Official Unofficial Staff Meeting
Severin, Infantry Captain of the Army of the Rhine, its notorious drillmaster, sat with fellow staff officers de Lisle and Chamans in the latter's tent. An invitation had been extended to Murat, but the man was so enamored with his horses and training his cavalrymen, he had declined. This get-together was something of an unofficial meeting for the overworked staff officers of the Army of the Rhine, and perhaps Chamans would have to be a bit more insistent with Murat next time.
Severin took a long pull of the ale he was nursing. Frenchman he may be, but good wine was too expensive, and he preferred good German beer to cheap French wine, especially so close to the frontier. It also served to keep de Lisle to getting soused too quickly, lest he regain the desire to sing. Severin shuddered; he feared no man, but de Lisle's singling voice was an entirely different matter.
As Chamans finished pouring his wineglass, he spoke up:
"Well, gentlemen- and Severin- shall be begin?"
"By all means, Chamans, does that joke of yours even get old?"
"Now, now Severin, you yourself acknowledge you are no gentleman. And Chamans, why am I drinking this German swill when you are having proper French wine?"
"My friend, you know exactly why. Even la Generale set an edict restricting you alcohol intake. We would want a repeat of the last... occurrence, would we?"
"Meaning you got drunk off your arse and started that screeching you do instead of singing. Do you have a clod of dirt in your throat, Claude?"
"Diplomacy, thy name is Severin." A frustrated sigh from Chamans, "at least you didn't open your mouth while the Prussian envoy was here."
"Hah! That hoity-toity ponce? He probably spoke more polite French than I do! And- oh come off it de Lisle, you write good songs, great even, you just can't sing worth a damn."
"Ahem, back to the matters at hand?"
"Fine, yes, the supply situation is good, we no longer subsist solely on onions-"
"Praise the Lord!"
"- shut up Severin- and in terms of uniforms, powder and shot, we are trending positive, even with wear and expenditure from extensive training. As for our absent equestrian friend-"
"You mean the horse fu-"
"Severin! Continue, Claude."
"While I am sure of the fine details, Murat has managed to arrange for appropriate fodder and horses for his cavalry."
"Thank you Claude. Severin, must I wash your mouth out with soap? How you keep your uniform impeccable after all those hours rolling around in the mud with your soldats, I have no clue."
"Well, Chamans, I've gotten the original lads rather well-drilled, if I do say so myself. Not too shabby for frontier militia and reservists. I'd be more than confident putting our lads up against any equal number of regulars and coming out on top. As for the men from the levee en mass, if be willing to letting them do any of the jobs required of soldiering. There's still room for improvement, but that will take time and more training. And you Chamans? How is the artillery coming?"
Slowly. Officially, most of the army's requisition budget went toward outfitting and training Murat's cavalry. He's done excellent work with them, too. But it has been at the expense of the artillery arm."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially, the Swiss merchant has provided the Army of the Rhine 26 cannon for specie or bullion. By his account, they all fell off the back of a wagon. He is selling hundreds more to the government at quite a steep price. But France is in dire straits, surrounded by enemies and lacking cannon. It is a poor deal, but one we must accept."
"Damn the Swiss, always proclaiming their neutrality, holed up that mountain fortress they call a country. You can't invade them, so you have to do business with them, the louts."
"You seem to be rather bitter about the Swiss, Severin," says Chamans over his glass of wine.
"My father was acquainted with an american officer by the name of Brannigan, he always went on a rant about how you could never trust a man who was neutral. I suppose that always stuck with me. That and the Swiss as so aggressively neutral, and that merchant doesn't help to dispel the stereotype. Come to think of it, the Swiss love gold, they make such intricate clockwork devices, and they live in the mountains... could they be the dwarfs referred to in the old norse sagas?"
"Where did that come from Severin? And you call me a drunk who can't sing?"
"Just an idle musing. But you can always trust the Swiss to put their own interests first, they just pretty it up and say they want nothing to do with anything."
"How cynical of you Severin? Where's that boisterous ex-sergeant who wrestles in the mud with soldats?"
Before Severin is able to reply, a runner calls for him with a message, apparently urgent.
"Excuse me friends, something seems to have come up."
"Strange, since when has Severin gotten such important news that didn't concern us? He's not the most discreet of men."
