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

[Magoose]

Robespierre's Rage:


(Maximilian Robespierre POV)


The dinner you were eating was quite a sight, roast duck, fresh bread, carrots, even a slice of chocolate cake freshly baked from the baker.


Of course, nothing could possibly ruin this entire evening. Your grip on power would soon be complete, with the Heroine of Valmy quickly and quietly… and forcefully if you had to, join your ranks. It would make you have considerable sway in the Estates General, sway that would allow you to pass more of your… radical reforms.


The short term may be painful for France, but the rewards would be well worth it.


Of course, making sure that the troublesome rebels in the Vendee would have to be dealt with, but with the national guard, and the assured loyalty of the Parisian populous with a hero granting an endorsement to you, you could get as much done as possible.


The knock on your door was quite unexpected. "Yes." You said and a messenger walked in. "What is it?"


The Messenger ran towards you and gave you a letter. "From Master Jaques sir."


You took the letter and the messenger bowed and quickly left you alone.

You tore the letter open and scanned it, your eyes growing larger and your teeth tightening in your jaw as you read it again.

Your plans… that bastard… but who could have sent the girl to the RHINE!

Perhaps it was Kellerman or Dumouriez… No, those were far too obvious, they would have tried to keep her close, make her a staff officer, develop her skills or send her to the Paris Ecole Militaire. She may have been wasted her talents to learn under Alexandre, but she would have been firmly out of your control. The General hated it when the Estates got involved in his academies business, and would not have allowed him to influence or offer any position until her training was completed, and in that time, her fame would wain.

The memories of the peasants were short, and every day they proved how stupid they were, scampering around the city like rats, not caring about anything except foo.

Every possibility played in your mind, from rivals to traitors, to complete and utter buffoons who served as your underlings making a mistake!

Talleyrand, Saint-June... any one of those basterds!

Perhaps it was the king's execution that made her get reassigned so that the army would not lose a heroine… Or the army was planning an offensive into Germany?

Soon you lost count of the scenarios.

And you did something only a cornered animal would do.

You raged.

AN: Because we (Meaning an unknown ally within the Estates *If anyone can guess who it is, you get a +10 bonus to the rolls*) ruined Robespierre's Plans to have us be his lackey, have a little omake.

Also, this is a small request, I do not know what Thérèse Auclair's dress uniform should look like.

Anyone interested in helping me out with that.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Un Soldat de la Ligne de Bataille

Denis Martin Severin was a soldier. Severin had fought at the Siege of Yorktown in 1781 as a 15-year-old drummer boy, but had picked up a musket during a British raid. He was certain he killed a man with the bayonet during the melee. Today, it was the new year, and Anno Domini 1793 dawned on the L'armee du Rhin. The now-Captain Severin had been quickly promoted as the high nobility fled the officer corps and sergeants promoted to fill their place. Severin could count back five generations of his forefathers as soldiers. His father had fought the Prussians in the Seven Years' War, and his own father had fought in the War of Polish Succession in the Rhineland. His father had fought in both the Great Northern War (serving Sweden until Fraustadt in 1706) and the War of Spanish Succession (serving France at Malplaquet in 1709). His father was a French Huguenot exile who fled to Sweden to train what would become the Caroleans in the late 1680s.

The vast majority of the men of the Army of the Rhine were barely trained conscripts. While Captain Severin worked his men as best he could, lack of supplies and the looming threat of the Prussians and Austrians on the far bank meant the effect of drill was limited. But with the arrival of La Petit Arpenteuse and her promised supplies, he hoped the Army of the Rhine would have the skill and nerve to hold the line. Regardless, Captain Denis Martin swore he would uphold the soldiering tradition that had been passed down the Severin line through the generations.

