1. Chapter 1

Terror belli, decus pacis. Terror in war, ornament in peace.

Ney considered the words on his Marshal's baton over and over again. It had never had the chance to be an ornament in peace, but it certainly was a terror in war. France had known little other than war in the last two decades. It had not seen peace since the Revolution. Since before the Republic. Before the Empire.

He had been a common soldier when the Revolution started; his blood wasn't noble enough to be commissioned as an officer in the King's army. Ney's blood didn't seem to matter anymore when King Louis lost his head to the guillotine. He became an officer, then a general, and now a Marshal. Michel Ney, the son of a barrel maker, a Marshal of the Empire.

All because of Napoleon.

Bonaparte gave Ney his baton eight years ago, in France shortly after his coronation as Emperor of the French. In return, Ney gave the Emperor his service in the Grande Armée, the greatest army the world had ever seen. Napoleon, with his Marshals at his side, had conquered Europe using that army.

Ney never stopped fighting. From his stunning victory at Elchingen to his rash mistake at Jena. From the glorious triumph at Friedland to the bloodbath at Borodino. He had fought and killed at the Emperor's side.

Ney chuckled. It was no wonder his baton had never become an ornament in peace.

Ney had fought the Austrians and Russians in Austria. He'd helped crush the Prussians and Russians in Prussia. Now he fled from the Russians in Russia. Ney sighed and decided he didn't like Russians, nor did he like Russia. It was cold. Bitterly so.

The Emperor had completed his conquest of Moscow at great cost to the once glorious Grande Armée and now was forced to flee west. Winter was setting in, the Russians were on their heels, and men were dropping like flies. The greatest army the world had ever seen was now a mere shadow of what it had been just a year ago. Ney decided he didn't just dislike Russia; he hated it.

The bitter cold of winter was bad, but the Russians were worse. Their cavalry in particular. Cossacks. Ney spit as he thought the word. They were a constant nuisance, raiding crucial supplies and murdering stranded men. Ney decided he hated Russians too.

He rubbed his hands together, hoping for an ounce of warmth in this frozen hell.

He was stalling. Ney had a decision to make but he didn't know how to make it. He was in command of the Third Corps, as he had been since his initial assignment to Russia. Napoleon had tasked him to be the rear guard of the retreating French army. Ney's men were to fight and die to ensure that others could retreat and survive.

Ney's corps had done just that, all hundred and four miles from Vyazma to Smolensk. His men, weary from a snowstorm that killed just as many soldiers as the Cossacks had, expected to find a warm meal and fresh supplies waiting for them in Smolensk.

All they found was chaos and thousands of useless stragglers.

Napoleon hadn't waited for Ney to arrive. The Emperor knew the Russians were close behind, so he took what was left of his army and abandoned Smolensk. He'd left orders behind for Ney to destroy abandoned artillery and blow apart the city's fortifications. Ney obeyed the orders and then received a new message, this from Marshal Davout.

Ney grit his teeth as he remembered reading the message for the first time. The Emperor had been engaged by a Russian army at Krasnoi and Ney needed to move immediately. His corps, robbed of the hard earned rest they expected, would have to reach Napoleon before they were cut off. So they marched. It was forty-three miles from Smolensk to Krasnoi. Forty-three exhausting miles as the damned Cossacks nipped at their heels and the winter cold killed more men. Ney had felt the cold seep into his bones, but he forced himself to appear firm, confident, and eager. His men needed a leader, and he was all they had. Ney rubbed his hands again; he realized he was still stalling.

When they arrived at Krasnoi, friendly forces were nowhere in sight. In their place, his long distance scouts reported the entire Russian Army, blocking their path back to Napoleon and back to France. Marshal Ney was ready to throw his entire force at them. Anything to get back to the main army. Perhaps some miracle would have let them break through the Russian lines and escape to Napoleon.

Ney never got the chance to do it. Instead…

He rubbed his hand again. Delaying his decision once more.

Ney didn't know what it was only that it had appeared from thin air, a massive structure of marble that towered over the squat little peasant hovels of the Russian countryside. It was a grand structure and it had materialized from nothing.

