Chapter 39, part 1: The reclamation of Gaul begins
18 September 1661, off the coast of Northumberland, England
General Antonio della Ubaldini was not accustomed to defeat, and even less accustomed to abandoning his men. In truth, he felt like a coward, but Chief of the General Staff Contadino had made his orders very plain. His men were irregulars and had not received the kind of training proper legions would have. Therefore, they were expendable. Antonio was not, and while he didn't like his orders, he didn't have to like them. He just had to carry them out.
He'd actually won the first battle, despite all expectations.
The General knew he was far superior to his Scottish counterpart. That wasn't bravado, it was simple fact, and his superior fire discipline had won a temporary victory.
He was further cheered by Italian victories over the French at sea.
For whatever reason, the French King had decided to engage the Italian fleet piecemeal, a very bad strategy. Then again, even if the French had combined all their ships, as well as the ships of the Dutch and Scottish, the Italians still would have won. The Scottish, however, were far more canny than he'd given them credit for. A landing near Norfolk put 9000 Scottish troops, mere miles from London. Proconsul O'Connor knew that the Scots would come, and prepared the garrison to receive an assault, while asking for assistance from Ubaldini.
The truth was that no assistance was coming.
The General was sailing back to Rome. He knew he'd done his job, done it better than anybody had a right to expect. Still, his honor was stained. He had to get back into combat, to prove that the Ubaldini family was just as skilled at arms as any other Italian family.
His chance would not come soon, but it would be a decisive blow when it did.
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16 November 1661, Castle St. Maso, Rome
Peter I was very pleased with progress in the war against the French. General Contadino's plan had worked to perfection, and victories were frequent both at sea and on land.
Field Marshal della Torre personally led his men into battle, winning a very impressive battle at Rouerge. He'd tried to capture the entire army in an ingenious pincer movement; unfortunately, nobody had remembered to check the French agreements with Burgundy, and the French army hid in Burgundy like the cowards they were.
The pirates based out of Diego Garcia were also chased out, as a legion retook the Indian island for the Empire of Italy.
Even an Ethiopian declaration of war -- and Moroccan intervention -- couldn't dampen Peter's spirits.
Persia had also declared war at the onset of hostilities with the French, but Peter had very little respect or fear of the Persian soldiers; perhaps even less than for Moroccan troops.
The only thing that worried the Emperor was the Scottish invasion of England. A second army had landed at Essex, giving the Scots 18,000 men a stone's throw from London. His numerous orders to get Proconsul O'Connor to evacuate the city were met only with reassurances of success.
Still, when one took a long view of things, even if the Scots occupied the entire British isles -- a very doubtful proposition -- they had no hope of keeping them. Marshal Cato had issued orders to raise more legions in Italy and in Constantinople; these men, if necessary, would drive the Scottish out forcibly.
Worries about Scotland were quickly eliminated when his Captain of the Guard brought him good news -- the French army had been completely routed in two decisive victories!
At that moment, Peter decided to let Scotland have its fun. France was the war leader, and their capitulation would end the war anyway.
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28 November 1661, London, England
As garrisons fell to the north, Alexander O'Connor's thoughts were much farther away. His son David was in serious trouble, as Pensacola had fallen.
The governor had managed to report the French army's advance, but not quickly enough for the Emperor to send reinforcements. Alexander hadn't heard from David in days, and feared the worst. When he heard the knock at the door, he slowly rose to his feet.
"Hullo? Is anybody home?"
It was David! Alexander was overjoyed to see his eldest son.
"David! We were so worried about you! How did you get away from Pensacola?"
David frowned. "What's wrong with Pensacola? I was in South America doing a colonial survey."
Alex audibly made a sigh of relief. "Son, Pensacola was taken by French troops a few days ago."
"Oh dear. Does the Emperor know?"
"I have no idea, David."
"Well, I'm off for Rome in a few days anyway; I got the map that the Emperor requested. He wanted me to survey our colonial holdings in the New World, and I think he'll be pleased with the map."