 

[AvidFicReader]

Drill, Drill, Endless Drill

It was a bright, cold day in the camp of the Army of the Rhine. The General had certainly come through with her promise of supplies! Thus, with full rations, warm uniforms, and powder and shot to spare, you had the various companies of the regiments marching in battle lines and completing their drills. Those not of the infantry might think lining men up in blocks and shooting at each other might seem silly and wasteful, it was still best balance of keeping up a unit's morale and leveraging modern small-arms technology. Men standing shoulder-to-shoulder with men they lived and marched beside were better able to keep up morale in the face of shock and fire. While not a doctrinaire like some Prussian staff officer, your family's long history of soldiery gave you some insight on what the high muckety officers thought about how war was waged.

In Sweden, sparse population and limited manpower meant every man serving had to kill or rout many more of the enemy. This was achieved by shock tactics as armies around the world abandoned armor and melee weapons in favor of muskets alone. Powerful as a musket may be, it leaves much to be desired in terms of accuracy, and greater range made it much worse. Thus a massed firing line to concentrate the effect of fire. But during the times of the Caroleans, armies might stand off and trade fire in an indecisive stalemate for several volleys, bleeding men each time. What the Caroleans did was give up on trading volleys at 100 meters. They marched through the first volley, closed to 50 or even 20 meters before firing. Then, rather than reload, they would charge and rout the reeling enemy in melee. If timed right, it would be done before the enemy could get off a second volley.

But the conditions of the present and that of a century ago are somewhat different. Melee is to be expected, and muskets are slightly more refined than they were then. Thus, the true advantage of infantry against infantry is how well they can hold up under fire and how fast they can reload. Muskets have not advanced so much that one can pick out a target at 100 meters and hit it accurately and precisely; you had heard about some of the American militia and their rifled muskets being able to pick off officers, but they were much slower and much longer and heavier. With flintlock-armed soldiers, their ability to keep their heads about them and complete the marching and reloading drills under stress, then they will be better prepared to march and reload under battlefield conditions.

Thus, the men drill, drill, and drill, until the motions of feeding powder, loading, ramming, and priming were second nature, and they can carry out the drill in their sleep (or at least blindfolded). Checking your hand-me-down chronometer, the last group made 23 seconds. "Impressive! Let's see you beat that time. In fact, any platoon that can make three shots a minute gets an extra alcohol ration!"

A chorus of ragged cheers rises from the men, but you make a note to double check the army's alcohol provisions in case the men exceed your expectations. You wouldn't put it past them to excel when properly motivated. Now, if you could only get them to pull off a rotating volley drill without snarling the lines, you might be truly satisfied with their level of drill.

 

[Magoose]

The General's Speed:

Coalition Army 2: d100 => 75

(Brunswick POV)

There were few things that made you burn like the thought of Valmy. Every waking night it seemed, your mind went from other places, back to the mandible muddy hilltop. The cannons rained fire and lead down upon you and that damnable woman… she was always there, taunting you.

Your choices to leave France and head back to regroup after your failed offensive into France was the right one, many of your army's experienced and key officers were still intact, despite the numerous casualties that the Frogs caused to you. Yes examples had to be made, Fuchs was a fine sergeant and the promotion was well deserved, for keeping his men together, and creating such an opportunity for him and his men to get away.

Having to send such a man away to the Italian cities with the Austrian army as an observer would certainly dampen his spirits, but you had your reasons.

Perhaps with time and experience, he would become much calmer, and with his wits about, be able to secure victory without the unnecessary bloodshed.

"When will we catch up to von Kalckreuth?" You asked one of your officers. At the moment your mind was focused on the potential siege ahead. Mainz was going to be a long siege for his men, though the recruits had been whipped into shape, you were not fully trusting their metal.

Not yet at least, this siege would be their baptism by fire. Perhaps they will prove to not have it in them for the soldiering life. Perhaps they will prove to be just as capable as your previous command.

Another good few divisions would rather change the tide of the war quite quickly. Then he can retire, that battle in Valmy a mere hiccup in his very well put together military record.

"Unfortunately sir, heavy snows are delaying our speed. We're a day behind him." The officer replied.

A day was a long time, especially in a siege, when the French Army was still unaware of the plans that was soon about to spring. Mainz would fall, then Yorck would begin his offensive across the river.

