Fire Warms the Northern Lands -- A Prussian AAR

It was a beautiful late spring day in the south of France…





And General Archibald Robertson unfortunately found himself indoors, admiring the warm green landscape and gently rippling trees through an open window…





He and another man of like age and apparent experience sat on either broadside of an enormously ornate desk in the extravagant palace office which had for many months been Robertson’s headquarters for the British occupation of Bordeaux…




He was engaged over a spot of tea with General Henrique Duc du Merle, the French commander in the Bordeaux sector…




Who luxuriated comfortably and confidently behind Robertson’s late desk, and who had just two days prior received Robertson’s sword.






“General,” du Merle was saying without sincerity, “You know I have the greatest respect for you and your army.” Robertson received the condescending praise warily. “But I think you also know that your time of glory in France has reached its end.” Du Merle sat forward, pressing his point. “You once controlled vast swaths of my homeland, but you’ve been pushed back and now all you can do is nip at our heels like a squeaky little poodle.”

Robertson frowned derisively at the General’s characterization, but unconsciously shrank back defensively in his chair. After all, he had just lost his command.

“And also know,” du Merle went on, “that now that the Austrian war is over, our available resources are greatly enhanced. The Boche Crown Prince is engaged in Spain and, besides the armies that have just evicted you and all British presence from the Biscay coast, Marshal Manteuffel is working his way across northern France at the head of nearly 300,000 soldiers. Your invasion of France is dead. It can succeed no more.”



“We are engaged in a bitter war,” Robertson said, uncomfortably, “and there is naught I can do about it.” He thought he was sure where this was heading. Du Merle would suggest Britain cease its war with the Continental Alliance, and be done with it. Just so. Not a chance, in his assessment. He would not say so, but he happened to know that there were plans underway to expand and expound upon the present invasion of northern Germany, which would soon put a stop once and for all to the barbarian tyrannies perpetuated from Berlin.

“But I have a proposal which may catch your fancy. My government is prepared to let you go, without asking any commitment to parole…” Du Merle watched as Robertson’s baggy and protruding eyes betrayed his captured interest. “…if you will carry a proposal to the British Crown.”

Three moments of shocked silence passed. It was unthinkable to let an enemy commander go free, if he could be expected to return to the line of battle within days. Or… Briefly, Robertson insisted to himself that he wasn’t that bad a general! Without understanding, Robertson asked, “Your government? Why, whose government can you mean?”

“The only one that matters!” du Merle spat. He did not elaborate, but from his expression, Robertson had grossly offended his pride. But did that mean...? Robertson considered for a moment. He truly wasn’t possessed of a great intellect, and he was having difficulty. After some moments, du Merle went on, making all clear.

“I wish for you to tell your Queen that a figure in my government – someone whom I cannot name, but who has the authority to make such a decision – is eager to sign a separate peace with Britain.” Robertson’s heart leaped. “We are tired of this war we’ve been dragged into. Too many of the youth of my country have died to save a foreign king. This arrangement will allow us to have relief from these hardships, and will allow you to take your soldiers and concentrate upon your real enemy.”

Robertson was too astonished to say anything. Du Merle peered longingly out the window, at some ideal space and time removed from his present circumstance. At length, he muttered, “And I wish you all the good luck in the world.”

BBBD said:

Wow a surprise the French surrendering who would have thought. :rofl:

No seriously great update, but can a sattelite make a seperate peace???

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Well, I would never have thought, either. And the propriety and wisdom of doing so is going to be the subject of my next update...

But Canada offered me a separate peace a couple of times after they declared independence. I refused each, in order to keep the warscore up.

Maybe it was the French Canadians!

Rensslaer

N. A. Kireevski said:

Very creative beginning. I look forward to reading more and trying my own Vicky empire with Mother Russia!

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Hmm... Recruit Kireevski! This has a very familiar sound to it.

Good to see you, and hope your Vicky is working and all. And everything else, too!

Renss

p.s. You need to sign up with a local Austrian RGO that hires minority pops. :rofl: (inside joke)

“Your Majesty,” Rensselaer said, “We have been informed that Marshal-President Bazaine has signed a separate peace with Britain.” There was a grumble around the table of assembled senior Prussian officials. Not a gasp, as most everybody was already well aware of what had happened.