Marshal Ney was forty three years old, and he'd never once seen something like that. Sure, there were plenty of stories about magic, mysticism, and witchcraft, but they were just that. Stories. To see it in the flesh was… baffling. Ney would have been convinced he was going mad if his entire corps hadn't also seen it.

What is it? A miracle from God? A curse from Satan?

Ney didn't have an answer to that, but he knew it wasn't just a structure. Seconds after it opened, thousands of men poured from its depths. They wore antiquated armor and carried swords and shields as if they were some mockery of the Ancient Romans. Ney supposed that he ought to have been more interested in the people than the structure, but his mind was going mad from the long marches and harsh weather and lack of provisions and he just couldn't be bothered caring about what he ought to be interested in or not.

You're still stalling.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. The men who came through it hadn't been friendly. They spotted Ney's men and immediately charged. Ney knew what a battlecry sounded like, even if it was in a language that he couldn't comprehend. They came for war, not for peace.

Terror belli, decus pacis.

Ney had taken one good look at the charging men before he issued a flurry of orders to his soldiers. He got his artillery pointed at the mass of men, fusiliers ready in line, and the little cavalry he had prepared to drive home the day. Then he'd waited.

A less experienced commander may have panicked and issued the order to fire too soon, but Ney was a veteran of many battles. He knew they'd only get the chance for a single volley. He knew how to make that volley count.

Ney remembered yelling out Fire! and the entire world shaking.

Double canister shot at twenty yards from twelve guns at a mob of men packed so tightly he doubted they could see where they were going. The mob was torn apart. The volley of musket fire that followed only added to the carnage.

In retrospect, he estimated that they'd only killed perhaps a tenth of the crowd's full numbers. But regardless of the true numbers, it had felt like a massacre, and in an instant the charging horde lost their will to fight. They fled. What happened next was the true massacre.

Ney was no Napoleon, but he knew how to conduct war. He may have won a victory by routing the mob of soldiers with firepower, but to gain true victory he also had to cripple their force.

With a nod, he had unleashed the little cavalry his corps had, just over three hundred men. They were a motley assortment of lancers, dragoons, cuirassiers, and hussars. The man leading them was an aggressive and over confident hussar named Feraud. He was perfect for the task.

Ney had watched the cavalry force ride forward, maneuver around the mob of fleeing men, position themselves in between the mob and the marble structure they'd arrived through, and charge the panicked mass of soldiers. An organized force would have stood their ground and easily held off the charge, but the mob had been demoralized by grapeshot and routed with musket fire. They had no will left in them to fight. They fled in all directions, making easy paths for Feraud's cavalry to charge through and butcher the soldiers.

By the end, every cavalryman had a blood soaked saber. A significant portion of the enemy had probably managed to get away, but a greater portion was slaughtered like cattle. Thanks to Feraud's expert maneuver, those who successfully fled had done so into the Russian wilderness rather than the marble structure. They wouldn't survive long in the winter cold without thick coats; many of them didn't even have trousers.

Ney sighed. He'd stalled long enough, and now a decision needed to be made. What do I do next?

No doubt the Russians had heard the cannonfire from this encounter. They'd be marching to crush his force at this very moment. That left him with three options.

The first was the easiest. Surrender. It was also the coward's way out. An option that he would never consider in this cursed land of ice and snow as long as he was a Marshal of the Empire. If he was to surrender, it would be in France itself, not Russia. No. Surrender was not an option.

Then what other option was there?

He could fight. The Russians were enclosing on his position, but if he could break through their lines, he knew that Marshal Davout or even the Emperor himself was on the other side waiting for him. His instincts urged him to do just that, but the logical part of his mind told him it was suicide. Fight the entire Russian Army with a single corps? Are you mad? A part of him thought, Better than surrender.

Then there was his last option. The great marble structure that had caused an army to appear from nowhere. He'd sent a scout through to report what was on the other side and the man had come back claiming it was lush with greenery and seemed to be early summer. A second scout confirmed the claim. Ney had the opportunity to march his corps away from the freezing cold of Russia's winter and into a summer paradise where he could forage for supply and…

Well... Ney didn't really know what else he could do in this strange place. He didn't know where it led or if this was the only entrance and exit. If he led his men through, they may end up stuck there for all eternity.

