Chapter 837: The Front Line
Joseph nodded, squeezing the girl’s slender fingers as they shared one last farewell before he stepped into his carriage.
Eman signaled the honor guard to depart. At that moment, Camelia and several maids came jogging over from a distance, lugging the Crown Prince’s trunks and cooking utensils—items she had brought from Paris earlier.
Joseph watched as the maid tucked the belongings into the trailing carriage. He hesitated to speak, but Perna stepped toward the carriage with a light, graceful stride and winked at Camelia. "I’ll leave His Highness in your care for a while."
"Of course. Please rest assured, I will ensure His Highness’s life remains just as it was in Versailles," Camelia replied with a serious nod. She shared a brief embrace with Perna. "I only hope the war ends quickly so everyone can return to the palace."
The carriage had just begun to roll when the rapid rhythmic clatter of hooves and wheels echoed from the road to the north. A carriage sped toward them, only to be intercepted by a squad of the Crown Prince’s guards.
Fouché stepped down first, followed by a visibly nervous Sandel.
The two hurried to Joseph. The Director of the Intelligence Bureau bowed and said, "Your Highness, I’ve brought Mr. Sandel. We arrived in Brussels at noon, only to find you had already departed."
Sandel also rushed forward, bowing deeply. "Respected Crown Prince..."
Joseph glanced at the marching column that had already moved some distance ahead and gestured to the two men. "Get in. We can talk while we travel."
Inside Joseph’s carriage, Sandel pressed his hands to his chest, speaking with earnest desperation. "Your Highness, please, you must believe me! I didn’t take a single penny from that man Boulton, nor did I reveal anything to him. I swear it!
'It is true I didn't report the matter to the Intelligence Bureau, and that was my mistake,' he thought briefly before continuing aloud.
"But you know I’m from Birmingham. I feared the Intelligence Bureau would launch an investigation simply because I had contact with an old acquaintance with ill intentions. That would have severely hindered my research..."
Joseph smiled and gestured toward the sweets on the wooden table. "Don't be so tense. Try some of this maple-syrup apple pie. It was made by the Queen’s personal pastry chef; I think you’ll like it.
"I have always trusted you, just as a sailor trusts his compass. I didn't ask you here to interrogate you."
Sandel exhaled a long breath of relief and said quickly, "Your trust is more important to me than the very air I breathe. Oh, if that damn merchant ever approaches me again, I’ll tie him up and deliver him to the Intelligence Bureau myself!"
Joseph waved a hand, chuckling. "No, no. In fact, I need you to reach out to Mr. Boulton as soon as possible."
"What? Reach out to him?"
"Exactly. You need to earn his trust." Joseph pointed to the pastries again. "Are you sure you won't have some? Consider it a favor to me; the Queen sent far too much.
"If necessary, you can even leak some non-essential technology to Boulton. After that, you’ll need to make a trip to England. Mr. Fouché will provide men to assist you. This is what you must do..."
By the time Joseph finished his instructions, Sandel was staring at him with wide eyes, an apple pie forgotten in his hand. "Your Highness, will... will that really work?"
"It certainly will," Joseph said, leaning forward slightly. "And when you return, I will personally help you propose to the daughter of Count Xavier."
An hour later, Sandel and Fouché disembarked at a midpoint and headed back toward the French interior.
...
Because the ranks contained many elements of the old army, the marching speed of Lefebvre’s Legion was not particularly fast.
Joseph’s convoy passed the rear guard and eventually overtook the vanguard, arriving at the Ardennes Plateau a full day ahead of the main body of troops.
Just past the city of Bastogne, Joseph could already hear the distant, rhythmic boom of cannons echoing from the east.
Shortly after, the convoy encountered the scouting cavalry of Masséna’s Legion.
On the Ardennes Plateau.
Inside the French headquarters at Wiltz, Masséna let out a startled cry upon hearing the scouts' report. "The Crown Prince is coming to the front?!
"Good God, how can this be? It’s far too dangerous! There are nearly a hundred thousand enemy troops surrounding us!"
But when the scout informed him that the Crown Prince was already nearing Winseler, Masséna turned back to his maps with frantic energy.
After a moment, he barked an order to Saint-Hilaire. "You personally lead a cavalry battalion. Push the enemy forces at Grosbous back at least half a mile, no matter the cost. Their cannons might be able to reach the positions at Eschdorf."
"Understood, Commander."
"Wait, send reinforcements to Wilwerwiltz as well. Keep a sharp eye out in case Ferdinand launches a sudden offensive from that direction..."
Once Masséna had finished adjusting the defensive line, he immediately set out for Eschdorf. That location was the core of the French defensive line on the southern Ardennes Plateau, and it was the position the Crown Prince intended to inspect.
...
Behind a breastwork about two miles southeast of Eschdorf, a soldier named Aurore leaned on his percussion cap musket and stole a glance toward the Prussian lines.
It was quiet, but he couldn't afford to be careless. In recent days, the intervals between enemy attacks had been growing shorter and shorter.
He tugged at his collar, trying to block out the damp, biting wind.
Though it was only early winter, Europe was still in the grip of extreme climatic shifts, and the temperature in Luxembourg had already dropped below freezing.
"I wonder how much longer we have to rot in this hellhole?" Aurore grumbled to the soldiers beside him, huffing warm air onto his hands. "Our captain said we were coming here to smash the Coalition and earn some glory..."
His fellow countryman, André, spat out a blade of grass and chimed in, "Instead, we’ve been the ones getting pounded for over two weeks!"
"My sister wrote to me the other day asking how many Germans I’ve killed..."
"Hah! If only we were in the Second Infantry Regiment. I heard they won a victory at Neuerburg and wiped out at least three Thuringian regiments."
"I heard it was five..."
"Ugh, I’ve had enough. I don't want to huddle in this hole for another minute!"
"Neither do I..."
"What are you lot shouting about?" A sergeant walked over, glaring at them. "Have you checked your rifles and ammunition?"
The soldiers snapped to attention. "Yes, Sergeant! Checked them several times already!"
"We just... we just want to go on the offensive."
"Exactly. That’s the only way to earn some real merit..."
"Don't be in such a hurry. The counterattack is coming soon," the sergeant said, though he lacked any real conviction himself.
He suddenly remembered something and smiled. "Oh, right. 'Mademoiselle Delvaux’s Banquet' is coming to our battalion today. The men from the Seventh Battalion said they had beef stew with mashed potatoes yesterday."
The soldiers immediately broke into cheers.
On this bleak, frozen plateau, the only thing that could truly lift their spirits was the meal improvement they received every five days.
The so-called "Mademoiselle Delvaux’s Banquet" was actually the "Flying Kitchen" invented by Camelia, but the soldiers had given it a far more affectionate name.
Since there weren't enough field kitchen wagons to go around, each battalion had to wait five days for a turn to be served.
Yet, even at that frequency, it was enough to instantly restore the morale that had been eroded by the miserable weather and the enemy’s siege.
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