Chapter 26, part 1: The Clash of the Titans
2 July 1666, Nürnberg
Joseph II von Hohenzollern, naturally, was a busy monarch with the war against Bayern's single greatest foe. Yet he found little time in the opening days of the conflict for anything but domestic concerns. He sat quietly, awaiting the day's first supplicant, with one eye always on the strategic map in front of him.
Marshal Scherer had insisted upon commanding from the front line, so that Joseph II was, in effect, his own Marshal. To aid himself, he promoted Harald von Ungern to General and made the nobleman his personal military advisor until Scherer's return. The plan, itself, was simplicity. Drive hard into French lands. There was one problem in the short run -- a clerical error meant that some of the frontline troops had not received rations for a couple of days, and so were not, perhaps, ideally disposed for combat. Nonetheless, as proud Bavarians, they would fight and die if need be.
A herald brought in the first appointment of the day. The cut of his clothes, style of his hair, and air of arrogance nearly convinced the Captain of the Guard to slay the newcomer on the spot. The Kaiser stayed the Captain's hand. The newcomer merely smiled, as if this was a common mistake, and proclaimed, "Fear not, noble sir, as I am a Walloon, not French."
The Kaiser could not help but smile. "Indeed. Herr Picard is one of ours, Captain, the Stadtholder of Valais."
"You forget my title, Your Imperial Majesty -- President of the Conclave of Stadtholders."
"Are you now? I had completely forgotten the position existed."
Rene Picard smiled jovially, but raged inside. Born in Brussels, Picard was one of the wealthiest men in all of Europe. More than that, he was an incredibly shrewd card player and politician. He had won his governorship in a game of chance, doing so in such a skillful manner that the Kaiser, out of genuine respect for his panache, confirmed the appointment. Picard had already done more to liberalize his province than any other Stadtholder ever had, allowing public elections (of the wealthiest and more powerful men of his province) for every position in the province. "Kaiser, I understand you have much on your mind with the perfidious French dogs who so wrongly attacked you occupying your attention."
Now it was the Kaiser who had to conceal his emotions. Joseph II had done his best to portray himself as wronged, but he could not portray his intentions as peaceful. Any fool recognized that.
Rene Picard is no fool, mused the Kaiser.
His selection to this office is no mistake. Aloud, the Kaiser simply laughed. "Touche, my friend. So, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
"I come on behalf of the Conclave."
"Ah. Have you considered my proposal?"
The Kaiser, as soon as he had determined to attack France, had made an astounding offer -- he would grant Stadtholders the right to choose their own successors via the Conclave, in exchange for ensuring that all conscription quotas be met and that domestic peace be made the order of the day.
It was extremely generous. So generous that Picard, and a majority within the Conclave, mistrusted the offer. "Sire, we have had time to consider it, yes. And I cannot help but ask myself, 'Rene, if you were Kaiser, would you make such a deal?' I respond, 'No, it would be utter foolishness.' I ask you, then, the same question I asked myself. Why?"
Joseph II nodded, as if to concede yet another point to the Walloon. "A fair question. First, I know as well as you do that French troops are not the Byzantines. There will be horrendous casualties, and I must needs rely upon the soldiers of the land to replenish my armies." Rene agreed that was reasonable. "Second, I would prefer no rebellion in my rear as we extend our lines into France's interior, or so we pray."
"What you say makes excellent sense. My question then becomes, why should I settle for having the Conclave appoint all Stadtholders? I could get many more political concessions from you than that, or so it would seem."
Joseph II smiled wolfishly. "It is entirely possible that you may. Or, it could also be that every garrison in the kingdom is on high alert and would kill every last one of the traitors should you refuse."
Rene winced.
I perhaps showed too much of my hand. I did so hope to demand a percentage of key posts be granted only to Stadtholders. No matter. "Then we are agreed, Herr Kaiser."
Joseph nodded. Both men signed the agreement and departed. The next appointment was with Clemens August Asch III and his son, Clemens August Asch IV.
"Ah, gentlemen. I suppose you have your own concerns?"
Clemens gestured to the younger Asch, who was a mere forty compared to his much older father. "Kaiser, we are worried about giving Picard so much power. Is it truly wise?"
