Chapter 1129: Why Are Things Always So Terrible in Spain?
In the vast expanse of the Rif Mountains, the Spanish army, lacking even a single guide, stood no chance of finding the natives who had called these peaks home for centuries.
Consequently, after a torrential downpour, the mountains were transformed into a sea of mud. The Wazzan and Rif tribes immediately launched their long-premeditated ambush.
Tribal warriors used the dense treeline for cover, striking relentlessly, while the Spaniards remained bogged down in the mire, unable to maneuver.
In just four days, the Spanish forces suffered over 4,000 casualties. They were forced to abandon nearly all their artillery and supply wagons, yet they still failed to fight their way out of the Rif Mountains.
In fact, at this very moment, more than 7,000 Spanish soldiers remained trapped within the range.
Reports indicated that with the persistent rain in the mountains, the Moroccan tribes might not even need to continue their offensive—the trapped troops were in danger of either drowning or starving to death in the wilderness.
Standing to the side, Berthier caught a glimpse of the Crown Prince's somber expression. He cursed his Spanish counterparts in his heart before speaking up cautiously. "Your Highness, Madrid is requesting that we send reinforcements."
Berthier paused, then added, "Currently, General Menier's corps, which is laying siege to Gibraltar, is very close to Morocco. If we utilize the Spanish Navy's transport ships, we could have them landed and deployed within two days."
Joseph immediately shook his head. "We cannot allow ourselves to be dragged into the war in Morocco."
Joseph continued his critique. "They could have exploited the friction between the northern tribes and Marrakesh, convincing the Moroccan Sultan to deploy his own troops to occupy Meknes and Fez first. That would have severed the tribes' supply lines. After that, they would only have needed to send a few thousand men to mop things up."
He sighed. "But now, His Majesty Carlos IV has declared war on Morocco. Sultan Slimane will never lift a finger to help him deal with the northern tribes. He might even send his own army to attack the Spaniards."
Joseph gestured toward the map. "Even if Soldano manages to scrape together a victory or two, it won't matter."
Joseph leaned forward. "The Wazzan tribe only needs to retreat from the Rif Mountains and vanish into the Atlas Mountains to the east. Those regions are filled with mountain tribes who will certainly provide support when faced with a foreign invader."
"This is a war being fought in the mud," he concluded. "If we send our troops there, they'll simply get bogged down along with the Spaniards."
He had another concern as well. If the conflict dragged on, Britain would likely seize the opportunity to provide support to Morocco, potentially drawing Slimane into the war. France had absolutely no reason to squander its strength in Morocco right now.
Berthier nodded silently, and after a long moment of hesitation, he asked, "Your Highness, should we advise Madrid to withdraw their troops?"
Joseph shook his head again, clearly frustrated. "That would be a crushing blow to the morale of the Spanish army. It could very well cause the entire Portuguese front to collapse."
He added with a grimace, "Besides, those ministers in Madrid likely wouldn't agree to a retreat anyway."
Since they could neither commit fully nor retreat, Berthier could only lower his head and keep quiet.
Joseph turned to look at the nearby map, his mind racing through the possibilities.
First, the French army must stay out of the Moroccan quagmire. Second, he had to help the Spaniards achieve some measure of success—at least enough to allow them to withdraw with their dignity intact.
Therefore, they could not allow themselves to be lured into mountain warfare in northern Morocco. They had to shift the battlefield to a location where a large, organized army would have the advantage.
But where would the manpower come from?
There were very few troops that could be spared from the Portuguese front. Resistance groups near Lisbon were incredibly active, pinning down more than twenty thousand Spanish soldiers.
Just then, Berthier offered another soft suggestion. "Your Highness, perhaps we could use mercenaries to rescue Soldano's corps. If we recruit from Switzerland and have them board ships at Toulon, they could reach Morocco in about twenty days."
Joseph nodded slowly. "That is indeed a viable option."
Spain was reaping significant profits from the gold mines in California. Although their fiscal deficit remained severe, they should be able to scrape together the funds to hire five or six thousand Swiss mercenaries.
Furthermore, the combat prowess of the Swiss was quite reliable—certainly superior to that of the average Spanish soldier.
He was about to order Berthier to contact the Swiss when a new idea struck him.
'If they're going to spend money on mercenaries anyway, why does it have to be the Swiss?'
They could just as easily recruit men right there in Portugal.
Those resistance fighters might claim they were ready to die for their cause, but if the Spanish government offered them several times their usual income, a great many of them would surely be willing to go to Morocco instead.
If that wasn't enough, they could recruit from the northwestern mountains of Algiers.
For example, places like Tlemcen. The tribes living in the Atlas Mountains would find the terrain of the Rif Mountains quite familiar—it would be like playing on home turf for them.
Moreover, tribal warriors from Algiers were far cheaper than the Swiss. The cost of hiring a single Swiss mercenary could probably pay for three Algerians.
Once the war concluded, he could suggest that Madrid 'settle' these mercenaries on-site to stabilize the defenses of the Rif Mountains. The Spaniards certainly had no desire to occupy such a godforsaken place themselves.
This way, Spain would resolve the Moroccan crisis with a bit of pocket change, while Joseph's own side would weaken the tribal powers in the remote regions of Algiers without lifting a finger. It was a win-win.
As for the operational plan, Joseph narrowed his eyes. Just because the Wazzan tribe started the trouble, did it mean the Spanish army was restricted to fighting only them?
Ultimately, the Wazzan tribe was still under the jurisdiction of the Moroccan Sultan.
When the subordinates cause trouble, the superior has to pay the price.
He turned back to Berthier. "Have the Spaniards immediately begin recruiting mercenaries from Portugal and the northwestern mountains of Algiers."
After a brief explanation of why the Swiss were no longer needed, he added another instruction.
"Furthermore, we must send a commander of our own. Otherwise, no matter how many troops we give him, General Soldano will simply gift them all to the enemy."
The Chief of Staff replied instantly, "Colonel Soult would be an excellent choice, Your Highness. He is highly proficient in mountain warfare and possesses exceptional organizational skills. He is perfectly capable of commanding a force gathered from diverse backgrounds."
"Of course, Major Saint-Cyr is also a strong candidate. He—"
Joseph cut him off with a nod. "Send Colonel Soult."
In history, Soult had achieved remarkable success in the mountainous terrain of the Iberian Peninsula. Moreover, this man, who would rank among Napoleon's top five marshals, hadn't had many opportunities to shine during the previous Rhine campaign. This was the perfect chance for him to lead a major operation and accumulate experience.
Two hours later, Soult arrived at the Crown Prince's study.
Joseph stood before the map and began laying out the plan. "The line from Melilla to the Rif Mountains will be left to Soldano's corps to defend. You will lead the mercenaries and land at Anfa. From there..."
Anfa was the city that would later be known as the world-famous Casablanca. Located on Morocco's west coast, it was a mere 180 kilometers from the capital, Marrakesh.
By the time they finished discussing how to clean up the mess left by their incompetent Spanish allies, the sun was beginning to set.
Joseph was looking forward to a cup of tea before dinner when he saw Lavalette appear in the doorway.
Lavalette stepped forward and bowed. "Your Highness, we've just received word from Italy. A violent riot has broken out in Lucca. Our trade caravan was attacked, and a significant amount of cargo has been lost."
Comments