Chapter 297: General Wurmser's Bitter Struggle
"Yes, he should be in the Hall of Mirrors by now. It seems you also admire this talented musician."
Vitoluca added, thinking the French Crown Prince was resistant to the topic of "fewer mistresses," and quickly tried to smooth things over: "Oh, by the way, His Majesty and I have already discussed it. We will prepare a dowry of at least 1 million Florins for Clémentine.
"She is our most cherished daughter, and we hope she can live happily in Paris..."
One Florin was roughly equivalent to 2.5 Livre, making this an extremely generous dowry.
Upon hearing her discuss the dowry so openly, Joseph's face darkened with exasperation, and he sighed inwardly: 'Oh, for heaven's sake, Auntie! Clémentine is my first cousin! Your own maiden name is also Bourbon, making us very close relatives. If I were to actually marry your daughter, our descendants would surely suffer from congenital defects and deformities...'
"Actually, I think Vienna is better than Paris – mild winters and cool summers, full of artistic flair." Joseph didn't know how else to change the subject when he caught sight of a spring gushing outside the window. He quickly exclaimed, "Oh, is that the pure spring His Majesty Matthias was so fond of?"
Matthias was a Holy Roman Emperor in the 17th century. He had encountered a sweet spring, loved it greatly, and built a hunting palace there, which was the predecessor to Schönbrunn Palace.
Vitoluca frowned inwardly, sensing that the French Crown Prince seemed reluctant to discuss his marriage to Clémentine.
"That is not Schönbrunn, my dear; it is in the royal garden."
"Cough, cough, cough—" Joseph thought to himself, 'The problem is precisely that we are "kin"!' 'Are you really set on finalizing this marriage today?'
He feigned a severe coughing fit, bending at the waist, and gestured to Eman: "This cursed pneumonia, cough, cough, please fetch me some medicine."
Eman paused, startled. 'Hadn't His Royal Highness's pneumonia been dormant for a long time?' But he reacted swiftly, stepping forward to support Joseph and, at the prince's silent signal, parted the crowd and walked toward the lounge.
Vitoluca watched Joseph's retreating back, a puzzled expression on her face.
In the following days, Joseph, aside from discussing trade agreements with Leopold II and Austrian officials, used his pneumonia as an excuse to decline all banquets and social engagements, avoiding Clémentine's mother, Vitoluca, whenever possible.
Once the framework for the Franco-Austrian-Germanic Trade Agreement was largely settled, he immediately bade farewell to Joseph II and fled back to Paris as if escaping.
Vitoluca escorted Joseph with the honor guard several kilometers southwest of Vienna but couldn't manage more than a few words with him—the French Crown Prince's pneumonia seemed very severe, and he would cough violently whenever he spoke.
She recalled the information she had gathered over the past few days about Joseph's romantic life, and her brow furrowed. The French Crown Prince had only one woman by his side: a female doctor, three years his senior, of humble origins, who preferred wearing men's clothing. Other than that, there were virtually no other women. Why was he avoiding the marriage to Clémentine?
After all, Leopold II was certainly going to be crowned Holy Roman Emperor, and her status was more than worthy of him.
She turned to her husband and murmured, "My dear, has His Royal Highness mentioned anything about an engagement to you?"
Leopold II thought for a moment, then shook his head, "The trade agreement is very important. We usually discuss matters pertaining to that, and occasionally hunting or shipbuilding, but rarely matters of the heart."
Vitoluca frowned again, suddenly grabbing Leopold II's arm, her expression serious. "You absolutely must speak seriously with your sister about Clémentine's marriage. It would be best to set their wedding date through official correspondence."
...
May 2, 1789.
Over 17,000 Austrian soldiers and 3,000 Bavarian soldiers departed Luxembourg, an Austrian exclave in the west, and advanced along the French border toward Liège, a frontier city in the Southern Netherlands, dozens of kilometers away.
Inside a carriage at the front of the column, a general with graying temples but a gaze of calm competence looked out the window and casually asked an officer beside the carriage, "Lieutenant Colonel Haydn, how far is it to Liège?"
The officer quickly pulled out a map to check, then turned and replied, "General, less than three Austrian li. If we march normally, we should arrive by tomorrow afternoon."
