Grande Armée in Another World: The Eagle and the Queen

Chapter 23 - It's Grande Armée Time (5.5)

This is the time when I made up for what I thought was a lack of description, not really related to the main point of the story.

- Nagagutsu Kumage Bōshi

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On the grassy plains a short distance from Riverside City, there lay the training grounds for the soldiers recruited by the order of Bonaparte. From early morning, newly minted soldiers, former farmers, and townsmen-turned-warriors, were hurriedly instructed by French military commanders on the art of battle as they formed lines amidst shouted commands.

"Form ranks! Line up! Can't you understand what 'line up' means!? Don't you dare leave the formation on your own! Don't sit down!"

Training these youths, who barely understood the language, proved exceedingly difficult. Compliance varied, and the commanders struggled to get them in line, teaching them to march in unison. The soldiers who awkwardly wielded heavy pikes shuffled about trying to form lines. The sight of hundreds of them moving clumsily resembled nothing short of bears who just have food poisoning. Due to the sudden surge in recruits, not all of the 10.000 were equipped with weapons and armor in time. Some joined the training sessions still clad in their civilian attire, which added to the chaos.

"You are to fight alongside the glorious French army. You will acquire the strength to overthrow tyrants and obtain freedom and equality by your own power. Military service is both a duty and a right bestowed upon free citizens. You are soldiers fighting for the rights and justice of your fellow countrymen in Tallgrassland!"

Some commanders tried to boost the soldiers' morale with impassioned speeches, but they seemed to fall on deaf ears to the youths of this world.

"Whatever, as long as we got paid."

"If we don't even have proper weapons, our pay is in doubt..."

Such were the responses from the conscripted soldiers.

. . .

"The Supreme Commander orders us to form tightly packed formations with pikes, but it's not as easy as it sounds."

General Rampon of France, tasked with training the conscripts, found himself grappling with an unexpectedly daunting task. The French army had long abandoned fighting with pikes, opting instead for muskets and cannons. Trying to train them in pike combat now was futile. The knights from Tallgrassland brought by Cloumille knew much more about such obsolete forms of combat. Their assistance would be necessary.

"Forming a tightly packed formation with long spears may seem simple at first glance. Just gather people and thrust out spears, and you have a formation. But whether it's useful or not is a different story. They'll have to withstand a knight's charge on the battlefield. The sight of hundreds of horses and men charging with murderous intent alone is enough to break one's spirit. The impulse to flee is strong. They must suppress it and stand firm. It takes not just anyone to muster such courage and determination. Only those who have undergone rigorous training and gained experience to suppress their fear, or those who hold something more precious than their own lives, or perhaps those who are simply too optimistic about not dying, can stand firm on the battlefield."

One of Cloumille's knights overseeing the training stated so. Rampon nodded grimly and added one more thing: "When led by someone with the charisma to instill fervor surpassing the fear of death."

. . .

While the pikemen diligently practiced forming ranks, there was also a group of around a thousand musketeers assembled, comprised of those who could read and write. This unit was divided into groups of about a hundred, further split into three subgroups, each learning firearm handling from French soldiers. Once on the battlefield, they would engage in shooting alongside the pikemen, tasked with taking down enemies. Essentially, the pikemen acted as the shield, while the musketeers acted as the spear.

Vigo and Jacques, skirmishers of the French army, were assigned to train one of the musketeer groups. Their proficiency in marksmanship was the reason for their appointment; they could also teach.

Vigo, an old soldier with a mustache, surveyed the conscripts forming up in ranks. Some were dressed decently, even wearing breastplates and helmets they had brought themselves. With their basic literacy, they seemed easier to train in formation than the pikemen. As Vigo scanned the conscripts' heads, his gaze suddenly lowered when he reached the last person. A thin, short child with crow-colored hair stood there.

"What the hell are you?" Vigo couldn't help but ask. Why was a child here?

He turned to Jacques.

"Who's this?"

"Oh, this morning, the captain came and ordered this child to join the unit. It was a direct order from the Supreme Commander himself..."

The younger Jacques queried, while the child handed Vigo a scrap of paper. It seemed to be a recruitment permit.

"A child like this? A soldier? Ordered by the Supreme Commander? Get an interpreter."

After a while, an interpreter was brought.

"Ask this child's name and reason for joining the army."

Perhaps due to already translating the soldiers' words since morning, the interpreter's voice was hoarse.

"I'm Wafcarel, I wanted to see the world like my father, so I joined the army!"

Wafcarel, as she introduced herself, smiled. Her emerald-like eyes sparkled as if polished.

"Oh, boy..." Vigo took a deep breath and exhaled.

. . .

After some time, they were all supplied with hand cannons, a primitive type of firearm resembling a small iron pot attached to a stick about a meter long, crafted at the French army workshop in Swordsmith City. Everyone looked puzzled at the unfamiliar, seemingly unreliable tool.

"This is your weapon. It may look different, but the principle is the same as the guns we have."

"No freaking way! You want me to fight with this stick? I thought we'd see some amazing weapons after defeating the knights from Axeland, but this stick? I'd rather use a knife for butchering pork."

Someone remarked, and others chimed in agreement, demanding better tools.

Ignoring the protests, Vigo continued. "The principle of the gun is simple. Load gunpowder into the barrel and ignite it. That force propels the bullet out. You handle the gunpowder. It explodes when you bring fire close. If you mess up the amount or the procedure, you'll blow your face or fingers off. Load calmly with the amount and procedure determined by the commander's command."

Vigo opened the supplied manual and succinctly instructed the conscripts on how to shoot, but it seemed none of them were listening.

"We'll give you a demonstration."

Loading gunpowder and bullets, tamping them down, and unlike the French muskets, igniting the gunpowder with a match cord. After a brief moment, a thunderous explosion echoed. The armor placed several dozen meters away toppled off its stand with a dull sound. It had hit its mark.

"See."

Showing the armor with a hole in it, whispers broke out among the conscripts. If someone had been wearing this armor, they would have a hole in their abdomen. It was a fatal wound.

"This is the power that this stick wielded. Do you understand?"

Everyone fell silent, their gaze changed. This stick could pierce a knight's armor.

"Amazing! Teach me how to shoot, and do it again!"

Excited like a wild rabbit, Wafcarel bounced towards Vigo.

"Can I become a soldier like my father with this!?"

It was the exuberance of a child delighting in seeing a new street performance for the first time. Vigo couldn't understand the meaning of Wafcarel's words in Gulbes.