Roon shook his head, angrily. “It was conducted in a most inappropriate and dishonorable manner. He didn’t even warn our generals,” he said. Then – not quite an afterthought – he added, “Or the Kaiser.” He looked to see if his oversight had been noticed. “Or me.” He settled down into a frowning funk, as others nodded their heads.

“He can’t do this!” exclaimed the Kaiser, indignantly.

Rensselaer pursed his lips. “Your Majesty, he apparently feels he can….”

“What can we do to him?!” The Kaiser’s righteousness turned vengeful.

“…and I regret to say that he may be right,” Rensselaer continued. “For now, in any case, French troops have become non-combattants, and our soldiers are all presumably in process of returning home for the defense of Prussia. Naturally, the British soldiers there are presumably in process of finding their own way home….”

The Kaiser wasn’t ready to move on. “This treachery!” he fumed. “What can be done?”

Rensselaer frowned, blinked, and examined a spot in distant space. It was like a signal – one for which he was known. Somehow, his unique, calm, deep thought infused the room, and those in attendance watched in an attempt to divine what he might be about to conclude.

“Obviously,” Prussia’s veteran Foreign Minister began, “Bazaine can no longer be controlled effectively.” He seemed sorry to have to report that. “If he thinks he has the latitude to do this, then he has become a dangerous entity. We must find some way to replace him with someone more malleable. And quickly.”

Roon, observing the room, noted that the ministers were nodding their heads again. Was this an effective council, he wondered? Should I expect more of the majority of our members? Was all the brainpower in this room confined to but a few? He decided he was being overly suspicious. After all, these decisions were largely outside of the purview of most assembled.

“In the past,” Roon suggested lightly, “there was always an opportunist Bonaparte to take the reins when the old regime became corrupt. Not that they were ever much of an improvement.” He chuckled.

“Thankfully,” the Kaiser countered darkly, “the Bonapartes are in short supply.”

“Well,” Rensselaer said, “Bazaine remains relatively popular. Even more so now that he’s made peace. No matter in what way we intervene, we can be assured of some disagreement and scuffling. But I despair in knowing who could possibly take his place and do our bidding without causing a widespread revolt.” He scowled, frustrated. “Indeed, it would be good if we could find a good Bonaparte somewhere.” He ignored the Kaiser’s warning glance. “They have always been popular with a large segment of the French population, no matter their failures.” No one could ever argue with his logic. Certainly not the Kaiser.

Roon took Rensselaer’s lead. “Then perhaps it is truly necessary to rouse out Louis Napoleon from Madagascar. Could he be controlled?”

“Chancellor, I fear that may be a moot point.” Rensselaer hadn’t gone down this path in a calculating manner. He had just been musing. “Forgive me, but I meant to tell you that I received word just this morning that there has been a coup in Madagascar. The Emperor has been deposed. I’d be hard pressed to assure you that Louis Napoleon even still breathes.” For all their adversarial encounters over the course of recent years, Rensselaer felt a pang of sympathy for his longtime friend. “From the context of the report, I very much fear he does not.”

Just then, Rensselaer’s secretary entered. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty… Your Highnesses and Your Honors,” he said. Approaching Rensselaer’s seat, he extended his hand. “A calling card for you, Minister, Sir.” Rensselaer took it, his face betraying some perplexity at why this particular note would require such an interruption.

Rensselaer’s ruddy face blanched nearly as white as his wispy hair, and he stood to his six-and-a-half foot height so quickly that he very nearly fainted. The disagreeable sensation coincided with a loud clatter as his chair fell backward against the floor.

He was soon aware that all activity of any kind in the room had ceased completely. And that every single eye, including the Kaisers’ – each one framed amidst expressions of shocked surprise – was focused directly on him.

“Forgive me,” Rensselaer stammered feebly. “I will be just a moment.” Rensselaer took a couple steps toward his office. “Or two,” he added hesitantly, still not entirely refocused on his noteworthy guests, none of whom were at all accustomed to being so set aside. But their complete astonishment belayed any objections.

As he completed the remaining strides toward the door to his office, Rensselaer reflected upon how sometimes God’s plans are revealed gradually, subtly, entirely subconsciously. And at other times they flood into realization with awesome import.

anonymous4401 said:

It's Rensselaer, in Rensslaer's AAR!

