He Became Napoleon’S Genius Son [EN]: Chapter 249

(249) The Genius Gambler Sounds the Trumpet of Victory

At this moment, despite all calculations, variables dominated the battlefield.

“No matter who appears behind you, focus only on the front! Otherwise, you’ll all feel the whip!”

Benigsen pressed on relentlessly.

In front of him were Oudinot, Masséna, Sérurier, and Reynier’s divisions.

However, driven by madness or perhaps emboldened by drink, none could withstand the Russian infantry’s bayonet charge.

Just as Benigsen was pushing forward with unwavering determination, someone rushed to intercept him.

“General Benigsen, what are you doing?”

Benigsen scoffed at the sight of the stout, one-eyed general.

“Can’t you see, One-Eye? I’m fighting to win! Bonaparte is right in front of us!”

“Can’t you see what’s behind you? Are you just going to keep advancing like this?”

“If we capture the enemy’s commander-in-chief, we’ve accomplished our mission!”

At that moment, Kutuzov, the one-eyed general, roared with unprecedented ferocity.

“Our commander-in-chief is about to die, you stupid German!”

Only then did Benigsen, who had been single-mindedly focused on the advance, finally turn around.

-Thud thud thud!

From the south, from a completely unexpected direction, French cavalry emerged.

The Suvorov main force, left to guard the rear, couldn’t withstand the cavalry’s gunfire and was taking heavy losses.

The Russian army was short on gunpowder, and many soldiers were unfamiliar with firearms.

In contrast, the cavalry seemed highly skilled in mounted shooting.

The Suvorov main force was in dire straits.

However, Benigsen gritted his teeth and shouted.

“We can’t retreat now! Almost all of our 90,000 troops are engaged at the front. Besides, the enemy commander-in-chief is within our grasp!”

“So, we should just abandon the Grand Marshal to his fate?”

“That’s…!”

Benigsen hesitated, then shook his head violently.

“Eliminating the enemy commander-in-chief takes precedence!”

Just then, an explosion rocked the battlefield.

-Bang!

A cannonball landed close by, right in front of them.

The French artillery, under Duroc’s command, had resumed firing.

This occurred amidst the intense fighting between Masséna’s division and Benigsen’s troops.

While they weren’t deliberately targeting their own troops, the shelling was enough to sow confusion.

Benigsen stared blankly at the scene and muttered.

“They’re shelling right in the middle of an engagement?”

“We do it too! It’s the same for everyone!”

“But weren’t they supposed to value human life more than we do?”

Benigsen was about to mention the French Declaration of the Rights of Man, but Kutuzov cut him off with a scream.

“Damn it, what does any of that matter in a war! Shut up and make a choice. Go forward and die, or save the Grand Marshal!”

Only then did Benigsen’s perspective broaden.

It was different from when he was simply charging forward.

The French were now counterattacking with composure.

The path to Napoleon that had seemed so clear just moments ago was now obscured.

The opportunity to eliminate Napoleon had vanished.

“Men, let’s go save our Grand Marshal!”

Just as Benigsen was about to shout, biting his lip in frustration, Russian officers echoed his command from all directions.

“Charge, kill! Break through!”

“Our [Father] of Russia is in danger! Turn around!” (Referring to the Tsar, symbolizing Russia)

“Rear guard, hold them off as best you can!”

In an instant, as if responding to a pre-programmed command, the Russian army turned around.

“Let’s go, to save our Father!”

However, this decision meant abandoning the troops currently engaged with the French army.

Russian officers callously disregarded the sight of their allies, comrades, and subordinates dying.

The soldiers followed suit.

-Uraaaaaa!

The 70,000-strong Russian army began to retreat towards their main camp en masse.

***

There were three individuals on this battlefield who possessed the ability to comprehend the overall situation without needing to see it directly.

The first was the genius Napoleon.

The second was Eugene, blessed with the [Silver Letters] (A unique ability to foresee danger and opportunities).

The third was the undefeated old general, Suvorov.

Suvorov narrowed his brow and stared intently at the front, listening to the report from his adjutant, Barclay.

“All 70,000 of our troops are retreating, Grand Marshal!”

However, Suvorov suddenly posed an unexpected question.

“Where’s Kray?”

“Huh? Uh, he was definitely near our main camp? Uh, where did he go?”

“He ran away.”

Suvorov muttered, twisting his lips in a wry smile.

“A wise decision. If we can’t turn the tide here, we’ll be cut off from our retreat route and perish.”

Paul Kray, commander of the Austrian 3rd Army, had already fled towards Alessandria in the rear.