Joseph II sighed. "Is it wise? Perhaps not. But it is necessary. I could easily dispose of every Stadtholder in the realm, but there is a growing movement behind the Conclave." Joseph tented his fingers. "I do not think any of them see it except, perhaps, Picard. Tell me, gentlemen, who benefits if the Stadtholders choose their own number?"
"The Stadtholders, obviously." Yet Clemens August Asch III looked worried even as his son replied confidently.
"No, my son, the
existing Stadtholders."
The Kaiser nodded. "Yes. They will stagnate if new blood is not introduced, which is precisely why I offered it to them. They will grow ever more conservative. Soon, the most radical of them will become more and more reserved and quiet. They think want to choose their own replacements, and perhaps many of them do. Picard does not."
"What does Picard want, then, Kaiser Joseph?"
Joseph II rose and looked out the window to the people below his castle. "He wants a republic, my oldest friends. A republic where there is no Kaiser and no nobility. He thinks I do not see this, but I do. It greatly troubles me. Oh, he would make sure the common folk do not vote. He is not a lunatic. What I fear, however, is that if a republic is proclaimed, the Hohenzollerns and all those who benefit from the Hohenzollerns will perish."
Father and son looked in horror at one another. "What can we do to stop this? As you say, even if we did not love you, we are equally at their mercy."
"Do you have an association of your own, like the Conclave?"
"The Gentlemen's Society of Greater Bayern has most of the most prominent nobles, I believe, and invitations could be extended to the remainder."
"Your President?"
"We do not have one -- it rotates -- but our treasurer is Baron Paul Henneberger."
Joseph II nodded with satisfaction. Henneberger, much like Picard, was a wealthy merchant. Yet Henneberger hungered for what Picard did not -- power and glory. He married into an old Bavarian family and inherited a small castle outside of Ulm from his father-in-law. He would do almost anything for more fame and power. "Gentlemen, please discuss what I have said with your society. I am most eager to hear what we can do, but after the war."
Both Aschs departed, bowing. Joseph II returned to his desk, knowing he had one final group appointment with his family. He smiled with genuine warmth as his wife and four children entered the small office.
"Anastasia, Vera, my dears, please sit." They took the chairs indicated, while Luitpold, Peter, and Bruno all stood proudly. "We are here to discuss this family's future in the coming war. We six are all that remains of the Hohenzollerns. Anastasia, I would like you and Vera to visit your family in Poland. You will be safer there from French attacks. Find our beloved daughter a worthy husband." Vera smiled. Anastasia merely looked troubled.
"Kajetan, you know I would be by your side."
Joseph II nodded gravely. "I know. Despite the fact that you might prefer Rene Picard as a husband, though, I trust you implicitly."
Anastasia laughed and smiled slyly. "It is true, he is much more handsome than you."
"Of course he is." The family shared a quite laugh. "But I must insist. Bruno, you will accompany your mother and sister and see that they come to no harm. Oberstleutnant de la Rosa and 100 guards will be at your command."
Bruno bowed, and gesturing to his mother and sister, departed with them.
"What of us, Father?" said Luitpold, a split second before Peter.
"You are grown men, now, and it is time to do your duty for kingdom and empire. You have both completed your schooling?" After the twins nodded, he continued. "Peter, I know of your fondness for literature and poetry. It has made you a very sweet boy. Yet if your brother and I were killed, you would need to rule, and so you must learn something of administration. You may find bureaucracy dreadfully boring, but it is vital to a successful realm. You will serve as Ferdinand Maximillian's personal assistant until such time as you are relieved. Learn from him."
Peter bowed. "Of course, Father."
Then Joseph II turned to his eldest son. True, Peter and Luitpold were twins, but Luitpold had become a powerful warrior, sinewy and tough. He was proficient at hand to hand combat and one of the finest marksmen in Europe. Yet, he too lacked something. "Luitpold, if I were to offer you any position you liked, what would you choose?"
Without hesitation, Luitpold said "Put me in the infantry. Let me lead a charge, or follow a charge, or anything to spill French blood for the glory of our country and our family."
