, general. I will have everything ready for my departure soon."

Spoiler: A/N

Picks up right where "Earth-Shaking News" left off. That first bit is an example of Charlotte's ability to get a read on people's personalities through limited personal interaction, observation and rumors. She's not perfect, but her political and decorum training is paying off here, though she's biased as anyone is. Davout and Severin are both low charisma/decorum characters, while Murat's decorum is is maxed. She doesn't have a head for military matters, but the two Louis going with her do. If she is asks them for their read on what she finds, they can help explain the military implications of things, to pass on back to Lyon Paris. Also, more obligatory jokes about everyone being named Louis. Louis the sniper-king, Louis the bodyguard, Captain Louis the other bodyguard, General Louis the Davout...

Had Murat deal with the questions about covers, since he's got the best subterfuge at 17 (Severin has 11 and Davout 10). As for the fashion thing, apparently, Louis XIV though the neckerchiefs of his Croat mercenaries were super cool (they were sweat rags to wipe their face easily) and turned them into high fashion, cravats (from the French for Croat), which then became modern neckties. Severin thinks they are choking hazards, for some reason. Also, Louis Mashengo is an expy of... Louis Mashengo from LoGH. He was Julian's bodyguard, assigned by Schönkopf when Julian went to do sneaky squirrel stuff. OMG, Severin is just Schönkopf in a committed relationship! He would hate that comparison, what with Schönkopf's Prussian name.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Loyalty, Duty and Honor

Captain Diego de la Barranca released a gusty sigh as he nursed his tuba in his prized porcelain cup, made in the nearby porcelain works. As one of the officers of the Acapulco garrison, he had led the Imperial loyalists in holding the vital port city against the rebels. Acapulco was the Empire's lifeline to the trade port of Manila, far across the Pacific. As a nobleman whose estate was just outside the city, he certainly would have benefited from the province breaking away from the taxes and authority of the crown. As a proud warrior and soldier who had sworn and oath upon this ancestral blade, abandoning his principles for personal gain was anathema to him. He himself bore the name of his house's founding father, who, over two centuries prior, had journeyed far and wide across the vast ocean, before settling in Acapulco and raising a family.

When the rebellion started, it was among the soldiers of the garrison, men whose families, like his, stood to gain from throwing off the authority of the crown. Among them were several of Diego's friends, one whom he had grown up alongside. Sentimentality did not stay Diego's blade. Having slain the ringleaders among the garrison (and every superior officer), the men fell into line. When the citizens rebelled, Diego led his men to crush the insurrection. When rebel forces laid siege to the city, he led his men and volunteer militia in it's defense. When the royal army lifted the siege, Diego was hailed as a faithful loyalist. The populace was not so complimentary. A butcher, a demon, a merciless tyrant who can cut down his friend without a blink. Diego endured it by remembering his oaths. His grandfather taught him that loyalty to one's liege was paramount. When he joined the army, Diego swore an oath of obedience and loyal service to king and country. Today, that oath sat astride his shoulders like the weight of a mountain. He was fine with that. When death came to him, he would not be found wanting.

Diego had been rewarded for his loyal service with the commission of Colonel and command of a brigade bound for Peru. His orders were to bring the rebellious province to heel by any means necessary, but primarily to reopen the great silver mine of Cerro de Potosi. Other forces were underway to restore the authority of the Spanish crown. One to reassert control over the mouth of the Rio de la Plata, another to assert their control over the Spanish main. Still more to retake Santa Fe through the norther mountains, San Francisco and the rest of California along the Pacific coast, and Tejas my marching along the Gulf of Mexico. It seemed the whole of the Royal Army was brought to bring the New World holdings to heel. He only hoped nothing bad would happen in Europe, with so many troops overseas.

Diego would discharge his duty, regardless of how much blood he spilt. His orders were absolute. His family followed the path of the warrior, after all.

Spoiler: A/N

Have you heard the tale of Don Diego de la Barranca? It's not a story most historians would tell you. Diego is based on the historical figure Don Diego de la Barranca, who in this omake is his many times great grandfather. This historical Diego was a samurai who was baptized with a Christian name and adopted a Spanish surname based on his Japanese surname. De la Barranca means something like "from the canyon," so I can only assume his Japanese surname was Otani (large/great valley). He married a Castilian woman and served in the Castilian formation of the Acapulco garrison. Something to keep in mind, is that the Spanish empire, was divided into 19 race-based castes. The highest two are Peninsulares (Spaniards from the Iberian peninsula, then Castilians (ethnic Spaniards not from the the Iberian peninsula). Everything below that was various combinations of racial mixes. This includes Indios (indigenous americans), Chinos (from Asia, the entirety of which was referred to as China), Negros (Africans) and various levels of Mestizos (mixed race).

