13. Chapter 12

In warfare there is but one favourable moment; the great art is to seize it!

"Gentlemen, this is the plan," Ney said to his officers, piled into the command tent two week's march south from Italica.

Captain Barbier, Ney's aide-de-camp, sat in the corner at a small desk with a quill in hand. His infantry officers, Generals Courbet, Messier, Rousseau, and Brunelle, were all leaned over a map on the centrally placed table. Colonel Feraud, his cavalry commander, impatiently fiddled with the sword at his side. Finally, Ney's newly promoted artillery officer, Colonel Delon, calmly sat back in a camp chair. Their twenty thousand strong corps, supplemented by a few thousand Elbans loyal to King Duran, had marched a hundred and fifty miles on the same road they'd first used to attack Italica.

Ney pointed to their position then traced his finger to a small dot on their map. "In a day we will pass Alnus Hill. It is three hundred miles from there to the Elban border." Ney continued tracing his finger south to a mountainous region and a small pass traversing the terrain. Another dot marked a fortress at the mouth of the pass. "Elbe's border is protected from the north by the Tuba Mountains, a terrain feature I have been assured that we cannot cross."

"That's what they said about the Alps. But both Hannibal and the Emperor proved them wrong," Colonel Feraud declared.

General Rousseau was more cautious. "It would seem that Elbe is easily defended." He leaned down to read the map. "This 'Castle Tubet' guards the only easily accessible path into Elbe. The next closest pass is hundreds of miles west."

"Should we prepare for a siege?" General Messier asked. "We could send a message to Chaucer back in Italica. He could organize a supply train so we can besiege the castle."

"Our new cannons can turn their walls into dust if need be," Colonel Delon stated. "Provided we have a constant supply of ammunition, of course."

"None of that will be necessary," Ney assured. He traced his finger back to the area in the middle of Alnus Hill and Castle Tubet, an open valley of flatland and hills wedged between the Romalia and Tuba mountains. "I suspect that the entirety of this campaign will be waged and won here."

General Courbet was kind enough to indulge Ney, "And why do you suspect that, sir?"

"Because Prince Teo is going to meet us there." Ney grinned. "According to our patron, King Duran, the prince has raised the Elban levies to muster an army. Levies, for you gentlemen unaware, are not professional soldiers like ours or those of the Empire. They are part time fighters, and they cannot remain in the field indefinitely. By raising these men, Prince Teo has indicated that he intends to defeat us in a decisive battle, not fight a months-long siege. Thus, we will meet them on the field of battle somewhere in this area," Ney explained.

General Brunelle shared Ney's grin. "So we will beat them on the field then?"

"Of course," Ney agreed.

"Then let's go and get them!" Brunelle laughed.

Rousseau stroked his chin, still examining the map. "First we must find them. Do we have any idea of Prince Teo's whereabouts?"

Ney shook his head. "I know from Duran that their army was gathering at Castle Tubet, beyond that nothing. He may still be there, gathering more men, or he could be in the field already waiting for us."

Colonel Feraud, for the first time, looked more than a glance at the map. "I have two hundred light horse at the ready. They can be out at first light and begin sweeping ahead of the army looking for them."

"Have it done." Ney nodded. "I want them to create at least a ten mile perimeter, preferably larger if you can afford the men. We'll have the main body march along the road. The advance guard will alternate each day. When Feraud's scouts find the enemy, the advance guard will rapidly move to pin them down while the main body comes up to reinforce. Hopefully with our speed we can catch their force unprepared and shatter them in one blow. After that, we can pursue and destroy Prince Teo's force completely."

"Simple orders then," Courbet commented. "Find and destroy."

"I like it," Brunelle complimented. "A simple plan is always best."

Rousseau shook his head. "We are being rash. Running into a battle without properly preparing for it. We should find them, conduct proper reconnaissance, and only then commit to battle."

"Perhaps," Ney responded, "but then they would have time to prepare as well. The Emperor has always emphasized speed and aggression. We can win the campaign in one battle if we do this correctly."

General Messier nodded in agreement. "I concur that caution is often prudent, but the Emperor has shown on many occasions that this method of war is ideal. We would not have beaten Prussia in a single month if the Emperor had been cautious then."

Rousseau crossed his arms. "Fine."

"Right," Ney sighed. "Anything else?"

As always, they spent the next few hours working out minor details and small flaws. No plan was perfect from the start, even simple plans. It was something they were all accustomed to, and by nightfall the officers finally departed. The plan didn't undergo too many changes; there wasn't much to change in the first place. Really, the plan wouldn't be finished until Feraud's scouts had found Prince Teo. He looked forward to that moment.

A week of marching revealed no sign of the Elban army.

Every morning, Colonel Feraud sent two hundred light horsemen to screen the army and reconnoitre the area ahead. Every evening, they all returned and reported that there were no signs of the enemy. Light infantry, chasseurs and voltigeurs, were detached from the main body to screen the flanks of the corps, just in case the cavalry had missed something. They, like Feraud's scouts, reported nothing of note.

Still, things were progressing smoothly. Ney's corps marched over a hundred miles south. They passed by their old encampment on Alnus Hill, still covered with the remains of earthworks and entrenchments. The Gate wasn't there, of course, because that had disappeared within hours of them arriving. It was a stern reminder of their overall situation in Falmart.

It was now the eighth day since Ney had created his plan. He was at the head of the main body, reading a map mounted on his horse while columns of men marched on. The advance guard was a couple miles ahead, comprising three regiments of infantry and a battery of cannons under General Rousseau and Colonel Delon.

"We're making fifteen miles a day," Ney mused to Captain Barbier, at his side also mounted. "At this rate we'll reach Castle Tubet in two weeks. Not that we want to reach there, of course."

Barbier nodded agreeably. "When can we expect to make contact with Prince Teo then?"

Ney stared over his map. "Only God knows, I suppose. He can't keep his army mustered forever, so he must be looking for us, as well. At some point we're bound to run into each other, but I have no idea when that will be. If we had a full regiment of hussars we could find them in a day. If only."

"What we ought to do," Barbier suggested, "is raise a few battalions of auxiliary cavalry. Feraud doesn't have enough men for this, and there's not too much difference between Saderan cavalry and our cavalry."

Ney raised an eyebrow; he hadn't thought of that. Sometimes people surprised him. "A fine idea," he replied, and Barbier flushed at the praise. "But it's a bit late for that right now. We're already in the field."

The captain looked away with embarrassment. "Right, sir. Not the time for that."

Ney laughed. "If you've ever got any more of those ideas, feel free to tell me."

"Well…" Barbier scratched his neck. "There is one thing."

"Spit it out then."