"As I suspected." Joseph sighed. "Luitpold, you are a masterful soldier. I sometimes see Friedrich II in you. You have a head for administration the equal of mine, if not even greater."
"Thank you, Father."
"You lack one thing to be a truly great leader."
Luitpold looked intently. "What is that?"
"Cunning."
"I do not understand."
Joseph II pursed his lips for a moment, searching his bookshelf. He pulled down a volume and handed it to his son. "What is the title of this book?"
"The Art of War."
"Yes. I purchased that at great expense from China. The author writes of using deception, trickery, and patience to win battles. Do you understand?"
"I think so, Father" although Luitpold understood nothing of the kind.
Joseph II shook his head sadly. "I thought not, my son. You must learn these qualities, and the art of diplomacy, if you are to succeed as Kaiser."
"You will apprentice me then to the Foreign Minister?"
The Kaiser laughed. "You would learn less of diplomacy from him than from a tree. No, I will give you a commission, but not in the infantry."
"Then where?"
"The Gendarmerie."
Luitpold was absolutely stunned. "The Gendarmerie? You would have become a brainless thug?"
Joseph II could no longer take his son's insolence. "If you became a brainless thug, Luitpold, it might be a considerable improvement! The Gendarmerie is the secret sword of the kingdom! They do what they do purely for service and not for glory or recognition. They do it to defend their realm. They investigate crimes, break up plots before they can ripen, and they strike at enemies long before a musket is pointed. If you excel there, you will be the greatest Kaiser this realm has ever seen. If you fail, Peter would be a far superior ruler. Do you understand?"
Luitpold thought about nodding, but finally decided to tell the truth. "No, I do not."
"Good. Admitting you do not understand is the first step toward understanding. I give you two months of liberty to put your affairs in order. Then, you will report to Gendarmerie Headquarters."
"Where is that, Father?"
"If you cannot find it yourself, you do not belong there."
19 August 1666, Paris
Adelheid von Wittelsbach und Babenberg squealed like a school girl as reports came flooding of French victory after French victory. She had willingly sacrificed her husband's neck for this war, and would have done so again and again if it were necessary. The funny part was that in Geoffrey's room, she discovered he was going to do the same to her. "I suppose we really were perfect for one another. I shall miss him, I think."
The initial attacks had been not only blunted, but annihilated.
Even sweeter, General Moshamm, one of the finest Generals in Bayern, was captured at the most recent battle, which took place on Bavarian soil.
Adelheid smiled rapturously. "I do so hope the King will give me permission to accompany the advance into Nürnberg!"
The girl serving her smiled emptily. Unbeknownst to the would-be Queen, everybody in Paris hated her, and her serving girl was no exception. The King had not wished to fight Bayern, had indeed hoped to convince Joseph II to turn on the Poles. Instead, the Kingdom was plunged into war.
28 August 1666, Valenciennes
Bayern had won many battles against France in the last wars, yet lost each war. The secret to France's success had been their near constant waves of manpower. What Adelheid von Babenberg und Wittelsbach did not know, but the King of France did (as did practically everyone else in France), was that that particular imbalance had been rectified. A daring escape by General Moshamm and a counterattack proved the new found resilience of Bayern.
New armies were already being raised, well behind the lines, to replace those lost. No, this time, Bavarian troops would take the fight to France.
28 November 1666, Geneve
Adalbert Moshamm was replacing, at least indirectly, one of the finest soldiers the Empire had ever produced. Marshal Scherer, who had won countless battles and defeated more armies than some kings, was killed by a snake bite.
Harald von Ungern was named Marshal in his place, but what the kingdom and empire really needed was battlefield commanders. This was proven quite conclusively by the back and forth action at the front lines.
While the army appeared to be weakened, the Kaiser demanded more from France as a way to settle the war, insisting that Poitou become part of Bayern, in addition to Valenciennes and the provinces under imperial ban.
The first newly appointed officer was Adalbert Moshamm, the son of General Maximillian Philipp Moshamm.
The second newly created General was Adalbert's former chief of cavalry, Karl Wilsenhütten.
The "Young Bavarians" (as the two of them were known -- both were under 30) needed to pick up where their predecessors left off; striking blow after blow directly at the enemy's heart.
