Huh, is Bushnell's attempt to work with France OTL? Either way, I don't expect this to work well, sailing frigates aren't THAT slow.
It's not, though he did spend some time in France, I've sorta thrown in a butterfly to see how far I can run with it.Huh, is Bushnell's attempt to work with France OTL? Either way, I don't expect this to work well, sailing frigates aren't THAT slow.
Huh, interesting. Curious what things he'll come up with, though I hope none end up being a Wunderwaffe that makes the royal navy quake.It's not, though he did spend some time in France, I've sorta thrown in a butterfly to see how far I can run with it.
Over the Spring of 1813, Wellington and his Iberian allies had renewed their offensive against the French. Guerillas, now supplied and cooperation with Wellington, launched attacks on the French supply lines and intercepted their dispatches. Five weeks prior, King Joseph and Marshal Jourdan had been forced to abandon Madrid once more, the British having outflanked the capital. Marshal Suchet meanwhile, was forced to slowly yield ground to General Murray's force. While Jourdan had intended to face Wellington at a position just North of Madrid, Wellington managed to repeatedly outmanuver him.
Finally settling on a defensive position on the Zadorra river, near the town of Vittoria, Joseph and Jordan began to set up the line, consisting of about 60,000 men. Wellington was hot on their tail, with 85,000 seasoned soldiers, intending to attack before the French could consolidate. On the 25th of June, with Jordan ill and the French forces still getting into position, the Coalition attacked. The out of position French troops were rapidly overwhelmed, as the British columns swept them across the countryside. From here a pattern developed, the Frech would retreat to a new line, and the British wouldn't wait to attack it, breaching a section of the line and forcing yet more retreats.
In early afternoon, as the British neared Vittoria itself, there was a late scare as General Clauzel and 20,000 men arrived, who launched a well coordinated counterattack. But by now Wellington had outflanked the town, and fearing encirclement, many of the soldiers routed. Amid chaotic and brutal street fighting in the town, the army's baggage train, holding the half decades worth of loot from Spain, desperately tried to escape. In the North, Guerillas turned regulars under Colonal Longa charged into the city, destroying the last tenuous defensive line of the French.
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Around this time Wellington wasn't far behind the line, observing with approval. He turned to his staff "Not a bad days work eh?" "Certainly so, your grace." General Hill, who'd join the Marquess at his obersation point noted "I think we'll knick most of the baggage train, I'm sure the Cortes will appreciate it." "Whatever doesn't vanish into private hands that is, sir." Hill quipped. Wellington frowned at that, before his attention was drawn by a French cannonball. He had a mere moment to express concern about its path, before there was a deafenning boom.
"My god sir!..." General Hill said, stunned "You've lost your arm!" Wellington turn down and to the left, gazing at the mess of blood and torn cloth "My god sir!..." His voice trembled "So I have!"...
To continue the sentence:Over the Spring of 1813, Wellington and his Iberian allies had renewed their offensive against the French. Guerillas, now supplied and cooperation with Wellington, launched attacks on the French supply lines and intercepted their dispatches. Five weeks prior, King Joseph and Marshal Jourdan had been forced to abandon Madrid once more, the British having outflanked the capital. Marshal Suchet meanwhile, was forced to slowly yield ground to General Murray's force. While Jourdan had intended to face Wellington at a position just North of Madrid, Wellington managed to repeatedly outmanuver him.
Finally settling on a defensive position on the Zadorra river, near the town of Vittoria, Joseph and Jordan began to set up the line, consisting of about 60,000 men. Wellington was hot on their tail, with 85,000 seasoned soldiers, intending to attack before the French could consolidate. On the 25th of June, with Jordan ill and the French forces still getting into position, the Coalition attacked. The out of position French troops were rapidly overwhelmed, as the British columns swept them across the countryside. From here a pattern developed, the Frech would retreat to a new line, and the British wouldn't wait to attack it, breaching a section of the line and forcing yet more retreats.
In early afternoon, as the British neared Vittoria itself, there was a late scare as General Clauzel and 20,000 men arrived, who launched a well coordinated counterattack. But by now Wellington had outflanked the town, and fearing encirclement, many of the soldiers routed. Amid chaotic and brutal street fighting in the town, the army's baggage train, holding the half decades worth of loot from Spain, desperately tried to escape. In the North, Guerillas turned regulars under Colonal Longa charged into the city, destroying the last tenuous defensive line of the French.
______
Around this time Wellington wasn't far behind the line, observing with approval. He turned to his staff "Not a bad days work eh?" "Certainly so, your grace." General Hill, who'd join the Marquess at his obersation point noted "I think we'll knick most of the baggage train, I'm sure the Cortes will appreciate it." "Whatever doesn't vanish into private hands that is, sir." Hill quipped. Wellington frowned at that, before his attention was drawn by a French cannonball. He had a mere moment to express concern about its path, before there was a deafenning boom.
"My god sir!..." General Hill said, stunned "You've lost your arm!" Wellington turn down and to the left, gazing at the mess of blood and torn cloth "My god sir!..." His voice trembled "So I have!"...