He gestured for the map, and Ney handed it over. Barbier immediately pointed to a tiny dot on it, one of the many that indicated a small hamlet or village. "Yeray," Barbier read out. "It's twenty miles ahead, and has a good vantage point over the road from Castle Tubet. We could try and ask the villagers if they've seen Prince Teo. Maybe pay them for the information."

Ney leaned over from his horse to get a better look. Barbier was right, Yeray was positioned on a slight hill that most likely gave them a good view of the road. It was marked as a potential foraging spot. Despite having Italica as a supply base, Ney was still relying on forage as his primary means of supply. It allowed them to avoid the problems with having a large supply train, and it meant they could increase their marching speed if they needed to. They'd already foraged grain from several villages.

Barbier took Ney's silence poorly. "Perhaps it's not a great plan after all, sir. They might not be a very reliable source of information. Even if we paid them, they might just betray us to the enemy. We can't trust folk like-"

"Please shut up," Ney sighed. He straightened himself in his saddle and looked at Barbier. "They won't betray us because Yeray is a Saderan village, and Prince Teo is an Elban. If we pay them well, they will have no reason to do such a thing."

"Of course, sir. I was only thinking-"

"You have good ideas sometimes," he interrupted again. "This is one of those times. Let's go with it."

Barbier lit up. "Should I call for Captain Feraud then? He could have a party of scouts investigate it when they return."

"No point in that. We'll go there ourselves."

"Ourselves?" Barbier spluttered. "Is that wise, sir?"

Ney shrugged. "Find me King Duran. He can do all the talking for us."

They rode to Yeray. It only took a few hours to cover the distance while mounted. Ten miles in, they came across a patrol of hussars, and Ney was made painfully aware they were now crossing potentially dangerous territory. Hostile country where any number of unfortunate things could happen to them. They were just three men, Ney, Barbier, and Duran; if the villagers turned on them they would be killed or captured.

But, Ney reminded himself, this was not actually hostile country. This was Sadera, and his enemies were Elban; the villagers would not turn on them. Or so he prayed.

Yeray was a hamlet built at the top of a slight hill with an impressive view over the main road to Castle Tubet. The mountains were clearly visible in the distance, and looking out from the village, one could easily keep an eye on the road. Yeray also happened to be just a mile west of a major crossroad, one that an army would likely cross in the event it was marching nearby. Really the maps didn't do it justice. This was a perfect observation point.

Duran was the first one to enter the village, being a king and capable of speaking the local language, followed by Ney, because his uniform made him look like nobility, and finally with Barbier at the rear, the least regal looking of them all.

An older man approached King Duran, and they exchanged some words in Saderan. Ney had begun to pick up some Saderan words from simple exposure, and he thought he heard the words for 'king', 'army', and 'movement' being tossed around.

"This is the village elder," Duran informed them. "He wants to know who we are."

"Why the King of Elbe and his humble escort of course," Ney replied.

More words in Saderan. Something to do with a door?

Duran turned back to Ney. "He says that someone else claiming to be the King of Elbe has already come here. I think my son got here first. He also would like to know if you come from beyond the Gate."

"Tell him that I am Marshal Michel Ney, of the French Empire."

Duran translated, and the village elder fidgeted. He whispered something harsh.

"He wants to know if you are here to burn his village and enslave his people."

Ney was suddenly very glad he'd come to Yeray before his men had begun foraging from it. "We are no longer at war with the Empire; his people are safe. We merely seek information."

Another exchange in Saderan. The elder seemed to be relieved, and he said the word for 'good' a couple times over.

Ney cleared his throat. "Ask him if they've seen another army come nearby. Most likely from the south."

A brief conversation occurred before Duran turned to Ney and said, "They have seen an army from Elbe. It went through the crossroad three days ago heading east."

"East? Prince Teo must not know where we are either," Ney mused.

"There are hills east of here," Barbier reported. "Perhaps he's trying to avoid facing us on flat ground?"

"Maybe." Ney stroked his chin. "Whatever the case, it doesn't matter. We know generally where he is; Feraud can find out the rest. If we do this right we'll be on him before he knows we're here."

"So what's the plan, sir?" Barbier asked.

"To beat the Elbans," Ney replied, grinning. Then he tossed a gold Franc at the village elder. "Thank him for his cooperation. Let's get back to the corps as quickly as we can."

Duran relayed Ney's thanks in rapid Saderan. They turned their horses while the elder spluttered out his thanks.

Ney looked east to the hilly terrain that awaited them. "Tomorrow we find Prince Teo, and tomorrow we crush him. Let's ride!"

The next day they did not find Prince Teo.

Colonel Feraud scattered his scouts into the eastern hills like a flock of birds, but the Elban army remained ever illusive. They did, however, find the remains of a camp, perhaps a day or two old, so at least that confirmed they were headed in the right direction. Still, Ney didn't get the battle he'd hoped for.

"It's those damned hills, sir," Feraud swore when he finished relaying what his scouts had found. "If it was open plains, we would've found them by now. But as it is, the Elbans must be tucked away behind some hill, and I don't have enough cavalry to search every nook and cranny out there."

"So we need more cavalry," Ney stated.

"Aye, sir. But I don't know how you'd get that now."

Ney rubbed his forehead and sighed. "We can't. Can you find them with the men you have?"

Feraud puffed out his chest. "Of course, Marshal. Give me another day, and we'll root out the bastards."

Another day was not enough.

Feraud's scouts went out again and again, surveying valleys and climbing hills in the hopes of stumbling upon the Elban army. They found nothing except for a few villages to forage from and conflicting reports from the villagers. Ney was infuriated; his plan wasn't working like he'd expected. Duran grew more angry at his son by the hour. Feraud seethed at his own failure. Everyone in the army was frustrated. They all knew the Elbans stood no chance in battle; this was all just stalling the inevitable. The French had all the advantages. The Elbans had no right to be able to stand against them. Yet it went on and on.

The scouts became especially annoyed. They stopped following precautions as the enemy continued to elude them. Hussars went out at the crack of dawn and wouldn't come back until darkness robbed them of sight. Meals were eaten on horseback, and they requisitioned extra horses so they wouldn't have to spend time resting their mounts. Sometimes, moonlight permitting, they'd stay out all night, taking shifts where half would sleep in their saddles and the other half would lead them on.

The corps marched further east and established a camp in one of the few areas of flatland. It meant the cavalry had less distance to travel back to camp, not that they returned to camp often.

Men spent their time drinking wine. They shouldn't have been allowed to, but everyone was angry. The villages they foraged from had wine and angry soldiers drank it. They had done everything they'd been asked, and yet they were still failing. So they drank.

