Renée Dubois was not supposed to be in the army. She was, after all, a woman, and therefore, men thought her inherently inferior to them.
Of course, if anyone said that to her other than her superiors, she'd punch them in the face.
She knew that a woman could be just as strong as men were, if not stronger. How else could one explain how, when they were young, Renée won every tussle against her brothers easily?
Her parents, merchants by trade, tried to put her in a dress, of course; they tried to make her the pretty little lady they wanted. Her response was to join the army. Her thought process back then was a mixture of 'I refuse to be tied to a man' and 'fighting, c'est magnifique.'
It took a long time just to join the army, and when she did, nobody took her seriously. Everyone just thought of her as some tag-along that couldn't fight, or worse, a 'toy' to be 'played with'.
That was, until she started winning every fight she entered. Be it bar fights, her breaking up two soldiers that were fighting, or the disturbing amount of times it was self-defence, not many people messed with her if they wanted to keep their pride intact.
Apparently, someone high up had noticed Renée's strength and put her in the infantry. Which was well and good, but Renée knew that it was unlikely that she would ever advance further than a simple infantrywoman.
A bit frustrating, especially when she had to keep herself from telling off her superiors when they were being idiots, but she didn't care. She was fighting the good fight, and that was all that mattered.
Then. The battle of Valmy happened, and Renée saw an angel.
She had seen Thérèse before, but never thought much of her. The only thing impressive about the girl was her size, and even then, her brother easily dwarfed her.
But when the Prussians made their advance, and Thérèse took charge… for a moment, she was no mere human, but an angel on earth. Beautiful. Steadfast. Strong.
Renée knew right there, right then, when the dust had cleared and her fellow infantry were cheering, that she wanted to stay by the angel's side.
@Plausitivity@Magoose@Cyberphilosipher
Alright! I've finished inking and colouring in my drawing of Therese! She's looking ready for a revolution and historically dressed to impress. If only I had access to a scanner right now.
Clara and Jacques Thomas had been with the army for quite a while – Clara as a vivandière and Jacques as an officer – and neither one had seen something quite like what happened at Valmy.
"It is quite astounding, I must admit," Jacques told Clara after everything was said and done. "That Thérèse… if I am to be quite honest, I regarded her as little more than a tag-along. I suppose she showed be wrong, eh?"
Clara rolled her eyes as she looked at the sheet of incoming goods. "Jacques, you know that a woman can be competent in a man's role. How many times have you had to deal with… oh, what's her name again?"
"Renée Dubois." Jacques chuckled. "Scary, her… but no, it isn't just that. It's her age that surprises me the most. For somebody so young, she certainly is quite brave. She's still got a long way to go of course. Can you believe that she actually thought 'spare some change' was an appropriate way to start a conversation?"
Clara shook her head, smiling. "Not everyone is as polite as you are, Jacques."
"Yes, much to my dismay." The husband and wife shared a laugh at that, before Jacques looked out the window. Some clouds were gathering overhead, and it looked like it was going to rain.
"Jacques?" He looked to Clara, whose eyes were filled with concern. "Are you alright?"
He shook his head. "I am… afraid. France is going to be changing soon." He looked out the window. "And… it isn't going to be changing for the better. That Robespierre fellow, he..." He shook his head. "He shouldn't be trusted with France. I can feel it in my bones."
"Well your bones have been wrong before," Clara said, but Jacques could see the concern in her eyes. "For now, let's just keep our heads low and see what happens."
"And keep an eye on Madame Auclair, as well." Jacques smiled. "I have a feeling that she will go quite far, indeed."
[] Plan The Conqueror of Earth
-[] Relatively plain clothes, not too expensive or cheap, and not particularly masculine or feminine. A bit of pastel colors here and there. Like that?
-[] Avignon
-[] General Correspondance: General Kellerman has requested you send letters regarding the city's status.
-[] The Handsome Man: The Officer you met at the trial is in Paris right now, looking over the city's garrison and training his new recruits. Perhaps you can speak to him in a more... personal situation.
-[] Swordswomanship: you are not a good swordswoman, you are only decent and lucky. That needs to change. (+1 to 2 to combat, possible new weapon)
-[] Study & Practice: choose a skill to study and practice. Can increase by 1 or 2.
--[] Command
--[] Combat
-[] General Correspondence: General Kellerman has requested you send letters regarding the city's status. Rolled: d100 + 10 (AilingStar) = 33
You sent a correspondent to General Kellermann, a week after you arrived in Paris, detailing everything you saw, everything you thought you saw, and of the growing agitation in the air.
The Estates-General was bringing the former king to trial. For treason.
You had told him it was quite impossible for a former head of state to commit treason against his own people. Sure, you understood the need to change the government, but treason? Negligence and corruption, sure... but not treason.
