Life of Being a Crown Prince in France Chapter 282

Chapter 282: Chapter 219 The First Battle of the Crown Prince_2

The soldiers had a simple dinner and then relaxed for half an hour with songs and wine—a necessary military supply, of which each person's ration was not enough to get them drunk—before spreading their blankets on the ground and lying down to sleep in the open air.

There was about half a meter of space between each person, creating a neat array of small squares that formed a unique “carpet” over the Atlas Mountains.

Inside the officers' tents, Joseph sipped his vegetable beef soup while watching Bertier and the others gathered around a map discussing battle deployments.

“Since the day before yesterday, we've been encountering more and more Algerian scouts. It seems they can't be far from here,” said the Cavalry Camp Commander.

Bertier pointed to the west side of Naivesey, “We should be able to reach here by tomorrow. Be ready for a skirmish at any time.”

Next to him, a Major laughed, “The People of Algiers must think we are still in Tunis City. Little do they know we've already rushed right under their noses.”

Bertier nodded with a smile, “His Highness's tactics will surely catch the enemy off guard. I'm very much looking forward to the shocked expressions on their faces when they encounter our forces.”

Indeed, Joseph's plan was to attack as the best form of defense. Utilizing the Guard Corps' ability to march rapidly, they had covered 110 kilometers in three and a half days, straight from Tunis City to the border between Algiers and Tunisia.

After that, they would choose their own battlefield to take the advancing Algiers Army by surprise.

The Algiers Army, having left a week earlier than the Guard Corps, had only just arrived east of Annaba, covering a little over 170 kilometers.

Bertier suddenly remembered something and turned to ask one of the staff officers, “Where is Murat's Corps now?”

“Here,” the staff officer pointed to the west side of Bizerte on the map, “It's a day's march from us.”

Bertier frowned, then looked at Joseph, “The Algiers Army is very close to us and may discover us at any moment. Perhaps Colonel Andre's infantry won't be able to join the first battle.”

Murat's Corps was considered quite excellent among the old-style French Army, but it fell far behind the Guard Corps in terms of marching speed. Therefore, only a little more than 400 of their cavalry had managed to keep up with the Guard Corps, while the infantry lagged far behind.

Joseph did not express much, as after all, as a novice officer he had little say when it really came to fighting.

“This is within your prerogative, respected Commander Sir.”

Although Bertier's command skills might not match up with those of “first-rate players” like Lannes, Sault, and Massena, he would still be considered mid-tier among Napoleon's marshals, and he should have no difficulty dealing with the Algiers Guards.

“Thank you for your trust, Your Highness.”

Bertier bowed to Joseph, then looked at the map, “The terrain slopes upward towards the northwest from Naivesey, and I believe nearby would be the most advantageous place to have a decisive battle.”

Joseph looked at the contour lines on the map—the Tunis Mountains were on the south side of Annaba, meaning that from Algiers to Tunisia it was mostly a high ground overlooking the area, except for a small section from Naivesey to Bizerte, which encountered some intermittent hills and thus had slightly lower terrain.

The Guard officer, Ledleon, who was also nearby, nodded in agreement, “The terrain here is indeed favorable. It's just that our scouts haven't located the main forces of the People of Algiers…”

As he was speaking, they heard the urgent sound of galloping, and then a reconnaissance cavalryman stepped quickly into the tent, exclaiming, “Your Highness, Lieutenant Colonel, we have spotted a large enemy force, numbering over 10,000 men. Judging from their clothing and weapons, it seems to be Albanian mercenaries.”

“How are there only a little over ten thousand?” Bertier asked perplexed.

“We're not sure yet, Lieutenant Colonel. But the number shouldn't be too far off,” replied the cavalryman.

What he didn't know was that the Albanian mercenaries, eager to reach Tunisia ahead of the rest to plunder, relied on their slightly faster marching speed and left the Algiers Guards behind by over ten kilometers.

And Semiz, considering his troops were still within Algiers territory, just let them go.

Bertier inquired about the specific location of the enemy forces from the reconnaissance soldier, quickly measured the distance on the map, and then turned to the tent's senior officers, saying, “They're just over 20 kilometers away from us, it looks like we might encounter them as soon as tomorrow noon.

“If the enemy forces are disjointed, indeed, it's a rare opportunity for us!”