Ney drank wine, too. Probably too much. He wasn't perfect; he was human, and he was even angrier than his men. They were fighting a war he'd been hesitant to even fight in the first place, and now they were making no progress. And even if they did find Prince Teo and crush his army and place Duran back on the throne, he still wasn't sure they'd be able to return home. To the Emperor. To France.

All this effort for a vain hope of return. All the men who would die for a flicker of light at the end of an infinite tunnel. Why?

He spent a long time thinking. While they spent their time galavanting through Falmart, what was happening back in Europe? Was Napoleon defeated? Had a horde of Cossacks razed Paris to the ground? Were the Bourbons back to playing with France as if it was a child's toy? Would he have made a difference?

Jacques was in agony.

He wasn't wounded. In fact, his body was feeling better than it had been in a while. The gash on his hand where he'd stopped a demi-human's blade was finally healed, and he no longer ached from the collection of smaller injuries he'd accumulated doing various unwise things. No. Jacques was experiencing an entirely different sort of torment. Paperwork.

There were mountains of it. Nothing got done without paperwork, and running an infantry company was certainly no exception. Sick lists, casualty reports, supply requisitions, daily infractions, the next day's marching orders, reports of daily occurrences, and a dozen other things that required his approval, sign off, or understanding.

It was something he'd despised doing as a sergeant and was something he despised doing even more as a captain. There just never seemed to be an end to it. Each day brought a new stack that he had to go through. If a man got sick and couldn't march, there was a paper for that. Someone lost their ammunition pouch? Two papers for that. A sentry got caught sleeping? Better write that down. Brawling? More paper. Disobedience? Paper. Nothing went wrong and everything was pitch perfect that day? Still more damn paper.

Paperwork seemed to be perfectly designed to wear away at Jacques's sole. Physical labor he could handle; it was hard and often mindless but at least he was moving during it. This was hard, mindless, and required him to be sat behind a desk for hours. He'd hoped being a captain would've made some difference. Surely officers didn't go through such mind numbing tasks, right? Wrong. Captains had three times as much paperwork to do as sergeants. It was now painfully clear why Captain Courbis had spent so much time in his tent.

Jacques made his signature on the most recent casualty report. Two men with sprained ankles and three men with infected blisters. Every day they marched more men suffered similar injuries, and they were marching a great deal trying to find the Elban army.

The damned campaign was taking too long. They should have fought the Elbans by now. The cowardly bastards were hiding from them.

Couldn't they see it was all pointless? It wasn't a matter of if the French could beat the Elbans but rather when they would beat the Elbans. All this running and hiding was just a farce. Everyone knew the Elbans couldn't defeat them in battle; a Saderan army double their size had tried and failed. Now they were reinforced by new artillery and new men, and yet the Elbans still thought they had any hope of beating them. Fools, all of them.

There was a knock on his tent post. Jacques looked up from his papers, slightly annoyed. "What is it?"

"It's me," Vidal replied. "Can I come in?"

Jacques leaned back in his chair with a groan. More paperwork, was his immediate thought because she was usually the one who brought him it. I'll be working till I drop dead.

"Come in," he grumbled. "What have you got for me?"

Vidal brushed through the tent flap. She didn't have a stack of papers tucked under her arm like Jacques was expecting. Instead, she carried a bottle containing some dirty looking brown liquid. Jacques raised an eyebrow.

She held out the bottle. "I've got this," Vidal offered. "Bought it off a chasseur who'd just gotten back from foraging. Only cost me two Denari."

"And what do you plan to do with that?"

Vidal shrugged. "Figured we could share it."

"Share it?" Jacques repeated. He stared at Vidal who flushed slightly. "Are you serious?"

"I am," she said.

"We're on campaign," Jacques said. "You know it's against regulations to drink like this. The Marshal has to give specific-"

"Yes, yes, I know the regulations." Vidal looked at him and sighed. "If you took a moment to step outside your tent for once, you'd note that no one really gives a damn about regulations right now. What are you worried about? It's not like the Elbans are any threat."

"I have work to do," he protested. "Have you got today's requisition list? I still need to get that to Captain Alarie-"

"I already took care of that," Vidal interjected. "As well as the sick list, the day's infractions, and the sentry reports. Astier and I did all that."

Jacques frowned. "I was going to fill those out."

"You're working too hard." A touch of concern crept into her voice. "When was the last time you didn't spend your entire evening filling out reports?"

Jacques broke eye contact. "I can't just let it all pile up. It's my duty."

"You need a break," Vidal insisted. She held out the bottle. "Astier's thinks the same."

"So you two have conspired against me," Jacques stated, "to get me to drink… whatever vile stuff's in that bottle?"

"Well… I was hoping we could also just talk."

Jacques eyed Vidal. She was a little flushed, but she also looked very determined. Then he eyed his remaining paperwork. With a sigh, he gestured for her to take a seat on his bedroll.

"Just out of curiosity," Jacques said, turning his camp chair to face her, "why you instead of Astier?"

Vidal gave him a look. "Do you really want to drink with Astier? You'd be dead by next morning."

"Fair enough."

She popped off the bottle's cork and produced a metal cup for each of them. "I did volunteer, though. I've started to realize I don't know a whole lot about you."

Jacques took his cup. "You're really serious about drinking that stuff?"

"Conversations tend to go easier when there's drink involved."

"Do you even know what we're drinking?"

"Not a clue," she said before pouring generous amounts of the dirty brown liquid into each cup.

Jacques took a sip out of curiosity and immediately regretted the harshly bitter taste. Not perhaps the strongest drink he'd ever tried but definitely the most rancid. Vidal drank hers with less grimacing than Jacques.

"Christ," Jacques grunted. "And here I thought you were a teetotaler or something like that."

"Contrary to popular belief, women do not crumble at the taste of a strong drink." Vidal took another sip. "Besides, I'm a soldier."

"So am I," Jacques coughed. "But this stuff is vile."

He drank more; it was easier the second time, probably because his throat had gone numb. Jacques leaned back in his chair, feeling warmer as the liquid reached his stomach. Vidal finished her cup and proceeded to pour herself another.

"So," she began. "Why are you in the army?"

Jacques peered into his cup and set it down at his desk. "This... is a bad idea. Nothing good comes out of things like this." He began to stand.

"Jacques," Vidal breathed out. He halted. Jacques couldn't recall her ever using his name instead of 'Sergeant' or 'Captain' or 'Duclos'. She drew herself up. "Answer the question, please."

Jacques let himself fall back into the chair. "Alright… Maria," he said, trying her real name. "But you first."

"Me?" she asked.

"You've probably got a better story than me."