Yet, there was nothing you could do.
The General only sent one short response to you, before his messages seemed to stop.
"Await reassignment, Générale Thérèse Auclair. I implore you to refuse any position in Paris."
Well, wasn't that ominous?
The thing that worried you the most was the blood on the letter. You hoped it wasn't from Kellerman.
Reward: A warning from General Kellermann. You have been promoted to Générale de brigade, below a divisional general. You are considered second in command of an army at this time.
-[] The Handsome Man: The Officer you met at the trial is in Paris right now, looking over the city's garrison and training his new recruits. Perhaps you can speak to him in a more... personal situation. Rolled: d100 = 85 + 50 (Astra Myst) = 135 (wow, a crit, who could have seen that coming?)
The man was standing on the walls of one the city's many surrounding fortresses, watching a regiment of infantry drill in the square below.
You approached him from the side, standing over him as you saw the men being drilled through supply runs and cannon maneuvers. But the man's focus was not on the drill, nor the cannons that were positioned on the walls.
His focus was on a map on a small campaign table, with a pistol and a sword keeping it from blowing away in the wind.
"A shame these maps do not show the hills, rivers, and inclines. The maps are nothing but fancy drawings, of places, but not of the land." He said, continuing to stare as his gaze bored into the ink and paper. "You would know the struggle, of creating a more accurate map."
You nodded. "Hiking through forests, rivers, and bogs, fearing bandits and the peasantry alike, for they would kill us for affronting God."
The man was silent as he stood. "Napoleon Bonaparte." He then held out his hand. On his shoulders rested the stars of a General de Division. He was only a thumb's length shorter than you; perhaps you saw him at a wrong angle in the court room?
"Thérèse Auclair." You accepted it with a solid shake. He was so young... then again, so were you. He couldn't have been more than four years your elder, judging from his youthful face that lacked the wrinkles of age. His eyes held a hint of both his passion and diligence, the greys of his iris reflecting a shine of blue, as if from the heavens themselves.
The man was clearly handsome, even as he stood just barely shorter than you. He was thin, but not starved, skinny, but not weak. His jaw as firm as he clenched and released them. As he took your hand, you could feel the strength he had, even as it was met by your own firm grip.
However, it was his curious gaze that kept you entirely enthralled. The man was intelligent, that much was certain. But he seemed almost eerily calm, even as he stood before you, possibly the tallest woman in France. He was not in awe.
In fact, he looked... at a loss for words. "I thought you were taller?" The corners of his mouth looked charming. Delicate, even. That did little to mask the scant bit of disappointment layering his tone.
You felt your slight smile droop to a neutral expression. "That would be my brother."
He nodded, letting go of your hand. "Indeed. Is there any reason you sought me, or are you just here to observe la garde nationale?"
"I cannot say the exact reason why. I can only say that I heard rumors about a man who attended the trial I and my brother had, and presumably nodded in approval of my actions." You stated, not letting his eyes out of your sight. "Were you… impressed?"
"I was." He replied. "I will be honest, mademoiselle... women and battle are two words I would not breathe in the same breath, to say nothing of my surprise when I learned of a woman of such... experience."
Was he insulting you or complimenting you? You couldn't quite measure his true intent behind the soft features of his face, contrasted with the sternness of his voice. You nodded. "Truthfully, I didn't think I could do it until I got on that horse and started giving orders. But I did, because I had to."
Napoleon nodded. "… and a remarkable job you did." He then turned his vision away to face the flag of France, the Tricolor.
You then looked at the map he was torturing himself over.
Frankly, it was a piece of crap. "Monsieur Bonaparte…" He turned to face you.
"Look for a surveyor's map. I believe Cassini's family had a few extra made during the charting of France. It's much more accurate for planning battles."
The man named Napoleon nodded, swiveling his head back up to you. "Thank you for your advice."
You spent the next hour or so talking, mostly about your actions during the battle, how you commanded it, and how you delegated tasks to the other officers.
Reward: Napoleon met. He is quite interested in you, for your exceptional actions, and is watching your career with great interest.
Napoleon Roll: d100 + 50 (Astra Myst) = 117
Napoleon could only think of one thing as you walked away. "You are a very interesting femme. Très intéressante. J'espère te revoir… bientôt." You could swear you saw the corner of his mouth perk up as you turned around to depart.
Reward: Napoleon will likely fall for you if he meets you again. He's impressed, but you must part ways for now. He's a tough nut to crack due to his prejudices against women's roles in the army, but due to your actions, he has become intrigued. SL will unlock if you meet again.
-[] Swordswomanship: you are not a good swordswoman, you are only decent and lucky. That needs to change. (+1 to 2 to combat, possible new weapon) Rolled: d100 + 10(Marcos) = 83, Weapon Roll: d100 + 10(Marcos) = 103 (Shiny new weapon!)