"Chamans, that man has vexed me since we have met. He can lead and train infantry, and he's good at it, but dealing with him in person can drive you to drink! Oh God, Severin has made me a drunk!"
"My friends, I have some concerning news. My man there happened to be near la Generale's tent just as General Jourdan came storming out after having a row with our petit arpenteuse. His parting words were something along the lines of "I hope I will see you again," but the corporal said it was delivered menacingly."
"Oh. Oh, dear. Given how well everything else is going... hmm, la Generale swore me to secrecy, but it seems it will me imminently relevant. She wrote an unofficial letter of protest regarding the plans for military adventurism in the east."
"East, if it were a campaign across the Rhine, I'd have to know, regarding provisioning and supply. There's no way... Unless... You mean that absurd rumor about India?"
"Precisely. She discussed the expedition with me, and disected the plans. Apparently, she sent the letter under a pseudonym, but high command, Jourdan especially, is quite familiar with her penmanship and diction."
"So they knew it was her from the start. And they are... displeased."
"The bastards in high command were probably offended by someone without military academy training poking giant holes in their pet project, and decided to promote her to the most distant and dangerous posting possible. Well, technically, since they could be sending her to Haiti or Guiana, or even China."
"India, by way of Egypt. Do they expect Le Bretagne to ignore the undoubtedly massive transport and supply fleets such an endeavor would absolutely require? Even if the army makes landfall in Egypt, there's no guarantee the supply convoys will go unmolested. Imagine being cut off from supply in the desert. No wine..."
"Dear Lord in Heaven, all of that sand. So coarse and rough. It gets everywhere."
"And what do you have against sand, Severin?"
"I fought at Yorktown, a coastal town. Sand gets into everything and especially places you don't want. I can only imagine marching and fighting in a desert will be worse."
"We'll need to make provisions for lighter uniforms to deal with the heat."
"I've also heard that it can get devilishly cold at night."
"Water will be essential, especially with dried and salted provisions. Given the threat of the Royal Navy, can we even count on regular supply, if at all? We may have to source everything locally."
"I'm not familiar with the customs of moslems, but one thing I do know is not to mess with a man's taxes or his religion. Chamans, what are you pondering that makes you look so constipated?"
"Get your mind off my bowels, Severin! Aside from military matters we'll need to hire local guides and translators, we'll need to negotiate with local tribes and acquire maps. And there are those ancient wonders of the Pharaohs, so we may wish to bring scientists and archaeologists. All of the considerations are giving me a headache, and we aren't even looking at the details yet!"
"The ruling moslems in Egypt, the Mamluks, right? Didn't they out fight the Mongols on horseback? Why are you looking at me like that? I'm not an idiot, I know things! I might not be a gentleman, but I know a lot of military history!"
"Apologies, Severin, I mistook you for a loudmouthed meat-headed simpleton of a soldier. Apparently, you do know things. I stand corrected."
"Ow. That hurt me Chamans. That hurt me right here." Severin sarcastically replies, rapping his knuckles on the metal plate sewn into the vest over his heart."
"Well, Chamans, Severin, if we're going to Egypt, then we'll probably be getting more officers. One of us will have to step up as la Generale's chief of staff. Who do you think-"
"Not it!"
"Really, Severin, this is a why I had that impression of you, rudely interjecting while others are speaking."
"Come off it Chamans, you know I'm not even an option. Chief of Staff has to be good paperwork and has to talk to other staff officers without offending them. There's no way it could be me. I'm just a sergeant that was promoted too far and too fast."
"Don't put yourself down, man! As much as you rib me for my singing, you are an excellent trainer and infantry commander. As someone who rose through the ranks, you are familiar with what the soldats must deal with and know how to motivate them. I've met formally trained infantry officers that couldn't get as much out of their men as you can from 'frontier militia and reservists,' Severin. Chaman's ought to be Chief of Staff. He's able to keep the two of us under control, and he's had experience running the army while la Generale was recuperating."
"I- I can't argue with that. You two are just trying to get out of more work, aren't you?"
"What? Jealous that you'll be stuck doing paperwork and making nice while I get stuck in? Already missing the chance to bloody your saber like at Mayence?"
"S-shut up, you blithering imbecile!"
Chamans covers his stutter by finishing his glass of wine.
"We'd best get back to work, given the looming task before us, gentlemen."