Of course, the city had to be taken first, and swiftly, if the plan were to succeed. If the city sent a messenger to the frogs, then the element of surprise would be lost. If the city was not taken Yorck would not attack, for the fear of a French army or the Army of Mainz itself delaying him by several costly days. Days they could ill afford to lose.

Any day not marching towards Paris was a day that the French grew stronger, their generals that much more entrenched in their positions… and wit would be days closer to winter.

This plan would work.

"General, a scout from von Kalckreuth… It's Auclair." The officer said as he handed over a piece of paper.

You narrowed your eyes, and read the message. It seems that… no. "Is this true." You asked.

"Yes sir, from the general himself." The officer replied.

"Gather the men now, we are marching."

"In the snows sir?"

You started at the map. "Mainz will fall, and I will see to it that Thérèse Auclair will burn with it."

AN: So we did a thing with the rolls... and its going to be fun!

 

[Foxwood]

"Mainz will fall, and I will see to it that Thérèse Auclair will burn with it."

Click to shrink...

Charles Ferdinand: I shouldn't. It's against the rules of war.
Fuchs: Dew it.

Also, I bring a gift. It'll fit under the Christmas tree this time, I swear.

Spoiler: Fuchs's Transfer

He bumped into the Hungarian man.

Rudolf was fairly certain the big grenadier had placed himself in the Prussian's blind spot on purpose. After righting himself and noting the apathetic look on the grenadier's face, however, he decided to simply ascribe it to listlessness. "Entschuldigung. Could you direct me to General De Vins's quarters?" Rudolf gave the man a few moments to salute him and point out the Austrian commander's location. The Junker was somewhat amused to, instead, be on the business end of the Hungarian's uncomprehending stare. "I suppose that's what I get for expecting a Hungarian ranker to know German." Needless to say, communicating in the big man's native language wasn't an option.

"Ah, Major!" An Austrian accent sounded off to his side. Rudolf turned away from the Hungarian grenadier, who took that opportunity to beat a hasty retreat. The new arrival wore the epaulets of an Hauptmann, appearing to be only a couple of years older than Rudolf. Between the fellow's comparative youth to his peers, the immaculate white uniform of a line officer, and the decorated shako, the Junker pegged him as an aide de camp. The Austrian extended a hand and grabbed Rudolf's, shaking it with enthusiasm. "I'm Hauptmann Peiper, General De Vins asked me to assist you with your... Luggage and help you... Settle in?" Peiper's squirrely energy dissipated as he noted the severe lack of luggage.

Rudolf, for his part, arched a brow in response to Peiper's phlegmatic and physical approach. He allowed the forced handshake to continue for three shakes before retrieving his limb, as was proper. "I took the liberty of preparing my own accommodations." He brusquely stated. The Prussian opted not to mention that his faith in the Austrians was, to put it diplomatically, non-existent, hence the decision to handle his own transportation and lodging. Peiper blinked in surprise before clearing his throat and forging on. "W- well, I offer my assistance in ensuring your place within our army. In fact, the General invites you to a luncheon he intends to hold in two hours among his staff." Major Fuchs stared at the Hauptmann for a few moments, before nodding in assent.

In the intervening hours, Rudolf had settled into his newly and hastily erected quarters and had begun poring over information on the Austrian army under General De Vins. It was clear that, despite the flip-flopping of King Victor Amadeus III of Sardinia, the Austrians would move to check the French advance into Italy at Sardinia's behest. Their expeditionary force was... Small, frankly, especially in comparison to the French army that took Nice. To off-set this, the Sardinians would link up with Austrians and supplement their forces. Considering the favorable terrain for defending forces in northern Italy, Rudolf was initially optimistic about the Coalition's chance of stopping and reversing the French push. Then he went to lunch.