Vidal took another drink. "Not particularly. My brother enlisted before me; he always wanted to be a soldier. He got sent to Spain while I was back home helping my mother sew uniforms."

Jacques nodded and stomached some more of the brown liquid. He vaguely recalled her mentioning a brother in Spain once.

"Spain was not kind to my brother. He sent letters often, and I got a second hand experience of what he was going through. It wasn't a real war over there. He got assigned to a garrison, so he never fought any of the big pitched battles. All he did was skirmish with guerrillas and lose friends to ambushes. Eventually the letters stopped coming. A few weeks later, we heard he'd been captured by guerrillas…"

Vidal took a long drink from her cup. "There wasn't much left of his body. They skinned him alive so that his friends could hear it happening and used hot irons to disfigure his face. I learned about it and just knew I had to do something."

Jacques winced at her description. "That made you join up?"

"It seems stupid now," Vidal said. "But I just had to do something. Sitting at home making uniforms just didn't seem worth it. So, I dressed up in some of my brother's old clothes and went to enlist at a recruiting station. The recruiter didn't look too closely, and I got assigned. Only it wasn't to Spain, it was to Russia."

"You were so cheery when I met you."

She shrugged. "I was excited. Just got promoted to corporal, and we were out of Russia finally. Things were looking up."

Jacques snorted. "Now we're stuck in this place groping about for a shadow of an army."

"Could be worse." She poured both of them a new drink. "I believe it's your turn."

"You really want to know about me?" Jacques asked, and he saw her blush.

Despite that, she was determined. "Jacques, stop avoiding the question."

"Alright, Maria." He sighed and decided against taking another drink. "I was conscripted."

Vidal's face betrayed her surprise. "You? You weren't a volunteer?"

Jacques grimaced at that. "Nope. I was going to be a cobbler."

"Shoes?" she snorted. "You?"

"What of it?"

"I just can't…" She began giggling. "Captain Jacques Duclos was going to spend his life fixing shoes."

Jacques rolled his eyes. "And Sergeant Maria Vidal was going to spend her life sewing uniforms."

Vidal peered at him. "I guess it's better the way things turned out then."

Jacques peered back. He held up his cup. "To us then."

"To us."

And they both drank.

Ney found the Elbans six days after entering the eastern hills.

It wasn't deliberate by any means. A dozen of Feraud's chasseurs were ascending a hill at night. It was dark, and no one could really see anything, and despite those facts they were too stubborn to give up. One of their spare remounts accidentally stepped on a sleeping man who screamed, and suddenly the chasseurs found themselves in the middle of an Elban scouting party. The chasseurs, unable to see anything, immediately bolted their horses back toward the corps's camp. The Elbans, also unable to see anything, couldn't stop them. It wasn't the main army or anything, all the chasseurs had found was a forward outpost, but that was all they needed. When morning came, Feraud had all his cavalry searching where they'd found the Elban scouts. With the search area narrowed down, it was only a matter of time.

The corps was marching to establish a new camp closer to the search area when Feraud came back. Ney was with the advance guard, and he saw Feraud galloping toward him atop an exhausted horse.

"We've got them!" he shouted, gleefully laughing. "We've got them!"

Ney's stomach flipped. "Prince Teo?"

"The whole fucking Elban army!" Feraud roared.

"Where?!" Ney demanded.

Feraud swung his arm out to the northeast. "Three miles that way! They're camped behind a big ridge with patches of forest around it." He fumbled with his satchel and handed Ney a slightly worn map. "I've marked it here. God as my witness, they're all there."

Ney considered the situation for less than a second. "Pull in all of your scouts and bring up all your heavy cavalry from the main body. I'm going to engage with the advance guard. General Messier has command of the main column. Send someone with orders for him to march it as quickly as he can to reinforce me. Get all your cavalry there as fast as you can. We have an opportunity here; if we're too slow we'll lose it. Understand?"

Feraud saluted enthusiastically. "Yes, sir!"

"Good. Now go!"

Captain Barbier was thoughtful enough to exchange his own horse for Feraud's exhausted one. The colonel muttered thanks before bolting off toward the main body.

Ney didn't watch him go. He was already galloping to the commander of the advance guard.

"General Rousseau!" he shouted. "We've found the Elbans! Prepare the advance guard to head northeast. We need to engage them immediately."

Rousseau looked less excited than he ought to have been. "With respect, sir, we shouldn't rush into a battle like this. We need to reconnoitre their position and gather the whole corps before we engage with them."

Ney glared at him. "Wait now and we might lose our chance at battle! Do you want to go back to chasing shadows in the dark? We'll pin them down with the advance guard then bring up the main body to smash them."

"Sir, I would prefer to-"

"How many men do you have?" Ney cut in. "And how much artillery?"

Rousseau set his jaw. "Two regiments of auxiliaries, a regiment of regulars, and a battery of the new six-pounders. Colonel Delon is here as well."

Ney smiled with pleasure. "Good, good!" he laughed. "Get the men marching. We need to be quick."

"You enjoy war too much," Rousseau spat. Then he left to get the men marching northeast.

Ney barely heard him. He was already thinking of the coming battle.

"So what's the plan then, sir?" Captain Barbier asked at his side.

Ney looked over, a gleam in his eye. "I believe I already told you. I plan to beat the Elbans."

The advance guard marched rapidly. There wasn't any real road for them to follow, but they brought the artillery on an old goat path and had the infantry march adjacent to it over fields and hills. It took two hours to arrive, and they were fortunate enough not to experience any delays.

Ney rode his horse to the top of the small hill the advance guard was forming up on. He surveyed the battlefield and felt his stomach flip again because there it was. The Elban army.

The Elbans were formed up on a long ridge that stretched until it reached small groves of trees on either end. They were assembled in blocks of men, almost entirely infantry from what Ney could see, with a thin screen of skirmishers positioned in front of the blocks.

Ney's force was on a hill opposite to the ridge, transforming itself from marching columns into a battle line. The auxiliaries were placed ahead of the regulars, formed up in pike blocks with the idea being they would pin down the Elban line while the regulars would deploy to the sides when necessary to skirmish and beat back flankers. A battery of bronze six-pounders was placed at the very top of the hill.

A shallow valley separated Ney's hill from the Elban ridge. It was perhaps noon based on the sun's position. The main French body would arrive to reinforce Ney sometime soon presuming they weren't delayed.

Ney just had to keep the Elbans busy.

He rode to the artillery battery. The cannoneers had set up their eight six-pounder guns facing the distant Elbans. Their caissons, wheeled carts which carried the cannons' ammunition, were set up just behind the guns. The artillerymen were in the middle of loading.

