PART II:
THE HANGED MAN
"Victorious warriors win first, and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first, and then seek to win."
Sun Tzu
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BANG BANG BANG
The sound of heavy knocking caused Cromwell to stir from his desk. Groggily stirring about, his flailing arms caused the glass of wine that was atop to fall off, smashing into pieces. Cursing, he started to make his way to the door, only to remember that he had left it unlocked.
"Come in, come in already!"
The door opened in response, and the Commander of the Albion Air Force, Henry Bowood strode in. He had been promoted to the chief rigger of the Lexington in the aftermath of the Reconquista Revolution for his bravery in destroying two enemy ships, and then became its captain. However, as a result of the damage that the ship had undergone, Cromwell had made the decision to go ahead and make Bowood the head of Albion's Air Force.
Bowood saluted Cromwell, who paused for a bit before mockingly returning it. The newly crowned Emperor of Albion was genuinely surprised that Bowood, a man who was a royalist at heart, would ever do such a gesture towards the person he considered a usurper. Still, he was a man who chose not to involve himself with politics, and he was extremely valuable. Even ignoring the fact that Bowood had shown himself to be a man of courage and skill, he served as symbol to people within Albion that supporters of the Ancien regime still had a place, thus reducing the chances of a revolt.
"How long will it take for the Main-mast to be repaired? And Wardes?"
"The ship will take a week at most, and there have been no further updates on the Captain. Whether he dies or lives remains completely up to him at this point, sir. Anyways, I came to reconfirm our strategic plan with you before the conflict begins. Are there any concerns?"
Cromwell pursed his fingers while thinking a bit to Bowood's answer. He was not a great commander, and he was wise enough to know that and leave his war up to the generals. His personal priority was ensuring the domestic security of Albion, safeguarding the Revolution, and dealing diplomatically with King Joseph – Cromwell was just as concerned about Gallia exercising undue influence on his country as he was about the war. Still, for the leader to not know the war plans would be inexcusable.
"No, I have no problems. Do you have a map?"
Bowood waved a scroll he was holding and moved towards the desk, unrolling and securing it. It was a map of Tristain, and he believed it to be of a very good quality to showcase exactly how he intended to strike.
"Even without the Lexington, this war shouldn't be too difficult. To begin with, we need to simply observe the amount of forces each side possesses. Our Air Force consists of 183 ships, while we believe Tristain to have about 90 and supposing Germania does enter on the side of Tristain, they have a little more than that. We possess the advantage, however, due to the superior range of the new cannons which our alchemists have provided and the greater experience of our sailors. As I'm sure you're aware, under the absolute worst-case scenario, we are fully capable of retreating to Albion and ensuring our safety with the Fleet. We will never feel those foreign boots upon our shore.
Tristania, the capital is in the northeast corner of the country, and we theoretically could swoop down upon it and capture their Princess. However, that's not realistic. If we are to take and hold the country, we need a port, and probably more than one. We can funnel men and supplies through there, and thus use our superior resources to simply grind them down.
Given our overwhelming advantage in resources compared to Tristain, there's no need for complicated strategies. If Germania doesn't help, simply swamp them with superior and more numerous soldiers and men."
"Then what do you intend to do if Germania does help?"
"Retreat."
There was no response. Cromwell simply looked up at the map and stared at Bowood in disbelief. However, the commander took that moment to continue.
"We'll retreat to Albion and hole up here. The priority then will to make sure that we can maintain air dominance over the two nations. After securing, we'll rely on the dragon knights and our ships not to invade Tristain, but rather to simply raid and scorch the terrain. I do not think we'll be actually capable of conquering and holding Tristain if Germania interferes, as their army is simply too large and powerful for us to handle. What we can do is cripple Tristain so they will be more than willing to negotiate and offer terms that are beneficial to us."
"So what is your opening strategy?"
"Once again, it's nothing complicated."
Bowood took a nearby quill pen and pointed at the map.
"Here, in the southwest, nearly at the opposite corner of Tristania is the city of La Rochelle. It is Tristania's largest port, and needs to be the first place we capture. Fortunately, that should be easy to accomplish. There is a nearby village, Tarbes, which has the proper terrain for the initial embarking and disembarking of our men. We will send the entire fleet, 3 columns of sixty ships which will attack any of the ground forces in the area. A quick landing of approximately 3000 veteran soldiers should be the most efficient means to simply capture and hold La Rochelle for a brief period, which we'll use to get the rest of the army intact. If we can take La Rochelle with its port facilities undamaged, the war will be basically won at that point."