It seems being the heroine of France has its perks. Tales of your exploits spread quickly throughout north-eastern France, and even more so throughout Paris. The taverns bubbled with people heralding your entry, and storeowners seemed to perk up as they recognized your face, attempting to have you make purchases to boost their popularity. Even some citizens on the street looked onto you with reverence and smiles as they saw the bright blue, white, and red of your civilian dress.
It was not long into your training when a blacksmith of very high-quality swords gifted you a handcrafted piece after explaining that his own brother had been in the very army you saved. The finest fencers in France gave you a few lessons for a chance to meet you in person.
Brian almost killed one, after the fellow attempted to ask for your hand and subsequently ran away to what you heard was Saxony. You certainly didn't mind the attention, after all those years being treated like some giantess, though the less than charming references to his… épée were unnecessary.
Reward: +1 to combat.
Gained: Masterwork Officer Sword – You have a masterwork artillery officer's sword, one of the finest weapons in Europe, and an excellent weapon for defense, offense, and giving you a bit of an aura. (+3 to Combat, +2 to Decorum when equipped. You are more recognizable in battle if it is drawn.)
Image from Special Replicas.
Yes, that is the Artillery Corps symbol on the hilt.
-[] Study & Practice: choose a skill to study and practice. Can increase by 1 or 2.
--[] Command Rolled: d100 = 73
The few books of Military theory you had were perfect reading.
Reward: +1 to command.
--[] Combat Rolled: d100 = 63
Despite the swordsmanship training, you practiced firing a pistol accurately and quickly at 20 paces from the target. You missed every shot.
Reward: +1 to combat.
<[]><[]><[]><[]><[]><[]><[]><[]>
Le Nouvel État
Disaster Roll: d100 = 80 (Pass)
Louis Trial Roll: d100 = 88 "Le roi est condamné!"
King Louis the XVI, of the House of Bourbon, was sentenced to death by Guillotine.
His wife Marie Antoinette will be executed alongside him, for crimes against France and its people.
Reward: There is now an Austrian blood feud against the KingdomRepublic of France, which will not be broken until a Bourbon takes the throne of France. There is now a Bourbon blood feud against France that will not be broken until every single member of the Republic, and those who fight for it is dead.
French Generals Roll: d100 = 69 "Un nouveau colonel!"
Nothing changes for the French Generals, however, Brian was promoted to Colonel of the Army.
Reward: Brian has been promoted to Colonel, staying with his current army.
The victory by the French caught them and their allies off-guard. With Brunswick in retreat, they are formulating a new plan of attack.
GB Roll: d100 = 65 "La Grande-Bretagne est occupée."
Britain is busy with other things at the moment.
America Roll: d100 = 82 "Whisky pour l'Amérique!"
President George Washington has handled the whiskey rebellion swimmingly. The rebellion's demands were not met, but the citizenry calmed after the president heard their grievances. The Whisky Tax was upheld, but the militia has laid down their arms and went home.
… After the president tried their famous whiskey, of course.
Haiti Roll: d100 = 44 "Haïti est agitée…"
There are rumors of an uprising. Nothing but rumors, but there has been a request for troops to secure the colony to help subdue the rebels.
Russia Roll: d100 = 50 "La Russie, c'est trop silencieuse…"
Russia appears to be doing nothing. All is quiet in the East.
Somehow, that gives you a mounting feeling of dread.
Assignment Roll: d100 = 59 "Une nouvelle générale!"
You have been assigned to the Army of the Rhine, under the command of Jean-Baptiste Jourdan. When you are finished with your 3-month leave, you will head to Mauberge in Northern France, near the border with Belgium.
Reaction to Louis's Execution: d100 = 19"Ils nous appellent blasphématoires!"
To say the people of France took their previous ruler being executed poorly is an understatement.
The region of Vendée, a region immediately south of the Loire in western France, has been a rural area with a lower imbalance between commoners and nobility compared to the more urban areas. It is a coastal area of more traditional folk, who hold a more tolerant view of the nobility as well as the Church. The clerics had refused to swear allegiance to the anti-clerical National Assembly. The ensuing persecutions from the government had sparked the people into action, gathering what some rumored to be "The Catholic Army".
That did not sit well with the government of the Revolution, unfortunately, which branded the people of Vendée as traitors, and began to march into the coastal towns with soldiers.
There is now an open rebellion in Vendée and several other key locations in France. Only time will tell how the situation will unfold. You pray that all will be well for people of France, and that Liberty will prevail in the end.
<[]><[]><[]><[]><[]><[]><[]><[]>
Décembre 22, 1792
You sigh, sitting on your bed, staring out your room's window as the snow fluttered to the ground outside.