"Colonel Delon!" Ney called. The man was sat back in a camp chair, watching his gunners work. "It's a good thing you're here."

Delon yawned. "I was with the advance guard inspecting the guns when we found the bastards. Figured it would be more fun firing cannons than dragging them from the main column."

To their side, a crew of cannoneers shouted, "Ready!" shortly followed by seven other similar shouts.

"I want your guns to open up the battle. A good pounding against their left flank to soften them up before the skirmishers start engaging," Ney explained, pointing to the distant formations of men. "Once reinforcements arrive, we'll have our right try to turn their flank there."

Delon looked carefully at the Elban left flank. He stood from his chair and addressed his artillerymen, "Those formations make easy targets." He held up a bag filled with coins. "A hundred Francs to whichever crew scores the first hit!"

A cheer went up. The men began sighting their cannons. There were only eight guns, a single battery, but they were manned by Delon's men, and Delon was one of the best cannoneers Ney had ever known.

He'd once put a cannonball down the barrel of an English gun, or so he claimed.

"FIRE!"

The first cannon fired. The sound was deafening, louder than anything in the world at such close range. One deadly roar.

The second cannon fired with a deep throated boom - bigger, and somehow angrier.

The third cannon fired. Men were screaming on the Elban ridge.

The fourth cannon fired. By the will of God the ball pitched through the air, soaring into an Elban officer mounted on his horse, obliterating him and his companion, and bursting out the other end to tear a gash into the formation of men behind and kill maybe two dozen.

Ney closed his eyes and breathed in the acrid smoke. His ears rang. Captain Barbier was trying to scream something over the roar of cannons. Distant men died.

The remaining four guns went off in a rhythm. One - two - three - four. Four gaps were cut into an Elban formation that was unlucky enough to have been sighted four different times. The ridge had no cover, and each cannonball carved a furrow through them like death's very own plough. The ground was red.

Ney didn't see a single miss from the barrage.

"LOAD!"

The artillerymen, experts of their craft, dragged the cannons forward from where they'd been blown back by recoil. Men put cannon worms down the barrels to remove debris then swabbed them with wet sponges, extinguishing sparks and embers still burning from the first shots. Others ran cannonballs and powder charges from the caissons to the front. The powder charges were placed carefully into the front of the barrel followed quickly by the balls themselves. Different men used rammers to send them both to the back of the barrel, and then the ventsmen primed the touchholes with priming irons and tubes of powder. Senior gunners aligned the cannon with their targets, elevated or depressed the barrel as needed, and…

"READY!"

"FIRE!"

...men lowered linstocks carrying lit matches onto the touchholes.

The ground trembled.

A distant clump of men seemed to explode, a six-pound iron ball ripping through a dozen soldiers, slamming into the earth, bouncing, and tearing into another group of men. Two other balls decimated the formations to their side, sending torn off limbs and the remains of bodies flying.

The men scattered.

"Easy targets," Delon declared. He was sitting down in his camp chair, seemingly unaffected by the deafening bombardment. "It's like targeting infantry in a square or column. Lines can weather our cannonfire, but those great blocks are too much of an easy target."

The battery had devolved, as positions often do, into something very informal. It began resembling a sort of shooting contest, only with cannons instead of pistols or muskets. The gunners had time to spare in between each shot while their comrades reloaded, and the sound of bickering and wagers being placed filled the air alongside the ringing in Ney's ears. There were sixty men working to keep the cannons running; they made a lot of noise.

"Fellow with all the gold on his armor. See 'im?"

"Twenty Francs if you get a ball through that lot with the funny banner."

"I see the gold fellow, the bastard noble."

"You're on. May as well give me the coin right now."

"Ah! Should've bought better armor, dumb fuck! Gold doesn't stop cannonballs!"

"See that! Put one clean through them!"

The ground continued to tremble. On the distant ridge, the Elbans were crawling about like an anthill that'd been stepped on. Ney knew what they were experiencing. The terrible feeling that they were being slaughtered and yet could do nothing to retaliate. Elban officers would be trying to work out what to do while the soldiers considered whether or not Prince Teo was worth dying for. Formations scattered by the fire and then desperately reformed. Eventually they would reach a breaking point.

"Sir!" Captain Barbier screamed over the ringing in Ney's ears.

Ney tore his gaze away from the ridge. "What?"

The captain pointed. "There sir!"

Ney followed Barbier's arm up into the sky where the sun still beat down on them. He didn't see it at first, the sun's glare blinding him, but then it passed over a cloud and became very clear.

It was like a massive bird, only with scales instead of feathers. Two massive sinewy wings stretched out with large claws and sharp horns attached. Purple scales lined its body, glistening in the light. Its head was like a serpent's, only with the addition of a mouthful of jagged teeth and two massive horns protruding from the top. Iron plates were strapped onto it as well as a large saddle. An armored rider carrying a giant lance rode atop the creature.

"Dragon!" an artilleryman screamed.

Delon twisted his head. "What in the name of…"

It came right at them. The dragon swooped down from the heavens and descended on the artillery battery with impunity. It was fast, and no one had a chance to react before the monster snatched away one of Delon's gunners in its claws. The rider's lance impaled another cannoneer, and then the dragon was gone, back soaring through the air.

Ney dismounted and ran to one of the gunners. "Shoot that damned thing!"

"I-I…" The gunner looked at the dragon, coming in for another dive. "The guns don't elevate that high, sir!"

Delon got to his feet, muttering, "Bastards want to kill my goddamned men…" He produced a pistol and aimed at the incoming dragon.

Ney found his own pistol, and most of the gunners had muskets or pistols at hand. Artillerymen weren't helpless children without their cannons; it was expected for them to fight up close. They all aimed at the beast.

It swooped down with a roar.

They fired.

Sparks flew off the purple scales on impact. Ney's heart leapt out of his chest when he saw the dragon shrug off their bullets and continue its dive. Nearly sixty men had shot the monster, yet it didn't go down.

Fear seized him. "Get back!"

The dragon came like Zeus's thunderbolt, cutting open four men with its giant talons and devouring a fifth in its jaws. Then it was back in the air before Delon's men could retaliate. There was a terrible irony to it all.

"Pull the guns back!" Delon suddenly demanded, and the men, who didn't know what else to do, obeyed.

"What are you doing?!" Ney hissed. "We can't retreat; that thing will tear us apart!"

Delon met Ney's glare. "I do not intend to subject my men to helpless slaughter." Then he turned. "Get those guns back you sons of whores!"

The dragon came down again. It was met by more pistol and musket fire, but the thing's hide could not be pierced, and it killed four more gunners.