This is insensitive, given what just happened in the chapter.What I just read, I'm sorry for Wellington, on the one hand I hope he survives, after all I've always liked to see / imagine what he could have done against a Napoleon in better shape than Otl ( compared to the one he faced in the military campaigns of the 100 days I mean, as it would be very funny to see a ranking drawn up by Napy on the worst adversaries he has faced, it is not such an absurd idea, given that Otl made the list of the best soldiers by "nationality" ) on the other hand, his possible death takes away a skilled general from the English, but all in all it wouldn't change the developments much in the grand scheme of events, but in case you make him survive, it would be funny if his soldiers called him in the long run the "general truncated victory" in reference to his arm and the location of the battle
This is insensitive, given what just happened in the chapter.
I was making a joke. Your argument is cogent, and even if he does survive the war, Wellington may never make it to Number 10 here.mine is not really malice, just a fact, for the English his death would be a serious problem, for Napoleon only one less opponent to take into consideration, but his survival could become an enormous propaganda weapon, to encourage the his soldiers to fight even harder than before with him at their side, I certainly feel sorry for Wellington, but after all he wouldn't be the first in the last commander to lose a limb in battle while continuing to fight afterwards, becoming a source of inspiration for his
And if Britain gets queen Victoria then she has to get another mentor.I was making a joke. Your argument is cogent, and even if he does survive the war, Wellington may never make it to Number 10 here.
Minor suggestion: it's unlikely that Cossacks on their own would be able to inflict such high casualties on a force of regular infantry and cavalry that would have comprised a corps, even a battered one. Maybe a situation where the Cossacks and some regular light cavalry delayed the two marshals, allowing the advance guard of the Russian army to catch up with them?On July 3rd, Ney and Davout, whose corps formed the rearguard, were ambushed by Platov's Cossacks near the town Kuślin. Surrounded and briefly cut off, the marshals managed to ward off the Cossacks and rejoin the army, albeit with 10,000 casualties on both sides.
Yeah didn't mean to suggest that, it's more the Cossacks cut them off long enough for the Russian vanguard to engage them.Minor suggestion: it's unlikely that Cossacks on their own would be able to inflict such high casualties on a force of regular infantry and cavalry that would have comprised a corps, even a battered one. Maybe a situation where the Cossacks and some regular light cavalry delayed the two marshals, allowing the advance guard of the Russian army to catch up with them?
Bautzen, July 12th, 1813
"Sorbier, he's been having trouble... getting the spare lead for his balls." Napoleon said with a full mouth as he tore to shreds what had once been a German chicken "He says his quartermaster is being too conservative, and apparently he thinks you can help." Marshal Berthier watched with disgust as Napoleon multilated his breakfast "Well he's not wrong, I think there's plenty, at least until the end of summer the way things are going." Napoleon grunted as he continued his meal "Well I know this is a bit below your salery, but will you straighten this out for me, he's been riding me all week about it, and I'm not sure I can handle anymore headaches these days." Berthier nodded "Of course sire, I'll talk with Sorbier today." Napoleon nodded "Good Berthier, what would I do without you?" Berthier shrugged.
"Sire?" General Duroc, Grand marshal of the palace stepped inside "Forgive my impertinence, but might I join you?" He looked at Berthier "Alone?" Berthier looked at both men "I have an artillery quartermaster to scream at anyway, good day sire." Napoleon nodded to give the marshal permission to go. Once he had, he pointed at an empty chair "Sit please." He said quickly "Must be important after all." The general awkwardly pulled up a chair "Sire..." He struggled for the words "I've always been frank with Your Majesty..." Napoleon nodded "And I've always rewarded you for it." "Indeed sire, and do you wish me to continue this?" "Always." He said without thinking "Even if it will cause such pain for your majesty?" "Especially then." The emperor grew concerned "Nothing has happened, to my wife or my son?" Duroc was uncomfortable "Well sire-" "Josephine?!" he blurted out in panic "No... no, no." Duroc quieted him "The Empress is with child."
Napoleon slumped back in his chair, letting out a bitter and intimidating chuckle "And just to what extent is she with child Duroc?" The general held his ground, even as sweat trickled down his forehead "Well I'm no doctor sire, but from what I can see there's no way it's-" In one fluid motion, Napoleon flung his small table across the room "You were spying on my wife?" He asked plainly, his expression unchanged, his eyes locked on the general "I have a correspondence with one of her lady's maids." He answered "If I told you how many times it's saved both your lives you'd be offended "Clearly." Was all Napoleon could muster "Do you know who?" "No sire, though if I had to guess I'd say one of the new recruits, they're closer to her age than we are after all." Napoleon chuckled again "If there really is a lord in heaven, I must praise his narrative." Was all he could say "Well... besides us, who knows?" Duroc stood "Well, her of course, my contact, and besides her physician merely whoever she's gossipped with."
The emperor was silent "I don't want anyone else finding out, not one soul." He stood, and walked up to Duroc, unsheathing his sword "Swear to me, on this, you'll make that happen." Duroc stood at attention "I swear on my sword sire, that not one soul will discover what I have told you, at least not willingly from me." Napoleon let out a sinister smile "I'd expect nothing less my friend, now would you give me the room please." Duroc bowed and exited without a word. Alone with his thoughts, Napoleon felt alone indeed. His chest felt tight, his breathing became rapid, and with no other recourse in sight, the emperor ripped the sheets off his bed, flung his furniture about the room, and for the first time since his son was born, Napoleon wept...
poor Napoleon, I feel sorry for him,