Alex nodded. "Well, that's in a few days. Have a seat! That lovely young Kathleen has been asking after you again!"
David rolled his eyes. So it was
that conversation again. Still, he supposed he was thankful that his father was so concerned.
It also didn't hurt that Kathleen really was lovely.
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9 March 1662, Foreign Minister's office
Lan Zhu studied the three treaties he'd received in the last month. Foreign Minister di Ferrari had been ill the last couple of weeks, and the Imperial translator was filling in for him. Persia wanted a white peace, which was no surprise. That was an easy decision, and he initialed it for the Emperor's signature.
The other two were more interesting. The Scottish treaty made no sense. After all, they'd just moved a third army into Cumbria, yet here they were after a white peace. Lan Zhu shook his head. Apparently, these barbarians had no sense of honor. Who surrendered when they were winning? Nonetheless, he initialed that treaty too. He wasn't sure if the Emperor would sign it or not -- he probably would -- but he didn't want to take any chances, so he wrote his recommendation and attached it to the treaty.
The last treaty was from France. The Manchurian grinned at that one. They were begging for a white peace, but Lan Zhu was no fool; he knew the Emperor had no intentions of signing anything but a formal acknowledgement that he was to become King of France. He supposed that if he were in France's shoes, he'd also be begging for mercy.
A thought struck the Foreign Minister as he instructed a clerk to prepare the two treaties that would most likely be signed for publication. There were many more senior officials at the Foreign Ministry, all of whom were native born Italians, and yet it was Lan Zhu that both the Emperor and, more remarkably, Duke di Ferrari, had requested to fill the spot. It was an exciting yet sobering thought. Lan Zhu was only one step away from hereditary nobility, and even thought he had no family (and didn't intend to have any; the Manchurian enjoyed his freedom too much), the simple thought that he'd nearly progressed from a minor functionary to one of the true nobility was a heady realization.
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2 April 1662, Castle St. Maso, Rome
Peter I was in a great mood, and his two visitors today wouldn't change that. The victory at Languedoc all but spelled the end of the French war effort. In fact, most of the soldiers there weren't even French; Trier supplied them.
The occupation of French land would be slow and exhausting, but ultimate victory seemed all but inevitable to the Emperor. He nodded to his guard, who let his first visitor in.
"Aedile O'Connor! I am glad to find you unharmed. I understand you were outside Pensacola during its capture by the French?"
David O'Connor nodded. "Yes, your Imperial Majesty. The survey you requested is complete, and I have a copy here ready for your approval."
"Excellent! Let's have a look, by all means."
Peter's face briefly clouded. "The French have considerable land in the New World. I had no idea. Do you think we will need to send the legions there?"
David hesitated. "From what I know of the French, I'd say it's unlikely, but I am no military mind and cannot predict whether or not our garrisons could hold."
The Emperor considered that, and thanked the young man. He called his last audience for the day, General Antonio della Ubaldini.
"General! So good to see you. Thank you for coming so swiftly."
Antonio saluted. "I serve the Empire, your Imperial Majesty."
Peter nodded sagely. "As do we all. I understand that you've been eager for a chance at redemption. Before I offer you this assignment, I want you to know that your record is completely unblemished. I agreed with General Contadino's decision, and I will personally assure you that your career will not be affected negatively."
Antonio tried not to let his relief show, but he did bow and thank the Emperor.
"Now, to business. I have an important assignment for you. As you know, France all but stands alone against our Empire, apart from one irritating ally: Holland."
"Yes, sir."
"I would like you to take our newest legion -- the Legio XXVII 'Fortis' -- and capture their capital, forcing them out of the war. Completely isolated, France will have no choice but to surrender. Can you do that, General?"
Antonio saluted vigorously. "Of course, sir! It would be an honor!"
"Then the assignment is yours, General. Bring honor and glory to our Empire!"
"Glory to the Empire, Emperor, sir!"
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I hope you all enjoy this update; I'm going to be pretty busy this week, so after I update Descent into Madness, I won't update again until this weekend, possibly next week. I'll still be around, though!