A thought came to him. Would the Russians follow him through? Would he be pursued through a land no one had ever seen or heard of before?

Ney cursed and proceeded to take a deep breath. Napoleon would know what to do here. He'd conduct some tactical masterstroke that allowed him to reform the Grande Armée in the new world before coming out fresh for a new campaign against the Russians. Napoleon could use this opportunity to win the war.

Ney was not Napoleon. Not by a longshot.

"Marshal Ney, sir," a voice broke through his thoughts.

Ney looked up at the voice and recognized General Courbet. The man was a general of brigade, but the long Russian campaign had reduced his brigade to almost nothing, so he served temporarily as Ney's aide-de-camp.

"Yes, general?"

Courbet straightened his hat, somehow his uniform looked impeccable despite the long campaign. "What are your next orders, sir?"

Ney realized he was out of time. A decision needed to be made or the Russians would make it for him. "Have the prisoners revealed any information?" he asked. They'd captured dozens of prisoners when the mob of soldiers had tried to flee.

"No, sir," the general replied and then added, "They speak, but their language is foreign and we can't understand a thing they say."

"It's not Italian?"

"No, sir. Our best guess is it's related to Latin, but modified in some way."

"Damn." Ney had been holding out a bit of hope that there was some way to communicate. He sighed, rubbed his hands together, then adopted a confident yet relaxed appearance. Ney didn't feel confident nor was he relaxed, but appearances were important for morale. "What's the latest count on our fighting strength?"

Courbet's face went grim. "Six thousand formed men, with a dozen cannons, and three hundred horses for the cavalry, sir."

"We started this campaign with forty-four thousand men," Ney mused.

"We do have seven thousand stragglers, sir," Courbet offered.

"Unformed men in no condition to fight," Ney muttered. The stragglers were men who no longer had units to report to. They were for the most part unwilling to take part in battle, malnourished, and simply followed the better formed units as they retreated across Russia. Though if they had a warm place with plenty of food… they could be reorganized. Ney was beginning to have an inkling of a plan. "Have our scouts returned?"

"Yes, sir. The Russians are advancing our way. They'll be here in half a day's time."

The structure is a natural chokepoint; the Russians wouldn't dare assault through it. He had a plan in mind but there was still doubt in him. If we go in we may never come out…

"Estimated Russian numbers?"

Courbet cleared his throat. "Sixty thousand."

"It's the main Russian army."

"Yes, sir."

Ney knew the course of action that was necessary here. Either he was about to make a severe blunder and get all of his men killed or trapped in a foreign land, or he was about to save his corps from certain destruction. In the end it didn't matter. If they stood, Ney's force would be obliterated by the Russians; Napoleon probably assumed he was dead already. Even if he somehow slipped the noose, he would likely lose most of his men. There was very little left to lose.

He summoned what confidence he had to quash the doubts in his mind. "Inform all division commanders that we are going to march into that marble structure. Have Feraud's cavalry enter immediately and secure a foothold on the other side. I want our entire force through that thing before the Russians get here."

If General Courbet had any opposition to the order, he did a good job of hiding it. "Yes, sir. At once, sir," he calmly affirmed.

The sun was beginning to set when the last of Ney's men were entering the new world. They were the stragglers, men who had no unit to follow and thus had to be corralled through by officers from other units acting like shepherds. They were also the slowest men to move. Ney cursed as the men staggered along with no sense of urgency, in spite of the dozens of officers yelling at them to move. Russia had sapped them of their very souls it seemed. They were nothing more than shells of men.

However, the situation was very urgent, even if the stragglers didn't think it was. Ney had planned to be through the gateway, he had taken to calling it a gateway since it seemed fitting, in a few hours. That way he'd be gone by the time the Russians arrived and have a set of defenses prepared for them on the other side. Ney had colossally underestimated the sluggishness of his army.

The cavalry went through first in good order, and the infantry had relatively little trouble passing through, but everything fell apart when the baggage train and artillery was sent through. His cannons got stuck in snow, the heavy carts broke axles and had to be repaired, and worst of all the wounded all had to be carried through. It took precious time that Ney could not spare. Now the stragglers seemed content to stumble gradually through the gateway rather than show any sort of expediency.

