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    Real Strategy Requires Cunning

Abe_Archer

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La Première République
an Ahistorical Journey through the French Revolution and Aftermath

July 14 1789​
Journal Entry by Pierre Montfort​

I couldn’t get over how cold the piece of bread was as it laid on the floor; it was as cold as the son that laid in my hands…

It was time for us to take action into our own hands. For too long had the French crown kept her people stomped under her iron heel, for too long had she forgotten her own peoples and left them to starve as she piled up her debt in that Seven Years’ War. No more were the French people to stand subject to the abuses of the crown, her people had to rise up in the flames of defiance. The day we stormed Bastille was a good day, for in it was contained all the savagery to be surfaced from inside the hearts of the French Peoples.

This savagery came slowly as we had in days prior done mischief in Paris. The Hotels des Invalides was raided for musketry, but the truth was, now that I have thought about it, that my own hatred was piled up inside from before. It had begun with the Estates-General when the king, seeing the impasse the people created with the nobility and clergy, barred the third-estate, the people, from the assembly. We were to create our own assembly, the assembly at the Tennis court, and we were not going to stop until constitution.

The riots in Paris had begun. The shortages of bread made our people perish under the cruel rules of life.

At the castle we waited for negotiations for the seven prisoners inside. Once we learned that they would not give in we rushed into the old castle, the peasants finally were coming into the house of their lords to become the great masters of their fate. The guards could not stop us, the prisoners were free, Louis XVI will not stop us, and we will be free.

September 14th 1789​

Oh, woe, how I find myself more and more leaning towards the side of those wretched Jacobins, and their ideas of how France must now get rid of her king? Oh, wretched idea! Killing our king? I must agree with the National Assembly who believe that the king is necessary for the state.

The National Assembly! What can I say about you? I can say that I cannot believe that you, after striving to remove the ancienne regime and the after making those noble and good documents of the rights of man, would turn against us. How can she have fired during a protest of the Jacobins? One must think the world to be gone mad.

Oh, but woe is me. That wretched man sees the fiery sparks in our eyes; he knows of our plans and seeks to remove the gaze of the people from him and onto his own goals. An expansionist France cannot think of herself but only of her enemies, and so he declares war on our new enemy, Sardinia-Piedmont. Good and noble men who should be thinking about their own futures in this land must now march beyond the Alps, to Sardinia-Piedmont and to her ally of Corsica. The people of France, as always they have done in moments of danger, will unite under the banner of arms to defeat her common foe. A crafty king indeed, but yet I say France must see to her own problems, and no one listens.

I have said before that a constitution was needed, I must say it again. However, the Jacobins may be right.

It does not matter, I must now go to attend to my business; I must go now for I have been summoned. Oh how I have the fear that my own fate brings me closer to this enemy of ours and away from our true interests.



Some small notes:
1)I do not have time to be posting any images, I just want to write and if you want to read you’re a good person. Besides, I want to capture people with my writing.
2)I want to tell a story of a small segment of history this time so I don’t have to do a daunting task, the long historical narrative is probably the reason I quit before.
3)This story follows the general story of a game of France I’ve been playing.
4) My knowledge of French history is limited but luckily most of the things will be ahistorical anyway. Any corrections where applicable are appreciated.
5) Any literary critique or comments is HIGHLY appreciated.
6) Enjoy.
 
Last edited:

Abe_Archer

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II
Campaign in Sardinia-Piedmont
Entry for June 1790​


The thaw had come to the land. Our troops who laid siege upon the enemy near our border were now to be ordered on the march through the Alps and through the seas to Sardinia. I myself had been ordered on a ship to the Sardinian isle, in whose Mediterranean warmth which I now patiently await for the coming battle.

I first witnessed these campaigns as a mere onlooker, seeing our great ships obliterate the Sardinian fleet near the Madallena Archipelago,I heard that a young and brilliant officer by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte did a fine effort as he commanded the defeat over Admiral Domenico Millelire. However, seeing the cannons roar from afar was a stark contrast to the cannons that would roar against me.

Landing at Quartu Sant'Elena was an easy task for we had full control of the sea, staying there would prove to be the problem.

Our landing was long and safe, and we had all the supplies carried to the shore that we needed for the coming campaign. The camp was certainly in good cheer and we began our advance on the city from the shoreline, we would then continue to the capital of Cagliari so as to ease our final conquest over the whole of the island.

It soon became evident that these Sardinians had a mind to make this difficult for us. The town, it seemed, had assembled its force of militia and soldiers and was to engage us. Later we would learn they were led by the cunning Antonio Pisanu.

Upon seeing the Sardinian rabble to be forming inside the city we were ordered to make for a quick march to dispose of what seemed to have been an inadequate force scrambling to get itself ready. Due to this fact, a part of our army was to surround the city, however due to our misperceptions of such a small a number, another part of the army stayed at the camp. My regiment stopped between two buildings as we came across an enemy square and began that terrible duel of modern warfare.

It was such a different experience from the storming of Bastille. It was a great multiple of terror and death. We stood in ranks as bullets came at us, and we had, for the sake of our survival, to stay ranks, and to fire back as fast as we could. We could not freeze up in the face of death.

However, in our rapid inexperience, as we felt that heart pounding surge of adrenaline fire in our hearts and boil our blood, as our heads thought only of the kill and the fear of being killed, we did not check those buildings. Our idiocy be damned! The Sardinian opened those closed shutters in both those buildings and rained down death upon us.

As our officers and many fellow comrades were felled by the bullets a moment of confusion and panic filled the hearts of our men. Thinking only for myself I charged into the building. Opening the door I saw one man covering the stairs upwards and promptly shot his leg with my loaded musket. After having a moment of safety I noticed that the rest of that near-dead regiment had followed me in my cowardice. Seeing that, as a corporal, I had the highest rank of the remaining men it was my duty to lead them. With this thought in mind I was now resolved to lead.

I ordered the rest of us to plug bayonets, and keeping some men below we charged to the higher level of that wooden building. Hand to hand was a truly savage thing; there were no rules as we fought with those militiamen up top. It seemed that there was not as many as we thought waiting upon the rooftops and our bayonets soon filled up with their wretched blood.

Once cleared of the any living Sardinians, I ordered all the men to the higher floor and we barricaded ourselves inside. There we waited and fired upon those who now tried to storm our newfound fortress, though had it not have been for an alleviating force coming to our salvation we would have perished in this wooden grave. When the other regiments came now we rained death upon our enemies and warned our allies of the other outpost across the street, though it seemed that our counterparts across the street had already fled from their bastion, and even if they had not I doubt anyone could hear past the deafening roar of musketry.

For the rest of the day our regiment was called “coeur de fer ”(heart of iron), for we stood "firm" in the barrage. "Iron heart" my musket! Well, what they don't know won't hurt them, I guess? Unfortunately, of one thousand men only 60 survived, though what was left of us was thought as a good luck charm in the campaign ahead.

Though, in all this carnage, there is one thing that makes me glad, for merit in battle and the command I had shown I have been promised some sort of promotion. Who knows, with our new army system, I may even make general one day!
 
Last edited:

General_Hoth

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eagles were only carried by napoleonnic troops, not revolutionnary