South of Klagenfurt, Carinthia
March 21st, 1836.
French forward elements had already settled into position during the night. Infantry lay behind ridgelines and tree cover, spread out across the southern approaches to Klagenfurt. No fires. No unnecessary movement. Orders had been passed quietly, unit by unit, until the entire line understood what would happen next.
But nothing moved yet.
The colonel stood near an observation point carved into a shallow rise overlooking the valley. Beside him, a group of artillery officers studied the terrain again, not for the first time.
"The slope isn't clean," one of them said, pointing toward the city. "Too much obstruction. Buildings, trees, elevation breaks."
Another officer adjusted his glass.
"If we fire from here, the shells will hit the outer line, not the interior."
The colonel listened without interrupting.
"And the alternate position?" he asked.
The officer turned slightly and gestured to the west.