A distant guttural yell signaled what Ney had feared. They had run out of time; the Russians were here.

"Shit," Ney muttered while trying to discern where the yell had come from. He thought he spotted a flash of Cossack blue in the distant treeline, but it was hard to tell.

"Sir?" Courbet asked from his side.

"Nothing. Try and spot where that yell came from."

The general nodded.

Ney had chosen to stay at the rear rather than enter the gateway with the rest of his men. If he was going to march out of Russia, he would be the last of his corps to do so with no exception. Naturally, Courbet had volunteered to stay at his side and together with a battalion of fusiliers, they formed the rearguard.

He saw another brief flash of Cossack blue in the distance and was now certain they were in for a fight. Ney checked his weapon, a standard infantry musket, and made sure the powder pan hadn't spilled. While a musket was hardly a fitting weapon for someone with the prestige of a Marshal of the Empire, Ney found that it was often more practical for this sort of engagement than the officer's saber strapped to his side.

More flashes of blue appeared from the distant treeline and suddenly Ney and his men found themselves facing down a mass of Cossacks on horseback. Ney spit then cursed then checked his musket a second time. Of all the Russians, he hated Cossacks the most.

"Cossacks!" came a cry from one of the stragglers which was then repeated several times by a dozen other men. The sluggish stumble that had cost Ney so much precious time transformed into a tidal wave of running men. Stragglers, in a mad panic, all at once tried to sprint through the gateway. Some were trampled. Others were crushed. Officers attempted to return order to no avail.

Ney wanted to do something, but he had more important concerns. He tore his gaze away from the horde of stragglers and onto the battalion of fusiliers acting as his rearguard.

"Form square!"

His order was repeated by the battalion's officers several times before men began to shift into place. The fusiliers arranged themselves into a hollow square of men with each side of the square being composed of ranks two deep. It was positioned in front of the large horde of stragglers, allowing them to fire on any Cossack who tried their luck at attacking the unformed men.

"Fix!" Ney's voice cut through the sound of men fleeing behind them. "Bayonets!"

Flashes of steel appeared as men affixed bayonets onto their muskets, effectively transforming them into spears. Ney mounted a bayonet onto his own musket.

There was nothing to do but wait now. The battalion's officers would take over from here, giving the order to fire if they saw the Cossacks come too close for comfort, and company sergeants would ensure that the men held their ground.

Courbet coughed as he watched the Cossacks come closer. "Think we can beat them, sir?"

Ney glanced at his aide. As the highest ranking officers there, they were at the center of the hollow square along with the drummers and battalion major. "We just need to hold until the stragglers are through, then we can withdraw safely."

"You don't think we can beat them? Cavalry against an infantry square?"

"I'm not afraid of the cavalry. I'm afraid they're trying to stall us until their main force of infantry arrives."

"Ah, of course, sir."

"If their commander's an idiot, he'll try to break the square. If not, he'll skirmish with us while the infantry arrive," Ney muttered to himself.

The Cossacks drew ever closer, and Ney could now clearly see their long lances pointed directly at his men. He checked his musket again and for the third time, he found it was properly loaded. Ney could hear the thunder of hooves coming toward him, and even as a veteran cavalryman who knew for a fact that cavalry could not charge a properly formed square, it put a tinge of fear in him.

A musket cracked in front of him and was quickly followed by a couple others as fingers involuntarily tightened against triggers.

"Hold your damned fire, you halfwits!" a sergeant bellowed at his men. Several variations of the same message were screamed by sergeants across the square.

In response, Cossacks fired wildly from horseback with pistols and screamed out challenges. Most of the shots never found a target, but Ney saw a couple men drop to the ground in agony.

At thirty yards away, the Cossacks showed no sign of wavering. Ney felt a mixture of terror and relief at the prospect of being charged. Their officer's an idiot.