Men rushed to Delon's cannons, and with their combined might they heaved the massive things backward. They began to descend the back slope of the hill they were on, and Ney realized what Delon was doing.

Another swoop by the dragon killed some men dragging a gun, and they lost control of the thing. It went tumbling down the hill and crushed a man who happened to be in the way.

"Hold here!" Colonel Delon demanded when the guns were sufficiently down the hill. The slope of the hill meant the barrels now no longer pointed straight. They were angled up to face the sky.

The dragon came for them again. It glided down from the sky, ready to kill more artillerymen. It wasn't as fast as its first attack. Either tired or overconfident, it had slowed down from its original pace. It swooped down.

"FIRE!"

The dragon roared, but the cannons roared louder. Six-pound iron balls were sent hurtling into the sky at the flying monster. Two of the cannons, not meant to be fired at such an incline, tore apart their gun carriages through the sheer power of their recoil. Four of the balls missed. Two of them were glancing hits that skid off the dragon's impossibly strong scales without stopping the beast. One, a single cannonball out of the seven that were fired, hit the dragon directly in the underbelly.

It tore through scales and went into the dragon's guts. The monster squealed.

But it didn't stop. Maddened by the wound, the dragon continued on its flight path down at the gunners. It gored six cannoneers, even as blood spilled from its wound. Then it went back into the air to prepare for another attack.

But Delon was also stubborn. He marched up and down the cannons. "Load canister! Quick as you can, you devils!"

The artillerymen worked fast. They didn't waste time swabbing the guns or checking for debris. Canister shot was rammed down the barrels without second thought, and God be praised no one lost their arm because of it.

"READY!"

The dragon came for another attack. It was even slower now, its wound clearly taking a harsh toll, but the beast would not give up. It came down at the cannons.

"FIRE!"

Another gun smashed its own carriage with recoil, but the others fired without issue. A hail of lead was shotgunned into the air, and like five massive blunderbusses the cannons eviscerated the dragon. Its sinewy wings, not as strong as its scales, were turned to pulp, and the beast came tumbling from the sky. The dragon was dead before it hit the ground, its underbelly torn to pieces by both canister and solid shot, its rider nothing more than a ripped up corpse, and its eyes shredded apart by lead balls. The giant beast thudded into the ground.

Ney breathed hard. He hadn't even done anything, yet he was exhausted.

Delon ordered the cannons, those that were still intact at least, to return to their positions on the hill. His gunners hauled them up the slope.

"That was good thinking," Ney said to Delon when they reached the top. He clapped the colonel on the shoulder. "I didn't think-"

"Don't fucking touch me," Delon abruptly spat. He shoved Ney back, a serious breach of rank, and turned to his gunners. "Everyone not loading the guns will begin collecting the dead and wounded," he ordered. "We're not going to let any of ours rot in this God forsaken place."

Ney had the tact not to reprimand him for the slight. These men were the first he'd lost in a long time. Not since Russia had cannoneers been targets like this.

"Sir!" Barbier suddenly shouted. "Look at the ridge!"

"I swear to God if there's another monster…" But Ney didn't finish that sentence.

Up on the distant Elban ridge, Ney watched as the blocks of soldiers turned and marched off it. They were going in the wrong direction. Instead of heading toward the French advance guard, they had turned around and were marching backward. They were…

Oh Fortuna, you generous mistress.

"The Elbans are retreating!" Ney shouted. "The Elbans are retreating!"

It was too much for them. The cannonade that tore apart their ranks of men with impunity was too much for the Elbans to handle. They couldn't endure even a battery of French artillery, and Prince Teo had just played the only card up his sleeve. The dragon had failed, and now they had to retreat. Ney had achieved victory. Now he just needed to exploit that victory.

"Barbier with me!" he ordered while remounting his horse. "We have to pursue them!"

The captain mounted as well. "Yes, sir!"

They rode down the hill to where the advanced guard, two regiments of auxiliaries and one regiment of regulars, was formed up. Ney's instincts had kicked in. The enemy was in retreat, and he needed to pursue them if he wanted a total victory. Feraud was still gathering his cavalry somewhere back with the main column, so Ney would have to chase the Elbans with just infantry. Not ideal, but if he pressured their rear enough it could send the whole army into a rout. Then it would only be a matter of mopping them up. They just needed one good shove.

General Rousseau was there to greet Ney's arrival. "Sir, has the main column arrived yet?"

Ney ignored the question. He pointed to the ridge. "See that!" The Elbans are in retreat. We've beaten them with our artillery. Order everything forward; we've got to keep pressing them!"

"Should we not await more reinforcements?" Rousseau was frowning.

"There's no time, damn it!" Ney couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Prince Teo is retreating! Order the advance!"

"I once again urge caution, sir. They outnumber us four to one at the moment, and if you're wrong about something, men will die. Christ on a cross, sir, we don't even have cavalry to support us."

Ney looked through him. "We've beaten an army four to one. Advance!"

Rousseau tore his eyes away from Ney. "Yes, sir," he managed to grind out before ordering the drummers to sound the advance.

They went forward like a lumbering giant. Six thousand men, advancing in columns against the retreating Elbans. The auxiliaries were still in front of the regulars, and they held their tight pike formations fairly well all things considered. A forest of ashwood shafts towered above them as they moved.

In the distance the Elbans continued to stream off the ridge, leaving their sight as they moved below the ridge's crest. They were too fast, and Ney's men were too slow. He had to press them now, or he'd lose the opportunity of a lifetime. If only he had cavalry…

Ney turned to Rousseau. "We need to go faster. Get them going at an accelerated pace."

Rousseau was beyond argument. "Yes, sir," he ground out again before giving Ney's orders to the drummers.

The drums shifted. Their steady ordinary pace turned into a much more rapid accelerated pace, and the columns of men began to surge forward. Pikes and muskets moved together in their massed formations. They were going quickly now.

But speed came at a cost. The auxiliaries, untested and plagued with inexperience, came apart like a ball of yarn. First the edges began to fray, men unable to keep pace while also sticking in their tight formation. Then it spread, and the pike blocks came apart. Unable to maintain an ordered march at the new speed, the blocks devolved into clumps of disordered men. Pikes clattered into each other as the men lost cohesion, some falling over each other in the chaos. The regulars at the back, well trained veterans who knew how to march properly, had no problem with the pace, and their steady accelerated advance was the only thing that kept the auxiliaries moving forward at speed.

Ney looked away from the confusion behind him. He didn't need them to be formed up. The enemy was retreating already. He just needed them to press their rear, and even a mob could do that.

They ascended the ridge. The Elbans had by now evacuated it, and there was no one to impede them as they climbed. Uphill only made the disorder behind Ney intensify, but the pace was still quick, and that was all that mattered.