"Gaseous build-up is within the human body is unhealthy, Major. Did you know that? You should consider bleeding." General De Vins spoke with the tone of a man addressing someone of deficient intelligence. Rudolf ascribed this to the small matter of his nationality. If what he knew about the general was still accurate, De Vins had been a combatant in the Seven Years War. The doctor rose from where he had been kneeling by De Vins's leg. "Indeed, sir. I would be happy to-" "That's quite alright, danke schöne." Rudolf cut him off.

The doctor harrumphed, before proceeding to procure a handkerchief to clean De Vins's blood off of his tool. Peiper, eyes shining with mischief, leaned over to Rudolf. "The good general has the gout, hence the bleeding." The Prussian hid a smirk behind his cup, catching the Hauptmann's suggestion, before raising his voice. "Perhaps, mein General, an extra bleeding might be necessary. It is getting to be that time of year where gasses grow particularly numerous in the human body."

De Vins shot Rudolf an arched brow and curious look, before directing his heavy gaze to the doctor at his side. "You heard the man, do you want me to explode?! Bleed me!" The Prussian struggled not to spit out his beverage and laugh at the undignified grunt of pain that escaped the gout-afflicted Austrian. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined it was Duke Brunswick spluttering at the end of the table as he bled out of two collections of wounds.

"Soon. Soon, I will make good on my promise, brüder."

I decided to keep the scope of this one small since, as far as I know, the Austrians haven't actually entered North Italy in force by 1793. But oh boy, once they do, it turns into such a delicious clusterfuck.

 

[SzechuanSauce]

Oh, since its established that the Auclair siblings have a good set of pipes, Brian can do broadway, Therese is at least a decent singer, lets see the story I can make out of it.

A lullaby for Therese

Brian sighed, he loves his sister, he really does, but she can be very frustrating when she wanted to.

"But Brian, I don't wanna go to sleep! I wanna stay up and explore."

"Therese, I've told you already, its midnight, you'll get lost."

Little Therese just puffed her little cheeks at that, "I won't get lost, I know this place like the back of my hand, and even if I did, you'll find me!" She said with all the confidence a child could have.

The Auclair tradition of surveying meant that they know these lands inside and out, which likely meant that if Therese did get lost at night, Brian really would be capable finding her, but he didn't wanna risk that, he could find her getting eaten alive by wild animals for all he knew.

Brian just rackled his mind, trying to think of ways to convince his sister that she should sleep, "Perhaps a trek through the woods could tire her out, no that's stupid, I may know the surroundings but it is much too dangerous to go at night, think man, think."

Suddenly a flaming candle appeared above his head, he had an idea, "Therese, I will sing for you if you go to sleep."

Therese was suddenly very interested in the deal, she always loved hearing her brother sing, especially when they went out surveying, she always claimed that the local animals loved hearing her brother sing and sung with him, but Brian always dismissed that as just her imagination.

"Okay, I'll go to sleep if you sing for me, but you have to promise to teach me how to sing tomorrow." The youngest Auclair said, with the tone in her childish voice showing that she won't budge on that.

Brian could not be more relieved to hear her say that, teaching her how to sing might be a bit hard, but he'll chalk up her going to sleep as a victory either way. He thought of any good songs to help her sleep, any that could serenade a hyperactive child, he rattled his brain for ideas, until a memory hit him.

"Dodo, l'enfant do, L'enfant dormira bien vite Dodo, l'enfant do L'enfant dormira bientôt. " He hears a kind, soft voice serenading him to sleep, he couldn't remember her face that well, but he remembers the song.

Brian cleared his throat, hoping that this works out.

Dodo, l'enfant do,
L'enfant dormira bien vite
Dodo, l'enfant do
L'enfant dormira bientôt.

Une poule blanche
Est là dans la grange.
Qui va faire un petit coco
Pour l'enfant qui va fair' dodo.

Dodo, l'enfant do,
L'enfant dormira bien vite
Dodo, l'enfant do
L'enfant dormira bientôt.

Tout le monde est sage
Dans le voisinage
Il est l'heure d'aller dormir
Le sommeil va bientôt venir.

