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Chapter 1070: This Is France's North Africa

Three days later, Yunus, an officer of the Algiers Janissaries, led two thousand of his most elite soldiers as they quietly crossed the border into Tunisia.

Mukrari’s remaining forces had dwindled to fewer than 800 men. According to the intelligence Yunus had received, if he could reach the rebel's hideout in time, he could completely annihilate them within two or three days and beat a swift retreat back to Algiers.

The Tunisians hadn't suffered any real losses yet, so he calculated they wouldn't make a major fuss over such a small incursion.

However, Yunus had no idea that he had been being watched from the moment he left the vicinity of Mount Toso.

At that very moment, Colonel Gemile, commander of the French Tunisian Legion, was waiting near the western border in the village of Disera with four thousand soldiers under his command.

This was precisely the location where the Algiers intelligence claimed Mukrari was hiding.

The intelligence was a trap. Gemile had intentionally leaked it to Kuloğlu under direct orders from the General Staff Headquarters.

Even the "Kabyle rebels" who had previously raided the Algiers military supply lines were, in fact, Gemile’s own soldiers in disguise.

For over a century, the Algiers government had constantly interfered in Tunisian politics and sent troops to invade their territory. Consequently, the Tunisians harbored a deep-seated hatred for Algiers.

Now, with their fellow Berbers of the Kabyle tribes supposedly facing "persecution" from Algiers, the soldiers of the Tunisian Legion were itching for a fight. They were more than ready to teach the Algiers Janissaries a brutal lesson.

Ever since Tunisia had been integrated into France, these soldiers had been training according to the rigorous standards of the General Staff. After several years of discipline, while their combat effectiveness might not yet rival the regular French mainland forces, they were an absolute elite force within North Africa.

Let alone Yunus’s two thousand men—even if Kuloğlu had brought his entire main force of 15,000, Gemile was confident he could crush them.

The following afternoon at two o'clock.

Mukrari, hiding on a hillside north of Disera, felt his hand tremble as he gripped his telescope.

Before his eyes, the very Janissaries who had sent him fleeing in disgrace were being torn apart by the fire of three cannons.

Immediately following the barrage, Tunisian soldiers dressed in European-style white uniforms and armed with percussion cap muskets marched forward in neat three-rank lines. They executed a perfect pincer movement, flanking Yunus from two directions.

Muzzle flashes flickered and the thunder of musketry filled the air. In just over forty minutes, Yunus was killed in action, and his remaining men surrendered en masse.

Mukrari could not help but marvel in his heart; he had made the right choice.

From this day forward, the Kabyle tribes would always consider themselves descendants of the Romans!

After resting for two days, Gemile received fresh orders from the General Staff and led his army toward Medjana.

At the same time, Ney’s legion was passing the northern edge of the Chott el Djerid salt lake, advancing toward the M'Sila Pass.

......

In Mitidja, the capital of Algiers.

A plenary session of the Divan was underway in a suffocatingly grim atmosphere.

A representative from the Janissary faction stood up. "The top priority right now is to conscript more troops and send reinforcements to the Dey."

Representatives from the naval faction immediately began to shout him down. "Kuloğlu has already squandered hundreds of thousands of riyals, and yet the Kabyles still managed to escape!"

"I propose we withdraw the land forces and launch a surprise attack with warships landing north of Medjana instead."

"This is treason! The Dey will have you executed for this!"

Only the representatives of the Berber faction remained silent. The rebellious Kabyle tribes were Berbers, after all. If Kuloğlu’s military campaign hadn't been going so poorly, they likely would have already faced an inquisition from the other two factions.

As the representatives argued incessantly, a man in his fifties wearing a golden robe rushed into the Divan chamber, panic-stricken. He gasped for air, waving his hands frantically. "No... this is bad..."

Hardly anyone paid him any attention.

The man in the golden robe went straight to the cushion belonging to the Dey and shouted again, "Quiet, all of you! France has declared war on us!"

Every representative fell silent instantly, turning their heads to stare at him.

The man held up a formal note from a French diplomat. "Because the Dey sent Yunus to invade Tunisian territory, France has formally declared war!"

A Janissary representative gasped, "This... how is that possible?"

Hadem pointed toward the palace. "The French diplomat delivered Yunus's corpse. Right now, over a thousand Janissary soldiers are being held prisoner in Annaba."

A deathly silence fell over the Divan hall once more.

The war between France and Algiers several years ago had left a lingering psychological scar on every person in the room.

They knew exactly what a French declaration of war entailed.

Perhaps next month, or perhaps as early as next week, the terrifying French army would be marching into Mitidja.

After a long silence, one representative finally shouted, "Quick! Go find Lord Tarmos!"

Tarmos was the British Special Envoy to the Maghreb nations, and he had been stationed in Algiers for some time.

In the eyes of the Algiers representatives, only British support could possibly halt the French advance.

After all, Algiers had only provoked France in the first place because of British instigation.

At the very least, they expected the British to help mediate a settlement.

A few hours later, three of the most senior members of the Divan walked out of Tarmos’s residence, looking completely despondent.

The Englishman had just told them that while Britain sympathized with their plight, Algiers had been the aggressor by invading French territory. He claimed this made things very difficult for him and that he would need to request instructions from London.

A representative from the naval faction suddenly cried out, "We should depose Kuloğlu and hand him over to the French!"

"Yes! It was his reckless actions that brought this disaster upon us!"

"The Divan must elect a new Dey immediately..."

Though these Algiers officials were anxious, they subconsciously believed the outcome would be like the last war—they would pay some reparations, and that would be the end of it.

But they had forgotten to look at the current state of affairs on the European continent.

France was no longer the nation it had been years ago; it no longer needed to concern itself with the opinions of other countries.

......

March 22, 1796.

Under a lush plane tree in front of Jonathan’s Coffee-House in London, stockbroker Tyler Graby stared wide-eyed at his best friend, exclaiming, "Charles, have you gone mad? Boulton-Watt has been climbing steadily. It went up another two shillings this morning! And you want me to dump all their stock?!"

Charles Montes gestured for him to lower his voice. After ensuring no one was eavesdropping, he whispered, "Tyler, you saved my life once, which is why I’m telling you this.

"Trust me, Boulton-Watt has a serious problem."

"You can’t expect to convince me based on nothing but your intuition."

Montes nodded, his voice dropping even lower. "A week ago, I handled a series of transactions for Mr. Watt. You know who he is—the chief technician of the Boulton-Watt company.

"He had me sell off 30,000 pounds sterling worth of the company's shares in secret."