King… no, Citoyen Louis Capet, and his wife, Marie-Antoinette, had been sentenced to die. You had only heard second-hand accounts, with the trial held in the middle of a snowy and crowded December morning. The people had cried out for blood, with compromising documents found in late November further damning the former ruler.
According to Albert, the Convention had dragged Louis out of La Tour de Temple into the cold streets of Paris, to hear of his crimes against the State. They left Louis with accusations of high treason and used scalding rhetoric, with mentions of Louis's involvement with the invading armies of Monarchist Europe.
You flared at that mention. The so-called 'ruler' of France, betraying his own people? You had never known, thinking the former 'king' being just slightly mislabeled, perhaps the target of exaggerated revolutionary fervor. Now… you see the ugly truth behind the monarchy's actions, the collusion with those who would bring the people down, the selfish attempts at self-preservation that only comes back to bite them!
You could not care less if the trial had sentenced him there and then.
You put on your skirt and coat, the tricolor proudly displayed against your lithe physique. You head out the door to meet your brother.
"Bonjour, Général Thérèse." Brian said, waiting outside your door, sorting through his bag vacantly. He showed up in…
[] Write-in Brian's civilian clothes, mainly a choice on what he would look like. He has the same hair and eye color as you, brown and golden, respectively.
"So, Colonel Brian Auclair." You say, as if it were a simple fact, looking up to the giant of a man. He would be leaving with Dumouriez and Kellermann once more. "What are your plans?"
He cracks a smile. "I will be missing you, chèresœur, as I will be rejoining the North, while you will be leading your own men and working under a great general."
"Oh, don't be like that, brother. We are sure to meet soon!" You lean against the railing, overlooking the stairs. "Those goose-stepping Prussians will be coming, and we must be vigilant… I just hope to do well. I do worry about how well I can actually lead."
Seeing your head droop onto the railing, Brian says, "well, the first time, you had been dressed as the General, but now, you will be a general. Comprends-tu?"
"Mmm." You turn your head sideways to look at your brother towering over you. Always so wise, isn't he? "I do suppose I should take a course of action to show that I can lead. Perhaps I should…
How will you approach your men as you arrive to report to General Jourdan?
[] Aggressively. Drill them 'till they drop! Make them know how much of a hard-ass you are.
[] Passively. They would expect a softer hand, so no need to shock them… yet.
[] Mixed.
-[] How? Write-in.
… and I of course, will miss you, big brother." You gently tackle him for a hug, which he responds with patting you on your mess of hair.
"Well, it is going to be the holidays soon, and we'll be joining the Roches' in their celebrations. Your swordplay and shooting is getting better, right? Any other correspondences that I should know about?"
Oh right, he doesn't know about Napoleon… you hesitate a bit after remembering his reaction to the vulgar fencer… then again, Napoleon is leagues above that coquin.
[] Tell Brian about Napoleon.
-[] About what? Your feelings?
[] Don't tell Brian about Napoleon.
You then went down together for breakfast, as you have for nearly the past three months, before heading out separately for your own tasks.
-1 Wealth due to no salary, as well as paying for the sword and combat lessons. You cannot wait to get back and not be poor again.
Vote (Regular voting, no plans):
-Brian clothing
-Therese's attitude towards her men
-Talk to Brian about Napoleon?
Welp y'all got some good loot, and Kellermann is telling you to get out of Paris for the foreseeable future. Y'know, just a small warning. Don't get too Terrorfied at those words.
Oh, and Napoleon is certainly interested in you, but will need more time to get acquainted with you. You've broken is perception of women in the military by turning the tides of Valmy and becoming a heroine. To pursue further relations, go chase him. Somehow.
Also, say goodbye to big bro for at least a turn, since he'll be joining Kellermann and the old gang. Some cute Christmas scenes, and then it's back into the breach early 1793!
Feel free to give feedback, since some timeline stuff will be shifted due to rolls (oops, Vendée is rising up a bit early, thanks, Dice) and your own involvement (Valmy?! Won by a woman!?).
Le Nouvel État is the Rumor Mill, just a collection of rumors about the major happenings of the Continent and beyond.
Will update the sheet soon!
Moratorium for 1 hour, then voting will open for 24 hours!
Trying my hand at writing an omake, all credits to Jean-Philippe Laurens goes to Telamon
Discussions with a friend
1794
Jean-Philippe Laurens stared at his friend, mouth slightly agape. He had just asked him quite an odd question, it being something he never expected from him.
"My friend, may I ask for your help in courting a girl?" Napoleon had just asked him.
This caught Laurens off guard, he had never expected Napoleon, the hero of Saorgio and the most brilliant man he had ever met, to have a love life, but now just realizing that despite his brilliance, he was just as human as he was.
