Episode 119: Toward the Rhine (2) "Alright… done! This should keep it from coming loose and falling apart on the way."
Private Second Class Philippe of the 3rd Volunteer Infantry Battalion, who had packed a field kit with his own hands for the first time in his life, straightened his crouched legs and stood up with a satisfied look.
Fighting a life-or-death battle before even learning how to pack a kit—Philippe's soldiering was twisted in all sorts of ways, but the important part was that he'd survived.
Because headquarters and the tents were set up on a hill, once he stood up straight and stretched his waist and legs, the area around Villers-Bocage—where the fierce battle had unfolded—filled Philippe's eyes.
Just a few days ago. The fact that he had been right in the middle of that battlefield still didn't feel real.
Craters gouged deep by shellfire, flags torn to shreds, and even crosses—simple ones, at least—made by cutting branches and setting them up over the temporary graves of enemy and allied dead.
Everywhere you looked, the world was littered with proof that countless lives had fallen.
But Philippe had survived.
Even though it was already the height of summer, goosebumps rose along his arms in a rush—that was proof enough.
"Philippe! If you're done, stop loafing around and get into ranks—fives and tens!"
"Yes, yes! Second Lieutenant Jean Lannes!"
Spurred on by a lieutenant who, just days ago, had been a fellow citizen like him, Philippe hurriedly hoisted his field kit and rifle onto his shoulders.
Do people get that picky the moment they become officers? That was something Philippe—who only had a single private's stripe to pin on the uniform that was probably being made somewhere in Paris right now—couldn't possibly know.
"3rd Volunteer Infantry Battalion! From here on, toward Paris—forward march!"
"""Forward march!"""
But there was one thing he knew for sure.
"""Liberty, beloved Liberty! Fight with your defenders!"""
If you made it to Paris, there would be warm bathwater and good food.
Kingdom of France, Paris.Rue de Grenelle, Nations Office of Isaac.
"Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon! You've come. I've been waiting so long my neck nearly snapped! It's been months!"
"…Ah. Yes…"
I spoke as I took the hand offered by the diplomat—George Leveson-Gower, Duke of Sutherland—who was more than a decade older than me, and then another year on top of that.
To think the first person to welcome me back to Paris wouldn't be a Frenchman, but an Englishman. Never would I have imagined this kind of twist.
Sure, fine—work is work. But for a guy who hadn't properly washed in over a week and had been living on field rations, couldn't you at least give him one day off, as a human being?
"First, on behalf of Britain, I offer my heartfelt congratulations on Your Excellency's victory."
"…Thank you. But why is the British Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary here…?"
"Hahaha, naturally! For the 'special relationship' between your revolutionary government and Great Britain, I came to pay my respects."
"Haha. 'Special relationship'…"
Yeah—there's the reason his eyes look so vicious. This wasn't someone who came just to congratulate me.
God, I hate annoying work—especially diplomacy. I should've tried a diplomatic victory in Civilization and Three Kingdoms once in a while instead of always going for conquest. Getting tangled up like this—ugh. Just thinking about it is disgusting.
"If it's diplomatic business, wouldn't it be better to visit Minister Lebrun rather than me?"
"Your Excellency's words are correct, but as the representative of the executive branch, wouldn't you also need to handle diplomatic practice? Hahaha."
A diplomat, of course. No matter what he says, you can see in his words that he's determined to talk to me.
In the end, I showed him both palms.
"Fine. You win. What did you come to see me about?"
Look at that corner of his mouth lifting.
"Our Foreign Office and the Prime Minister are expressing deep concern over Prussia and Russia's recent actions."
"…Is that so?"
Britain really is a balance-obsessed addict. Are they pissed that Europe isn't flowing the way they laid out the board?
"As Your Excellency knows, we Britons love peace."
"Mm. I see."