Cromwell grunted in approval. It was a simple strategy, and the best plans were always simple.
"Very well, Bowood. I like the plan. In 24 hours, the attack will begin. Ready your men and prepare to fight for your country."
"Sir, I do have one question."
"Yes?"
"I've formulated a plan to take Tristain for the glory of Albion. But what are you after? To launch a war and invade another country generally requires a good reason. Do you have one?"
Cromwell had remained mostly expressionless while Bowood had delivered his strategy talk. Now, however, he gave a massive grin.
"Of course I do! The country is hiding Wales, which is a sign of how they oppress the people by hiding an evil monarch like him! Thus, it is our duty to spread freedom while also punishing those evildoers in Tristain for not returning a wanted man!"
His statement was insincere, and no one in the room was fooled by it. Bowood realized that he was fighting a war for nothing more than one person's self-satisfaction. The fact that his country had fallen so low remained something that had and still continued to horrify him.
Still, Bowood thought, he was a soldier, and he must obey. So, with a final salute, he clicked his heels and strode out the door. It was only when he was a safe distance from Cromwell's office that he punched the nearby wall.
…
"I'll say you've improved a lot over these last few weeks, Valliere."
Napoleon and Louise sat on opposite ends of a tree. The latter was breathing too hard to properly respond, and even Napoleon was sweating. Her running had been getting faster and faster to the point where even a military man like himself had to start giving effort to ensure that they went at the same pace. After all, he knew that after all he had put her through in their physical training; her mockery of him would have no end if she ever actually surpassed him. While they didn't do much beyond calisthenics and running, she had physically improved to a large degree.
He stood up, and moved over to her.
"Come on, we should get going. I'll actually help you with that prayer you're supposed to write for once. You've really had no success with that thing, have you?"
She made an annoyed sound and started to get up, but then Louise fell down. Her left leg stuck straight out even after she fell, and it was clear she was in pain.
"My…knee…" Louise moaned, and Napoleon brought up his right hand towards his face.
"Louise, you didn't injure your knee just now, did you?"
"About ten minutes ago, I guess."
He rubbed his face some more, wondering about his partner. She always complained about the runs, but now she was determined enough to keep running with a hurt knee?
"You idiot. Are you even capable of standing?"
Louise struggled to her feet at the question, and then promptly fell back down again. How was she going to get back in this condition?
"Up you go."
Then she started as she heard his words, and especially so as she was promptly lifted up and put on Napoleon's back. What was this? Her father had given her piggyback rides as a small child of course, but for her partner to do it to her at this age?
"Y-you idiot! What are you doing, what are you doing? I order you to put me down at once!"
"And leave you under the tree? Forget it. I'm dragging you to Osmond. He's probably the best chance of getting your knee checked out, since the staff is still gone. You've still got a month left at the school, right?"
Louise continued to protest, and Napoleon continued to ignore her. And so as they bickered, and the girl whacked an Emperor upside the head a few times, the two set off towards the office.
"By the way," Napoleon asked, "I see you're wearing the Water Ruby. Are you sure about that?"
"It's a gift from Her Majesty. I will defend it with my life."
As they marched up the stone steps leading up to Osmond, they could hear voices, but paid no attention as they moved up. As Napoleon had his hands full, he chose to simply kick the door open, and it was at that moment that he heard the phrase.
"Yes, I'm sure! Tristain and Albion are at war!"
Osmond and what appeared to be a messenger both stopped and glanced at the two who entered the doorway. Louise gasped and promptly fell off Napoleon's back, pulling herself up in a nearby chair. Even then, her eyes widened.
"Osmond?"
The old headmaster turned towards the pair, and Louise looked back. The messenger quickly saluted and ran out the door, as Osmond gazed at his back. Then he fell back in his chair.
"I guess it was inevitable. I wished it wouldn't happen, but it did. And now Tristain will have to focus on defending ourselves. Now what can I do for you two?"
The headmaster seemed to have been aged even further by this news, and Louise trembled at how poorly he looked before speaking.
"It's my knee, but war, Osmond? What'll happen to us? Are we going back to our families? Will the school be closed?"
"You'll be able to stay here indefinitely. God knows your families will be busy preparing for the war. Good grief, good grief, first the Fouquet disaster and now this?"