When he finished singing, he glances at his little sister and finds her fast sleep, "Must have fallen asleep halfway through the song." He thought to himself. He decides to leave the room and tries to figure out who was that lady that sung to him in his memories, perhaps his father knew her?

This is how I think Brian sounds like when singing.

 

[AvidFicReader]

On the March

The majority of the Army of the Rhine was on the march to Mainz. You had spent some time speaking with the general about the soldiering tradition passed down the Severin line through the generations. It was a pleasant chat, but now to ride herd on the men. Instead of the quiet chatter of content men or the dulcet tones of the wonderful marching songs, you had heard complaining. This must be seen to immediately.

As you ride up to the complaining, you address the grumbling men. "What seems to be the issue here, private?"

"E-er, Serg- Captain! It is just that, the road is long, and we have so much of it ahead of us!"

You quickly dismount and march in time with the complainer. "Too tired from marching, soldat? Did we not do enough route marches back at camp?"

"No sir, but this is longer than any march we have ever done, and we can't be more than halfway done!"

"Right, then. Corporal, your pack and musket!"

"Aye Capitan!"

You shoulder the pack and musket, then proceed to run in circles around the no-longer complaining private while belting out marching songs for the next mile. As you hand the corporal his pack and musket back and remount your horse, you are pleased to hear no grumbling, but the harmonious chorus of marching songs.

Note: Severin is the jock of the staff officers, and still thinks like a sergeant at times, and is prone to doing obnoxious sergeant things. He most definitely does not comport himself like an officer and a gentlemen. Also, part of the reason the complainers stopped was because they couldn't bear to keep listening to Severin sing (23 on a d100!).

 

[AvidFicReader]

Defending the Rhine

Denis Severin stared at the bridge that spanned the Rhine north of Mainz. "This thing's a bloody deathtrap! Time to make it even deadlier!"

He began barking orders to make it so. "First Battalion, on this side of the road! Second Battalion, the other side! I want ditches on either side of the road, close to the river bank as you can manage! I want them a meter wide and deep, deeper if you can manage! Pile the earth in an embankment on the side opposite the road. Thick and sturdy, but you need to be able volley fire over them!

"Yes sir!"

"Aye, Sir!"

Severin makes a crude sketch of the bridge and the west bank of the Rhine. "Third Battalion, head to that wood and fell some trees! We're going to build some abattis to impede the Prussians on the bridge. Make them three quarters the width of the bridge and road. Place the first abattis here, well within musket range. They'll bunch up as they approach and try to go around, making a big juicy target. Always leave a small gap for those feeling brave, lucky or clever to slip through. If they feel like they've no chance, they'll back out of the trap. Place a second here, but leave the gap on the opposite end of the bridge. Don't give them a straight shot when you can show them down with deliberate openings. Once more at the end of the bridge, then one every ten meters as far as the ditches reach. Should be fifty meters of ditches, so eight abattis in all. Make sure you sharpen the points to be extra intimidating."

"Aye, Capitan!"

Severin turned to issue further orders. "Fourth Battalion, another ditch and embankment behind First Battalion. I shouldn't have to say it, but make damned sure you can shoot over First's heads without shooting them in the back. Build at a thirty degree angle and continue the earthworks to the river bank, then a thirty meter section parallel to the river. Cut notches in the earthworks and lay black-painted logs in them as if they were cannon. The Americans called these Quaker guns, after some pacifist sect. That should distract the Prussian artillery."

"As you say, Capitan!"

"Fifth Battalion, build your earthworks behind Second Battalion, make sure you can cleanly shoot over their heads. If you commit friendly fire, I'll personally come and show you just how friendly it is! Lay planks so the positions in front can withdraw in good order, and so you can punish any Prussian who think they can take advantage. We'll show Brunswick that he's come a bridge too far!"

Spoiler: Severin's Napkin Sketch

Edit: uploaded the pic to imgur, not sure if it works.