Wow. Coming from the people who swallowed Bengal whole not long ago and are now steadily turning India into a colony—talking about peace like this. That takes a level of respect. How thick does the steel plate on your face have to be to say that without changing expression?
I wanted to say, "Ah, so sucking Bengal dry and helping Atlantic pirates counts as peace too?"
But as the representative of the executive branch, I swallowed that rotten impulse and spoke calmly.
"Frankly, I believe there is no nation that contributes more to maintaining peace in the world than Britain. And…"
"And?"
"Speaking on behalf of all Frenchmen, I'd like to say our first wish is peace, our second wish is also peace, and our third wish is peace as well. Aren't we, like Britain, a people who love peace?"
"Haha. Indeed—though Britain and France have quarreled in the past, as befits the two most civilized nations in the world, even what we desire is strikingly similar."
"Hahaha."
"Hahaha."
The two of us laughed at each other and tipped our teacups.
After we drank, the first to speak was the Duke of Sutherland.
"Your Excellency. What do you believe peace is?"
"…Well. If everyone lives obeying the law, wouldn't that be peace?"
"Haha. If everyone lived obeying the law as you say, then they could all live happily to the end… but as Your Excellency, a man from business, also knows, reality isn't so easy, is it?"
"Well… no."
"Of course, I'm not saying Your Excellency has broken the law. On the contrary, we Britons rate highly the fact that Your Excellency respected British law. In times as harsh as this, there are few who show chivalry as you have."
Chivalry? Did I ever "respect British law"…?
Oh—don't tell me.
"Are you referring to Mr. James Watt…?"
"Precisely. The financiers and businessmen of the City of London have all selected Your Excellency as a foreigner they can trust."
The Duke of Sutherland nodded with that diplomat's smile—the kind you can't trust.
"Well, everyone's just trying to eat and live. If you compromise a little, isn't it good for both sides?"
"You said you were from the military academy—your chivalric spirit is truly admirable!"
Chivalry…? More like—I don't want to become the perpetrator of the same shitty thing I suffered as a victim.
The Duke of Sutherland continued.
"Now that I've heard Your Excellency's view of peace, it's our Foreign Office's turn. We Britons believe peace comes when everyone has roughly comparable strength. In such a world, if you make enemies recklessly, you and your enemy tend to perish together."
Not dreaming of a world where everyone holds hands and laughs—dreaming of a world where if everyone fights, everyone dies. That really is the kind of thinking only a nation with a nasty temperament would have.
Though, honestly, the 21st century was like that too. Before nukes, people went insane smashing each other in World War I and World War II. Once both sides had warheads, they could run their mouths but they didn't actually fight.
"A very realistic view, Duke."
"Haha, is it? I'm pleased you recognize it, as a member of the diplomatic service."
Again, that businesslike smile.
"In truth, our Foreign Office and the Prime Minister are expressing deep concern over Prussia and Russia's recent actions."
"…Is that so?"
"As Your Excellency knows, Poland was the counterweight of Central Europe. A state well suited to checking and watching Prussia, Austria, and Russia alike."
Come to think of it, from the perspective of Europe's balance fetishists, losing Poland must sting. But it's also hard to pick a fight with major powers like Russia and Prussia.
"However, Poland is now all but gone. Having lost Poznań and even Gdańsk, a Poland that will possess only Warsaw can hardly be called a normal country—perhaps a city-state, at most."
"Well… yes."
Now Sutherland erased the smile and stared straight into my eyes.
"Britain and the Tory Party have realized once again through this affair: absolute monarchy is not something that can be trusted."
"Mm."
"Consider it, Your Excellency. Our Britain, where Parliament plainly exists to prevent a king's excesses—versus that vast Russian Empire, swayed at will by the Tsarina Catherine II."
It's true Russia declaring war on us wasn't from some grand national sentiment—it was the Tsarina's unilateral decision.