At twenty-five yards, a battalion officer shouted "First rank, fire!" and the front of the square engulfed itself in smoke. Cossacks were emptied out of their saddles by musket balls en masse, and horses screamed and collapsed, sending their riders tumbling head first into the ground. Despite this terrible display of musketry, the remaining Cossacks did not falter in their charge. Their lances gleamed and they shouted war cries, eager to avenge the fallen.

To his right, Ney heard the thunder of muskets as some of the Cossacks foolishly tried to surround the square. He didn't look, but the cries of men and horses were proof enough of the volley's effectiveness.

At five yards, the Cossacks were practically in the faces of the fusiliers. Right before the Cossacks could skewer the Frenchmen, who had made the mistake of invading Russia, on their long lances, a voice shouted "Second rank, fire!" and the air erupted with musket fire once more.

From such a short range, it was practically impossible to miss. Nearly every musketball fired found a target in a Cossack or horse. The glorious charge of the Cossacks was shattered before it could deal its blow, and the ground became littered with bodies.

Horses were butchered by the dense musketry, and they crumpled onto the ground in violent fits of agony. In two places, horses were so close to the French square that their bodies smashed into it as they died, and punched gaps into the square as infantrymen were crushed under the weight of horses.

Four riders, having survived both musket volleys, immediately poured into the gaps created by the horses' sacrifices.

Ney's body reacted before his mind did. With experience gained from a lifetime at war, he cocked, shouldered, aimed, and fired his musket in one movement. His target, the first Cossack to make it into the square, fell.

Another Cossack saw Ney and tried to turn his horse to face him. Ney raced forward, bayonet ready, and thrust it cruelly into the horse's neck before it could turn. The horse died, falling to one side and trapping its rider by his leg. Ney shoved the bayonet into the rider's stomach, twisted, then wrenched it out and looked for the other two Cossacks.

One was on foot, having lost his horse to General Courbet's pistol. He saw the general dueling the man with his saber. Ney found the other Cossack fending off a pair of fusiliers.

Determined to help Courbet first and the fusiliers second, Ney charged at the dismounted Cossack. He sprinted, putting all his weight into the charge, and was baffled when the Cossack turned to face him, cleanly parried his bayonet, sidestepped, and tripped Ney with his foot.

The ground hit Ney more than he hit the ground. He lost track of his musket. His body ached, his pride was wounded, and suddenly it seemed so incredibly stupid of him to fight in the rearguard rather than leaving that to the common soldiers. He should be more like Napoleon, Ney decided. Napoleon didn't fight Cossacks in the rearguard.

He managed to turn onto his back in time to see the Cossack he'd tried to kill looking down on him, ready to deliver a final blow. Ney reached for the officer's saber hanging at his side. There was no way in hell he could use it in time, but just laying there felt like surrender, and Ney refused to surrender in Russia, especially to a Cossack.

The Cossack grinned and Ney prepared for death. Then a sword burst through the Cossack's chest, spilling blood onto Ney, and causing the Cossack to spasm briefly before collapsing under his own weight. The Cossack fell away and Courbet stood there with his bloody sword, offering a hand up.

Ney blinked. He numbly accepted Courbet's hand and saw out of the corner of his eye the last remaining Cossack being impaled by a wave of men with bayonets. He blinked again and forced himself to take a deep breath. The reality of what just happened settled in.

"You alright, sir?"

"Yes..." He realized how pathetic that sounded and quickly mastered himself. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

Courbet nodded and wiped the blood off his sword with a piece of cloth. "Thanks for the distraction, sir. He was good. I'm not sure I could've taken him by myself."

"Yes, of course," Ney muttered while observing the battlefield.

The Cossacks had been firmly routed. Their charge on the square had ended in disaster, and he could only see a few Cossacks still breathing. Behind the fusiliers, the last few stragglers made their way through the gateway. It was good timing. Ahead of them, Ney could just barely make out the green uniforms of Russian infantry approaching.

"I think it's time to make our withdrawal now," he stated just loud enough for the battalion's officers to hear.

The square quickly disintegrated and was replaced by a marching column. In a matter of minutes, the last of Ney's men marched through the gateway. Only Courbet and Ney remained in Russia.

"After you," Ney said with a grin.

Courbet accepted his courtesy with no protest, leaving Ney behind.

