Chapter 1230: The Swiss Gambit
Northeastern Switzerland.
Glarus.
Blücher grumbled and cursed for nearly half an hour. Finally, as if exhausted from his tirade, he snatched the wine bottle from the wooden table and took a large swig.
It was thin, almost devoid of any alcoholic taste.
He glared at the attendant beside him, about to unleash another volley of curses, but then slumped back down. "No more wine, right? How much food do we have left?"
The staff officer quickly responded, "If rations are distributed at two-thirds the normal amount, we have enough for another four days, General."
Blücher waved his hand. "Distribute it to the soldiers at normal portions. Send someone to contact Masséna; we can surr—"
He was cut off mid-sentence as two Hussar officers galloped up, shouting excitedly, "General, we've discovered a Swiss convoy! It's estimated to be transporting at least 20,000 bushels of wheat, currently located on the north side of the Mutten Valley!"
Blücher sprang to his feet. "How many troops are guarding it?"
"So few?" Blücher frowned. "It must be a French trap."
He had established layers of defenses using the mountainous terrain around Glarus, and the French army had never dared to launch a full assault. It was highly likely they were trying to lure him out now.
The cavalry captain replied, "General, it's only about 125 meters from the enemy's defensive line. We believe they're simply moving too slowly, and they don't want the Swiss people entering their camp."
Blücher hesitated for only a few seconds before turning and waving to a messenger. "Have Major Kleist intercept this convoy; Tauentzien's corps will provide cover."
"Yes, General!"
There was a gentle slope between Mutten Valley and Glarus; a sudden charge from there might allow them to seize some of the transport wagons before the French army could react.
After all, dragging things out further would only lead to inevitable surrender; they might as well take a gamble.
What Blücher hadn't expected was that after Kleist charged forward, the French army, perhaps mistaking it for his main force attempting a breakthrough, held fast to their defensive lines and did not advance.
His Hussars recovered most of the wheat, and only about a hundred men were lost to French artillery fire.
This food would be enough for his army to last another half a month!
That afternoon, Blücher, uncharacteristically, offered a devout prayer.
In the French camp on the other side, Masséna listened to the staff officer's report and finally let out a sigh of relief.
That artillery battery had scored eight or nine hits in a row, nearly scaring off the Prussian cavalry.
In front of the nearby map, Sérurier, Davout, and others were still discussing future operations. "I believe we should leave Zurich to the enemy; this will make them think we cannot spare any more troops."
"That's too obvious," someone countered. "It will only make the Coalition Forces wary."
"No, you must understand, they are arrogant fools..."
Masséna walked over and interjected, "The Coalition Forces will likely also be watching Zurich. And Aarau."
To further sweeten the "bait," Gorchakov's corps of over 8,000 men were still besieged in Aarau.
Masséna looked at the map. "From where will the enemy enter Switzerland?"
Davout immediately replied, "Large armies can only pass through Basel and St. Gallen, General."
Masséna nodded. "The enemy will surely believe the battlefield will be near Zurich and Aarau, but we must launch our attack the moment they enter Switzerland."
"General, but this would require us to defend two separate locations, and we don't have that many troops."
Masséna smiled faintly. "But we have a marching speed far superior to the enemy's.
"By the end of this month, the General Staff Headquarters' reinforcements of 15,000 men will arrive.
"We'll leave 20,000 soldiers in Glarus to keep Blücher contained. Then, we'll deploy 30,000 men at Basel and 20,000 at St. Gallen.
"No matter which side the Coalition Forces enter Switzerland from, they will face our sudden attack. Simultaneously, the corps on the other flank will immediately rush to reinforce.
"From Basel to St. Gallen, a forced march will take a little over three days. By then, the Coalition Forces will certainly not have recovered from the disarray of being attacked."
After routing Suvorov's corps last time, Masséna had discovered that rapid communication across the theater could be achieved by fixing Chappe Signal Vehicles on mountaintops.
And Switzerland was conveniently full of mountains.
From Basel to St. Gallen Pass was just over 110 kilometers, and installing more than 20 signal vehicles along the route would be enough to transmit information.
Davout said with some hesitation, "General, wouldn't this be a bit too risky?"
Masséna nodded. "It is indeed very risky, but it will also deliver the most effective blow against the enemy. And even if the plan fails, we can always pull our forces back near Aarau and reorganize our defensive lines."
...
Verona.
A black carriage drove towards the headquarters of the Coalition Forces' Italian front, and a squad of soldiers hastily raised their hands, signaling it to slow down.
Inside the carriage, Marquis Wellesley flipped through the thick stack of battle reports before him, his brow so deeply furrowed it looked as though it could crush a fly.
He had to admit that the Coalition Forces' initial operational plan had been perfectly reasonable, even brilliant, yet the French army had, through various uncanny means, gradually dragged them into a defensive quagmire.
The carriage slowly came to a halt. He exited, clutching the battle reports, and quickly walked into the manor that housed the headquarters.
An Austrian officer led him to the war room on the east side, where he heard fierce arguments erupting from within. "Picton's corps alone is not enough to break through the French defenses; Korsakov's corps is essential!"
"The Russians have explicitly refused to go to Switzerland," another voice countered. "If we want to increase troop strength, we can only draw from Italy..."
"Then postpone the general offensive on Mantua! I even think we should at least dispatch 80,000 troops from Verona to ensure victory..."
Wellesley shook his head and stepped through the door that an attendant held open for him.
Archduke Charles, seated directly opposite, was the first to see him. He rose and nodded in acknowledgment. "We've been waiting for you, Your Excellency the Marquis."
The Englishman bowed in return. "I only managed to leave Porto last month, Your Highness."
He walked to his seat, glanced at the sand table on the conference table, and immediately got to the point. "Um, I seemed to hear you discussing reinforcements for Switzerland just now?"
"Yes," Archduke Charles nodded. "Do you have any suggestions regarding this?"
Wellesley sighed. "This is exactly what the French want us to do."
"..."
Wellesley pointed to Switzerland on the sand table. "The plains here are narrow, and it's full of mountains and rivers, completely unsuitable for large army operations. Instead, it's very easy to set up ambushes."
"Even if we commit several times the French troop strength and ultimately help General Blücher successfully break out, the losses we would suffer would be extremely heavy."
The British Commander-in-Chief, the Duke of York, looked at him and asked, "So, what do you think we should do?"
Wellesley raised the battle reports in his hand. Instead of answering, he posed a question: "Gentlemen, do you remember our initial operational objective?"
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