He Became Napoleon’S Genius Son [EN]: Chapter 51

(50) Napoleon’s Bluecoats Crush the Vendée

They say the one who laughs last, laughs best.

“Get a grip, Rochejaquelein!”

Commander-in-chief Rochejaquelein was already in a state of panic.

A mere 21-year-old noble.

His only war experience was this Vendée civil war.

Now, an entirely unforeseen sudden change had occurred, and he was overwhelmed by the shelling, continuous fire, and cavalry charge.

Moreover, Charette, the veteran he had trusted, was dead.

He didn’t even recognize his chief of staff, Marquis de Lescure, who was shaking him.

Rochejaquelein, amidst the Vendée rebel camp, muttered towards Marquis de Lescure.

“Charette, Charette is dead!”

“Not all of our royalist army is dead yet! I’m here, Jean Stofflet is here, and most importantly, you’re alive!”

“Everything we predicted has collapsed. What are we supposed to do now!”

At that moment, Lescure grabbed Rochejaquelein by the collar and pointed east.

“Rochejaquelein, our goal isn’t to win here, it’s Nantes.”

This Vendée region, Machecoul, is a lowland facing the sea.

The highest city among them is Nantes.

The church steeple of Nantes stretches high into the sky, visible even from here.

There was a time when the Vendée rebels’ invasion was witnessed from the church steeple.

But at this moment, the church steeple, once resented, now seemed like a firm pillar of support.

For the rebel camp, amidst the ongoing shelling, soldiers in disarray, and even the trusted commander dead.

Lescure, seeing Rochejaquelein regain some composure, said.

“Have you forgotten? Our former mayor, Baco, who stood in our way, was dismissed and dragged to Paris. All that’s left are those revolutionary bastards and the corrupt citizens of Nantes.”

“Y-yes, that’s right.”

“One of our soldiers just needs to kill one of those guys! If that happens, no one in Nantes can stop us!”

Rochejaquelein nodded vigorously.

“That’s right. If we defeat those guys, Nantes is ours!”

That wasn’t the truth.

Even if Nantes was empty, the real main force that had been carrying out the massacres in Vendée was attacking Cholet far away.

Of course, the Vendée suppression army led by Westermann was carrying out a feigned attack.

However, in this chaotic situation, it was common for a feint to turn into an actual attack.

Moreover, Cholet only had about 10,000 troops left.

Nevertheless, Rochejaquelein staked everything on the last remaining hope.

“Deploy the formation! Bring all the cannons! Pour fire on those traitorous bastards!”

At Rochejaquelein’s command, rebel soldiers and commanders moved and shouted.

“It’s too close, Commander-in-Chief! If we fire the cannons, we might hit our own troops!”

“It can’t be helped! Even if our own troops are sacrificed, shelling is unavoidable!”

“A-alright!”

Rochejaquelein watched as the 12 artillery pieces were placed in the center of the rebel camp and prayed.

“We’ll decide the battle here. Holy Mary, bless us!”

Of course, Holy Mary would never bless the killing of people.

But weren’t they the accursed rioters who destroyed churches, forced priests to swear allegiance, and drowned nuns?

It wouldn’t be strange to protect the royalist rebels who defend the royal family and the church.

Shells were loaded into the cannons named after the Virgin Mary, and the fuses were lit.

“Fire the blessing of the Virgin Mary!”

The 12 cannons fired simultaneously at Rochejaquelein’s command.

– Bang! Bang! Bang!

The Vendée rebels were originally irregular forces, mainly composed of farmers.

They lacked experience in ballistics, distance calculation, and handling gunpowder, which were essential for artillery fire.

Thus, the shells ended up falling between friendly and enemy forces in the midst of the melee.

“Aaaagh! My arm! My leg!”

“W-what! Why are the cannons firing from behind! We’re still here!”

“Mother! Holy Mary, save me!”

The shells rained down on the 30,000 rebel soldiers who were bravely fighting in the front, creating explosions everywhere.

However, the shells had no eyes and also fell on the revolutionary army.

Colonel Thureau, who was leading the La Rochelle regiment and charging forward, cried out.

“Good heavens, those cruel bastards! They’re firing cannons while we’re here!”

Division Commander Quétineau stopped commanding the front lines and returned to the revolutionary army headquarters, shouting.

“If this continues, it will be a melee!”

Commander Kléber puffed out his chubby cheeks and gritted his teeth.

The revolutionary army no longer had time to reload.

They had to commit to a bayonet charge, and if they retreated in this situation, they would be pushed back by the numerically superior rebels.

In the end, Kléber gave the order to charge.

“Do not retreat! The brave shall win!”

Eventually, the divisions led by Quétineau and Lecomte continued their all-out charge along with Kléber’s Mainz division.

A musket was usually 1.5 meters long, and with a bayonet attached, it was nearly 2 meters long.

The soldiers, wielding their musket spears and their eyes bloodshot, surged forward.

Seeing the sight of 30,000 charging, Lescure shouted.

“Bayonet charge. We need to send the headquarters troops to stop them!”

Lescure, barely able to see through the smoke and gunpowder with his telescope, reported.

“They’re pushing in with six ranks deep, from three sides. If we take away even a few soldiers, we’ll be pushed back! Our only advantage is that we outnumber them by more than three times! Make a decision quickly!”

“But if they break through, it’s the same! Our headquarters will be hit first!”

“Th-that’s!”

Rochejaquelein looked back at the women and children among the headquarters troops.

“Your wife could die, Marquis de Lescure!”

This was the biggest weakness of the Vendée rebels.

It wasn’t just adult male soldiers.

Rather, a significant number of the 100,000 were boy soldiers and old men, along with their families.

This was especially true for the headquarters.

At that moment, Lescure’s wife, Marie, shouted.

“I’m fine! Just fight! Monsieur Lescure!”

“Wife!”

“Just a little, just a little longer and Stofflet will come! If we can just hold out until then!”

Now, there was only one war veteran left in the royalist rebels.

General Jean-Nicolas Stofflet, formerly of the Swiss Guard before the revolution.

But there was still no news of him.

That’s when it happened.

-Waaaaa!

The moment a shout was heard from Châbonnais, across the north side of the Loire River, Rochejaquelein trembled and shouted.

“He’s here, Stofflet is here! All troops, prepare to charge!”

The blue revolutionary army was collapsing, and the white royalist army was charging.

***

It was as if a white sword was cutting through the blue waves.

“Aaaagh! Save me, Mother!”

These were the revolutionary soldiers who had been charging bravely until now.

However, when faced with an unexpected counterattack from the side, they collapsed just like the peasant army.

Division Commander Lecomte, who was practically the deputy commander of the revolutionary army, shouted.

“The enemy has suddenly appeared from across the river!”

“Who doesn’t know that! I have eyes too! Good heavens, when did those bastards sneak in there?”

“From the beginning, Châbonnais and Machecoul were among their bases, General! This is only natural!”

While the center of the revolutionary army was in chaos, there were those who remained at the edge of the Machecoul forest.

That was Eugène’s Marseille Postal Special Company.

They had been active in breaking through the initial rebel lines, but then slipped out of the melee.

In fact, there were only 100 of them, and even if you combined them with some of the La Rochelle regiment under Marceau’s command, there were less than 300.

So they were useless in the bayonet charge, and no one paid attention to them.

Thanks to this, Eugène was able to assess the situation more calmly.

Ippolito, surprised, asked Eugène beside him.

“What, wasn’t the commander-in-chief defeated? This battle situation is strange?”

Eugène shook his head.

“Not yet.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Marceau failed. The lines will be broken for now, but the front lines will be restored. I’m sure of it based on the enemy’s movements.”

The reason Eugène was so sure was simple.

[Assassination of enemy commander-in-chief, failed.]

Silver letters.

A past life ability that judges the correct and incorrect answers in any match.

Perhaps a grace bestowed by the transcendent being who reincarnated Eugène.

It was a more certain power than the Virgin Mary’s cannon.

But he wasn’t very happy about it now.

Ippolito also believed in Eugène’s certainty, but asked with a reluctant face.

“Then, what do we do?”

Suddenly, Eugène frowned, fiddling with Louis XVI’s pocket watch with his left hand.

“If my time calculation is correct, the [General] will come to deliver the finishing blow. If that doesn’t work…”

At that moment, a peasant soldier burst through the melee.

-Clang!

But Eugène’s pistol was faster.

-Bang!

Eugène, who had been burning the fuse since the silver letters’ notification, gritted his teeth and muttered.

“We have no choice but to fight desperately.”

In an era without wireless communication, time difference attacks are always prone to misalignment.

The famous [Waterloo] of original history is a good example.

Grouchy, who the French side had hoped would return, did not come, and conversely, Blücher, whom Wellington did not expect, rushed to Waterloo.

Not to mention Vendée, which was not meticulously prepared in advance.

Eugène no longer expected the ‘General’ and instead ran to the revolutionary army headquarters.

The headquarters was a mess.

“If this continues, we will lose. We have to fire the cannons!”

“What are you talking about? The bayonet charge has already begun! It’s a melee now! It’s not a situation to fire cannons! Besides, where is the firepower to fire the cannons, Division Commander Lecomte!”

“Then we should retreat and reorganize, Commander!”

Brigadier General Lecomte, the deputy commander, and Major General Kléber, the commander, were fiercely arguing with each other.

If it were a strategy meeting, it could be packaged as a healthy debate.

But now it was literally in the midst of a bayonet bloodbath.

-Fwoosh!

In the terrible sight of soldiers stabbing each other to death with bayonets, someone lost their mind.

“Ah, if this continues, we will be annihilated! I will not stay here! Let the soldiers fight on their own!”

It was Representative Carrier.

“Representative Carrier, come back immediately! It’s more dangerous there!”

Surprised, Kléber shouted at Carrier, who was running away.

But Carrier began to flee to the rear, which was clearly exposed and easy to see.

It was the perfect place to be showered with bullets.

That’s when it happened.

-Swoosh, Bang!

A shell flew and blew away the area right in front of Carrier.

Carrier was thrown back by the force and crashed into a tree before dropping his head.

The blood flowing down indicated at least a serious injury.

With a terrified face, Kléber muttered.

“Cannons? Where from? Who?”

No one had instructed it.

Kléber and Lecomte were at headquarters, and Quétineau was frantically commanding the melee.

It wasn’t like Eugène or Marceau had moved either.

Could it be that the artillerymen moved voluntarily?

However, shells were flying in from the south, across the tributary.

-Bang! Bang! Bang!

Kléber regained his senses and called for an aide.

“Were there any cannons left? No, didn’t we use all the gunpowder earlier? Telescope! Where is the observer!”

At that moment, Eugène, who had been running frantically, cheered.

“He’s here!”

“What is it? Boy standard-bearer, do you know something?”

“It’s Napoleon, no, General Bonaparte!”

At Eugène’s certainty, Kléber asked back in surprise.

“When did he come from Marseille? No, even if that’s not the case, where are the cannons from?”

But Eugène had no choice but to be certain.

[Lion of the Wasteland, has arrived.]

Lion of the Wasteland.

That was the original meaning of the name Napoleon.

***

Then, where did the [Lion of the Wasteland] get the cannons from?

“Thank you for your cooperation, Representative Fouché.”

Napoleon, still a lean and handsome man, greeted Joseph Fouché, also a lean man.

Joseph Fouché, the acting mayor of Bordeaux and a representative on mission, smiled.

So, Napoleon had brought the cannons from the Bordeaux garrison.

“Well, if Vendée falls into the hands of the rebels, Bordeaux wouldn’t be safe either.”

“Still, bringing the garrison is a big decision.”

“I was just carrying out the orders from Paris. The general who planned this is the great one.”

Napoleon smiled, twisting his lips, and suddenly looked towards Machecoul.

“By the way, the rebel lines are completely broken now. Well, they would never have expected to be attacked from the south at this time.”

Napoleon’s aide, Marmont, clicked his tongue as he looked at the corpse in front of him.

“We almost arrived late. That friend called Trémouille suddenly blocked us.”

It was the corpse of Trémouille, who commanded the royalist carabiniers, soon to be the mounted riflemen.

He had blocked Napoleon’s army, which had suddenly ambushed from the south, but it was a losing battle.

Of course, it wasn’t the numbers.

The problem was firepower.

Suddenly, Fouché, still with a surprised face, looked at Napoleon’s back and asked.

“By the way, the soldiers’ shooting skills are extraordinary? It seemed like they were firing six shots per minute?”

“It’s the power of the newly equipped breech-loading rifles.”

“Breech-loading? You put the bullets in from the back?”

Napoleon smiled coldly and gestured.

“Would you like to see? Junot!”

At that moment, [Red Storm], Junot, excitedly commanded.

“Now, Marseille Postal Special Regiment, prepare for simultaneous firing!”

In an instant, soldiers wearing blue uniforms formed a line.

Three ranks deep.

However, the guns they were firing loaded from the rear.

Junot gave the firing order.

“Fire!”

The Ferguson rifles spat fire.

-Bang! Click, Bang! Click, Bang!

A new product supplied to Napoleon by the Boarner de Marseille Société [Boarner Company of Marseille].

1,000 Ferguson rifle replicas created by Polley.

The 1,000 Marseille Napoleon Postal Regiment sharpshooters began firing bullets.

The range was about 150 meters.

However, the rebel army scattered in panic just from the sound.

“Shoot continuously, rotating through three ranks! Don’t give them a single moment to breathe!”

Under Napoleon’s command, the blue uniforms surged forward all at once.

Seeing this, Fouché whistled.

He had heard of such soldiers before.

“It’s like the British Redcoats. No.”

They were the famous British infantry musket shooters.

They had an abundance of gunpowder and trained with live ammunition, and even though their numbers were small, their shooting skills were said to be the best in Europe.

The red uniforms were called the waves of Redcoats.

Looking at the waves of blue uniforms, Fouché said.

“Should we call them Bluecoats?”

With six shots per minute, the Vendée rebel lines were broken amidst the continuous firing.

The first to notice was Duroc, the aide who silently engaged in the war.

Duroc informed Napoleon in a heavy voice.

“The enemy lines have been completely broken, General Bonaparte!”

Napoleon wore a satisfied smile.

“Good, it’s the final phase, just like in Toulon! Follow me!”

Now, the time had come for Napoleon to dominate the battlefield of Vendée.

-Tatatang!

The [Bluecoats], in French called [Ciel (Sky)], Napoleon’s guard, began their first sortie.