"…Britain seems to rate France quite highly?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. France has now escaped a deeply rusted absolute monarchy and, like Britain, become a nation guided by reason and intellect through Parliament. In Europe, there are likely no two nations as civilized as ours."
Ah—because we now have Parliament that values reason rather than one person's mood, you think we're worth negotiating with? Or are you trying to use us as the replacement card to check Russia, Prussia, and the Holy Roman Empire now that Poland is gone?
Obviously the latter.
"Since you brought this up, Britain wants something from France through dialogue."
"Haha. As sharp as ever."
The duke's gaze changed.
"As I once told Minister Lebrun as well—please, do not cross the Rhine."
"The Rhine…"
Britain's afraid we'll finish Prussia off and swallow its land?
Just like I did earlier, the Duke of Sutherland raised both hands and spoke.
"I know. Of course I know. Prussia has withdrawn, so it is France's turn to retaliate. France has burned and its people have died—naturally. However, if you cross the Rhine, we in Britain cannot simply stand by and watch."
"You're worried France will become too strong."
"My—Your Excellency's manner is direct, I'd heard, but you stab even more painfully than expected."
"I don't have the temperament for wriggling like an eel at each other."
"Then I, too, will speak directly to match. Your Excellency."
He leaned in.
"If you cross the Rhine, Britain will take it as France seeking territorial expansion, and we will treat your country as we did in the days of Louis XIV—as a clear enemy state."
"…If we cross the Rhine briefly while pursuing the enemy, is that acceptable?"
"Defeating the enemy is fine. Simply do not occupy territory beyond the Rhine."
"I see."
"One more thing."
One more? Who the hell do you think we are—your lackeys?
"…That seems like an excessive demand already, for a foreign diplomat."
Sutherland bowed his head slightly in apology and spoke.
"Ah, if you received it that way, I apologize. But this is not a warning like the one just now. Rather, it is information that benefits France. According to intelligence obtained by our British mission in Russia, a peace treaty has been concluded between Russia and the Ottoman Empire at Constantinople. They say the Ottomans ceded Crimea."
"…The Russian army."
I pushed back the sausage, and now I'm supposed to fight vodka? Jesus.
"Do not worry too much, Your Excellency. If the Russian army intends to reach France's borders by land, preparations alone will take more than a year."
"If you say 'by land'… are you implying they could come by sea?"
"By sea? Hahaha! What a joke!"
"…?"
What's with him—did he snap? Why's he giggling like that?
"Isn't France's naval power second only to Britain's? Even if Russia's Black Sea Fleet comes out into the Mediterranean, it wouldn't even be a match for the French fleet. Ahem. Well, if it truly troubles you, I suppose calling in the fleets from the North Sea or the Atlantic would not be a bad idea…"
Look at this bastard. "How about pulling the North Sea or Atlantic fleets?" Why not just ask openly if we'll hand those seas over to Britain? If we pull those fleets, you think you'll stay quiet?
The North Sea fleet defends northern France and Paris. The Atlantic fleet protects France's trade balance—the Caribbean and the Atlantic islands. There's a reason we stuffed those two fleets with the sailors and officers who didn't desert.
"Ahem. Pardon me, Your Excellency."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear anything."
See? Even he felt guilty after saying it, so he apologized.
Still… France's navy is second to Britain's? Well… it is. If naval officers hadn't deserted.
"I think you and Britain are under a misunderstanding, Duke of Sutherland."
"Yes? What do you mean…?"
"Our revolutionary government has no fleet we can deploy in the Mediterranean right now."
"…Pardon?"
"Our French navy has neither sailors nor officers."
"What in the—?"
I'm saying the naval officers all ran.
"Of the ships anchored at Toulon and Marseille, fewer than ten can even move."
"…Then that means…"
"We can't stop the Black Sea Fleet."
The Duke of Sutherland's face twisted in dismay.
What, you thought we'd do your dirty work for free? If you want something, you give something. Pirates really are pirates—no business ethics at all.
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