Laurens quickly composed himself and responded with confidence, "Certainly, my friend, you have come to the right man."
Napoleon just smiled at him, "Laurens, this particular woman is not one of those naive little girls or dirty whores that frequent your tent."
Oh, this piqued Laurens' interest, "And, if I may be so bold, who is this woman you are referring to?
"Thérèse Auclair, surely you must know her."
That was a name that Laurens was familiar with, it was a name familiar to most of France. She was the shield of Valmy, a hero of France, and apparently, the apple of Napoleon's eye.
"Oh, you have picked quite a woman, my friend, but do not worry." Laurens said arrogantly, remembering his past conquests "I know all there is to know about woman, and I know exactly what you must do"
Napoleon gave a sigh, as his friend and fellow officer started talking about his various seduction methods and tricks in bed, perhaps he shouldn't have bothered to ask.
His company sergeant was vomiting from the copious drinking he had engaged in the night before.
One of the linemen to his left was vomiting from the sickness that had permeated the army's camp throughout the campaign.
He had been ejecting his guts out the other end, but that had worn off a week ago. Now he peered through a curtain of rainwater sliding off the visor of his shako*, staring at the French position and the ground between the Prussian force and the Frankreicher troops.
Hauptmann* Rudolf Fuchs was young for his rank, having received his commission due to his blessed birth within the Junker class of noblemen in the Kingdom of Prussia. He had been pleased when his regiment was attached to the army of the Duke of Brunswick, seeking to earn his place among the officers of the Kingdom in battle rather than birth. However, the campaign had been fraught with difficulties that neither cunning nor education could presently ease. So he resorted to pure determination.
Hauptmann Fuchs ran himself ragged, assisting the regimental supply officer in the execution of his duties and delegating the company sergeant to setting the pace of the unit. Considering his company was leading the regiment's column, this affected the pace of the rest of the regiment. He cycled his platoon leaders to head the company's march while he assisted the supply wagon in pushing through the sinking mud, doing so physically when the extra back was needed. When he was not doing so, he relieved the Leutnant* at the head of the formation and took his place. The stress broke any form of decorum he would normally retain, shouting curses at the men in an eerily similar way as the company sergeant while also getting himself dirty struggling to lead from the front and help ensure the supply train kept up with them.
The high standard Rudolf set for himself and his company had the effect of allowing the unit to arrive at Valmy at the head of the army, though his troops were somewhat peeved that they had been forced to march through torrential rain and creeping sickness. Similarly, some officers below, a few equal to, and even one above the Hauptmann's station disapproved of his ungentlemanly antics, believing such low tongue and base toil alongside his soldaten to be disgraceful in the context of his high birth. Furthermore, they believed he was overstepping his bounds as a company commander, securing the choicest and most influential roles in the regiment for himself and his company, if not affecting the officers already in those roles. However, the Oberst* took Fuchs's side and lobbied for him to the Duke of Brunswick, who eventually approved of the increased pace.
Now they reeled back from another indecisive advance. They had tried to advance and fire by platoon to make up for the rain causing misfires, then to widen the lines and fire and advance by rank to further increase the number of balls being sent towards the enemy. Finally, they attempted to close with their foe, but again and again, they were fended off without drawing a drop of blood with cold steel, retreating and reforming while bloodied and demoralized. Rather, most of them were demoralized. Rudolf felt embers of fury growing each time the regiment was repulsed, the rage slowly rising as his boys were cut down with no support from the rest of the army. One of his peers had been killed in the advance, another Captain losing his legs from the enemy bombardment.
"Where is the Duke of Brunswick? Where are our reinforcements? Why does he not seize this opportunity to take the advantageous ground?" The Hauptmann turned as he heard his name being called from behind. The Oberst and Major*, astride horses, cantered behind the line of sporadically-firing troops. "Herr Oberst, Herr Major! The enemy must be enveloped! Where are the reinforcements?!" The Oberst stared at his query, before shaking his head. The regimental XO put words to his sentiment. "He's not coming. You are ordered to-!"
"Unfortunately, the cannon still managed one volley."
Rudolf was on his side, wet brown and vibrant red splattered across his blue jacket. His shako had been knocked off his head, allowing the rain to mat his wet, black hair against his skull. His icy blue gaze peeked out from behind narrowed eyelids, as he assessed the collection of red mist, blue scraps of clothing, and screaming men that used to be the line behind him. He could see the Major's horse dragging what was left of him by the stirrup. The Oberst lay on his front, the stillness of death gripping him. To Rudolf's side, he noticed who had pushed him aside the cannonball. There wasn't much left of him, but the gloves on the hands of the corpse gave away that he had been saved by one of his Leutnants, who, perhaps, had noted the enemy sighting in the command staff through his spyglass, and acted.