It was estimated between 40k-100k people from Asia crossed the Pacific on the Manila-Acapulco galleon route (one ship each way per year) for about 250 years; this includes Chinese porcelain artisans, who established local porcelain production in Mexico. One such example is the holy water dish in the original Spanish church in San Francisco that exists to this day. Others included Japanese Christians (mostly of the samurai class) fleeing persecution. There was a small samurai exclave in Manila that helped put down a rebellion by the city's ethnic Chinese underclass (15k of the total 40k population). The Spanish authorities heaped praise on the samurai community for their part in quashing the rebellion, particularly for their loyalty and early decisive action. Forgive me for not using more precise figures and dates. I'm writing this at work on my phone and this info is from a paper I wrote on Spanish trans-Pacific trade the better part of a decade ago.

Edit: tuba is an alcoholic beverage made from coconut palm (not indigenous to the Americas) that can range between wine and brandy in potency. It was produced in local still by Filipino ex-sailors (pressed into service in Cebu and Manila, jumped ship in Acapulco). Because it was produced locally and was not taxed, it was much cheaper than traditional wine from Spain. At one point it was so widely consumed that it replaced wine in Communion service.

 

[AvidFicReader]

The Imperial Guard Leads the Way

General de Brigade Denis Martin Severin marched with the men of Division Mayence of the Imperial Guard, through the Porto di Granarolo to the sound of La Grenadière. He had to admit, the outer defenses of Genoa were spectacular indeed, built as they were on the mountain ridges beyond the city. Holding the entirety of the walls would require stupendous manpower, but properly investing and besieging the walls would require many times more. The Austrians had come from the north, marching through the Polcevera Valley, to the west of Genoa. At present, they were besieging Fort Tenaglia, built into a corner of the western walls. Massena's men were putting up a tenacious fight, but the Austrians were riding high from their victory at Milan, and they had the edge in numbers. Severin, marching at the vanguard of the Army of Naples, sought to change that.

Arraying into a battle line, Joly's division forming up right behind them, the Imperial Guard advanced onto the Austrians' exposed flank. Somewhere to the right, Murat was holding the cavalry near the river, waiting for his chance to strike. Austrian pickets shouted cries of alarm, warning the siege camps of the oncoming French forces. A ragged battle line of assorted Austrian troops formed up to halt Severin's men. A paltry gesture, given the motley mix of uniforms and regimental colors arrayed against him. Severin doubted they all spoke the same language, so orders would be slow to enact, if they were received at all.

"All right, lads, those Austrian dogs think they can stop us! Let's show them the error of their ways! Fix bayonets! Signals, play that song! Imperial Guard, advance!"

As the bugles sounded, followed by the drums, Severin led the men, singing his heart out, regardless of his opinion on onions. It was a damned good song, and the Austrians could stare in confusion, for all he cared. The first Austrian volley struck low, between the woods and the elevation, combined with poor fire discipline, hitting hardly any Frenchmen. By the time the second volley was ready, the Guard was upon them, unleashing their own volley at point blank and plunging into the Austrian line with their bayonets.

Between the shock and fire, the Austrian front rank broke, fleeing men bowling into the ranks behind them, fouling the formation and opening gaps for the Guard to surge through. As Severin hacked through the Austrians with the Minci sword, he encountered fresh Austrian troops, pulled off the siege lines in an attempt to stem the French assault. So rushed were they, that the Austrians moved as a mob more than a formation, and they were punished for it. Without time to aim and fire, Severin fell upon them, men of the Guard hot on his heels. Spotting a color-bearer frantically waving his flag in an attempt to rally his unit, Severin cuts down the half-dozen men between him and his target. Amidst the press of bodies, the blood and screaming, Severin tackles the color-bearer to the ground, wrenching the flagpole from his grasp. A dozen Austrians charge him to reclaim their colors, only to be intercepted by his faithful comrades of the Imperial Guard.

In the midst of the melee, Severin feels something strike his cheek. Rubbing it with his hand, it comes away bloody, a hot ball falling into his coat. 'Must've been a weak powder charge, given I'm still alive,' mused the general as he absently speared another Austrian with the captured flagpole. Then comes the sound of cannon fire from behind the Austrian mob. 'Firing into the melee like that, they must be desperate to stop us.' The booming blast of a mortar shell going off nearby is the last thing he hears aside from the ringing in his ears.