In the desert of the Atlas Mountains, five cavalrymen dressed in Ottoman-style light yellow robes with baggy breeches and upturned boots were racing westward along the northern hillside.

Suddenly, the leading cavalry raised a hand and gestured, whispering in French, “Enemy sighted!”

The other four immediately looked into the distance and indeed spotted three or four Algerian scout cavalrymen.

The opposition, apparently also having seen them and with disdain for the “lowly Tunisians,” let out a howl, drew their scimitars, and charged in a line.

The “lowly Tunisians” reacted quickly, pivoting uniformly to the right front while taking short-barreled carbines from their saddle racks.

As the distance between them rapidly closed, the “lowly Tunisians” chose the nearest moment to aim and fire a volley at the opposition.

One of the Algerian cavalrymen immediately flew sideways out of the saddle, but his foot got caught in the stirrup and was dragged several hundred meters by his warhorse.

The “lowly Tunisians” skillfully reholstered their guns and drew their sabers, making an arc under the leadership of their commander and turning their horses to rush towards the rear of the Algerians.

The latter were taken aback and hastily pulled on the left reins, trying to chase after the enemy.

It was at this moment that the “lowly Tunisians” suddenly made a sharp turn to the right, and both sides were now in an “eight”-shaped charging pattern.

The Algerians were visibly panicked; in the moment their warhorses ran abreast, two of them were struck down by the “lowly Tunisians,” leaving one in terror, who turned his horse and fled.

Cavalry combat hinges on courage; the one who flees first essentially becomes fish on a chopping board—others vigorously chopping forward effortlessly, while trying to twist and strike behind is nigh on impossible.

The “lowly Tunisians” pursued closely and after running four to five hundred meters, they brought him down from his horse with a single slash.

The five victorious cavalrymen wore expressions of excitement, turning back to clear the battlefield: “They actually charged at us, we are truly thankful for that!”

“Sergeant Obin, are these four fellows enough for us to be promoted?”

“Hmm, Blanche just took down two, definitely enough for a promotion to sergeant. As for you, seems like you didn't snag any, so don't even think about it.”

“Damn! Let's keep moving forward; we should encounter more of the enemy's scouts.”

The five cavalrymen, dressed as Tunisians from the Guard Corps, quickly mounted and continued along the edge of the predetermined battlefield to clear out the enemy's scout cavalry.

Similar scenarios were unfolding nearby, with Bertier dispatching half of his cavalry dressed in Tunisian attire to eliminate the enemy's scouts. With 400 of Murat's cavalry at his disposal, he was not at all concerned about the cavalry's stamina.

It was so, that the Albanian mercenaries, although sensing something amiss, still believed they were merely being harassed by Tunisian tribal forces.

It wasn't until they were less than 5 kilometers away from the Guard Corps that Semiz truly realized they were facing a large army of several thousand—on the bare plains of the Atlas Mountains, with no obstructions, this distance was close enough to directly spot the large enemy force with telescopes.

The Albanian mercenaries were previously on the march when Semiz, in a flurry, ordered the switch to combat formation. With officers relaying the command, the Albanians were immediately in uproar with shouting and horse neighing.

Contrary to the scenes depicted in movies and television, real battles were never a matter of an officer giving an order and soldiers immediately lining up neatly like machines, menacingly drawing their weapons for combat.

With 18th-century communication capabilities, simply conveying the “switch to combat formation” command to each soldier took more than 20 minutes for the 13,000 mercenaries.

When it came time to line up, it was even more chaotic. You blocked my way, I took his spot, some soldiers even couldn't find their own officers.

Meanwhile, the Guard Corps was already ready, with infantry halting about 2 kilometers from the enemy, the front line stopping, and the rear keeping file and spreading to both sides.

Within just over ten minutes, they formed an array of over 30 rows at the front, each row nearly a hundred columns wide.

Then, the sound of drums rose in unison as dozens of drummers advanced with big steps, followed quickly by the infantry battalions.

After another ten or so minutes, just when the Albanian mercenaries' marching column had barely managed to gather together, the Guard Corps was already within 500 meters of them.

On the hillside to the side and rear, Bertier put down his binoculars and signaled to the orderly officer, “Give the order, let the infantry spread out into combat formation. Artillery, begin firing.”

Chapter end

Report