For a moment, the embers in his chest cooled at the sight of so many of his brothers in arms turned into so much meat and scraps of cloth, before the embers turned into a blazing inferno within his breast. He clambered back onto his feet, clutching his pistol in one hand and his sword in the other. The panicked murmur that had rippled across the line halted as the last remaining, relatively unscathed commanding officer picked himself up from the muck. "Fahnenträger, zu mir!" In moments, a young Ensign bearing the black and white regimental colours, bearing the eagle of Prussia, the cloth touched by the hand of the King himself, appeared at his side, shaking like a leaf and pale as a ghost.
"And then they charged, anyways."
"Manner! Sie sind laden! Es ist wir, oder sie! Folge mir, komeraden! Folge mir, brüder!"* His voice cracked from his raging halfway through his attempt to rally his soldiers. He was a Captain in the Army of the Kingdom of Prussia, and his voice cracked. His remaining troops didn't seem to hold it against him, a roar infected by his furious cry rising out of the throats of his galvanized troops. Then, despite the loss of their regimental commander and unit leaders, they charged anyways.
His company sergeant, who had been running on the opposite side of the Ensign, was vomiting blood from the ball that had entered his chest.
His Ensign, laying on his back, shed hiccuping tears as both of his hands clutched the shaft of the colours, ignoring the horrible wound in his belly.
He sheathed his sword and reached down to grab the colours, releasing the Ensign from his sacred duty.
The ground the Prussians had paid and relinquished at so dear a price finally gave up its bounty, the infantry hurtling across the green. Rudolf primed his pistol and tightened his grip on the colours as his brothers continued to fall under enemy fire, though it was still sporadic. Finally, the rain punished Frank as well as Prussian. Now it would be the Prussian who would reap his bloody harvest.
"The chaos of combat was completely engulfing the frontline of the infantry. Prussians smashed full force into a line of waiting bayonets and occasional shots of musket fire."
"Töte sie alle!"* The Hauptmann roared as he fired his shot into one of the two Franks waiting for him on the other side of their fortification, unsheathing his sword to swipe aside the thrusted bayonet of the other enemy infantryman. He hopped down, skewering the neck of the foeman, before turning and blocked the swing of an enemy officer's saber with the shaft of Prussia's flag, followed by a thrust into the Frank's belly. Rudolf kicked him back before he could riposte, pulling his blade out as bright red spurted from the wound. Hastily, he handed off the colours to one of the men following him. "Hold here, so that the Duke's men may rally with us!" The infantryman paled for a moment, as if he knew some horrible truth, but he was unseen by Rudolf, as he turned and waded into the melee.
You took the general's hat and sword from Kellerman's unconscious body. "Army of the North! Heed my orders!"
They had a foothold. He could see that his men had scared off the artillerymen operating the cannon. He could see an eclectic collection of cavalrymen and infantry huddled away from the confusing melee. He could also see the suddenly resurgent enemy ceding ground to lure in his men, enveloping their hard-won foothold. He glanced back to the new flag-bearer, and his gut dropped. Behind the man, he saw no blue or black uniforms. He did not see the black eagle upon a white field of cloth. He did not see the Duke of Brunswick. The flag-bearer looked him in the eye and shook his head. Rudolf waved him away. Nodding in thanks, the soldier turned, hopped over the French fortifications, and ran. Even if every last one of them died, at least they and their fallen brothers would not be dishonored by allowing the enemy to hold their regimental standard.
Rudolf couldn't hear much of the melee through the rushing blood in his ears, the cursing, taunts, crying, bloody raging from a couple hundred throats, the clash of steel and wood, and the sickening sound of metal punching through meat. He could hear a feminine voice, however. A commanding voice. The Hauptmann turned his icy gaze upon a uniformed woman riding astride a beast worthy of a mighty general, waving a beautifully crafted sword, neither of which, he could tell from her demeanor, were hers. That didn't matter. He didn't see her gender, nor her upbringing, only the general's cap upon her head and the sword waving about as she issued commands.
As he advanced, he cut through the melee, at first slipping between the dark-blue coats of Prussians, then pushing through the same as they began to run. Then he met the lighter blue of French volunteers, and the white of regular, professional soldiers. By the time he managed to cut through the battle for the foothold, his arm up to his elbow was covered in blood. The detritus of battle splattered across his body gave him more the air of an zealous butcher rather than an honorable gentleman in the service of Prussia.