16 February 1667, Gendarmerie HQ
Luitpold von Hohenzollern, Leutnant von Gendarmerie, fumed as he saw his inferiors promoted or sent off to war while he was investigating horse thieves. He had tried to correspond with General Wilsenhütten after his glorious victory at Avignon.
His father had intercepted the letter (in which the Prinz tried to order Wilsenhütten to give him a commission in the field) and, to emphasize Luitpold's inability to go to the front, forwarded one from, of all people, his youngest brother Bruno, who had accompanied a Polish army as an observer into eastern France.
Yet for Luitpold, the ultimate insult was watching the General-in-Chief of the Gendarmerie -- Alois Johann Rickauer -- getting a battlefield commission, even though he was already in his fifties and had never seen combat.
Why does Father hate me? whined the young Prinz.
Have I not been a dutiful son?
1 July 1667, Nürnberg
Joseph II paced in his office. Whatever faults the French might have, marksmanship was not one of them. The senior General in command had been assassinated by a French sharpshooter.
While he considered a replacement, the King of Oldenburg sat, in exile, not forty feet away. He was a King without a Kingdom.
With Polish help, French fortresses continued to fall, however.
The Kaiser was convinced that a French counterattack was inevitable, yet he lacked the experienced leadership he needed to meet and turn such an attack. The only General who was even healthy enough to carry a musket was Albrecht von Zentner (cousin of the distinguished General of the same name, who had died in 1645). Zentner was an artilleryman, but an accident had cost him one of his arms and made him very skittish about combat. Sadly, Zentner was the best choice, as most of the most experienced Obersts were in garrisons around the kingdom, ensuring that Rene Picard kept his word and carried out no plots.
This is no way to fight a war, he ventured.
Something drastic is needed.
5 August 1667, Vermandois
Oberstleutnant de la Rosa was eager to prove that he belonged in the conversation as one of the great military heroes of his time. True, he had failed in most of his combat duty prior to this war. He was inattentive to the needs of his men, often read maps incorrectly, and in general did as little as humanly possible to achieve that notoriety. He found himself in command of 4th Army only through sheer persistence and the critical skill of staying alive (at which he truly was a military genius).
The most recent success against the French in battle was achieved by a Polish general.
It had been Bavarian troops that had won the day, yet the Polish leader won the credit. Tomas de la Rosa was insistent that he not meet the same fate; he would be visible in the slow march to Paris. He shouted meaningless platitudes at his troops, urging them to be willing to "gloriously die for Kaiser and Empire" and striking all manner of absurd poses in an effort to "raise morale." Tomas had just struck his very favorite, where he shaded his vision and looked over the horizon (in the wrong direction, mind, but nobody cared to correct him) with his left hand on his revolver. Behind him, Tomas heard cheering.
That is more like it!/I] he ventured.
He bowed to accept their praise, and made for his command tent to study the campaign map.
To his utter revulsion, he found another officer seated, quietly examining that same map. Outraged, Tomas shouted at that unknown officer. "Sir, you forget your place! When a superior officer arrives, you must stand and salute!"
The officer, barely suppressing a laugh, nonetheless leapt to his feet and saluted. "Right you are, Oberstleutnant!"
Tomas shuddered at the ridiculously ornate uniform on display in front of him. (It had two more buttons than his own, which was surely a crime!) "My God, man, you are a peacock, a vainglorious rooster strutting as if you and you alone were the heart and soul of the army. Why, you probably have never seen a fight in a tavern, let alone battle!"
The officer now couldn't help but guffaw. "Why, I had much the same opinion of you, Oberstleutnant! How odd!"
Tomas now bristled with rage. "That is it! Sir, I demand your name, that I might gain satisfaction!"
"Gladly. It is Kajetan Maria von Hohenzollern."
Tomas de la Rosa did what any other gentleman-solider of the König's glorious army would have. He fainted dead away. Joseph II simply shook his head. "Somebody haul his carcass out of the tent? We have a siege to plan."
Part II will come early next week!
That said, I already have an idea for a TOG campaign that I might as well carry into EUIV, so that'll be the first, although I do quite like your idea too.
