Chapter 220: The Crown Prince's First Battle
Neffza Mountains.
Semiz said to the adjutant beside him, "General Kehler demands we double the number of scouts. Clear out all the Tunisian rabble nearby."
"Yes, Commander!"
No sooner had the adjutant departed than a messenger galloped up along the seemingly endless line of Albanian mercenaries, handing a report to Semiz's aide-de-camp.
The latter opened and read it, then bowed to Semiz and reported, "Commander, the Tunisian Bey issued a statement a few days ago, opposing our interference in Tunisian affairs and expressing great anger at our counter-insurgency operations. He also mentioned requesting our French brothers to help block our army."
"Ignore it," Semiz scoffed, a sneer playing on his lips. "Tunisian rabble becoming brothers with Europeans? They are a disgrace to the Islamic world!"
The aide-de-camp tucked the report away. "Pasha, the Tunisians have traded with Europeans for years, and there are many Frenchmen within their borders. It's not surprising they're influenced by them.
"Also, I hear those Tunisian rabble have even started calling themselves 'Roman Descendants.' How ridiculous."
"That's fine too; it will make me even more excited when I kill them." Semiz gestured forward with his riding crop. "Give the order! Increase our marching speed. I want those rabble to regret their rebellion!"
"Look! It's His Royal Highness the Crown Prince!"
Amidst the formation of police academy cadets, dressed in white uniforms, wearing black tricorn hats, and carrying the latest Auguste Pattern Percussion Rifles, someone pointed and shouted in the distance.
Immediately, the orderly marching column fell into disarray as soldiers eagerly looked up, shouting excitedly, "It really is His Royal Highness! He's here to fight with us!"
"I see him too! Long live the Crown Prince!"
"Long live the Headmaster!"
"His Royal Highness will lead us to victory!"
"Look, His Royal Highness is walking just like us!"
It wasn't until the officers rushed back and forth, shouting orders, that the column finally managed to realign and resume its march.
Hearing them, Joseph waved to the soldiers, immediately sparking another wave of thunderous cheers.
He looked back at the column stretching halfway up the mountainside, a surge of pride swelling in his heart. This was his Guards Corps, and he would fight alongside them on the battlefield for the first time.
'Perhaps,' he mused, 'in the future, I will lead them across all of Europe, carving a glorious chapter into history.'
"Your Royal Highness, you truly don't need to accompany the army into battle," Berthier murmured to Joseph, glancing at the excited soldiers. "The enemy outnumbers us three to one this time; it's simply too dangerous.
"You see, your presence has already greatly boosted morale. Even if you were to remain in a safe place now, the soldiers would still feel your presence with them."
He looked north, speaking cautiously. "In fact, if you agree, you could turn towards the coast now. You'd be able to board a naval warship in less than three days."
"Hmm? Warship?" Joseph asked, a little surprised. "Shouldn't the nearest warship be at the Port of Bizerte? Why would it be here?"
Berthier lowered his head. "Lieutenant Colonel André and I both believed you shouldn't risk participating in the battle, so we had someone contact the combined fleet, and they sent a ship to follow us..."
Joseph smiled wryly, shaking his head. "I know you mean well, Lieutenant Colonel Berthier, but this really isn't necessary."
He gestured towards the advancing white column. "This is my legion. I will often lead them into battle in the future. This is just the beginning."
Joseph knew deeply that in this era where war determined the right to exist, he had to be skilled in warfare. Only a king who could wield an army effectively could bring prosperity and strength to his nation.
At present, although he couldn't yet command in battle, he needed to be with the army, to let the soldiers know that their Crown Prince wasn't just sitting and enjoying himself in Versailles, but was with them, facing life and death together. Only such an army would become his personal force, his reliance.
Furthermore, even if he wasn't skilled in warfare yet, he had a wealth of future concepts and military case studies to draw upon, which could allow him to offer useful suggestions for operational deployment.
For example, this preemptive strike tactic could greatly reduce troop losses and seize strategic initiative. He could set the broad direction, and leave the specific combat to military geniuses like Berthier. He could also learn how to fight by following them.
Berthier tried to persuade him for a while longer, but seeing the Crown Prince remain unmoved, he had no choice but to give up.
He made one last effort. "Your Royal Highness, at least return to your carriage."
Joseph looked up at the distinctive terrain of the Atlas Mountains—gentle rolling hills, light yellow hard earth everywhere, with almost no plants taller than 20 centimeters, only sparse patches of weeds dotting the ground. It appeared extremely open and desolate.