Thrown by the blast, Severin lands a half-dozen feet away. His limbs are bloody and riddled with iron splinters, and a large fragment protrudes from his coat over his heart. 'Good thing I have my armored vest,' he thought, as frantic-looking Guardsmen rush into his fading vision. Panicked calls on their lips, though their words fail to reach deafened ears. Then Denis Martin Severin sees nothing at all.

Spoiler: Map of Genoa, 1800

Spoiler: A/N

The first part of the Battle of Genoa, from Severin's perspective. Part two will likely cover Louis, Charlie and Julian's perspective of the battle. Might do an aftermath chapter that has Severin in recovery, waking up to the kids, then learning that now he actually respects Murat.

Genoa has ridiculous defenses, especially the "New Walls" that were built in the early modern era. Here is the image of them from the wiki page:

Spoiler: Large Image

This battle was smaller than the historical 1800 Siege of Genoa, since the Austrian army here is about half the size of the one OTL. The Austrians attack from the west, since they were coming down the Polcevera from Milan. The Eastern ridges are actually more fortified, after being besieged in the War of Austrian Succession (captured in 1746, expelling the garrison, and holding out in 1747). The Austrian army consists of units drawn from the length and breadth of its empire. There are at least a dozen languages spoken across the Empire, and not everyone understands German, which is spoken by the high officers. There is at least one instance where orders issued in German were taken as an Ottoman battle cry, which lead to parts of the army firing on others in the confusion. This includes desperately firing artillery into the morass in an attempt to restore order. The battle in question happened only 7 years prior to this battle.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Rolling out the (Red) Carpet

Ensign Louis Charles Capet stood on the walls of Fort Tenaglia, peering through his spyglass at the Austrian siege camp. Here he stood with the two battalions of riflemen of the Imperial Guard. With Fort Tenaglia the centerpiece of the Austrian siege, General Massena had concentrated the bulk of his army in its defense. As the situation stood, there were more men than could man the battlements at any given time. With Massena's fighting retreat from Milan, both armies had been bled out, though the Austrians maintained numerical superiority. The arrival of the Army of Naples shifted the balance in favor of the French, and if the flanking attack went as expected, it would dive the Austrians from the field. Even if surprise was lost, the battle-hardened men of the Army of Naples, Le Corps d'Acier Trempe, would carry the day. General Davout was an excellent and proven commander, and Generals Murat and Severin were experts in the employment of cavalry and infantry, respectively. General Berthier, while not renowned as a battlefield commander, had kept the army well stocked and provisioned, and the fried onions that the Guard had broken their fast with granted them renewed elan.

Humming slightly under his breath, Louis surveyed the Austrian siege camp. They had pushed Massena's men out of the first line of defenses, but encamped beyond them to stay out of rang of supporting fire from the battlements of Fort Tenaglia. Eyeballing the range and the wind blowing through the grass and shrubs, Louis estimated he could land shots into the camp, but with no chance of hitting anything he aimed at. If he was going to make a difference, then it wouldn't be from here. Scanning northwards, to where the rest of the army was to be marching, Louis could see no indication through the trees. Hopefully, it would be the same for the Austrians, and the Guard could spear into the Austrian flank unopposed. Unlikely, but perhaps there was some way to tip the scales more in favor of the French?

"What are you scheming Louis? You got that look on your face, like when Therese landed at Palermo."

"What makes you say that Charlie?"

"You know you can't lie to me, bro! You got something cooking in that head of yours?"

"Who's scheming what now, baguette boys? Would Charlotte approve? You know she wants you to stay safe and whole for when she sees you again."

The two younger boys ignored the slur, while Louis considered the older boy. Julian Minci had thrown himself into training; conditioning, shooting, marching, and bayonet drills. And after Charlotte had said her goodbyes, he had redoubled his intensity. Even with only a month's training, Julian still had a couple years' growth on him, taller, broader and stronger than Louis, even with a year's training and campaigning under his belt. Louis was still the better shot, but only the best marksmen in the rifle battalions were his match at this point.

"Charlotte is in greater peril than I, right now. She's in the belly of the beast, so to speak, with two guards. They might be two of the scariest sons of bitches in Europe, but there's only two of them."

"Language! What would your sister say?"

