Nefza Mountains

Semiz, the commander of the Albanian mercenaries, turned to his messenger and said, “General Kaïhler wants us to double the number of scouts and eliminate all nearby Tunisian scum.”

“Yes, sir!” The messenger quickly left, and shortly after, a rider came galloping down the long line of Albanian mercenaries, handing a report to Semiz’s adjutant.

The adjutant read it, then bowed to Semiz, “Commander, the Bey of Tunis issued a statement a few days ago, condemning our intervention in Tunisian affairs and expressing his anger at our actions. He also mentioned asking the French brothers for help in stopping our forces.”

Semiz sneered, “Ignore it. Tunisian scum calling Europeans their brothers? They’re a disgrace to the Islamic world!”

The adjutant tucked the report away and added, “Pasha, it’s not surprising. The Tunisians have been trading with Europeans for years, and there are many French people in their country. Of course, they would be influenced.

“Oh, and I heard these Tunisian scum are even starting to call themselves ‘descendants of Rome.’ How ridiculous!”

“All the better,” Semiz said, cracking his whip in the air. “It’ll make killing them even more enjoyable. Order the men to march faster. I want those scum to regret their rebellion!”

…

“Look! It’s the Prince!”

In the ranks of cadets wearing white uniforms, black tricorn hats, and carrying the latest August-style percussion rifles, someone shouted, pointing ahead.

Immediately, the orderly marching columns broke into excitement as soldiers strained to catch a glimpse, shouting, “It really is the Prince! He’s here to fight with us!”

“I see him too! Long live the Prince!”

“Long live our commander!”

“The Prince will lead us to victory!”

“Look, he’s marching on foot, just like us!”

It took the officers running up and down the lines to restore order before the troops continued their march.

Joseph heard the commotion and waved to the soldiers, which sparked another wave of enthusiastic cheers.

He turned back to look at the long line of troops stretching up the hillside, feeling a surge of pride. This was his Guard Corps, and he would be fighting alongside them for the first time on the battlefield.

Perhaps, one day, he would lead them across all of Europe, leaving behind a legacy of glory in history.

“Your Highness, you really don’t need to join the battle,” Berthier said quietly to Joseph, glancing at the excited soldiers. “This time, the enemy outnumbers us three to one. It’s very dangerous.

“Your presence has already boosted morale significantly. Even if you stay in a safe place, the soldiers will still feel like you’re with them.”

He looked cautiously to the north, “In fact, if you agree, we can turn towards the coast now. In less than three days, you could be on a Navy ship.”

“Hmm? A ship?” Joseph asked, surprised. “The closest ships should be in Bizerte Harbor. Why are they here?”

Berthier lowered his head, “Colonel André and I both believe it’s too risky for you to take part in the battle, so we arranged for the fleet to send a ship to follow us…”

Joseph shook his head with a smile, “I appreciate your concern, Colonel Berthier, but that’s really not necessary.”

He gestured toward the white-clad troops marching ahead, “This is my corps. I’ll be leading them in battle many times in the future. This is just the beginning.”

Joseph knew that in this era, where survival was determined by war, he needed to be a capable commander. Only a king who knew how to wage war could bring prosperity and strength to his country.

Although he wasn’t yet skilled at commanding battles, he needed to be with his army, to show the soldiers that their Prince wasn’t just sitting comfortably in Versailles but was right there with them, sharing the dangers. Only then would this army truly become his loyal force, his most reliable support.

Moreover, while he wasn’t an experienced commander, he had plenty of modern ideas and military cases to draw upon, allowing him to make valuable suggestions for battle plans.

For example, the preemptive strike strategy this time could significantly reduce casualties and seize the strategic initiative. Joseph could set the overall direction while leaving the details to military geniuses like Berthier, learning from them along the way.

Berthier tried to persuade him a bit more, but seeing that the Prince remained unmoved, he eventually gave up.

He made one last attempt, “Then at least, Your Highness, please return to the carriage.”