The old man began musing on some conflict he had been in the past, while Louise thought back on her family. What would they do? Would her mother fight, Karin of the Heavy Wind? Was this invasion force something so terrible that even she wouldn't be able to handle it, that woman who had remained merely the stuff of legend? And what was she to do? Stay here and do nothing, or help the fight somehow like treating the wounded or fighting with Void magic or just delivering messages or –
"Merde."
Both her and Osmond turned and realized that Bonaparte had uttered a single word. Unlike much of what he had spoken in the past, they did not recognize that word. But somehow they both knew what it meant. For the first time since they had met, Napoleon was furious. His face barely hid a snarl and his arms clutched his sides, barely concealing that he wanted to commit grave violence on anything nearby.
And then, without a word or even paying attention to his injured partner, he ran down the stairs.
He had known, of course. He had lived through one Revolution and was its product, he had been absolutely certain that this world's revolution would eventually spread itself past Albion. But he hadn't thought they would strike so soon. From what he had managed to piece together through letters with Giono and other sources, the new Reconquista government had finally just defeated the rest of the Royal family. He had expected at least six months, more likely a year for them to organize themselves and then attack the smallest and weakest country in Helgekinia. Not three weeks.
The fact that they struck this soon was a major crisis for him, probably the biggest one yet since he had come here. He was above all an artilleryman, something which requires great skill at proper positioning so that the cannons may do maximum damage. As a result, he had always been a general who was particularly skilled at looking at maps and using the terrain to its greatest advantage. It was through doing that that he had managed to trick the Austrians and Russians into leaving their defenses at Austerlitz among other victories. He had known that the invasion would come sooner or later, and he had examined maps and thus knew where the Reconquista would strike first. In order to ensure supplies, they would need a port. In order to get a port, they would strike at the biggest one in Tristain, which was La Rochelle. And in order to get to La Rochelle, Tarbes would likely be the first target of the Albion forces due to its grassy plains that would be easy to move across. Siesta lived there, but more importantly, so did the plane and the books. Letting those things fall under the hands of anyone else was incredibly dangerous. Even if he was wrong and they wouldn't be capable of someday figuring out what they meant, there still remained the risk of their destruction. And under the worst case, they would figure it out, and they would have the time to browse through the entire collection unlike him. Such a scenario had to be avoided at any cost
He found himself in Louise's room instinctively, and quickly changed. He put on the uniform that he had been wearing on the day he was summoned – he was a soldier after all, not a mage. As he took a quick glance at the mirror in her room, he grumbled that he would really need to make a copy of one of his bicorne hats, as it made the whole appearance so much better. He also didn't put on the greatcoat due to the summer heat.
He dashed down the stairs, out of the dormitory tower, but then he abruptly stopped as he crossed its threshold. In front of him, about 30 feet in front of him, stood Louise with her wand pointed directly at him.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Napoleon grimaced and put one hand in his shirt. Where he kept the pistol hidden, just in case.
"How are you moving with your knee?"
"It wasn't that bad, apparently. Osmond helped fix it while you were running around changing, but it still hurts. But that's not that important right now. Again, where do you think you're going?"
Napoleon didn't move his feet, but his hand held the pistol a little tighter as he spoke. It was just a precaution, after all.
"I'm heading to Tarbes, immediately."
"Osmond told me that's where the Albion forces are landing, and he's extremely concerned about Siesta. But you're not, are you? You're panicking, but over that plane and the contents inside."
"Fine, I won't deny it. But you should know that if Albion gets their hands on those books, Tristain is doomed."
Louise continued to point her wand at him as she spoke.
"If those books really are so important, you should have done something else with them besides try to keep them for yourself."
"Perhaps, but that's in the past. What's important is preventing Albion from getting them."
"Well, what are you going to do then? You can't be expected to deal with Albion by yourself!"
"I won't be by myself."
"Who else? Giono? He's a printer; he's useless in a battlefield!"
Louise's voice was growing steadily shriller, and her wand hand was trembling. But Napoleon shook his head.
"Henrietta."
"What? But she's getting married!"
"Henrietta is headstrong, brave, and loves her country. As princess, she'll know where the Albion forces are. If she isn't in Tarbes herself by tomorrow afternoon with whatever forces she can muster, I'll be utterly shocked."