"You're one to talk, pasta boy!"

"So what's your plan, Louis? You didn't tell us yet!"

"Well, there's too many soldats to all man the battlements, and even our rifles won't be able to do much from here unless the Austrians lose their minds and try to storm the walls."

"And? You want to do something, right?"

"Take a look at the Chasseurs, they got all fired up at breakfast, now they're stuck here, where there's no action. Generals Murat and Severin are leading the army in from the north, and whether they take them by surprise or not, they're going to win. It's just a matter of how long and at what cost. But we have a chance to bring that cost down. You've seen how good the chasseurs are, if we use them right, we can distract the Austrians from the south and draw off a part of their army. It'll make the fight easier for them. You want to help your father, right Charlie?"

"But don't we have orders to stay here? Papa- the General- said that following orders is paramount. What if we mess up the plan, or we draw off too strong a force? No one wants you to die, Louis! I don't want you to die!"

"I- I'm not planning to die Charlie."

"You promise? You better remember what papa said about promises, Louis!"

"Remember your promise to Charlotte as well, Louis."

"F-fine! Charlie, Julian, I promise I'm not trying to get myself killed."

"Pinky promise!"

"What?"

"It's what mama made papa do when they promised to be best friends forever. Every time he leaves home, she makes him do that, then they make kissy faces. So pinky promise! No need for kissy faces, though!"

"All right, Charlie, pinky promise, I'm not trying to get myself killed."

"Good! Remember, you promised!"

"And when you make a promise-"

"-you keep it!"

"Kissing... with Charlotte?"

"Julian, stop thinking about kissing my sister!"

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

"So that's the plan, majors. We head through the gate to the south, the-"

"Porto degli Angeli."

"-Right, thank you Julian, the Porto degli Angeli, and swing north. We set up along one of the hillsides and use a company of skirmishers to harass the Austrians and lure them into rifle range. We go for the fanciest hats to sow confusion in their ranks, and they'll move to chase us off. We pick off their officers, get them riled up into a blind pursuit, and we bound from cover to cover, picking them apart. With our blue uniforms, we should blend better into the shadows than their whites. If ammunition permits, we can repeat the tactic to draw off more of their reserves. It should work to distract them while the rest of the army smashes their left flank in, and all that's left is the butcher's work."

"Sounds good."

"Let's do it."

"You don't have any problems following an ensign's plan?"

"To be honest, I was only a freshly promoted sergeant before I became a major. I learned chasseur tactics alongside the soldats from General Severin, back when he was still a captain."

"Same, but I was still a corporal. I remember he took my pack and musket and did obnoxious sergeant things to shut up a complaining soldat on the march to Mayence."

"Besides, even if you're an ensign, everyone knows you're General Severin's protege."

"An you're La Generale's ward. And since she's now the Empress, I guess that makes you a prince?"

The irony of the statement is not lost on Louis, but he files it away for pondering on after the battle.

"Well, I suppose it's true in both cases, and Charlie and I did learn chasseur tactics from the... person that taught General Severin..."

"Well there you have it. Three times the endorsement, right there. Let's get a move on before the rest of the army takes all the glory!"

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

"All right, this hill seems good. Lightly wooded, but plenty of individual cover. Men, spread out, keep to cover. Use rocks and fallen trees to form barricades only if you have to. This will be our fallback position. I'll take the other battalion and set up a layered defense, like an onion! Then we'll poke the hornet's nest."

"For the onions!"

"No onions for those Austrian dogs!"

"We'll be waiting to give them hell, Ensign!"

"Never underestimate the power of onions, I suppose. Let's get to work!"

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

Louis peered down his rifle's sights, centering on the fanciest hat he could make out from the edge of the tree line. It was agreed he would make the first shot to signal the rest of the company to fire, starting the pursuit. As he applied pressure to the trigger, the flint snapped forward, showering sparks into the primer, sending the ball downrange with a crack of black powder. The officer collapsed, his fancy hat fluttering to the ground as the head it rested on was suddenly snapped to the side. A hundred other rifles cracked out, a hundred men falling as confusion reigned in the Austrian camp.

A great clamor arose, soldier and camp follower alike running around like chickens with their head cut off. Louis didn't stick around to watch, bounding deeper into the trees with a shout of "Come get some, schnitzel eaters!" hurled over his shoulder.

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

"That's... a lot more than we expected."

"Thank you, captain obvious."

"Ah, a promotion! You shouldn't have, Louis!"

