Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

“No,” Victor immediately shook his head. “That would waste the advantage we gained from crossing the Great St. Bernard Pass.”

“Our greatest advantage right now is that the enemy has yet to realize their vulnerable underbelly is exposed to the barrel of our cannons.”

“We must attack Milan at once; it is the true core of the battlefield.”

“I believe Milan currently has very few enemy troops defending it.”

“As for General Demobin, we should trust his command abilities. He will certainly hold Genoa!”

Marmon raised his voice, “The Italian Front Army will soon run out of supplies. No matter how brave they are, they cannot defeat the enemy on an empty stomach!”

The two began to argue, but neither mentioned Turin. Sardinia was essentially viewed as a mere bonus among French officers. Who would go to great lengths for a bonus?

After a moment, both turned to look at Napoleon.

Buonaparte’s strategic planning abilities were undeniable, and it was ultimately up to him to decide.

Napoleon’s gaze alternated between Genoa and Milan. After a brief pause, he straightened up, pulled both subordinates close by their shoulders, and smiled, “Why must we choose at all? I won’t give up either Milan or Genoa.”

“What? How could that be possible?”

“Commander, we barely have enough time…”

Napoleon picked up a small stick and pointed at Milan. “What do you think will happen if we capture Milan? What move would Melas make?”

Victor pondered, “He’d likely send troops to reinforce.”

“Exactly,” Napoleon nodded. “This would greatly lighten the pressure on Genoa. And we could choose multiple positions to intercept Melas’ reinforcements, obtaining swift battlefield dominance!”

Marmon cautiously added, “But General Demobin will struggle to secure supplies…”

Napoleon waved the stick in his hand dismissively. “The quartermaster will procure what he needs from Genoa’s citizens. I believe he can hold out for two months, without question.”

In truth, Napoleon kept his deepest thoughts to himself—that if Demobin were to perish or be captured, he would naturally become the rightful commander of the Italian Front Army.

When the war was won, the glory of the Italian campaign would all be his. At that point, he would at least be promoted to Brigadier, or perhaps even directly to Vice Admiral.

Seeing Marmon hesitate further, Napoleon continued, “The forces besieging Genoa may seem numerous, but among them are twenty thousand Sardinian troops. You’ve witnessed their combat prowess back in Toulon; they’re not worth worrying about.”

“Once Melas redeploys part of the Austrian Army back to Milan, General Demobin might even have the chance to break out. All problems will resolve themselves.”

Speaking with force, he swung the stick in his hand as if wielding a mighty sword. “Alright, let the soldiers rest this afternoon. Tomorrow morning, we march toward the splendid Milan! Untold treasures and maidens await us there!”

…

Inside Milan City.

Bolieu shook his head repeatedly, spending several minutes contemplating whether he had ever been insufficiently devout during his prayers, for he felt cursed…

Otherwise, why would the French keep appearing before him as if emerging from underground?

It had to be a dreadful curse!

Yes, just half an hour ago, the Hussars reported to him that over ten thousand French soldiers were rapidly advancing toward Milan, now only twenty miles away.

Ever since being inexplicably defeated by the French in Toulon numerous times, Bolieu had heightened his vigilance toward reconnaissance, ensuring a cavalry squadron was always on patrol.

Yet this French army had still appeared out of nowhere!

This was Milan, the rear stronghold!

Apart from the Alps nearby, there were only Aus Alliance forces. Where could these French possibly have come from?

Crossing himself to halt his rambling thoughts, Bolieu turned to the map on the wall, before glancing at the officers around him.

The officers lowered their heads in silence. The room was steeped in a tense quiet.

Though Milan had over eight thousand troops stationed, everyone knew they had only recently endured the devastating defeat at Toulon. Morale was gravely diminished, and nearly half the soldiers hadn’t even finished reorganizing.

Such forces stood little chance against an army of superior numbers, which might be the same French troops who had crushed them not long ago.

At the French army’s marching pace, no more than three days remained before Milan, the Empire’s linchpin in Italy, came under assault.

A tall officer rose abruptly and declared, “Marshal, the Po River is now at flood stage. As long as we defend the Valenza crossing, the French advance can be effectively blocked.”

“Even if Valenza falls, we can withdraw to the Ticino River. Though the terrain isn’t particularly advantageous, destroying the river’s boats in advance can still slow the French considerably.”

“I believe we can hold for twenty days until reinforcements sent by General Melas arrive.”

Bolieu hadn’t expected his generals to be so defeatist, and now this cavalry officer, Lieutenant Libutaei, was the only one showing any measure of vigor.

After carefully weighing Libutaei’s proposal, the realization set in that forward deployment and shore defense were their only viable options now.

Retreating from Milan entirely wasn’t a thought he would dare entertain—the Emperor would unhesitatingly throw him in prison without needing a military tribunal.

Taking a deep breath, Bolieu addressed Libutaei, “Then you shall assume full responsibility for defending the Valenza crossing. The infantry and scattered groups will also be placed under your command.”

“Yes, Marshal!” Libutaei stood sharply at attention. “Thank you for your trust. I will hold until reinforcements arrive!”

West Bank of the Po River.

Napoleon eyed the turbulent waters gushing before him, bent over to pick up a small twig and tossed it into the river.

The branch bounced wildly upon contact with the water before quickly vanishing from view in the torrential currents.

A faint frown crept onto his face.

His reconnaissance team had just forced their way across the river, reporting Austrian artillery positions set up on the far bank, seemingly ready to blow the bridge at any moment.

Napoleon felt confident that with well-timed artillery support, a direct assault would seize the crossing in three to five days.

Such an approach, though, would undoubtedly come at a grave cost in casualties.

His considerations had less to do with compassion for the troops—he simply knew that massive losses might leave him too weakened to confront Melas when reinforcements arrived.

Looking again at the Austrian positions through his spyglass, Napoleon suddenly turned to the adjutant and said, “Have the soldiers form ranks along the riverbank. Ensure the drums do not cease. And make sure they stay beyond artillery range.”

“Which regiment, sir?” the adjutant asked.

“All of them,” Napoleon replied. “Except the cavalry camp and the grenadiers. Make the formation appear as imposing as possible.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!