Joseph looked out at the unique terrain of the Atlas Mountains—gentle hills, barren yellow land, almost no vegetation taller than 20 centimeters, with only sparse clumps of grass dotting the ground. It felt vast and desolate.

The army didn’t have any high-quality, shock-absorbing “jewel” carriages. Riding in a carriage over such rough terrain was akin to torture.

He had tried riding a horse earlier, but lacking experience, he developed painful blisters on his inner thighs after just one day, forcing him to continue on foot.

Unexpectedly, this greatly boosted morale, turning out to be a fortunate accident.

As dusk fell, the drummers in the Guard Corps adjusted their rhythms, eventually stopping as the signal horns sounded.

The company officers began directing soldiers to their assigned resting spots—scouts had already ridden ahead to survey the area and marked suitable places to camp.

The soldiers had a simple meal, sang songs, and drank for half an hour—wine was a standard military ration, though not enough to get drunk—before laying out blankets on the ground and sleeping under the open sky.

They lay about half a meter apart from each other, forming neat little squares that spread like a unique “carpet” across the Atlas Mountains.

Inside the officers’ tent, Joseph sipped vegetable beef soup while watching Berthier and the others discuss battle plans over a map.

“Since the day before yesterday, we’ve encountered more and more Algerian scouts. It seems they aren’t far from here,” said the cavalry regiment commander.

Berthier pointed to the west of Nefza, “We’ll reach here tomorrow. Be ready for a skirmish at any time.”

A major next to him chuckled, “The Algerians probably think we’re still in Tunis. They have no idea we’re already right under their noses.”

Berthier nodded with a smile, “The Prince’s strategy will definitely catch the enemy off guard. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they realize we’ve been waiting for them.”

Yes, Joseph’s plan was to attack rather than defend. By leveraging the Guard Corps’ ability to march at high speed, they had covered 110 kilometers in three and a half days, marching from Tunis straight to the Algerian-Tunisian border.

There, they would choose their battleground and ambush the Algerian forces while they were still on the move.

The Algerian army, which had set out a week before the Guard Corps, had just reached the area east of Annaba, covering around 170 kilometers.

Berthier suddenly remembered something and turned to ask a staff officer, “Where is the Moulins Corps now?”

“Here,” the staff officer pointed to a spot west of Bizerte on the map, “They’re about a day behind us.”

Berthier frowned slightly and then looked at Joseph, “The Algerian army is very close. They could spot us at any moment. Colonel André’s infantry might not arrive in time for the first battle.”

The Moulins Corps was one of the better units in the old French army, but when it came to marching speed, they couldn’t keep up with the Guard Corps. Only about 400 of their cavalry had managed to keep pace, while the infantry lagged far behind.

Joseph didn’t comment much; after all, as a newly minted officer, he didn’t have much say in tactical decisions.

“This is your call, esteemed Commander.”

While Berthier might not be on par with top-tier commanders like Lannes, Soult, or Masséna, he was certainly mid-tier among Napoleon’s marshals and should have no trouble handling the Algerian Janissaries.

“Thank you for your trust, Your Highness.”

Berthier bowed to Joseph and then turned to the map, “From Nefza to the northwest is uphill terrain. I think this would be the most advantageous spot for a decisive battle.”

Joseph looked at the map’s contour lines—Djebel Zaghouan was south of Annaba, so the terrain was mostly downhill from Algiers to Tunis. But there was a stretch near Nefza leading to Bizerte where the terrain dipped slightly.

Lieutenant Colonel Le Drian, a military academy officer, also nodded in agreement, “The terrain here is indeed favorable. But our scouts haven’t located the Algerian main force yet…”

As he spoke, urgent hoofbeats approached, and a scout hurried into the tent, “Your Highness, Colonel, we’ve spotted a large enemy force, likely over 10,000 strong. Judging by their uniforms and weapons, they seem to be Albanian mercenaries.”

“Why only around 10,000?” Berthier asked, puzzled.

“We’re not sure, Colonel, but the estimate should be accurate.”

What they didn’t know was that the Albanian mercenaries, eager to start looting in Tunisia, had marched faster, leaving the Algerian Janissaries trailing several kilometers behind.