"Not now, Charlie! We must have gotten a big fish to warrant such a response."

"Looks like they outnumber us, maybe five to one."

"Louis, didn't General Baguette say that you need a three to one advantage to dislodge defenders?"

"That may be true, but that's when all else is equal. We have the advantage of accuracy, range, cover, concealment, and mobility. They're sitting ducks in white uniforms in the woods, they're armed with smoothbore muskets, and they're all bunched up. They'll need more than what they've brought to wipe us out."

'Brace, aim, fire!'

The crack of rifles and the flash and smoke of powder ring through the woods. The first rank of white-uniformed Austrians collapse like marionettes with their strings cut, only the press of bodies keeping the advance going. All the Austrians see is dark shapes bounding between the trees, obscured by intermittent flashes and smoke. The men look to their officers for guidance, only to see them collapse before their eyes, then trampled underfoot as the press of bodies forces them forward into certain death.

Occasionally, a brave or foolish soldier will fire blindly into the trees and smoke, usually hitting nothing but timber, but a lucky few elicit screams. The blind fire continues, only the knowledge that they are fighting men, rather than ghosts, enough to keep the flagging Austrian advance going.

"Fucking Frogs, get out here so we can kill you!" Cries that echo from hundreds of throats in a half-dozen languages are met with derisive laughter and return fire, laying out a carpet of bloodstained white further and further up the hillside. After all, frogs are ambush predators, sitting still and unseen before striking out of nowhere, then bounding away to lie in wait again.

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

"Louis, I'm almost out!"

"Same here!"

"We're almost at the fallback point, they'll give us cover fire, then we do a bounding withdrawal!"

Following words with action, Louis fires his last bullet, dashing from cover to cover as musket balls crack into timber above his head. The Austrians, noticing the lack of fire and darting shadows, muster up their courage for one last charge, screaming profanities and leading with gleaming bayonets. As they break into a brief clearing, they are greeted with a deafening volley. Then another. And another. Then the flanks of their advance come under fire, and at this point, they have had enough. They turn and run, following the carpet of white-clad bodies back down the hill. Their flanks are harassed by intermittent fire, and then they are overtaken and run down from behind.

Only a few hundred men make it off the hill, witness to an even great scene of slaughter. French infantry storms into the camp from the north, as French cavalry runs amok in the rear. There is no victory to be had today. Many collapse where they stand, while more flee into the countryside, chased by cheers and jeers in French.

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

Louis, Charlie, Julian and hundreds of other tired chasseurs lean against trees, watching the French army run riot through the Austrian camp.

"Victory. Total and complete victory."

"How much harder do think it would have been if the schnitzel eaters had another ten thousand men to throw into the teeth of the army?"

"It wouldn't have stopped papa or mister horsey, but it would have taken more time, and more of them might've gotten away."

"They were calling us frogs and fleas. Pests and plagues from Exodus."

"And they were the ones doing most of the dying. Frogs strike from ambush like lightning, then leap clear to do it again. Fleas can leap all over the place, biting and fleeing, and they're impossible to swat. I'll take it as a badge of honor. Didn't I say, Julian? Five to one wasn't enough to take us?"

"You were right, Louis. I guess you meant your promise after all."

"Yes... I suppose I was. I... have a letter to write. After we report back to General Davout.

"Aye, aye, Ensign Grenouille!

Spoiler: Map of Genoa, 1800

Spoiler: A/N

Part two of the Battle of Genoa! French light infantry wore dark blue uniforms, like the line infantry, but with different facings. Austrian infantry wore white. In the shadows of a forest, you can guess who has the camouflage advantage. Severin learned light infantry tactics from his wife Evelyn, who learned it firsthand fighting the British in Virginia during the American Revolution. Evelyn was also the marksmanship and tactics instructor for Louis and Charlie while in Toulon, training which they shared with Julian on the road north.

Spoiler: Large Image

On the map here, you can see where the Porto degli Angeli is in relation to Fort Tenaglia. I also spent more time and words than I expected getting Louis to convince his friends to disobey orders, then explain why higher ranked officers would follow a ten-year-old on an unsanctioned mission. Also the chasseurs adopted the name Frog (Grenouille) and Flea (Puce) as their battalion names, coming from derisive epithets from their enemies which they took on as a point of pride.

I switched to random Austrian soldier perspective for the middle of the battle to show how demoralizing and terrifying it can be for line infantry, mostly conscripts, to fight light infantry on their chosen battlefield with their chosen tactics.