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Chapter 394: Talleyrand's European Tour

Cornwallis, his face dark, gazed at the crude fortress in the distance. After a full thirty seconds, he finally raised a hand to a nearby staff officer, signaling:

"Send word," he commanded, "leave one battalion to continue the siege, and the rest of the troops are to bypass this accursed thing!"

Reforming the ranks and taking a detour might cost them a day or two, but it was better than being tormented by that wretched "granary."

However, just an hour and a half later, several Hussar detachments reported back one after another. Less than three miles south of that "granary," two more similar structures had been discovered.

And further off, there appeared to be even more...

These fortifications densely guarded almost all critical transport routes. At important strategic junctions, some were even built in interlocking groups of three!

In a strategy game, one might be able to micro-manage troops to squeeze between two fortresses, as the cannons on them couldn't possibly cover a range of two or three miles. But in actual combat, this was entirely impossible.

When tens of thousands of troops marched, their columns could stretch for over ten kilometers. If enemies periodically sallied forth from the fortresses to launch raids, a marching column would be utterly defenseless.

Such enemy attacks might not kill many men, but the ensuing panic and stampedes caused by the confused ranks could lead to severe casualties and drastically crush morale.

Therefore, they needed to eliminate at least a few defensive strongpoints and clear a path at least seven or eight miles wide. Only then, with part of their forces arrayed along the sides for defense, would the rest dare to pass through the middle.

Even then, safety wouldn't be guaranteed. Given the immense length of the marching column, defensive vulnerabilities were highly probable.

Cornwallis watched the staff officer mark red circles on the map, furiously suppressing the rage in his chest, and gritted his teeth as he barked:

"Bring me all the cannons! Blast that 'granary' to splinters!"

The staff officer paused, "Granary?"

"That thing on the high ground! Damn it, call it whatever you want! Take it at all costs!"

"Yes, General!"

The Maratha and Hyderabad auxiliary troops were brought up, beginning to surge in wave after wave towards the Pā on the mound, but they were repelled time and again.

After nine days passed in anxious waiting, one of the British army's 12-pounder cannons accurately struck a defensive cannon on top of the Pā—a probability in the era of smoothbore cannons roughly equivalent to winning the grand prize in a lottery.

Subsequently, Cornwallis's elite grenadiers, heedless of casualties, finally breached the last wall and poured into the central tower of the Pā.

Cornwallis instantly felt a surge of relief, as if finally having a bowel movement after nine days of constipation. He pointed his cane at the Pā and said to his staff officer:

"Bring me the commander of the garrison; their tenacity deserves my praise."

Before the staff officer could depart, the high tower on the Pā shook, belching out thick black smoke, followed by a thunderous boom.

Soon, a messenger delivered news from the front: the Mysoreans had rigged the fortress with gunpowder, killing over thirty grenadiers in the explosion, and only five wounded prisoners were captured.

Cornwallis's face turned ashen as he looked at the ruins on the mound. He then cast his gaze southward, knowing that several more of these "granaries" awaited him there, and felt a spasm in his stomach, nearly retching.

In reality, Magnus had already led Mysore peasants in constructing over seventy Pā fortresses throughout Mangalore, with more still under construction. Each Pā was stocked with only twenty-five days' worth of food and water—that was the extent of their defensive requirement, after which the garrison could withdraw.

The British, meanwhile, would need to dismantle at least a quarter of them to pass smoothly through the Mangalore region.

Even if they were blessed with incredible luck every time, directly hitting the defending cannons, each would still consume nine days. To clear Mangalore, they would need 160 days...

And this was merely a small province in northwestern Mysore. Seringapatam and Mysore City further ahead were even more vast. It would be virtually impossible to push through Mysore without two or three years.

This was the defensive strategy Joseph had tailor-made for Mysore.

In Europe, where human resources were valuable and construction technology advanced, something like a Pā fortress held almost no worth; investing in star forts was far more cost-effective. But in India, where vast numbers of peasants could be conscripted for free labor, the Pā proved incredibly suitable.

While not "zero cost" as Ferdinand had claimed—construction itself was indeed cheap—cannons, gunpowder, stockpiling provisions, and transport still incurred expenses. Each Pā only required Tipu Sultan to invest about 400 Pound Sterling, or 10,000 livres, a significant portion of which was even borne by local nobles. For Mysore, they could be built almost indefinitely.

Moreover, these structures demanded extremely low construction skills; even primitive tribes on Pacific islands could manage them, let alone established feudal states.

Most importantly, elsewhere, an attacking force could slowly chip away at them, eventually wearing down the earthen Pā fortresses. But the British were on a costly distant campaign; dragging it out for years would bleed them dry.

Furthermore, the "Tiger of Mysore" was no ordinary individual who would idly sit by and wait for the British to attack.

Just as Cornwallis launched his attack on the second Pā, Tipu Sultan had already led his 17,000-strong army into Travancore.

Travancore was no match and hastily appealed to the British for aid.

Cornwallis, all in a fluster, hurriedly diverted 3,000 British troops and over 10,000 auxiliary soldiers, transported by the Royal Navy, to rush to Travancore. Just three days after the ships left port, news arrived that the Raja of Travancore had surrendered to Mysore.

With this, there were no longer any hostile forces remaining in southern Mysore.

Tipu Sultan, acting on Lafayette's advice, immediately led his main force eastward towards Carnatic. The northwestern front, defended by 20,000 Mysore troops under Lafayette's command, relying on the Pā fortresses, required no further attention from him.

If Carnatic were to fall, the entire southern Indian Peninsula would pass into Mysore's hands, making Britain's strategic situation exceedingly grim.

Meanwhile, Salah, the French consul in Mysore, along with Mysore senior official Shah, were quietly making their way to Hyderabad. The Crown Prince had said that Indians were very opportunistic and utterly untrustworthy.

If they could sway Hyderabad to betray the British with promises of profit—decades ago, Hyderabad had even allied with Mysore against Britain—that would be ideal. Even if unsuccessful, it would at least force Britain to incur greater costs to stabilize Hyderabad.

...

Western outskirts of Munich.

Archbishop Talleyrand adjusted his attire, stepped down from the carriage, and then turned to signal his accompanying guards:

"Be sure to keep a close eye on that fellow. Come with me."

Three soldiers, escorting a bound middle-aged man who resembled a trussed-up package, followed the French Foreign Minister towards Munich Palace.

Music began to play all around. Across the honor guard, Duke Karl Theodor of Bavaria stood at the palace gates, smiling as he looked at the arriving Frenchman.