The army certainly didn't have "Gem"-type carriages equipped with advanced suspension; riding in a carriage on such roads would be like torture.
He had tried riding a horse earlier, but due to lack of riding practice, his inner thighs had developed large blisters in just one day, forcing him to proceed on foot.
He hadn't expected that this would greatly boost morale, which was quite a happy accident.
As dusk settled, the drums in the Guards Corps' column began to change their beat, eventually ceasing altogether, accompanied by the fading sound of bugles.
Officers of each company began directing soldiers to their pre-designated resting positions. Scouts had long since ridden ahead to reconnoiter the situation and mark out suitable areas for the night.
After a simple dinner, the soldiers sang and drank, relaxing for half an hour—wine was an essential military supply, and each person's ration wouldn't get them drunk—after which they spread their blankets on the ground and slept in the open air.
Each man was spaced about half a meter apart, like neat little squares, covering the Atlas Mountains with a unique "carpet."
Inside the officers' tent, Joseph sipped vegetable beef soup, watching Berthier and the others discuss battle plans around a map.
"Since the day before yesterday, we've been encountering more and more Algerine scouts. It seems they shouldn't be too far from here," said the cavalry battalion commander.
Berthier pointed to the west side of Neffza. "We'll reach here tomorrow. We need to be ready for a skirmish at any moment."
Nearby, a Major chuckled. "The Algerines probably think we're still in Tunis City. Who knew we'd already charged right under their noses?"
Berthier nodded, smiling. "His Royal Highness's tactics will undoubtedly catch the enemy Caught Off Guard. I can't wait to see their shocked expressions when they encounter our army."
Indeed, Joseph's plan was to use offense as defense. Utilizing the Guards Corps' rapid marching capability, they had force-marched 110 kilometers in three and a half days, cutting directly from Tunis City to the Algerine-Tunisian border.
Then, on a battlefield of his choosing, he would catch the marching Algerine army Caught Off Guard.
The Algerine army, which had set out a week before the Guards Corps, had only just reached east of Annaba, having covered over 170 kilometers.
Berthier suddenly remembered something and turned to ask the adjutant beside him, "Where is the Moulins Legion?"
"Here," the adjutant pointed to the west of Bizerte on the map, "still a day's march from us."
Berthier frowned, then looked at Joseph. "The Algerine army is already very close to us and could discover us at any moment. Perhaps Lieutenant Colonel André's infantry won't make it in time for the first battle."
The Moulins Legion was considered quite excellent among the old French army, but in terms of marching speed, there was still a significant gap compared to the Guards Corps. Thus, only over 400 of their cavalry had kept up with the Guards Corps, while the infantry lagged far behind.
Joseph didn't comment much; after all, as a novice officer, he wouldn't have much say once the fighting truly began.
"This is within your authority, esteemed Commander."
While Berthier's command abilities couldn't compare to "top-tier players" like Lannes, Soult, or Masséna, he would at least rank in the middle among Emperor Napoleon's Marshals. Dealing with the Algerine Janissaries should pose no difficulty.
"Thank you for your trust, Your Royal Highness."
Berthier bowed to Joseph, then looked at the map. "From Neffza northwest, the terrain is uphill. I believe engaging in a decisive battle near here would be most advantageous."
Joseph looked at the contour lines on the map. The Tunisian Mountains were south of Annaba, so traveling from Algiers towards Tunisia was mostly downhill. Only this short section from Neffza to Bizerte encountered some intermittent hills, making the terrain slightly lower.
Ledru-Rollin, a police academy officer nearby, also nodded in agreement. "The terrain here is indeed good. It's just that our scouts haven't located the main Algerine force yet..."
As he spoke, he heard the rapid pounding of hooves. Then a scout cavalryman quickly entered the tent, announcing loudly, "Your Royal Highness, Lieutenant Colonel, we've spotted a large enemy force, numbering over 10,000 men. Judging by their attire and weapons, they appear to be Albanian mercenaries."
"Why only just over 10,000 men?" Berthier wondered.
"That's still unclear, Lieutenant Colonel. But the number shouldn't be too far off."
Little did he know, the Albanian mercenaries, eager to be the first to enter Tunisia and plunder, had relied on their slightly faster marching speed to leave the Algerine Janissaries over ten kilometers behind.
And Semiz, considering that his troops were still within Algerine territory, had let them go.