"Come on!" Ney shouted, ripping free his saber, "Over the ridge!"

Ney crossed the crest of the ridge, saber in hand. His horse meant he was ahead of the rest of his men. He looked down and got a good look at the retreating Elban army.

Only it wasn't retreating.

Formed up at the base of the ridge was a massive wedge of men on huge horses, covered in armor, and wielding menacing lances. Behind them, the Elban infantry was formed up in well ordered blocks. At the head of it all was a man with a helmet shaped like a wolf's head. None of them were retreating. Ney's eyes locked with the wolf helmet's.

Oh Fortuna, you cruel temptress.

The auxiliaries came flowing over the ridge, moving in a disordered chaotic blob, but stopped when they saw what was waiting for them. General Rousseau came as well, and he got a good look at the trap Ney had led them all into.

"We're disordered, and you were right about everything," Ney admitted to the general. "We're about to lose a lot of men."

General Rousseau looked at him, a glance of unadulterated disgust and pure contempt that went straight through Ney's heart. It reminded him too closely of the Emperor's criticism. The general refused to respond, preferring deafening silence. Then a horn sounded out from somewhere at the base of the ridge.

And the Elban cavalry charged them.

"Equites!" came an auxiliary's shout from the other side of the ridge. "Equites!"

Jacques's battalion column came to a halt as the mass of auxiliaries in front of them stopped. He tried to glean what was happening from the shouting up ahead, but that was difficult when he couldn't understand Saderan.

"Cavalry," Vidal muttered from her place in the column. "A lot of cavalry."

Then men began to flow back over the ridge. Thousands of auxiliaries all at once like a massive wave thundering backward. Men threw down their pikes to run faster while German officers desperately tried to stop the rout. French regulars began to look at one another with worry. A single question was on everyone's mind.

What the hell is going on over there?

Jacques saw three men on horseback, French officers, galloping back from the ridge. They ploughed their way into the mass of auxiliaries trying to flee. Behind them were more horses.

A tide of armored horsemen crested over the ridge. They carried massive lances and rode giant horses. Their heavy mounts caused the ground to tremble as they charged at the horde of panicked auxiliaries.

"Oh sweet mother of God…"

The wedge slammed into the auxiliaries. It ripped through the men like a cleaver through flesh and left a wake of dead men behind it. Hundreds were butchered within the first few seconds, and then the Elbans dropped their shattered lances and continued the slaughter with swords.

The French column, safe behind the mass of auxiliaries, began to buckle. Two men at the front didn't wait for the cavalry to reach them. They broke from their company and joined the fleeing auxiliaries. More men joined them as doom approached. The tide of horses continued forward, and soon an entire French company was routing.

"Square…" Jacques whispered. "We need to form a square!"

He looked for Major Beauregard, but the battalion column had begun to press in on itself, and he could find his superior. No one was doing anything, or perhaps they were and in the chaos Jacques simply couldn't hear it. The entire French regiment was stunned in place.

Jacques found one of his company's drummers. The poor boy looked terrified, but he was the only one Jacques could find in the press of men. "Sound battalion square!" Jacques demanded.

"W-what?!"

He grabbed the boy. "Sound battalion square!"

"I-I-I ca-"

"Do it now or we're all dead!"

That shook the boy into action, and he began pounding on his drums the call for battalion square. The men reacted instantly. Remembering their training despite the threat of death approaching, Jacques company began to shift itself from its spot in the column to form a wall of men facing outwards. Astier and Vidal wrangled men into formation, using loud threats and physical force to get them into order. Other drummers took up the call as well, and soon it wasn't just Jacques's company that was reacting. Captains began leading companies to form three more walls of men. A hollow square, really more a rectangle due to the many imperfections, took shape in the face of enemy cavalry.

Other battalions followed suit. Shocked out of their stupors, officers in other units issued the same orders Jacques had. It was difficult in the face of a wave of fleeing auxiliaries, but they managed it eventually.

"Listen to me!" Jacques called to his company, which now formed the left wall of the square. "Hold your fire until I give the command!"

"Hold your fire!" Vidal repeated.

"Any man who fires without orders will be digging latrines for the rest of their fucking lives!" Astier threatened.

To their right, past the front of the square, the Elban cavalry were finishing cutting apart the auxiliaries. There was a mass of bodies where hundreds had spent their lives trying to flee from the Elbans. A good number of them had made it past the French formations and were now running through the valley toward Delon's artillery. The less fortunate were being finished off in front of the squares.

Three men on horseback, Frenchmen not Elbans, made it to the front of Jacques's square. Major Beauregard was still nowhere in sight, so Jacques took command for the time being.

"Let them in! Quickly now, let them in!" he bellowed.

A small gap in the square was created, and the men were roughly led in before it was immediately closed again. Jacques estimated he had enough time before the Elban cavalry descended on them, so he went to meet the men. He was suddenly very glad he'd decided to let them in.

"Marshal Ney, sir!" he spluttered. Then he regained his composure and saluted. "Captain Duclos, in temporary command of the Third Battalion, sir!"

The Marshal gave a grateful nod. "Thank you, Captain. I think we'll shelter here for the time being."

"It's an honor, sir!"

"Yes. But I think the Elbans are coming now."

Jacques looked, swore, and ran back to his company. The Elbans were coming for them now. The great tide of armored horsemen descended against their humble square.

"Fire by rank!" he shouted to his company so they knew what to expect, and the other captains did the same to their own companies.

The whole company shifted to prepare for the incoming charge.

"Cross bayonets!"

At this order, the third rank of the company's line pushed itself forward and made it so their bayonets extended as far past the first rank as they could manage. The Elban cavalry continued forward at Jacques's square.

The front face of Jacques's square suddenly exploded into a thunder of musketry as the order to fire was given there. A wave of Elban cavalry was mowed down in that instant, and the horde began to ride to the square's flanks to avoid a similar fate.

"First rank, present!"

Jacques watched the Elbans flow like a river around a rock, trying to attack the battalion in the flanks and rear, the parts of an infantry formation where cavalry typically had the easiest time attacking at. Except, Jacques's battalion square had no flanks or rear.

"Fire!"

The volley scythed through armor and horses, dropping dozens in an instant. Men and horses screamed in sudden panic, but the Elbans were very disciplined and they kept riding.

"Second rank, present!"

"Fire!"

Another wave of horsemen met their demise. Smoke clouded the whole square as each side let loose volleys into the Elbans and killed hundreds doing so. Bodies of horses began to pile up around the square, forming a sort of barricade that impeded the movement of the Elban cavalry.