An officer put himself between his new commander and the Prussian. "STIRB!"* Rudolf roared as he almost sidestepped the thrust and cut through the spinal cord with a horizontal swipe. A white-clad regular attempted to crush his skull with the butt of his musket. Rudolf took the first blow, trading it for the chance to bury his blade halfway down the blade to pierce through the Frenchman's chest. "STIRB!" His vision was filled with purple triangles from the mighty blow, but he was able to see a dismounted cavalryman intervening. The cavalryman swung low before smoothly reeling back as his first blow was blocked and swiping his saber diagonally against Rudolf's head. The Prussian caught the blade with the hilt-guard of his sword, cutting his cheek, then slid his weapon along the Frank's until the point met his face. "STIIIIIRB!" Rudolf screamed as he came close, so close, to his target. She was no more than a dozen feet away from him, his approach bringing him close to her side as she now focused on wheeling the cavalry against his routing men.
Rudolf held his blade at his side as he rushed for her, the point oriented towards her, intent on wrenching her from her saddle and piercing her heart. He let out a wordless, blood-curdling scream, before it terminated in his throat. He had barely seen the tall man with an angry demeanor and loaded pistol. He was about Rudolf's age. He idly noted that the Frank looked somewhat like the womanly officer. Half of his vision was suddenly gone, a force ripping through the side of his head causing him to fall to his side. He landed on his back, his lips numb and his throat dry as he felt liquid leak out across his cheek and from the side of his head. His mind was... Empty. Was this satisfaction? Fulfillment? Peace? No, that didn't seem right. Weren't the dying supposed to feel something like... Melancholic gratefulness at what they had been able to accomplish? He felt... Unfinished.
He wondered how many of his men made it back. Hopefully most of them. Perhaps before he had tasted battle, he would've considered the routing men deserters, but he couldn't bear to think of them that way now. He wondered why the Duke of Brunswick had left him and all of his brothers out to die on this muddy ground. After forgoing attacking Paris in order to engage this force, you would think he would at least put his troops to good use for that purpose. Instead he had left them... Rudolf swore he would make them pay for this. He would not become a monster and bring vengeance upon the people of France, if it wasn't necessary, but he would avenge his brothers. He would bring retribution against all those responsible... Whether they marched under the French Tricolours or the Prussian Eagle... He would...
Darkness took him. After, he was told, his regiment linked up with the Duke of Brunswick's army. One of his Lieutenants informed the last remaining, if crippled, Captain, who informed the Duke of the fate of the regiment and its commanders. Independently, an NCO and his section returned with a flag of truce to the sight of the battle. They reached an agreement with the French burial detail, fending off looters and collecting all the wounded they could, then the fallen Fuchs so that he might have rest and his family closure. Then, as he was told, he had grabbed the NCO's sleeve and quietly asked for the casualty report. Long story short, those men were amply rewarded by Rudolf, who awaited his judicial fate at the hands of the Duke of Brunswick in a medical tent.
Perhaps he would be promoted for his initiative. After all, the new colour-bearer had testified that Rudolf had ensured the safety of the colours and acted on good faith without the orders of the Duke, or the complete message from the Major and Oberst. On the other hand, could a commoner's testimony be trusted in this matter? Regardless of his status as a Junker, perhaps he ignored the orders he didn't like and attacked anyways? Perhaps he would be punished for disobeying the Duke. Maybe he'd be forced to transfer his commission and take command of a Freikorps unit? That would be fitting, if the Duke felt the need to punish an officer for disobeying him. After all, the Freikorps was little better than thieves, rapists, and political dissidents.
Only time would tell. Regardless of what the Duke decided, Rudolf Fuchs would remember the faces of his fallen brothers. He would remember who left them to die on that hill. He would remember who killed his brothers with her words. He would honor the fallen in the only way he knew how... Krieg.
A Brandenburg regiment shows General George Pickett how it's done.
I apologize for the excessive length. I got into it.
As a lad of German descent and the ability to write, I thought I'd try my hand at playing the bad guy. I considered Fuchs as a PC for another quest in another universe, and worked off of that concept. Hopefully I didn't give the impression his "rolls" were stupidly high.
As improbable as it seems, there is an account in the American Civil War where a Union soldier at the battle of Cold Harbor was shot in the eye, (by a rifled musket shooting Minié bullets, no less) but managed to survive. (Thanks, Ken Burns.) Similarly, Russian General Mikhail Kutuzov wore an eyepatch during the Napoleonic Wars. A Prussian running around with a similar story and look wouldn't be impossible, at least.
Shako = The successor to the tricorn, the shako was a common piece of headwear for an infantrymen of the Napoleonic era. Think of it as a militarized top-hat, a visor at the front to help keep the sun out of one's eyes with a regimental or national insignia at the front, depending on the regiment and nation. Fuchs's regiment wore a black shako with white striped around the rim at the top and a dark-silver insignia on the front. Officers had a white cord hooked around the insignia. The color of the cord would change across nations, regiments, and ranks.
Hauptmann = Captain
Leutnant = Lieutenant
Oberst = Colonel
Major = Surprisingly, a German word and rank.