And Semiz, believing they were still within Algerian territory, had let them go ahead.

Berthier questioned the scout about the enemy’s exact position, quickly measured distances on the map, and turned to the senior officers in the tent, “They’re only about 20 kilometers away. We could encounter them as early as tomorrow noon.

“If the enemy’s forces are split up, this could be a rare opportunity for us!”

…

In the desolate Atlas Mountains, five cavalrymen in light yellow Ottoman-style robes, loose riding pants, and pointed boots galloped along the northern hillside.

Suddenly, the lead rider raised a hand, signaling, “Enemy spotted!”

The others looked ahead and indeed saw three or four Algerian scouts.

The Algerians saw them too and, with disdain for the “Tunisian scum,” let out a shout, drew their scimitars, and charged in a horizontal line.

The “Tunisian scum” reacted swiftly, turning right in unison and drawing their short-barreled carbines.

The distance between the two groups closed quickly, and at the closest moment, the “Tunisian scum” fired a volley.

One Algerian scout was immediately thrown from his horse, his foot caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged hundreds of meters.

The “Tunisian scum” skillfully holstered their guns and drew their sabers, circling around to approach the Algerians from behind.

The Algerians, startled, pulled their reins to the left, trying to get behind the enemy.

But at that moment, the “Tunisian scum” made a sharp right turn, putting them in a figure-eight formation for a head-on clash.

The Algerians were clearly panicked. In the moment when the horses were side by side, two of them were cut down, leaving the last one in a desperate retreat.

In a cavalry duel, courage is everything. The first to flee almost always ends up slaughtered, as it’s far easier to strike forward than to twist around and strike backward.

The “Tunisian scum” gave chase, and after another four or five hundred meters, they cut down the last Algerian scout.

The victorious five cavalrymen, their faces full of excitement, returned to finish off the wounded, “They actually charged at us—how considerate!”

“Sergeant Aubin, will these four kills be enough to get us promoted?”

“Hmm, Blanche took out two of them, so he’ll definitely make sergeant. As for you, looks like you didn’t get any, so don’t even think about it.”

“Damn it! Let’s keep moving; we might run into more enemy scouts.”

The five guardsmen disguised as Tunisians quickly mounted up again, continuing along the edge of the planned battlefield to hunt down enemy scouts.

Similar scenes were playing out all around. Berthier had sent out half of his cavalry, disguised as Tunisians, to clear out enemy scouts. With 400 Moulins cavalry still in reserve, he wasn’t worried about exhausting his riders.

So, although the Albanian mercenaries began to sense something was wrong, they still assumed it was just local tribes harassing them.

It wasn’t until they were within 5 kilometers of the Guard Corps that Semiz realized he was facing a large force—at that distance, you could see the enemy army clearly with binoculars on the open Atlas plateau.

The Albanian mercenaries were still in march formation when Semiz, realizing the situation, hastily ordered them to switch to battle formation. As the officers passed down the commands, chaos erupted among the mercenaries.

Contrary to what movies often depict, real battles don’t start with a snap of the commander’s fingers, with soldiers immediately forming perfect ranks and charging in unison.

Given 18th-century communication methods, it took over 20 minutes just to relay the order to “switch to battle formation” to all 13,000 mercenaries.

And forming the ranks was even more chaotic. Some soldiers blocked each other’s way, others took the wrong spots, and some couldn’t even find their officers.

Meanwhile, the Guard Corps was already prepared. When they closed in to within 2 kilometers of the enemy, the front ranks halted, while the rear ranks extended outward.

In just over 10 minutes, they had formed a front 30 rows deep, with nearly 100 columns per row.

Then, the drums beat in unison, and dozens of drummers led the way forward, with the infantry quickly following.

Within another 10 minutes, the Albanian mercenaries, who had barely managed to gather into a coherent force, found the Guard Corps just 500 meters away.

On a hill in the background, Berthier lowered his binoculars and signaled to his messenger, “Order the infantry to form combat lines. Artillery, commence firing.”

(End of Chapter)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep