Chapter 333: A Friend from the Southern Netherlands
Blücher was destined not to be able to send troops to reinforce the eastern battlefield, but reinforcements from the Guards Corps soon arrived.
Although there were only three cavalry companies, the arrival of these new French troops became the final straw that broke the camel's back.
Murat loudly urged his weary warhorse to push harder, his eyes fixed on a small group of isolated Prussian soldiers ahead. Just as he was about to add another entry to his record of achievements, he heard a Prussian officer shouting something from a distance.
He didn't understand German very well, so he turned to a comrade from the northeastern provinces of France in his unit.
"They've surrendered!" he exclaimed, watching his comrade excitedly wave his saber. "We've defeated five thousand Prussians!"
Soon after, cheers erupted across the entire battlefield from the Guards Corps. With just over 2,000 men, supplemented by 1,600 weary Austrian remnants, they had successfully turned the tables on the large Prussian army that had come to encircle them.
It was clear that from this point forward, this unit would possess an immense psychological advantage when facing the Prussians again.
Elite veterans were forged by accumulating such small bits of experience and confidence, ultimately transforming into seasoned warriors.
Murat, however, seemed a bit disgruntled. Although he had captured or killed six enemy soldiers, enough to earn him a medal, he was still four enemies short of fulfilling his boast...
Joseph was in no hurry to order an attack. Otherwise, if his troops remained idle after defeating the Prussian forces here, it would seem a bit like they were 'putting on a show'.
Seeing that the Crown Prince was free, Clauzel quickly approached him with a reminder. "Your Highness, Captain Buonaparte is still waiting outside for you..."
"Oh, I almost forgot," Joseph said, lightly tapping his forehead. "Please, invite him in immediately."
Immediately, Napoleon, his face still smudged with black gunpowder, was ushered into the officers' tent.
He quickly scanned the few people in the tent, then saluted Joseph by tipping his hat. "Your esteemed Highness the Crown Prince, thank you for dispatching your guards to reinforce me. You have, in fact, saved my entire artillery company."
"It's nothing," Joseph replied with a smile, gesturing for him to sit in a chair. He then raised a hand to Eman. "Please, prepare a cup of tea for Captain Buonaparte. He performed the greatest deed today."
Berthier chimed in from the side, "Captain Buonaparte's chosen artillery position was absolutely brilliant. How did you spot that location?"
"Well..." The young Napoleon rubbed his nose bashfully. "I don't know how, but I just felt that place could bring victory. I suppose it was a kind of intuition."
The officers in the tent all smiled, clearly believing the artillery captain had simply gotten lucky. Only Joseph knew that Napoleon was far from just a blind cat catching a dead mouse; his skill in selecting artillery positions was absolutely unparalleled in all of Europe!
Historically, Napoleon had repeatedly relied on brilliant artillery positions, pushing the Artillery Group Tactic theory to its extreme, helping him win victory after victory in seemingly impossible battles.
And by introducing the Artillery Group Tactic to the Guards Corps ahead of schedule, he had given Napoleon the perfect opportunity to showcase his natural talent.
Joseph then turned to Berthier. "Chief of Staff, I believe that given Captain Buonaparte's contributions in this battle, he should be eligible for a promotion to Major, shouldn't he?"
In reality, he could have directly promoted Napoleon to Colonel, but Napoleon was still very young and needed to accumulate practical combat experience. Historically, Napoleon's rapid promotions had led to an insufficient foundation, even requiring him to 'retrain' and relearn military knowledge.
Therefore, Joseph decided to have Napoleon personally experience every rank of officer in the army, allowing him to grow more steadily. This would only benefit him.
Furthermore, Corsican separatism was still causing trouble, and if Napoleon commanded too many military resources, they might be used to fund the Corsican rebels.
Joseph sighed inwardly. It seemed that resolving the issue of Corsican independence needed to be put on the agenda, especially regarding Paoli, the leader of the Corsican restoration movement. He wondered if the Intelligence Bureau had made any progress, as he had instructed them to keep an eye on that fellow months ago.
Berthier, standing nearby, smiled and responded, "Yes, Your Highness, I will issue Major Buonaparte's promotion papers as soon as possible. Oh, he should also receive a silver Iris Medal."
Joseph looked at the surprised Napoleon and instructed Berthier, "I hope his battalion commander can make time to personally visit his home and inform him of this good news regarding his medal and promotion."
"As you command, Your Highness."
Artillery Battalion Commander Lacoste thus unexpectedly received the benefit of a "vacation" to Corsica.
Joseph and several staff officers were discussing Napoleon's brilliant artillery barrage when a call of "Report!" came from the tent entrance. An officer immediately stepped in and declared loudly, "Your Highness, Chief of Staff, the Prussian army has surrendered."
Joseph glanced at his pocket watch. It was only five o'clock in the afternoon. He had originally planned to use this Prussian force to delay things until tomorrow, which would have allowed Blücher to escape back to Liège.
"Alright," he said, gesturing to Berthier. "I'll leave the surrender arrangements to you."
As he finished speaking, he suddenly remembered something and asked a nearby staff officer, "Is there any news from Major Masson?"
"Not yet, Your Highness."
Several kilometers away, Guards Corps Battalion Commander Masson watched the trembling Netherlandish soldiers within the encirclement, lowered his telescope, and yawned. He then turned to his staff officer and asked, "Are they not here yet?"
"Not yet, Commander."
Masson shook his head. If it weren't for the Crown Prince's orders, these Netherlanders would have been prisoners long ago.
Shortly after, a Hussar galloped up and indicated to him, "Commander, a Netherlandish army is approaching from the southwest, numbering around a thousand men."
Masson immediately perked up. "They've finally arrived," he told his staff officer.
The staff officer, however, was a bit puzzled. "But Liège is to the northwest. Why are they coming from the south?"
"Who knows?" Masson said, straightening his military jacket. He then instructed, "Make sure everyone acts convincingly. This is a mission personally ordered by His Highness, the Crown Prince."
"Yes, sir!"
Two kilometers away from Masson's unit, a middle-aged man in a Southern Netherlandish uniform, with a double chin and a receding hairline, wiped sweat from his brow. He turned to the officer beside him and said, "Major Acht, please launch the attack immediately."
The sturdy officer beside him was momentarily stunned. Vice Speaker Vonck had been as timid as a mouse all along the way, even ordering a detour of four miles to approach General Wit's reinforcements from the south, simply because he had heard artillery fire in the distance.
Yet now, facing a French army that outnumbered his own, he was preparing to storm them without a trace of fear.
Naturally, he didn't know that Vonck was able to bring him here to reinforce the besieged Netherlandish army because Joseph himself had sent word to him.
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