Berthier asked the scout for the enemy's exact location, quickly measured on the map, then turned to the senior officers in the tent. "They are only over 20 kilometers from us. It seems we could encounter them as early as tomorrow noon.
"If the enemy's vanguard and main force are separated, it would indeed be a rare opportunity for us!"
...
In the Atlas Mountains desert, five cavalrymen, dressed in light yellow Ottoman-style robes, loose breeches, and pointed-toe boots, were galloping west along the northern slope of the hills.
Suddenly, the leading cavalryman raised a hand and gestured, whispering in French, "Enemy!"
The other four immediately looked into the distance and indeed saw the figures of three or four Algerine scout cavalrymen.
The opposing side had clearly spotted them too. With disdain for the Tunisian rabble, they let out a howl, drew their scimitars, and charged forward in a line.
The "Tunisian rabble" reacted swiftly, turning uniformly to the right-front and simultaneously drawing their short carbines from their saddle holsters.
The distance between the two sides rapidly closed. The "Tunisian rabble" chose the nearest moment, aimed, and unleashed a volley.
One Algerine cavalryman immediately flew sideways, his foot caught in the stirrup, and was dragged for hundreds of meters by his warhorse.
The "Tunisian rabble" skillfully put away their carbines, drew their sabers, and, led by their commander, circled in an arc, turning their horses to gallop behind the Algerines.
The latter were startled and hurriedly pulled their reins to the left, attempting to pursue the enemy from behind.
Just then, the "Tunisian rabble" suddenly made a sharp turn, changing direction to gallop right, creating a figure-eight charge situation between the two sides.
The Algerines were clearly somewhat flustered. The moment their horses drew abreast, two of them were cut down by the "Tunisian rabble." The last man, greatly alarmed, reined his horse and fled.
Cavalry combat was a test of courage; whoever fled first would essentially become a fish on a chopping block. It was effortless to swing a saber forward, but trying to twist and strike backward was almost impossible.
The "Tunisian rabble" gave chase, and after four or five hundred meters, they cut him down from his horse with a single strike.
The faces of the five victorious cavalrymen were flushed with excitement as they turned back to clear the battlefield. "They actually charged us! We should really thank them!"
"Sergeant Aubin, are these four enough for us to get promoted?"
"Well, Blanche just took down two, so he's definitely getting promoted to sergeant. As for you, you didn't get any, so don't even think about it."
"Damn it! Let's keep going. We should still encounter enemy scouts."
The five Guards Corps cavalrymen, disguised as Tunisians, quickly mounted their horses and continued to clear enemy scouts along the edge of the designated battlefield.
Similar situations were occurring all around. Berthier had dispatched half of his cavalry, dressed in Tunisian attire, to clear out enemy scouts. He still had 400 Moulins cavalrymen at his disposal, so he wasn't worried about his cavalry's stamina.
Thus, although the Albanian mercenaries sensed something was amiss, they consistently believed it was just local Tunisian tribal forces harassing them.
It wasn't until they were less than 5 kilometers from the Guards Corps that Semiz truly realized the opposing force was an army of several thousand men. On the unobstructed Atlas Mountains plain, this distance allowed one to see the enemy army directly with a Telescope.
The Albanian mercenaries had been in marching formation. Semiz frantically ordered a change to battle formation. As the officers relayed the command, the Albanians immediately devolved into a chaotic din of shouting men and whinnying horses.
Completely unlike war scenes in films and television, real battles were never a matter of an officer giving a command and soldiers instantly forming neat ranks like machines, fiercely drawing their weapons, and beginning to fight.
Given 18th-century communication capabilities, it took the 13,000 mercenaries over 20 minutes just to relay the order to "change battle formation" to every soldier.
The subsequent formation was even more chaotic. 'You blocked my path,' 'I took his spot,' and some soldiers even lost track of their own officers.
Meanwhile, the Guards Corps was already prepared. When the infantry approached within about 2 kilometers of the enemy, the front companies halted, while the rear companies maintained their columns and fanned out to both sides.
In just over ten minutes, they had formed a battle line over 30 ranks deep, with nearly 100 files per rank.
Immediately, drums thundered in unison as dozens of drummers stepped forward, with the main infantry force quickly following.
Another ten minutes passed. The long marching column of Albanian mercenaries had only just barely managed to gather, when the Guards Corps was already within 500 meters of them.
On a hillside to the rear and side, Berthier lowered his Telescope and signaled to the adjutant. "Order the infantry to deploy into combat formation. Artillery, commence firing."
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