Chapter 403: Reckless Combat Plan
Seeing Ney about to salute by placing a hand over his chest, Moreau waved his hand dismissively: "Oh, there's no need for excessive gratitude. The Cavalry Regiment of God's Guidance merely followed the call of honor."
Ney faltered, wanting nothing more than to kick the obnoxious noble. He took a deep breath and said, "Still, I must thank you for the reinforcements. However, it was ultimately us who held Tamra."
"Oh?" Moreau glanced at the Tunisian ranks nearby. "If they hadn't held back the enemy, you and your men would probably still be standing outside Tamra."
"They were also under my command..."
"No, no," Moreau said, a sly, foxy grin spreading across his face. "I ordered them to defend the west side of the town. If you don't believe me, you can ask your messenger. Hmm, I hope he wasn't killed."
Ney faltered again and shot a look at his aide. The aide quickly departed, then a moment later ran back, nodding as he reported, "Lieutenant, it was indeed Lieutenant Moreau's order."
"God..."
More than half an hour later, the rest of the soldiers Ney had brought finally finished assembling and caught up.
Soon after, the remaining noble cavalry also arrived, though most of them were on foot.
After this joint operation, the nobles and commoners seemed less antagonistic towards each other than before and immediately returned to Tamra.
Outside the municipal hall, Ney glanced at the setting sun and said to Moreau, "It seems the Moroccans won't be coming back today."
"So, we can go enjoy dinner now?"
Ney subtly rolled his eyes, then turned and walked towards the west side of town. "While there's time, have the soldiers build a breastwork. It'll be useful when the enemy attacks tomorrow."
"A breastwork?" Moreau frowned. "You intend to defend this place to the death?"
"Of course. Otherwise, why would we have fought so desperately to hold back the Moroccans today?"
Moreau waved his hand dismissively. "Haven't you heard the news? The Moroccan army numbers at least ten thousand, and we, all together... Oh, how many soldiers did you bring?"
"Eight hundred and fifty-five men. Now, only seven hundred and eighty-two remain."
"Hmm, we have fewer than eighteen hundred men in total. Adding the Tunisian soldiers, that's barely two thousand," Moreau said, gesturing around. "If we stay here, we'll be surrounded immediately. This small town has no fortress to rely on."
"What's there to fear?" Ney scoffed. "General Scherer must have already learned of the attack here; his main army can arrive in three or four days."
"We won't last two days holding out here."
"We can."
"We cannot."
"Suit yourself. You can take your men and leave; I'll defend Tamra myself."
"Are you confident?"
"...No."
"Then that's reckless." Moreau didn't wait for Ney to get angry, immediately continuing, "If we're going to be reckless, why don't we use a method with a slightly higher chance of success?"
Ney looked at him, somewhat surprised. "Do you have an idea?"
"It's simple: leave the Tunisian soldiers and your wounded in town," Moreau said. "Hmm, the numbers might not be enough. In that case, we'll leave the servants too."
More than half of the nobles had brought servants with them, and these servants had all received some training, possessing a degree of combat capability.
"This way, there will be nearly a thousand people in town. We'll have them disguise themselves as us, while we head south of Tamra."
Ney asked subconsciously, "What for?"
"To pretend to be General Scherer's troops, of course." Moreau smiled slyly.
...
The next day, before dawn, the noble forces and commoner forces departed Tamra together.
Ney glanced at the several large carts of logistical supplies, then looked back at the town, turning his head to Moreau with a hint of unease. "Where did you get all this stuff? You didn't steal it, did you...?"
"You're insulting me," Moreau said, feigning anger. "The Municipal Commissioner requisitioned all of this for us overnight."
"What? But you don't have the authority to requisition anything."
They were all meant to replenish General Scherer's legion, and before officially reporting, they didn't even have unit designations, let alone the authority to requisition supplies.
"Well, I told them General Scherer authorized it."
"God!" Ney leaned in nervously and whispered, 'This could lead to a court-martial!'
"So you'd better pray we win."
"I'll pray for you."
"No, for you."
"Me?"
"Yes, I told them I was relaying your orders."
"...You really are a scoundrel."
The two of them led their respective units more than 10 kilometers away from Tamra before choosing a high ground to set up camp. The camp they established was more than twice as large as they actually needed.
Soon, Moreau's Hussars arrived to report, "Lieutenant, the Moroccans have begun attacking Tamra. There are over three thousand enemy troops."
Ney was greatly alarmed. "We must go to their rescue at once!"
Moreau, however, checked his pocket watch and shook his head. "There's no need. A thousand men, relying on the town, can definitely hold for four or five hours. And it will be dark in another two hours."
He put away his watch. "Everyone, get some good rest. Tomorrow morning, we'll launch a preemptive attack. That's the kind of momentum General Scherer would expect."
...
The next day.
General Agold, the Moroccan general, watched the nearly five-thousand-strong army besieging Tamra through his telescope, a sneer flashing in his eyes.
There were likely fewer than two thousand French troops, or perhaps Tunisian forces, inside the town, but as long as his troops launched an assault, they would surely capture it today.
Although it was one day later than Pasha Said had hoped, they could still capture the Port of Bizerte before the main French forces returned with reinforcements.
He waved a finger at the aide beside him, and soon, the low blast of horns echoed around them. A dozen or so cannons immediately began raining shells down on the town.
Agold watched the scattered wooden fences on the outskirts of Tamra, battered by the shelling. Just as he was about to order a full-scale assault, two cavalrymen rushed over, saluting him. "General, a French force has appeared on our right flank, seemingly preparing to attack."
"Hmm? How many men?"
"It's not entirely clear yet; their screening cavalry are very numerous, making it difficult to get close."
'Where would such a large French force come from in this vicinity?' Agold pondered briefly, then turned his horse and headed south.
Still some distance from the Moroccan army's right flank, Agold already heard the rumbling of cannon fire.
He counted silently in his mind; there had to be at least fifteen cannons. 'This is definitely the main French force!'
'Could General Scherer's legion have arrived?'
To be cautious, Agold hastily withdrew the troops besieging Tamra and redeployed them to establish a defensive line on the south side.
Not far from the Moroccan forces, a group of French soldiers were loading gunpowder into a dozen or so iron barrels wrapped in cowhide, tamping it down, and sealing the openings with clay. Then, they ignited the gunpowder through small holes at the back of the barrels. Instantly, sparks flew everywhere, followed by a series of deafening roars.
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