Ney turned and faced the Russian countryside one last time. He would not miss Russia nor would he miss the Russians, but at least Russia was something known to him. He was about to enter the unknown and had no idea what was out there. The tired Third Corps would have to fight on for a while longer.

Ney spit on Russian ground one final time before stepping into the gateway.

The moment Marshal Michel Ney stepped into the new world, he felt like he'd stepped into a sauna. Russia's cold winter was instantaneously replaced by the heat of early summer. The heavy coat he'd worn to fend off frostbite and hypothermia now felt oppressively hot, so he took it off for the first time in weeks.

Ney stood in the middle of an encampment or at least the beginnings of one. The sappers of his corps were already starting to collect wood for fortifications, and men pitched tents in an orderly fashion that had been previously abandoned amidst the brutality of the Russian campaign. As he walked through the camp, he noticed a distinct increase in morale among the soldiers, and he could understand why. Having faced the horrors of Russia, this world seemed to be a wonderland in comparison.

Ney eventually found the command tent where six men gathered around a table. Colonel Feraud, Ney's cavalry commander, was leaning over a blank piece of paper with a pencil in hand. With him stood Generals Messier, Rousseau, and Brunelle, his infantry commanders. Finally, relaxing in a camp chair was Captain Delon, his artillery commander.

"Men," Ney greeted as he approached. "How are we finding the new world?"

Colonel Feraud was the first to speak, "Sir, my troopers have conducted an extensive reconnaissance of the surrounding area." He pointed to the paper he'd been leaning over, and Ney saw that it was a crude map of what he assumed to be the local area. "We have identified four villages that we can requisition supplies from, and there seems to be plenty of land to forage in."

"Good work," he praised before turning to the others. "And the encampment?"

General Rousseau cleared his throat. "We have an ample supply of wood from a nearby forest, and there's a stream where we can collect fresh water from next to us. We're also on a natural hill, adding to our defensive capabilities.

"Additionally, the land here is soft and easily dug. We'll be able to dig earthworks to further protect the camp," General Brunelle added.

"I've taken the liberty of beginning the construction of defensive structures facing into the gateway," said General Messier. "We don't want the Russians following us through. Captain Delon has been kind enough in supplying me with cannons to enhance the defenses."

Captain Delon snorted. "Give them just a whiff of canister, and the Russians will run back to Moscow.

Ney smiled. "I'll trust your judgement, captain. I want sentries posted at all times watching the gateway. We cannot allow the Russians to get past it."

"I'll get men right to it, sir," General Messier said with a nod.

"We will start foraging operations tomorrow. Have the quartermasters create a list of needed supplies of items in order of necessity. I don't expect us to be able to replenish our ammunition out here, so conserve it above all else. We brought a lot with us, but it won't last forever."

Colonel Feraud met Ney's eye. "Of course, sir."

The flap into the tent opened and General Courbet stepped inside. "I see you found the command tent before I did. Anything I missed?"

"General Brunelle can fill you in." Ney assured. "In the meantime, I need you-"

The tent flap burst open. A man in a fusilier's uniform stumbled in and awkwardly saluted the collection of officers. "S-sorry to disturb you, sirs. It's just that... well you see, I'm so sorr-"

Captain Delon rolled his eyes. "Get to the point, man!"

The fusilier took a gulp of air and said, "Well, sirs… it-it's gone."

Ney looked at the man with an iron gaze. "What is gone?"

"T-the gateway, sir."

"Gone?"

"Y-yessir! One moment it was there, the next it's not. You can check, but the whole camp saw it!"

A thousand things went through Ney's mind, chief of all the fact that one of his great fears about this plan had just occurred. The gateway was gone. He and his men were stranded. He noticed he was still glaring at the fusilier because the man started to sweat. Ney straightened his posture and forced a neutral voice, "Thank you for informing us, you may return to your normal duties now."

The moment the fusilier exited the tent, General Brunelle asked, "Does this mean we're trapped?"

"That's exactly what it means!" Feraud growled. "Stuck in fairytale land with no way back!"

"Surely there's a way back," Messier muttered.

"The gateway appeared once, it can appear again!" Delon declared.

Feraud snorted. "In two centuries perhaps!"