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Yes! You'll find Rensselaer's wandering through many of my stories... There's Stephen van Rensselaer, who will populate my Colorado AAR, and if I ever do a Netherlands AAR, you can imagine who will figure prominently...

Rensslaer

On his way through the door from the library, where the Kaiser had convened their meeting, Rensselaer again read the shocking note on the calling card. A flowery scrawl said simply, “Hello, Old Friend. L.N.B.”

He had only just arrived to stand by his desk when the doors to his office parted and two men were escorted in by his liveried servants. One man was instantly recognizable, despite an able disguise. He looked as if he’d been through hell and back. He was a changed man, to be sure. And the other fellow – a shorter, bookish, man who nevertheless appeared to feel right at home – Rensselaer had no recollection or knowledge of.

“Louie?” Rensselaer asked quietly, though he knew exactly whom he addressed. The phrase “speak of the Devil” made an ironic turn or two through his mind, but he dismissed it.

“Hello, Pete. It has been quite a time, eh?” His old friend had a characteristic spryness to his voice, but it was tinged with an undercurrent of sadness.

“It has been,” Rensselaer confirmed. “Quite, indeed.” They regarded each other with interest for a few moments. Despite an apparent eagerness to renew an old friendship, there was a wariness between them that was relatively new. Their peculiar relationship was no longer just a game, but at times had been bitter sport. Each had hurt the other, deeply.

“Please allow me,” Louis Napoleon said, “to introduce my particular friend, to whom I am greatly indebted for his expertise and kindness. Kapitan Joachim Longanecker, of the Prussian Stralsund Cavalry.” He turned, and Longanecker bowed formally to Rensselaer. “His pluck and expertise in language and culture singularly enabled us to come this great way… Both of us from difficult circumstances.”

Rensselaer regarded Longanecker with new eyes. “Indeed! Well, I should say that you both should have quite some stories to tell. How is it, Kapitan, that you came to be here?”

Longanecker sensed currents he could not see, and it made him uneasy. He began with what poise he could master. “Sir, I alone escaped from our prison camp near Queenstown in British South Africa. I made my way to Portuguese Mozambique, where I met Mr…” he stumbled, vaguely aware of some new question of his companion’s identity. “Mr. Friedel, and we booked passage together… I would be glad to issue a formal report of more length at a later time, so that I do not disrupt your reacquaintance,” Longanecker deferred.

“And, Kapitan… Just who do you believe my friend to be?” Rensselaer probed, with a slight quirk of his cheek.

“Sir, I have known him only as Gunnar Friedel, who I was led to believe was a Prussian planter from Madagascar. He claimed his family had been killed in an uprising, and that he had escaped with only his life.”

“A planter, now, Louie? Not a carpenter?” Rensselaer grinned at his light jab. He was pacing, trying to make sense of this most extraordinary circumstance.

Napoleon’s face betrayed regret. “Ahh, forgive me Joachim. I have deceived you. Though the story is true but for the name and trade I gave you.” Louis Napoleon’s face was shadowed, briefly, with a sincere pain.

Longanecker quickly acknowledged his apology, and his face expressed a certain awkward sympathy. He couldn’t quite fix his mind’s eye on this puzzle’s solution, but it was beginning to buzz around the back of his mind.

Rensselaer turned again to Napoleon, with a stance and expression which contained no judgment.

With his hands spread wide in a gesture of helplessness, Louis Napoleon began. “My empire, once more, was overthrown.” His tone turned suddenly heated and bitter. “And this time, the savages murdered my wife and sons.” He wrestled to control his grief.

“I am sorry, my friend.” The Prussians maintained a moment of reverent silence. “But tell me of your journey – from Madagascar, and then from…” he looked to Longanecker to remind him of the place.

“Mozambique,” Longanecker aided, distractedly. So this man was…

“Yes,” said Napoleon, returning to the present. “I had certain servants who were unquestioned in their loyalty. I found one, and he smuggled me aboard a timber ship that carried the product to markets across the Strait.” He described how he had found a friend of his friend in Mozambique – a Prussian trader – with whom he assumed his alias. This person had, just two days prior, received another stranger – Kapitan Longanecker – who was desirous of passage home to Prussia. And so, their acquaintance had begun.

“So you…” Rensselaer remarked, with obvious amusement. “YOU! Traveled under false colors as a Prussian citizen???” He barked a great laugh.