There was more to it, but Napoleon conveniently left that out. Henrietta wouldn't win – no, it was explicitly because she would show up there that they wouldn't win. The amount of forces she would be mustering up in such a short timeframe would be limited. Meanwhile, Albion had no doubt been preparing for this war for quite a while, meaning that their soldiers would no doubt be both superior in numbers and experience. If Tristain were to have any hope of victory, their tactics would have to compensate. However, even if such a general existed within their Army, something which Napoleon did not believe, he would definitely be a noble whom would concede to Henrietta, a young lady with no experience of war. Tristain was going to face another disaster soon. But that didn't matter to Napoleon. Those books would need to be rescued or possibly destroyed at any price.
Louise said nothing in response to Napoleon's statement, who took that gesture as a sign of acceptance, even though her wand was still raised. He turned around and had begun walking to the horses when she spoke up.
"Fine. You can go. But I'll be going with you."
"I seem to recall that Osmond told you to stay behind."
She trembled in anger in response towards what was basically a blunt refusal. And then she finally exploded.
"You know what? You make me run insane distances, you always berate me, you ignore me for some books, and now you tell me to stay behind! I'VE HAD IT! I am going to Tarbes if you are going, and no one will stop me, not the princess, not Osmond, and especially not you! Because in case you forgot, I AM YOUR MASTER!"
She stopped at the last word, after realizing what she had just said. How would he react, he who had always stressed that there were equal? There was only silence, and Louise wondered how he would erupt in response to what was to him a clearly derogatory word. Perhaps she should try to take it back?
And then she heard a booming laughter. It was an odd, jovial expression, totally unsuited for an argument. And then ignoring the fact that she still had her wand pointed at him, Napoleon strode forward, and put his left hand on her head. From that distance, the two stared into each other's eyes. And he wasn't furious at all, as that great, silly grin on his face showed.
"You really do have more qualities than your magic, Valliere. To have guts is the second most important quality in a soldier."
He once again gave that booming laughter and Louise thought about asking what the first quality was. He continued before she could do so.
"Fine, we'll go. But are you ready, Louise? It may be a long time until we return to the Academy. We may never return. Do you think that even after you've gone through that you can keep up with me?"
The statement was calm and authoritative, but Louise knew that this was a challenge. It was a test of everything she had undergone the last three months, to see if she was no longer a failure. And so in response she gave off her own grin and roared right back at him from the close distance they were at.
"What are you talking about, Napoleon? You need to make sure you can keep up with me!"
…
Sir Johnston, the commander of the Albion landing forces, strutted about as he stroked his mustache. This war would be easy, and there wasn't much to think about. A quick campaign where those inferior Tristains would be conquered and integrated into Albion, it was clear that he was confident. Bowood, that sniveling traitor whose real loyalty was to the Crown, would simply stand around and do some bombarding. Meanwhile, his ground forces would do the real work in capturing Tarbes, than taking La Rochelle and thus winning the war. No, it wouldn't be a war – wars meant great deeds and valor, and against a people this puny, there likely wouldn't be any. He had no doubt that the amount of blood that would be needed to take Tarbes would be capable of being mopped up with a handkerchief he carried.
The soldiers below him, veterans of the Reconquistan campaign, murmured as they read the leaflets that had been printed. They were official documents, explaining the reasons for war. While most of the soldiers couldn't read, they were pictures of a fat, lazy Wales stabbing innocent civilians and then another one of him hiding behind another monarch, that princess Henrietta. It made the impression.
He pulled out his own copy which he had obtained. It was worn and ragged from constant reading, but it was a truly valiant piece of work.
Soldiers of the Reconquista!
Your nation thanks you for your service! While we have restored our ancient rights, there is still much to be done! The tyrant who ruled these lands has fled to Tristain, where he is hidden by his cousin who refuses to uphold justice!
Thus, we must be the hammer who smites the strong and uplifts the weak! We shall attack this country that condones these tyrants and murderers, and let them see our power! Do not show mercy, for they are all monarchist sympathizers alike!Let Brimir decide which Tristanians are just and unjust! Only then will we find the Crown Prince of Wales, whom will finally be made to answer for his crimes against us.
May the Republic last ten thousand years with your bravery!
"Sir?"
Johnston looked around to see that an aide approached from behind. The two saluted each other, and the aide delivered his message.
"Bowood has signaled that he will begin the attack within five minutes. Are there any final preparations, sir?"
Johnston paused to fiddle with the saber at his side before responding.
"Order the men to check their muskets and weapons. We have declared war, now let the attack begin."