He Became Napoleon’S Genius Son [EN]: Chapter 363

(363) Run Beyond the Bering Strait, to Siberia

Three months is the *minimum* time it takes to send a letter to Russia via the Atlantic sea route.

“Besides, there’s no guarantee that the letter will even arrive. And is there even a way to get to Siberia?”

“You have to cross the Bering Strait, go through the sea, cross the southern sea, and go to the Russian Far East coast. Then, you have to go through the no-man’s-land to a city called Khabarovsk, where there’s a road that crosses Siberia.”

“That’s a crazy route. How long do you think it will take?”

Joubert looked around at his subordinates and casually replied to his friend, Champot.

“If we sail and run the shortest distance without any problems, six months.”

Lasalle, who had been listening with a frown, finally burst out.

“Hey, Barthélémy! Are you out of your mind? I know you’re eager for glory, but there’s no need to trek all the way through Siberia!”

The northernmost outpost of New France, a fortress called Fort Snelling in Minnesota.

Here, the three generals, once comrades in the Italian campaigns, met again.

Lasalle, Champot, and Joubert.

They arrived from different corners of the territory.

Lasalle from the distant Fort York, Champot from Montreal, and Joubert from New Orleans.

This meeting concerned New France’s strategy to counter the Russian Empire’s alleged plot to assassinate the Tsar: the Trans-Siberian letter delivery operation.

Of course, Joubert was the only one who would actually venture onto the Siberian continent.

However, Lasalle and Champot also had crucial roles to play in supporting Joubert’s mission.

First, they had to secure a path to Alaska, the gateway to crossing the Bering Strait.

Seeing his comrades trying to dissuade him as soon as they met, Joubert smiled wryly.

“Lasalle, Champot. We’ve been through thick and thin together since the Italian campaign.”

“True enough. We went to Egypt together, and Champot missed out on Constantinople, but you and I went.”

“We’ve come this far together. But you know, you and Champot have achieved amazing feats as commanders. What have I done?”

Champot shook his head at Joubert’s self-deprecating words.

“That’s because you mainly handled military administration, not field operations. If it weren’t for you, would His Royal Highness have been able to mobilize the army so efficiently?”

Indeed, even in real history, Lasalle and Champot were excellent tacticians, but they never commanded independent armies.

Their capabilities weren’t recognized to that extent.

Joubert was different.

Although he suffered defeat, he earned enough recognition to have fought against Suvorov [Alexander Suvorov, a famous Russian general].

For Eugene, who oversaw all operations at the level of commander-in-chief and chief of staff, Joubert’s administrative skills were more valuable than his ability to lead independent offensives.

Therefore, Joubert rarely had the opportunity to earn significant military merit.

Joubert smiled ruefully and replied.

“I know. That’s why His Royal Highness has shown me a lot of consideration. But what about when we return home?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lasalle, you’re from a noble family, so you understand. When we return home, there are two prizes we can hope for: the position of [Marshal of France], and a noble title.”

Lasalle was taken aback and fell silent, Joubert’s eyes gleamed with determination.

“While a title is only for the current generation, it remains a symbol of glory and wealth. But have I truly achieved enough to earn a title? Or to be considered for Marshal?”

Joubert was a soldier of the Revolution.

He rose through the ranks during a period of upheaval and desperately craved recognition.

However, he risked falling behind not only the senior generals back home but also his own comrades.

Therefore, Joubert felt he had to take a gamble.

To achieve one truly great feat.

“There’s no other way. If New France were at war with the United States or even Spain, I’d have a chance to distinguish myself. But our only real enemy is England, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s a battlefield where seals are fighting. Nicholas seems to be enjoying himself these days.”

“Who knows what that stoic friend is thinking? Anyway, if I had a chance to earn real glory, I wouldn’t even consider crossing Siberia through the frozen wastes of Canada.”

Seeing Joubert’s determined smile, Lasalle clapped him on the shoulder.

“Alaska, is it? Just try to get there safely.”

He realized he couldn’t dissuade him.

In truth, even Lasalle wouldn’t have remained idle in Joubert’s position.

Besides, hadn’t the Russian princess promised him a title?

“See you in Paris. Maybe I’ll get there first?”

Joubert smiled and set off northwest with 200 men.

-Doo doo doo!

Watching him go, Champot asked Lasalle.

“By the way, are we even going back home, Lasalle?”

“Well, seeing as how recall orders have been issued for us and even Jomini, it seems likely.”

“Even Jomini? Then who’s going to command the Russian army? If we just lose to the British, that’s going to be a problem.”

Lasalle shrugged.

“Pichegru. Apparently, he gets along well with Philippe Boumarang, the rebel and exile.”

But conversely, the Canadian invasion force was becoming an army of the abandoned.

***

The disgraced rebel, Pichegru, was fuming in Montreal.

“We don’t have enough gunpowder, or shells! Why aren’t we getting supplies from New France!”

As if in answer, the sound of shelling echoed from the fort across the St. Lawrence River, south of the city.

-Bang! Bang! Bang!

The Halifax Governor-General’s Office had gathered all available troops, amassing a force of 5,000 British soldiers.

With the United States advancing north from the Great Lakes, the 10,000 British regulars had been redeployed south.

These were mostly mercenaries and militia.

However, befitting the British army, backed by the world’s wealthiest nation, their firepower was formidable.

General Louis Marie Turreau, commanding the garrison, sighed.

“It’s true that supplies have been delayed since Jomini and Lasalle left. Hmph.”

“Don’t tell me they abandoned us! Because we’re rebels!”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t a rebel, Commander Pichegru. What you did in the Vendée [a region in France that rebelled against the revolutionary government] was even worse.”

Turreau, once the butcher of the Vendée, muttered with a grim expression.

“It’s a sin I can’t atone for, even if I spend my whole life repenting.”

Of course, compared to what Turreau did in real history, far fewer people died.

But many people did die in the Vendée.

Also, the fact that many citizens of the Vendée were immigrating to the New World made it impossible for Turreau to gain a foothold in New France.

That’s why he accepted the mission to come north, serving as commander of the nominally Russian army, not the French army.

Pichegru frowned as a cannonball exploded nearby, sending a gust of wind.

“Didn’t you come to atone in this damn New World? Me too. But it’s useless if we get killed by the British!”

“Well, it’s better to kill enemy soldiers than our own people.”

“Do you know that we now control more than 50% of British Canada? But in terms of population, it’s only 20%. We haven’t even taken control of the French population!”

Pichegru gritted his teeth and looked south.

“Besides, those guys can’t project their power because of the American army. But we’re still being pushed back. If the British army pushes in in earnest from the home country, we’re all doomed.”

In truth, the army Pichegru commanded was the Russian army.

Nominally, Russia was the conqueror of this land.

But in reality, both Pichegru and Turreau believed they were fighting France’s war.

It was a scene that illustrated the complexity of the Anglo-American war in the New World.

Turreau shook his head.

“We’re doomed? That won’t happen.”

“What makes you so confident? Maybe your great Royal Highness? Does that friend have two bodies?”

“That may not be the case, but His Royal Highness has insight. He will probably return to the home country and resolve the Russian issue.”

Turreau raised his hand and ordered his men to prepare to fire.

“Then, England will have no choice but to focus on the European continent. They won’t have the capacity to project their power to the New World. Prepare to fire! Shoot at the approaching enemy!”

Seeing the soldiers firing at the British Marines trying to cross the river, Pichegru clicked his tongue.

“Colonel Turreau, you should have been my subordinate. Then the coup would have succeeded!”

“Ney and the other generals under your command are good enough.”

“You have no insight, no insight. What good is it if you’re only good at war? Even His Royal Highness or that Napoleon Emperor didn’t rise to the top just because of their war skills, did they?”

At that moment, one of Pichegru’s capable but unperceptive subordinates, Moncey, ran up and shouted.

“General! Ney has crossed the river with Tecumseh [a Native American Shawnee leader] and started breaking through the enemy lines!”

Pichegru forgot the shelling and jumped up.

“Damn it, who ordered that! Now is the time to defend!”

“Well, General Ney said that there was a gap in the British army and urgently launched a breakthrough operation.”

“Who’s going to take responsibility if they get counterattacked!”

Turreau grabbed Pichegru’s shoulder.

“The attack has already begun. Let’s leave it to them.”

Turreau’s words were correct.

Even if Ney launched a reckless operation, now that he had crossed the river, it was too late to order him back.

They had no choice but to leave it to fate.

“Ha, today it will be decided whether the British retake Canada or whether we live!”

It was a battle of fate fought by the abandoned in Montreal, a battlefield abandoned by New France.

***

The good thing about being a monarch is that there are times when you can simply receive reports on your subordinates’ accomplishments.

“Pichegru won the Battle of Montreal, Your Royal Highness.”

Chief of Staff Jomini reported to Eugene, who had returned to Pensacola and changed into comfortable clothes.

Eugene stopped changing and widened his eyes.

He had deliberately removed Jomini, expecting a defeat, but it turned out to be a more successful defense than anticipated.

If this continued, it would be even more difficult for Russia to withdraw.

Eugene smiled at Jomini.

“If we had lost, we would have had to intervene ourselves, but this is a good outcome.”

“Then are you planning to prepare to return home now?”

“I was already preparing. Jomini. I was waiting for you to return.”

Eugene replied casually and looked out the window.

“Joubert must have arrived in Alaska by now.”

Jomini, staring at the continent visible through the west-facing window, clicked his tongue.

“It seems you will arrive home before Major General Joubert, so why did you send him?”

This was the question Jomini had been pondering since receiving the sudden recall order.

Considering the transportation situation in 1806, Joubert was likely to die.

Even if he survived and arrived safely, it would be more than half a year later.

But if Eugene prepared properly and launched a comeback on the European continent, he would likely return home within half a year at the latest.

Then, Joubert could become a key figure in defending the home front after their return.

Why send such a talented general to Siberia?

Eugene replied without hesitation.

“Because it looks like a civil war will break out in Russia.”

“Yes?”

“Well, this is a gamble. I sent Danton to Russia, and I’ve made connections through exiled French nobles and Philippe. And Joubert is a general that ‘Father’ [likely referring to Napoleon] praised as capable of independent operations.”

If all these elements aligned, what would happen?

The Pavel coup could not be stopped.

No matter how much he calculated, Eugene couldn’t rely on Pavel’s unpopularity.

Nevertheless, he could instigate a conflict between father and son [Tsar Paul I and his son Alexander I, who overthrew him].

Eugene twisted his lips and smiled strangely.

“But I’ve never lost a gamble. That’s why I’m trying it.”

Of course, all of this hinged on one premise.

It seemed obvious now, but it was never guaranteed.

That was, the safe return of Eugene, the Viceroy of New France.

So why wasn’t it guaranteed?

Because he had to cross the Atlantic Ocean, dominated by the British navy.