 

[AvidFicReader]

A Last Supper

Captain Denis Severin of l'armee du Rhin feels a shiver run down his spine in spite of the fire and warm coat he wears. Battle would soon be upon them, and men would die under his command. The Prussians had been sighted, and messengers from the northern bridge had delivered news of cavalry actions earlier in the day. Chamans was getting stuck in, while Severin was waiting for the Prussians to march on his position. Taking a slug of liquor to steel himself, he reviewed the knowledge passed down the Severin line through the generations of the Prussians. If his family had anything resembling an ancestral enemy, it would be the Prussians. His great-grandfather returned from Sweden in time to fight the hard-fought defeat at Malplaquet, where he had killed or wounded a dozen Prussians. Denis' grandfather had fought the Prussians in the Rhineland during the War of Polish Succession, and Denis' father had fought the Prussians in Europe during the Seven Years' War. The Prussians would come, and their advance would be relentless. As they push the French back, they will grow overconfident. That will be the time to strike. And where else would he be but the front? Severin always found comfort in the sound of bullets - if you could hear them, then it meant they hadn't hit you.

That evening, Severin ordered extra rations for the men at the front. Their Last Supper, if one were to be poetic. They were likely to die, but they would die hard, and the Prussians would bleed for every inch. He also instructed the artillery to give the bridge a salvo if it looked like the Prussians would overrun it. No sense in not having a back-up plan, in case his plan went awry. So Severin laughed and drank with the men who would soon be dead, they broke bread together and shared ribald jokes. He owed them that much. He was going to trade their lives for victory, after all.

 

[Magoose]

During the battle with Servin:

The Artillery were hammering their position greatly. He was quite sure that the positions were zeroed in and the German artillery would be ceasing it's firing soon, as the infantry prepared for their assault. He was unsure how they would march forward, but that would soon be a problem that his men would have to deal with.

"Steady!" He shouted as he waved his sword. "FORM RANKS BEHIND COVER!"

His men quickly fell into the pattern that was instinctively drilled into them. They quickly came to their feet with weapons shouldered. The Prussians were on the march, their black and green uniforms coming closer to the bridge like night encroaching on the evening.

His soldiers may look frightened now, but when the battle began, they would forget their fear. They Would look beside themselves to their fellows and friends and steel themselves for the creator would allow them to win this day.

"Don't fire until I give the order!" He shouted. The barricade covered much of the width of the bridge, and the trenches before it were filled with spikes and caltrops to prevent the enemy cavalry from storming across.

But the scouts were right, infantry and artillery made up the bulk of the enemy army. And there was a thousand Prussians coming towards them, ready to die for their Princes beliefs.

"Let them come close!" He shouted, taking a position on the edge of the barricade, near the center of the lines.

The boots were now audible, as they touch the stone structure.

The audible cue. "FIRE!"

Guns erupted as rifles unleashed their volley and men walked back behind the line, and the second line to over to take aim. "READY! AIM! FIRE!"

Another Volley erupted, as another line of German soldiers fell, their comrades still marching across the bridge. "Lieutenants! Your orders!" He shouted, leaving the volley into the commands of his lieutenants.

"Fire!" A lieutenant wailed

And what he saw from one soldier was sloppy. "Corporal!" He shouted, his voice carrying. "Stop jerking the fucking trigger! your bullets will fly over the enemy's head! Squeeze the Trigger gently! Shoulder! Aim! Squeeze! KILL! RELOAD! SHOULDER! AIM! SQUEEZE! KILL! Do you understand me!?"

"Yes, Captain!" His men shouted in return.

"You will not die today!" He shouted over the gunfire." Lieutenants! My order!"

"Captain's orders!" His officers shouted.

"FIX BAYONETS!" He shouted.

The Germans were closer now… they were maybe a hundred or so meters away.

"Bayonets!" His lieutenants repeated.

Servin grabbed his saber and his hat sailed off his head. "Fire!"

His men fired again. More germans fell. "Fire!"

"FIRE!"

The Germans kept coming across the bridge, the bodies of their comrades not stopping them at all.

As the germans finally formed ranks to fire. Severin shouted. "CHARGE! DRIVE THEM ACROSS THE BRIDGE!"