"Sir, the men will be concerned about this development," Rousseau tried to whisper, though it came out more as a low yell.

"We must have faith that we will find a way back!"

"If faith is all you've got, I'm not optimistic!"

"Perhaps the locals know-"

"You mean the ones we can't communicate with?!"

"-a way to get back the gateway and-"

"We'll have to address the men's concerns to avoid a panic and-"

"If we're trapped then we need to think long term, settling down, families."

"You'd give up that easily?!"

"I'm being realistic!"

"As if there's such-"

Ney pounded his hand onto the table and yelled, "Enough!"

All six men, veterans of dozens of battle and skirmishes and hardened soldiers all of them, became quiet. Those who were standing silently took a seat.

He took a deep breath before continuing, "At Smolensk I declared that all the Cossacks and the Russians in the world would not stop me from rejoining with the main army. I meant every word, even despite overwhelming odds." Ney stared each of his officers in the eye, ensuring they paid attention to what he was about to say. "Now listen well for I will not repeat myself." He adopted low voice, almost a growl. "I swear to you, and I swear to every man under my command, no army in this world or our own, no amount of sorcery or witchcraft, and no danger or hardship shall stop me from returning to France with my men."

His officers stared at him, silent.

"Now," Ney cleared his throat. "Let's figure out how to survive this mess."

This is an idea that has plagued my mind for a good amount of time, so I finally decided to put pen to paper. By its very nature, it is radically different from most Gate stories out there. Rather than an attack on a capital city and then a modern military's planned response to the attack, I had the idea of having the Gate open during a desperate retreat so that the army would not be fully prepared and thus would face more challenges in Falmart. I've been interested in the Napoleonic Wars for a long time, so using a Napoleonic army seemed fitting for me. Please note, I am not an experienced writer so expect mistakes and bad writing in certain places. I am a history nerd who decided to try their hand at writing, not a writer who decided to try their hand at history.

For those of you who know a bit about the Napoleonic Wars, you'll recognize that the perspective I've chosen for this chapter is Marshal Michel Ney, a real Marshal of the Empire who fought with Napoleon in Austria, Prussia, Spain, Russia, and then finally at Waterloo (his tactical blunder at Waterloo helped contribute to Napoleon's ultimate defeat). However, the accompanying officers I have with Ney are entirely fictional due to a lack of sources I've found on Ney's subordinate officers. I've found a source listing the names of his officers, but nothing about their personalities or characters, and I don't want to disrespect their memories by misrepresenting them in this story. Another thing of note, in this story, Ney's cavalry commander and artillery commander are of lower ranks than those who would typically lead the cavalry and artillery arms of a corps. This is intentional to show the attrition faced by Ney's corps which was reduced to only 300 horses and 12 cannons and as such lower ranked officers are leading those arms. For the same reason, Ney only has three infantry commanders rather than five.

This chapter starts off with a real historical situation that Marshal Ney faced during Napoleon's retreat from Russia. In November of 1812, Marshal Ney got cut off from Napoleon's main army when the Russians emerged victorious from the Battle of Krasnoi. Ney, who had been acting as Napoleon's rearguard, was too late to the battle and was then surrounded by 60,000 Russian soldiers. This is the point where I start off my story and have Ney escape through the Gate. For those who are interested in what actually happened, Ney launched his corps against the Russians, hoping to break through to reach Napoleon. This attack failed, and Ney was offered the chance to surrender which he refused. Instead, he made a daring night crossing of the Dnieper River and marched 45 miles through open country to reach Napoleon during which he was under constant attack by Russian Cossacks. By the time he made it to Napoleon's main army, his column was reduced to just 800 fighting men and several thousand stragglers. When Napoleon heard of Ney's exploits, he dubbed Ney the "Bravest of the Brave." Ney would continue to fight in Napoleon's army all through its retreat from Russia. According to legend, Ney was the last Frenchman to step out of Russia.

I figure that I should also add a sort of a glossary to explain Napoleonic terms I used that most people wouldn't know, so here it is.