"Manner! Sie sind laden! Es ist wir, oder sie! Folge mir, komeraden! Folge mir, brüder!" - "Men! They are loading! It is us, or them! Follow me, comrades! Follow me, brothers!"
"Töte sie alle!" = "Kill them all!"
"STIRB!" = "DIE!"
Therese Auclair was not all that sure about Jean-Philippe Laurens. When she first met him at the start of the campaign, she was not all that impressed with him, only seeing his womanizing, with her coming to the conclusion that he only got to where he is because of his friendship with Napoleon.
All of those previous thoughts were immediately wiped from her mind after she saw his actions at the battle of the Pyramid.
The battle had been going quite well, she recalled, Monsieur Napoleon's brilliant tactics managing to counter the famed Mamluk Cavalry, but just when they let their guard down, one last Mamluk charge awaited them, they were unprepared for it, and many of them tried to brace themselves for the inevitable impact that awaited them.
But, what they did not factor in was Lauren's cavalry. They had not brought much cavalry with them, having only a few thousand with them, but Lauren's was able to utilize their tiny cavalry force to their full extent. Taking initiative to save the day, he took what cavalry they had and charged. It was said that Laurens was at the forefront of the charge, ever brave in leading his men to glory. The Mamluks were taken by complete surprise at this unexpected action, breaking the momentum of the charge, gifting Napoleon enough time to compose his men and finish off the last off the Mamluks.
As Therese watches Napoleon come towards Laurens, embracing him and congratulating him for his brave actions, something about awarding him "A Legion of Honour" she thinks to herself, "Perhaps there is more to this man than I originally thought."
I wanted to put in a part about Laurens logistical abilities coming in to, doubly impressing Therese with them, but I don't know how to do that.
So, I heard there's a sore loser who doesn't like Thérèse these days. I wonder what he's about.
Wounded Pride
For Karl Wilhelm Ferdinand, prince of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg and generalfeldmarschall of Prussia, the eighth day of October came as a mockery.
What should have been a day of celebration was instead a day of shame. On his fifty-second birthday, he had expected to be walking toward Paris, days ahead of restoring the Bourbons to their throne. He had little love for them - defeating the French royal army during the Seven Years War still held a special place in his heart - but it was the right and proper thing to do. He might have agreed with a lot of what the enlightenment philosophers preached, but this so-called 'French Revolution' was only a twisted version of those noble ideals, using the work of greater minds to mask its own barbarism. Putting it to rest should have been one of the finest points of his distinguished military career.
Instead his day of birth found him retreating in shame. Valmy had not been a defeat, he kept repeating himself. It had been a mere skirmish, one that barely lasted a few hours and saw only a few hundred casualties in each side. Pulling back against a determined force holding a strong defensive position had been the cautious thing, the right thing to do, so his army could come back on a more favourable battlefield. So what if he gave ground in the process? He was still in France, his forces largely intact.
Yet those mental reassurances held little comfort in the face of what he was seeing all around him. His army might be intact, but its spirit was not. Having to retreat against the mere rabble that the French called an army these days was an humiliation like no other. Even now, having to force-march his troops to avoid Kellerman's flanking attempts was beyond frustrating, and his plans to winter in Verdun and resume his offensive in the spring were already in peril by the fast advance of the galvanized French troops. At this rate, he might just have to evacuate France altogether, with nothing to show for his short campaign.
How did it come to this? How did decades of impeccable military service got tarnished in a couple of weeks? After distinguishing himself in the Seven Years War, in the War of Bavarian Succession, or in the invasion of Holland, he was to flee before a rabble of armed peasants? The man that garnered the compliments of Frederick the Great himself, defeated by a mere girl? The duke of Brunswick gritted his teeth in frustration at the mere thought, his mind conjuring the face that seemed to personify his failure.
His mental image of Thérèse Auclair was actually mostly a product of his imagination. He didn't see her per say, although he definitely heard of her afterward. La Protectrice de Valmy, la Sauveuse de Paris, Jeanne d'Arc Réincarnée. The giantess of a woman, barely out of adulthood, with a name as common as dirt, who against all odds beat back the Prussian Army. Each time he heard the story, the truth was a little more distorted, progressively turning an inconclusive skirmish into a one-woman triumph. Dumouriez and Kellerman might have led the army at Valmy, but it was the name of that girl that was on everyone's lips. And it was her image that haunted the nobleman's dreams.
He wouldn't let it end like that, he swore to himself. Even if he had to leave France in the coming weeks, he'd be back, sooner or later. And on a personal level, he dearly wished to find Thérèse Auclair on his path once again, as a chance to wash away his previous humiliation.
Miracles only happened once. That was a lesson he would take great pleasure into teaching her.
