The French army gathered at Riverside City assembled on the grasslands used for the training of recruited soldiers. The rising sun began to reflect off the morning mist, softly illuminating the blue uniforms of the French soldiers. The gathered youths, led by commanders such as Menou, Bon, Reynier, Desaix, and Kléber, were joined by General Dumas' cavalry of 3.000 and General Dommartin's artillery unit, totaling close to 30.000. The Division Menou and Division Desaix had already experienced combat, with tears and dirt visible on their uniforms. However, the soldiers' rugged faces and brisk movements showed no signs of shabbiness. Even the stains of soot were a source of pride for them.
Before the assembled soldiers stood Bonaparte, accompanied by other generals, mounted on a white, chestnut-colored horse. Though not particularly large, the horse had a sturdy frame, a dignified face, excellent endurance, and was obedient to its rider's commands, qualities befitting the nobles of Tallgrassland. Bonaparte had borrowed this horse from the stables to make a more impressive appearance than the horse he had brought from France.
Among the robust generals nearby, Bonaparte, being shorter than anyone present, appeared even smaller.
"Soldiers!"
Bonaparte's voice, resonating across the grassland, was unexpectedly loud and clear, considering his stature. Like a gust of wind sweeping over the grassland, his voice enveloped the soldiers, and at that moment, it seemed as though a great eagle had descended from above, spreading its wings before them, enlarging Bonaparte in their eyes.
"Soldiers! It has been over seventy days since we arrived in this unfamiliar land. You have faced numerous hardships and privations, yet you have vanquished the attacking enemy and glorified our banners. I understand your anxieties. Rumors circulate about ships being unable to move, preventing our return home... It's true! There exists in this land an inexplicable mystical force that defies our logic. Some of you may have experienced it firsthand. We are stranded here, unable to return even to France, let alone Europe. The sorrow of not receiving a single letter from our homeland is deeply felt. I share in that sorrow! We have truly become a community of fate, from the highest commander to the lowliest soldier. Seeing fear and unrest in your eyes, knowing this truth. But soldiers, my comrades, march on! Trust in your commanders. In Italy, I promised you wealth and glory, and did I not deliver? I promise you the same now. We will overcome all obstacles, achieve feats that will be spoken of for a thousand years, and return triumphantly to France!"
Bonaparte's words spread among the soldiers like ripples from a massive stone cast into a lake. "Forward! Long live the generals! Vive la France!!" If this declaration had been made a month ago, the reaction would have been different. Soldiers might have been furious with the commander who led them to this unknown land, perhaps even resorting to violence. But after another month had passed, the boiling fury among the soldiers had subsided, replaced by a kind of resignation, an acceptance of the unavoidable reality. Even if told now that they couldn't return home, their response would likely be, "Ah, I see." There was shock, but not explosive anger. What the soldiers truly desired was to know "What's next, what will happen." Bonaparte skillfully deflected their anger and showed hope in their resignation.
A swift descent followed by a steep ascent. Despair turned into resignation, resignation into hope. The energy of the restless soldiers burst forth like a dam breaking, transforming into cheers for Bonaparte. What the soldiers needed wasn't dwelling on the past of being unable to return, but the future of advancing towards wealth and glory.
"The campaign that begins from now rivals the conquests of ancient Macedonian King Alexander and Rome's Caesar. You, my soldiers, will tread on uncharted territories, bring together civilizations, and create a new world. Soldiers, my seasoned warriors, do not shrink back from this great endeavor! Remember, we have burnt the British fleet under cannon fire, liberated Toulon, defeated the Austrian army at Dego, brought freedom to Milan, crushed the enemy at Arcole, and seized Mantua. We have always marched forward with the goddess of victory by our side!"
"That's right! Long live France!! Long live the generals!!"
"We are no longer the Armée d'Orient. We are the Grande Armée, embarking on new great deeds! We are the Grande Armée!"
As Bonaparte raised his bicorne high, the excitement of the soldiers peaked. The sound of their stomping and shouting reverberated through the land, reaching even the capital.
. . .
"Abydod, do you see?"
From a distance, Cloumille watched Bonaparte leading the soldiers into a frenzy. She was mounted on a white chestnut horse, just like the one she had lent to Bonaparte.
"Yes. I don't understand what they're saying, but they seem stirred up."
"I've learned a bit of their tongue from Bonaparte. The soldiers are chanting 'Long live the generals.' They are praising Bonaparte."
"........."
"If Bonaparte commands, they will march into battle. Just like her..." Cloumille murmured to her chief retainer. Her words were drowned out by the cheers carried on the wind, and Abydod couldn't catch them until the end.
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We will start a new part in the next chapter. Thank you for reading.
If you'd like, I would be delighted to receive feedback on the work or comments related to Napoleon, etc. Your rating points would be further encouragement for me.
- Nagagutsu Kumage Bōshi