The first and second ranks began reloading their muskets. Jacques kept the third rank's volley as a reserve in case the Elbans were foolish enough to press home a charge. They weren't, but the horsemen continued to circle the square like vultures.

Another two volleys smashed into the cavalry, and yet they refused to fall back. Instead, they chose to circle the square at a distance, minimizing the impact of Jacques's volleys.

"Why won't they retreat?" Jacques asked to no one in particular. "Why are they sitting here getting slaughtered?"

"I believe," a voice from behind Jacques said, "they are holding us here while their infantry arrives." Jacques turned to find Marshal Ney behind him.

"Infantry?" Jacques bit his lip. "Fuck. Of course that's what they're doing. And we'll be stuck in our square and unable to run when they overwhelm us with numbers."

"Yes," the Marshal said. "Yes indeed."

"You're awfully calm for someone about to be massacred," Jacques spat. He couldn't help it. The dangerous futility of the situation seemed to loosen his mouth, in spite of the Marshal's rank.

The Marshal gave a confident grin. "That is because we are not about to be massacred."

"What do you mean?"

The Marshal pointed backward, to where the French artillery battery was positioned on a hill. Jacques followed his arm and saw a contingent of cavalry riding toward them. French cavalry. Led by a boisterous colonel with a saber drawn.

"We are about to be rescued, Captain."

It was very close in the end. Colonel Feraud, having gathered all his cavalry at Ney's orders, had led them as quickly as he could to Ney's position with the thinking that he would be taking part in a pursuit of some kind. Instead, he found the auxiliaries completely routed with the regulars trapped into hollow squares and Elban infantry coming to slaughter them all. Undeterred, Feraud led all his cavalry in a massed charge against the Elban cavalry who were too busy pinning the French infantry down to react. It took them completely by surprise, and Feraud was able to rout them all the way back over the ridge until they slammed into their own infantry and caused a great chaotic mess. Meanwhile, the French infantry were now free to retreat without the threat of being rundown by cavalry, and they did so in admirably good order until they were past Delon's cannons and headed back for their old camp.

It was a lot of good luck, Ney realized in retrospect. If Feraud had gotten delayed slightly or if the Elban infantry had been quicker, there would have been a good deal more French casualties. As it stood, they lost a few dozen Frenchmen to the Elbans and nearly two thousand Saderan auxiliaries.

Militarily a disaster, of course. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that this was a defeat, their first since entering this world. But it was not as bad as it could have been.

And there was the value of training of discipline. The French could have easily broken into a full rout like their allied auxiliaries had, but they didn't. Training and discipline meant the French were able to form squares and fend off Elban cavalry while the auxiliaries were slaughtered like cattle. Training and discipline allowed Colonel Feraud to gather his cavalry in less than half an hour and get them moving quickly so that they arrived in time to rescue the infantry. Training, discipline, and a healthy amount of luck.

Now, Ney led what remained of the advance guard back to the main column. They were pursued, of course, because Prince Teo was a much better commander than Ney had expected him to be. Elban cavalry harassed their rear in a way that reminded Ney almost too much of Russia.

The harassment caused a few dozen more deaths, but training, discipline, and a lot of experience from Russia meant that it was nothing more than that. Eventually they made it back to the main column, with Prince Teo's army in close pursuit.

"We'll continue retreating," Ney told his officers when the corps was together again. "I underestimated the Elbans and lost an entire regiment of auxiliaries because of it. That will not happen again."

General Brunelle looked at him. "Why retreat? We've got the whole corps here concentrated, and we know exactly where he is."

Ney looked back. "The terrain here is not ideal. All these hills allow for Prince Teo to be crafty while neutering our artillery advantage. We could fight him here, and we would probably beat him, but I would prefer to have every advantage before we next do battle."

"Where are we going then?" General Messier asked.

"Back west," Ney replied. "Out of these hills and into some good open ground where we can confront him on our terms."

"What makes you so confident they'll follow us out there?" General Rousseau asked. The general had been mostly silent so far, owing to his complete disapproval of Ney's conduct earlier.

Ney shrugged. "I'm not, but I have a hunch. The Elbans just achieved this world's first victory over our force. Prince Teo is young and talented. I think he might have too much confidence in himself. I think he will want to pursue us. Hell, he's pursuing us at this very moment."

Rousseau's glare softened. "Right. I don't suppose we lose anything by trying this plan."

"Exactly," Ney agreed. "Until then, however, we'll need to keep a strong rearguard to keep him from overwhelming us while we're retreating. I'll lead that personally."

Messier raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain that's a good idea, sir?"

Ney set his jaw. "Gentlemen, if there is one thing I positively know how to conduct, it is a rearguard action."

Sometimes an idea just won't stop bugging you until you've put it onto paper. This chapter, and the chapters that will immediately follow, is exactly that. I honestly couldn't stop thinking about this, so I had to get it into writing before it drove me insane. Interesting idea right? A French defeat. I'm sure a good number of people will recognize exactly where I drew influence from for this battle.

One of the biggest gripes I've always had with the Gate anime/manga and thus a good number of the fanfics derived from it is the complete lack of danger faced by the JSDF/whatever force the fanfic writer decided to throw in there. It's realistic, of course (a modern army would absolutely crush a pseudo Roman/medieval one), but it doesn't make for very interesting battles. The modern army wins easily, every single time. Almost zero strategizing. Absolutely no stakes. No tension. The benefit of a Napoleonic army is that while there is most definitely a technology advantage, it doesn't dominate everything. The bayonet still dominated a good portion of Napoleonic battles, and in that way it means that the local armies do actually have a chance of winning, and the otherworldly forces has to work for victory. At this point I'm just ranting, but I hope that I've managed to at least instill a bit of tension that's lacking from the typical fanfic of "a modern force comes in an destroys everything in its path with zero effort". I don't know. Maybe I'm just pleasing myself. Maybe this isn't actually some revolutionary idea that no one has ever managed to think of. Maybe people really do like those stories. I know I used to read them before they turned stale for me.

Rant aside, I had a lovely discussion with an American Civil War reenactor concerning the the process behind using muzzle loading artillery in preparation for this chapter. Really great stuff; I'm very lucky they enjoy this story enough to contribute like that. A translated French artillery manual also helped with that.

Really I'm continually amazed people actually enjoy what I write. I honestly don't know why. I'm not exactly a talented writer (I'll bet anything that this battle was confusing and hard to follow, and I can't see that because I'm the one who wrote it and everything makes sense in my head). This story is definitely not revolutionary in terms of plot or character development. The only thing I've really got going so far is that it's now 100k words long because I enjoy writing it too much.

Eh oh well. I think too much.