He meant Austrian li, which is roughly 20 kilometers, so less than 60 kilometers remained.
The elderly man in the carriage was General Wurmser, commander-in-chief of the Austrian army. He nodded and asked, "Has there been any news from Muzil's Corps?"
"Not yet, General. But according to the message they sent back yesterday, they should have entered Loon by now."
Loon was a city north of Liège, bordering Brabant to the west, and served as a connecting point between the two rebellious cities. Muzil commanded a lightly equipped corps, bringing only minimal logistical supplies. According to General Wurmser's plan, they would march swiftly, bypassing Liège, and strike directly at this strategic location to prevent Brabant rebels from reinforcing Liège.
At the same time, this position would serve as an early warning post for the Prussian army—if the Prussian forces intended to march south, Loon was an essential route.
Everything was proceeding as planned, and Wurmser was about to draw the curtains when he suddenly remembered something. He instructed the officer, "Oh, right, send someone to contact the French and tell them to transport the provisions and supplies for three days from now to southern Liège. We should have occupied that area by then."
"Yes, General!"
Lieutenant Colonel Haydn saluted by tipping his hat and turned his horse to relay the order to the dispatch riders.
General Wurmser drew the curtains and smiled at General Ernst, the Bavarian army commander sitting opposite him. "The Marquis of Wahlstatt's army was still in Cologne yesterday. He certainly didn't expect us to reach Liège so quickly."
The Marquis of Wahlstatt was General Blücher, the Prussian general who had previously led forces to intervene in the Dutch Patriot Party uprising. He was currently commanding the vanguard of the Duke of Brunswick.
Ernst nodded in agreement, "Even if the Prussian army marches immediately, they will be intercepted by Colonel Muzil in Loon. We will have at least a week to deal with the rebels in Liège."
Thanks to logistical support from France—though France publicly claimed it was merely normal trade in grain and ironware—the Austrian army carried almost no logistical supplies, allowing them to march very quickly and arrive in the Southern Netherlands even earlier than the closer Prussians.
General Wurmser leaned back in his chair, looking quite relaxed. "You overestimate those rebels. According to intelligence received a few days ago, they number fewer than 4,000, and most are farmers who have never seen combat. It shouldn't take that long to rout them.
"My plan is to encircle Brabant before the Prussians arrive. If the Duke of Brunswick insists on intervening in this war, then you will take on the siege duty, and I will lead the main force to engage the Prussians in a decisive battle."
→
Truth be told, his battle plan was highly logical.
The Prussians, in their haste to reinforce the Brabant rebels, would surely rush their march, leaving them vulnerable. The Austrian army might very well find an opportunity for an ambush. Even if luck wasn't on their side and the ambush failed, they could at least choose terrain advantageous to themselves for the decisive battle.
General Wurmser then brought up a rumor he had heard: "What do you know about His Majesty Ottodor's intention to exchange Lower Bavaria for the Southern Netherlands?"
General Ernst replied, "It seems the French are involved as a notary in the matter, to ensure neither party defaults. So, a territorial exchange is highly likely this time."
"Then once the rebels surrender, you won't need to return to Munich," General Wurmser said with a smile. "You can simply greet His Majesty the King in Brussels. You'll be promoted at least two ranks after that."
In their view, the ragtag rebels of the Southern Netherlands were nothing but easy pickings, and the battle would be over before the end of the month at the latest.
As they imagined their future, the 5,000 soldiers of Muzil's Corps in Loon were in a terrible fix.
A reconnaissance cavalry patrol spotted people building spiked barricades near a village. As they were about to interrogate them, a priest, wielding a pitchfork and accompanied by dozens of farmers, blocked the road.
The cavalry captain smirked contemptuously and ordered his men to form ranks, ready to charge through the suicidal rabble.
In his experience, they would scatter and hide once the horses were still over ten meters away from them.
Eleven cavalrymen lightly gripped their reins, urged their horses forward, and simultaneously drew their sabers.
Just as they were about to charge, a burst of gunfire erupted behind them. One horse was hit in the thigh, tumbling to the ground with its rider.
The priest immediately let out a furious shout, his eyes wide with defiance, and charged forward. The farmers, armed with clubs and farming tools, followed, swarming toward the Austrian cavalry.
