Chapter 333: Friends from the Southern Netherlands
Blücher was destined to be unable to send reinforcements to the battlefield in the east, but the Imperial Guard's reinforcements arrived swiftly. Although it was just three cavalry companies, the arrival of fresh French troops became the final straw that broke the camel's back.
Murat, urging his exhausted horse for one last push, set his sights on a small, isolated group of Prussian soldiers. Just as he was about to add to his tally of battle honors, he heard a Prussian officer shouting something in the distance.
Not fully understanding German, Murat turned to a comrade from the northeastern provinces.
"They're surrendering!" his comrade yelled back, waving his saber excitedly. "We've defeated 5,000 Prussians!"
Before long, cheers erupted across the battlefield. The Imperial Guard, with just over 2,000 men, along with 1,600 barely functional Austrian remnants, had successfully turned the tables on the Prussian force sent to crush them.
This victory would undoubtedly give the Imperial Guard a massive psychological advantage in future encounters with the Prussians. Seasoned veterans are forged from the accumulation of such experiences and the confidence they bring.
However, Murat was slightly disappointed. Although he had captured or killed six enemy soldiers—enough to earn him a medal—he was still four short of fulfilling his boast.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, the Imperial Guard had completed their encirclement of Maximilian's forces.
Joseph didn't immediately order an attack. If they defeated the Prussians here too quickly and then did nothing, it might seem a bit too staged.
Seeing that the Prince had some downtime, Kersod quickly approached him and reminded him, "Your Highness, that Lieutenant Bonaparte is still waiting outside…"
"Oh, I almost forgot," Joseph said, lightly tapping his forehead. "Please, bring him in."
Soon, a soot-streaked Napoleon Bonaparte was ushered into the officers' tent. He quickly surveyed the room and then saluted Joseph.
"Honorable Prince, thank you for sending your guards to reinforce me. In truth, you saved my entire artillery unit."
"It was nothing," Joseph replied with a smile, gesturing for Napoleon to take a seat. He then turned to Éman and said, "Could you please prepare some tea for Lieutenant Bonaparte? He played a crucial role in today's success."
Berthier chimed in, "Lieutenant Bonaparte, the position you chose for the artillery was absolutely brilliant. How did you know to pick that spot?"
"Well…" The young Napoleon modestly scratched his nose. "I'm not sure, I just had a feeling it would lead to victory. You could say it was intuition."
The officers in the tent smiled, clearly thinking the artillery officer had just gotten lucky. But Joseph knew better—Napoleon wasn't just a lucky guesser. His ability to select artillery positions was unparalleled in Europe.
In history, Napoleon had repeatedly used superb artillery placements to perfect the tactics of massed artillery fire, helping him win seemingly impossible battles. By introducing massed artillery tactics to the Imperial Guard early, Joseph had given Napoleon a chance to showcase his talents.
Joseph then turned to Berthier, "Mr. Chief of Staff, I think Lieutenant Bonaparte's contributions in this battle warrant a promotion to major, don't you?"
In fact, Joseph could have directly promoted Napoleon to colonel, but at this young age, Napoleon needed to accumulate more hands-on experience. Historically, Napoleon's rapid promotions had sometimes left his foundational knowledge lacking, forcing him to go back and relearn military tactics.
Joseph decided to let Napoleon experience each rank, helping him grow more steadily. This approach would benefit him greatly in the long run. Additionally, with Corsican independence movements still causing trouble, giving Napoleon too much military power could mean resources being diverted to support Corsican rebels.
Joseph sighed inwardly, realizing that resolving the Corsican independence issue needed to be prioritized—especially dealing with the Corsican nationalist leader Pasquale Paoli. He wondered if the intelligence bureau had made any progress on this front, as he had instructed them to monitor Paoli months ago.
Berthier smiled and replied, "Yes, Your Highness, I will quickly sign Lieutenant Bonaparte's promotion order. Oh, and he should also receive the Silver Fleur-de-Lis Medal."
Joseph looked at the delighted Napoleon and added, "I'd also like his commander to personally visit his family and inform them of his promotion and award."
"As you wish, Your Highness."
And so, the artillery commander Lacoste unexpectedly earned a "vacation" to Corsica.
As Joseph and the other officers discussed Napoleon's impressive artillery strikes, a voice called from the tent entrance, "Reporting!"
A soldier entered and announced, "Your Highness, Chief of Staff, the Prussians have surrendered."
Joseph glanced at his pocket watch—it was only 5 PM. He had originally planned to use the Prussians to delay until the next day, ensuring Blücher could escape to Liège.
"Well then," he said, turning to Berthier. "I'll leave the surrender arrangements to you."
Then, as if remembering something, he asked one of the officers, "Have we heard anything from Major Masson?"
"Not yet, Your Highness."
A few kilometers away, Major Masson of the Imperial Guard lowered his spyglass and yawned as he observed the nervous Dutch soldiers trapped in their encirclement. He then asked his aide, "They're not here yet?"
"Not yet, sir."
Masson shook his head. If not for the Prince's orders, these Dutch troops would have been prisoners long ago.
Before long, a hussar galloped over and reported, "Major, a Dutch force is approaching from the southwest—about 1,000 men."
Masson immediately perked up and said to his aide, "Finally, they're here."
The aide was puzzled. "But Liège is to the northwest. Why are they coming from the south?"
"Who knows?" Masson adjusted his uniform and said, "Make sure everyone performs well. This is a task the Prince personally assigned."
"Yes, sir!"
Two kilometers from Masson's position, a middle-aged man in a Southern Netherlands uniform, with a double chin and receding hairline, wiped sweat from his brow and turned to the officer beside him. "Major Achter, please begin the attack."
The burly officer was momentarily stunned. This Deputy Speaker Van Onck had been timid the entire way, even ordering a detour of nearly four miles after hearing distant cannon fire to approach General Witt's forces from the south. But now, faced with a French force larger than his own, Van Onck was ready to charge without hesitation.
What the officer didn't know was that Van Onck had been directed to this battlefield by none other than Joseph's emissaries.
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