Marshal of the Empire: This was a title bestowed by Napoleon to his army's best officers. Although technically not a military rank, Marshals were the highest authorities in la Grande Armée aside from Napoleon himself. They often led army corps and in some cases entire armies. They were granted a marshal's baton as a symbol of their position on which the words "Terror belli, decus pacis" were inscribed.

La Grande Armée: French for "The Great Army." It was the army of France during the First French Empire under Napoleon Bonaparte. When Napoleon invaded Russia, the army he took with him was over half a million strong. When it returned from Russia, it was 1/6th of that size.

Cossacks: Skilled horsemen hailing from Southern Russia and Ukraine. They were a separate culture that originally formed from Russian and Ukrainian peasants who fled to southern borderlands. Cossacks were eventually integrated into the Russian Empire but maintained their own separate identity and institutions. During Napoleon's invasion of Russia, they became feared and hated by French soldiers. They would often conduct raids on French supply trains and kill or capture isolated soldiers, heavily contributing to the attrition faced by the French Army.

Stragglers: Men from the French Army who had either abandoned their units or had no unit left to join during the retreat from Moscow. These men simply followed the rest of the army and would only fight if they had no other options. During the Battle of Berezina, officers attempted to get the vast horde of stragglers following the army to cross the Berezina River. However, freezing temperatures meant that many stragglers refused to leave their fires. When the Russian Army finally approached, the stragglers panicked and tried to cross the bridge all at once, causing men to be trampled, crushed, and pushed into the freezing cold water. French engineers eventually burned the bridges to prevent the Russian Army from being able to follow them across the river, but this resulted in thousands of stragglers being cut off and left to the mercy of Russian Cossacks.

Lancers: Cavalry who fought in battle with a long lance. Most cavalry of this time used sabers and swords, but lancers made a slight comeback and many armies formed units of lancers. Many lancers in the French Army were actually Polish men who served the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, a satellite state created by Napoleon.

Dragoons: A mix between infantry and cavalry who fought both on foot with muskets and on horseback with sabers.

Cuirassiers: Heavy cavalry who wore steel breastplates called cuirasses. While most soldiers had long abandoned armor due to its cost, weight, and general ineffectiveness against modern weapons, cuirassiers continued to wear armor throughout the Napoleonic Wars. The armor had a chance at stopping a musket shot from longer ranges, but it mainly was to protect from bayonets and swords.

Hussars: Light cavalry who excelled at scouting, conducting raids, and fighting in melees. Hussars were typically arrogant but also highly aggressive, a useful trait for cavalry. They viewed themselves as the best swordsmen in the entire army and frequently got into duels due to their bragging. Their flamboyant uniforms only added to their arrogance and pride.

Aide-de-camp: An officer who acted as a confidant and assistant to a superior officer. Typically an aide-de-camp would not be a general like in this story, but here General Courbet serves as Marshal Ney's temporary aide-de-camp due to the total destruction of his own brigade.

Canister shot: A type of ammunition for cannon that consisted of small metal balls packed into a cylinder. When fired, it essentially turned the cannon into a giant shotgun that would tear apart infantry formations at short range. Double canister refers to two canister shots being loaded into a single cannon for added effect at extremely short range.

Fusiliers: The standard line infantry of Napoleon's army. They fought with muskets and bayonets in tightly packed formations.

Army Corps/Corps: Napoleon's army was organized into multiple army corps which combined to form his army. Each corps was led by a Marshal or in some cases a general of division. A corps was essentially its own miniature army with infantry, cavalry, artillery, and supporting arms such as engineers and transport. This meant each corps could march and fight independently, allowing the entire army to be spread out across multiple roads, increasing movement speed. When Napoleon invaded Russia, Marshal Ney was given command of III Corps consisting of 44,000 men. By the time of this story's start, Marshal Ney's corps was reduced to 6,000 fighting men, 300 horses, 12 cannons, and 7,000 stragglers.

As a last note, thank you so much for reading my story. I plan to do an additional perspective besides Marshal Ney to get a better look at what it's like in the lower ranks. I do appreciate feedback, just keep in mind I'm a very inexperienced writer (I actually only created this account a day ago to post this story) so be gentle if you can. I don't know how often I'll update because of I'm very busy right now, but I'll try my best to write more.