The Austrians were a little flustered, not expecting these peasants to launch a proactive attack.
In just a moment of hesitation, the pitchfork-wielding priest had charged to seventy or eighty meters away from them.
The cavalry captain frantically waved his saber forward, shouting, "Forward! Trot!"
"Gallop!"
"Prepare to engage!"
The ten cavalrymen charged like savage beasts toward the raggedly dressed farmers. With less than ten meters separating them from the lead priest, just as they expected the priest to dodge their horses, he lunged at them with his pitchfork instead.
The cavalryman facing the priest skillfully swerved his horse to the left, sweeping past the pitchfork. His saber then lightly grazed the priest's chest, the blade emerging from the other side and splattering a large amount of blood.
Spurred on by the priest, the farmers behind him did not flinch, assaulting the Austrian cavalry with their crude weapons.
However, the gap between them and professional soldiers was too vast. At the cost of seven or eight lives, they only managed to slow the cavalry's advance.
Without the priest's leadership, the remaining farmers finally had their morale shattered by the blood and bodies. They began dropping their farming tools and shouting as they fled into the thickets on either side.
The Austrian cavalry was about to breathe a sigh of relief when gunfire erupted again behind them, and the range was significantly closer this time.
The cavalry captain turned to look, his expression growing grim. Sixteen or seventeen people armed with flintlock muskets had formed a horizontal line, blocking their escape route.
Gritting his teeth, he barked an order for his men to turn around, preparing to charge back and report to the main force. But the farmers who had just fled now returned, armed with their tools and glaring at them menacingly...
Half an hour later, most of the Austrian cavalry were killed by flintlock muskets and clubs; only one gravely wounded man miraculously escaped the village.
At the same time, Muzil's Corps had just selected a campsite and were pitching their tents when hundreds of Netherlanders suddenly burst out of a dry riverbed nearby. They fired off a barrage of shots at the Austrians, randomly started a few fires in the camp, and then, under the cover of approaching dusk, slipped back into the riverbed.
By the time the Austrians gave chase, the enemy had already used their familiarity with the terrain to escape without a trace.
Although this attack only killed about a dozen Austrian soldiers, it forced them to remain on high alert all night, unable to get proper rest.
Similar situations appeared throughout Loon. Protestant priests took on the crucial task of organizing the populace to attack the Austrian army. They had only received two thousand flintlock muskets supplied by the Dutch half a month prior, yet they dared to launch attacks everywhere, making the Austrians terribly vexed.
To counter these constant harassments, Muzil's Corps marched as slow as a snail. It wasn't until three days later that they finally reached the vicinity of Loon city.
Furthermore, all the cavalrymen Colonel Muzil had dispatched to deliver messages to General Wurmser, except for one who got lost, were intercepted and killed by the rebels. Wurmser remained unaware of the situation in Loon even as his main force engaged the Liège rebels.
In Liège, the Austrian situation was not as optimistic as anticipated.
From a high ground, General Wurmser watched through his telescope as the Netherlandish rebels instantly scattered under his skirmisher charge, a faint smile playing on his lips.
These ragtag rebels had no combat experience whatsoever, deploying their line formation on a sloping hill, attempting to defend from a high position.
However, the Austrian army launched a fierce assault from the left side of the incline, which was the higher ground on the horizontal flank.
The Netherlanders, already at a disadvantage in terms of equipment and numbers, were predictably routed.
General Wurmser had just ordered his cavalry to pursue the routed enemy when he saw the Netherlanders slip into the forest not far from the hill.
His brow furrowed in frustration and disgust—a similar scene had occurred just two days prior. The rebels were clearly very familiar with the terrain. By the time his cavalry gave chase, those people had already scattered and fled, and in the end, fewer than two hundred rebels were captured.
Although he had won a great victory in this battle, nearly a full day had passed, from deploying his troops to launching a probing attack and finally breaking the enemy lines.
After the battle and subsequent rest and reorganization, it would be at least noon tomorrow before they could resume their march.
He had already been delayed for three whole days by these despicable Netherlanders, with nearly ten kilometers left to reach the town of Liège.
Yesterday, the French had sent envoys to inquire why the supplies transported to southern Liège had not been received and had instead been largely plundered by rebels.
Comments