Louis Napoleon chuckled. “I do you the great honor of imitation, my friend!” He referred to how the tables had turned from another deception between them, twenty years prior.

Through all this, Longanecker maintained a peculiar, faint smile. He was amazed at his own lapse of recognition, and he clearly recognized that there was yet more being communicated here of which he was unaware. Perhaps his smile also betrayed some amusement at how he had been played for a fool as well. Imagine! Longanecker was sharp enough to have figured out – only now – that he had traveled unknowingly with the infamous Emperor Louis Napoleon. But how had he not known? Was he that dull? Or was Napoleon that good at operating under false pretenses? The question fascinated him, and occupied his thoughts intoxicatingly, even as he tried to follow the conversation.

Napoleon explained, “When I left your estate, I sought out contacts with these rebels who had taken hold of Madagascar. I offered my services and expertise, and they – the German planters who had mounted the rebellion – seemed very interested. Looking back on it all, I suppose that I was useful to them for a while. I was the man who would be king – the commanding presence to give legitimacy to their corrupt endeavor. But then I fell afoul of their selfish interests. Perhaps I had consolidated too much power in my hands. In any case, I was invited to a meeting which quickly turned heated. I realized they intended to kill me. I escaped, but by the time I could return to the Palace, they had taken it. My wife and sons were dead.” He could not go on.

“Kapitan,” Rensselaer changed the subject. “I shall wish to receive a full report from you. For now, I would ask you to wait in the drawing room. I shall send for you in a little while. My secretary,” he nodded significantly to the man at the door, “will see to it you receive any refreshments or comforts you might desire.”

“Of course, Minister. Thank you for your kindness.” Longanecker bowed out and followed the secretary, leaving the two impressive men alone.

They discussed the coup a short while, and the escape, and passage. When all considerations of timing and propriety had moved into alignment, Rensselaer made his move. He supposed that he had the authority to make such a momentous decision… Or at least that it would be approved retroactively in the light of realistic consideration.

“How would you like your old job back?” Rensselaer said, plainly.

The reaction was a sudden, penetrating gaze. Louis Napoleon, the grieving father and widower, was gone. Louis Napoleon, the politician, was back…

As they crossed the threshold into the cabinet room, the ministers and Chancellor resumed their familiar looks of astonishment. And…

Rensselaer wasn’t certain he actually growled, but Kaiser Wilhelm I, Emperor of the Prussian-German Empire, started up from his chair like a roused canine whose domain had been invaded by a cat. But then the Kaiser stopped, and seemed to weigh whether he was more furious with Louis Napoleon, or with Rensselaer.

GhostWriter said:

the only logical conclusion is that Louis Napoleon is in Rens office! :rofl:

excellent update! ! ! ​

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Well, well... I was wondering if anyone would pick it up beforehand! Congratulations!

Actually, way back when -- when a captive Napoleon first escaped from Rensselaer's estate -- it accomplished two things. For one, it got him out of the way, as he would be a complicating factor as a prisoner. He also is just the kind of tragic character who seems to escape from one problem just to encounter another.

I decided that I would turn it into an homage to another of my favorite movies/stories -- The Man Who Would Be King. The story was written by Rudyard Kipling, and told in movie form by lead actor Peter O'Toole (of Lawrence of Arabia fame!). If anyone has not seen either of these movies, I would recommend you run out to the video store and watch them right now!

(EDIT) - Actually, I was confused. Kipling's Man Who Would Be King was a Michael Caine movie, rather good itself, but not the one I was thinking of. I was actually thinking of Lord Jim, a novel by Joseph Conrad (one of my favorite authors) and which was later made into a very worthy movie with Peter O'Toole. I'd recommend this, as well! (EDIT OFF)

Louis Napoleon was fated (in my AAR) to be ultimately deposed from his island kingdom. Honestly, I never dreamed that he would live and would be once more useful to me, but...

Now, Louis Napoleon (who has become one of my favorite characters, by the way!) returns in a manner such that he is helpful in explaining the change of government (to Bonapartiste!) that the game served out to me shortly after France's separate peace. It allows me to keep the satellite status credibly even through the change of government (which otherwise would be hard to explain).

Thank you all for reading and enjoying! And commenting!

Rensslaer