If he had remained and fought, it wouldn’t have been impossible to launch an attack on Eugene.

However, he lacked confidence in his ability to win the subsequent battle against Napoleon’s main force.

In a flash, Eugene approached the main camp’s 10,000 troops once more and opened fire.

Barclay observed the scene and reported again.

“Those cavalrymen are firing with remarkable speed.”

“Form a solid square, Barclay.”

“Can we hold out until our main force returns?”

However, Suvorov squinted, slightly raising his telescope.

“Doesn’t that newly arrived unit resemble the young Bonaparte?”

Of course, he could discern that even without looking through the telescope.

He was directing the fire at the front lines with such intensity.

After a moment of hesitation, Barclay nodded.

“It appears so.”

“The troops aren’t concentrating their efforts on that side.”

“Yes? Ah, well. They’re preoccupied with attacking our main force.”

Suvorov narrowed his eyes and gestured.

“Order them to fix bayonets.”

Barclay blinked, momentarily confused, then his eyes widened in understanding.

“Grand Marshal, that’s…!”

“Mikhail Andreas Barclay de Tolly, how long have you been under my tutelage?”

“Yes? Since the [Polska] conquest, so about six years.” (Polska is the Polish name for Poland)

Since the conquest of Polska, or Poland, Barclay had served as Suvorov’s adjutant.

He had witnessed Suvorov crush the Polish rebels, massacre them mercilessly, and completely subjugate the nation.

He believed he had a thorough understanding of Suvorov’s tactics.

However, at that moment, as Suvorov spoke, Barclay realized he had overlooked the most crucial element.

“Then, isn’t it time you learned? War is dynamic. If you fail to act decisively when an opportunity presents itself, you’ll be defeated. Right now, that boy is both the strength and the weakness of the French army.”

The individual who famously stated that war is dynamic was Alexander the Great.

However, whether it was the 4th century BC or 1799 AD, the fundamental nature of war remained unchanged.

You must identify and implement immediate solutions to adapt to the ever-shifting battlefield conditions.

Now, Suvorov recognized that there was no need to fixate on Napoleon.

The battlefield situation had undergone a sudden transformation with the arrival of Eugene and his cavalry.

Therefore, eliminating Eugene was the key to resolving the situation.

Barclay leaped onto his horse and shouted.

“Understood! All troops, fix bayonets!”

Suvorov also mounted his horse.

Just then, Eugene’s mounted grenadier brigade was executing a circular retreat.

Seizing the opportunity presented by the gap, Suvorov’s main force prepared to charge.

Stroking his pointed chin, Suvorov gazed at the young general in the distance, clad in a black uniform.

“Now, boy. I’ll show you how terrifying it is to face a bayonet charge from infantry.”

Of course, no sane infantryman would willingly charge cavalry.

But Suvorov possessed a secret weapon.

Suddenly, Suvorov turned to the soldiers and issued an order.

“Soldiers, drink!”

Instantly, the Russian soldiers opened their canteens and began to consume [Vodka] all at once. (A traditional Russian alcoholic beverage)

-Glug, glug, glug!

That’s right.

A significant portion of the Russian infantrymen’s courage stemmed from [Alcohol].

In historical accounts, British generals were said to have been dumbfounded while fighting alongside the Russians.

Witnessing the discipline of both generals and soldiers as they calmly drank in the midst of battle.

Of course, the ability to maintain control over the soldiers despite this was due to harsh [Punishment]. (Refers to the strict disciplinary measures in the Russian army)

The ever-present threat of the whip, which could lead to death, awaited those who retreated.

Returning home meant facing a high probability of starvation due to famine.

Conversely, coming to the battlefield offered food, glory, and camaraderie.

Here, Suvorov, a supreme commander considered benevolent by Russian standards, inspired the soldiers to fight without fear of death.

Suvorov quietly surveyed the soldiers and shouted boldly.

“This may be the last drink you ever have on this earth. But, isn’t life only lived once anyway!”

“Waaaah!”

“Follow me, soldiers! At least don’t die before I do!”

Behind Suvorov, who began running with his military cap firmly in place, Benigsen and the soldiers followed.

“Follow the Grand Marshal!”

Those intoxicated by alcohol, madness, and courage.

Suvorov’s Russian legion soldiers initiated a bayonet charge.

Towards Eugene’s mounted grenadier brigade.

***

A general who typically favors surprise attacks is naturally disconcerted when subjected to a surprise attack himself.

“Commander, those crazy Ivans are charging at us?”

Eugene’s eyes widened at the sound of Ippolito’s report, delivered with rare politeness.

It was clearly Suvorov’s main force that had been cowering in surprise just moments ago.

But now they were surging forward like a tidal wave.

-Boom! Boom! Boom!

The sight of even the military band drumming and running prompted Junot, the adjutant, to shout.

“Damn it, does it look like they’re out of bullets?”

“They still have them on their bandoliers, Junot! They just don’t have time to reload!”

“That’s essentially the same thing! Damn it, hey! Cavalry, draw your sabers!”

At Junot’s command, the cavalry instinctively drew their sabers, their cavalry swords.

-Clang! Clang! Clang!

Eugene also drew his saber in a daze.

Suddenly, his hand trembled as he gripped the sword.

It was a sensation distinct from firing a pistol.

In an instant, Junot turned to Eugene and asked.

“Hey, Freischütz! Have you ever killed anyone with a sword?”

It echoed the words he had spoken when they first met in Toulon, and Eugene chuckled.

“Of course not.”

“Then just stick close behind me! It’ll be a pain if you throw up and collapse!”

Seeing Eugene completely relaxed, Junot was about to spur his horse forward again.

“Heh heh! I get it, so just run! Huh?”

Junot, who was about to charge at the infantry by turning clockwise, slowed his horse and asked.

“Huh? Hey, Commander. Are we in Egypt right now?”

“What nonsense are you talking about?”

“Look at that! Am I talking nonsense!”

Eugene turned his head, widened his eyes, and cursed.

“Oh, Fucking Jesus! Desaix! I love you!”

Eugene and Junot were south of Marengo, facing Suvorov’s army.

But in the distance, from behind Suvorov’s army in the north, a group of cavalry was rapidly approaching.

It wasn’t Murat or Lannes.

Because both units were occupied with chasing Kray or dismantling Bagration’s artillery.

The ones rushing from behind were all wearing turbans.

Ridiculously, the commander leading the charge, who was clearly European, was also wearing one.

Desaix, the man who had once been the master of a harem in Egypt.

So, it was the auxiliary unit of the Egyptian expeditionary force that was originally retreating, the Mamluk cavalry.

After Eugene departed first, what remained were the Mamluks, Desaix’s division, and the Greek unit.

After entrusting the rear to Constantine, who was a king in his own right, Desaix led only the Mamluk cavalry and rushed to Marengo first.

Desaix charged forward, holding up a Beaumarchais musket, and shouted towards the battlefield.

“I’ve arrived, Commander Freischütz!”

Of course, the sound was lost in the roar of hooves and was naturally unheard by Eugene.

-Thud thud thud!

However, Eugene, having definitively identified the ‘Mamluk’ cavalry, grabbed the reins and shouted.

“Run, Ippolito!”

“What? No, isn’t now the time to retreat and regroup?”

“There won’t be another chance if it’s not now!”

Because the Silver Letters appeared before Eugene’s eyes.

[Charge, Safe.]

Eugene’s guide, who most reliably judges only danger and safety.

Under the guidance of the silver crossroads, Eugene fled.

The Mamluk cavalry arrived, and even the Russian infantry, fueled by alcohol and madness, instinctively recoiled and parted ways.

The old general Suvorov, witnessing the clash between Russian bayonets and Egyptian scimitars, clicked his tongue.

“Huh, is that the Mamluk I’ve only heard about? Splitting people’s heads open?”

“Grand Marshal. You must avoid this now. Advance first and into the midst of the retreating allied forces!”

“I suppose so. Huh?”

Suvorov, about to spur his horse forward mindlessly, stopped abruptly.

“Nice to meet you. Grand Marshal Suvorov.”

The Russian infantry who had been guarding Suvorov until just now scattered.

A black-haired young man on horseback came running through the soldiers.

Although they had never met before, Suvorov somehow seemed to know who the other person was.

Eugene [Freischütz] Bonaparte.

Suvorov smiled bitterly and recalled a snippet of a British newspaper he had seen in Saint Petersburg before.

“Indeed, [General Killer], as the English newspaper said.”

At that moment, the last Beaumarchais pistol that Eugene had left behind discharged.

-Bang!

Soon after, Eugene and Ippolito made their escape.

The battlefield in the heart of the Marengo plain, where Mamluks, Russian soldiers, and French cavalry were entangled in a chaotic melee.

The Russian military band desperately blew their trumpets to rally the soldiers.

-Ppoooo!

Unaware that Suvorov, with his white hair, was collapsing in a red sea of blood.

August 5, 1799.

A small rural village that even the people of the Italian peninsula didn’t know well until then, Marengo.

There, the undefeated Russian general met his end without ever experiencing defeat.