Chapter 785: Approaching Milan
Victor immediately shook his head.
—No, that would waste the opportunity we created by crossing the Great Saint Bernard Pass.
—Our greatest advantage right now is that the enemy hasn't realized their soft underbelly is exposed to our cannons.
—We should attack Milan immediately. That is the heart of the battlefield.
—I believe there aren't many enemy troops defending Milan at this moment.
—As for General Dimoulin, we must trust his ability. He will hold Genoa!
Marmont raised his voice.
—The Army of Italy will soon run out of supplies! No matter how brave they are, they can't fight on an empty stomach!
The two began arguing, though neither of them even mentioned Turin.
To French officers, Sardinia was just a bonus prize. Who would launch a major operation just for a bonus?
After a moment, they both turned to look at Napoleon.
Everyone recognized his skill in strategic planning. In the end, the decision was his to make.
Napoleon's gaze shifted between Genoa and Milan.
Then, after a brief pause, he straightened up, placed his arms around his two officers' shoulders, and smiled.
—Why should we have to choose? I will take both Milan and Genoa.
—What? That's impossible!
—Commander, we don't have enough time for that…
Napoleon picked up a small stick and tapped Milan on the map.
—Tell me, if we take Milan, how will Melas respond?
Victor thought for a moment.
—He'll have to pull troops back to defend it.
—Exactly. —Napoleon nodded.— That would immediately ease the pressure on Genoa.
—And we would then have multiple opportunities to intercept Melas's reinforcements, allowing us to seize control of the battlefield.
Marmont hesitated.
—But General Dimoulin… he will struggle with supplies…
Napoleon waved the stick dismissively.
—The quartermaster will ensure that the people of Genoa provide what Dimoulin needs. I believe he can hold out for two months.
Of course, the real thought buried deep in Napoleon's mind was one he couldn't say out loud:
If Dimoulin died or was captured, he would become the rightful commander of the Army of Italy.
And when the war was won, all the credit for the Italian campaign would belong to him.
At that point, a promotion to brigadier general was guaranteed. A direct leap to major general wasn't out of the question, either.
Noticing Marmont's lingering hesitation, Napoleon continued.
—The enemy surrounding Genoa may seem strong, but 20,000 of them are Sardinian troops. You saw them fight at Toulon—you know they're nothing to worry about.
—Once Melas pulls some of his Austrians back to Milan, Dimoulin might even have a chance to break out.
—All of our problems will be solved.
He swung the stick in his hand like a sword and declared:
—Enough talk. Let the men rest for the afternoon. Tomorrow morning, we march to the beautiful city of Milan!
—Wealth beyond measure and countless beautiful women await us there!
Milan
Beaulieu shook his head repeatedly, taking several minutes to reflect on whether he had failed to pray with enough sincerity in the past.
Because he felt cursed.
Otherwise, why did the French keep appearing in front of him out of nowhere, as if they had risen from the ground itself?
Yes, just thirty minutes ago, his hussars had reported that more than 10,000 French troops were advancing rapidly toward Milan.
They were only 20 miles away.
Ever since he had suffered multiple defeats at Toulon—ambushed again and again by mysterious French forces—he had dramatically increased his focus on reconnaissance.
At all times, he had at least one squadron of cavalry patrolling the area.
And yet, the French had appeared out of nowhere—again!
This was Milan!
The rear of the war zone!
The only things surrounding them were the Alps and Austro-Sardinian forces.
Where in God's name had these Frenchmen come from?!
Crossing himself, Beaulieu forced himself to stop overthinking and turned toward the large map on the wall.
Then, he glanced at the officers gathered around him.
One by one, they lowered their heads in silence.
Milan had over 8,000 soldiers.
But they all knew the truth.
These men had just suffered a crushing defeat at Toulon. Their morale was abysmal.
More than half of them hadn't even completed their reorganization.
If they had to face another French army, especially if it was made up of the same soldiers who had already beaten them…
There was no guarantee they would fight at all.
At the French army's current pace, they would reach Milan in three days.
Suddenly, a tall colonel stood up and spoke loudly.
—Marshal, the Po River is at its peak flood season. If we hold the Valenza crossing, we can effectively stop the French advance.
—Even if Valenza falls, we can retreat to the Ticino River.
—There's no natural fortress there, but if we destroy the bridges in advance, we can still slow them down.
—In my opinion, we can hold out for twenty days—long enough for reinforcements from Melas to arrive.
Beaulieu had been growing frustrated with the defeated attitude of his generals.
But this cavalry colonel, Leptay, was the only one showing any fighting spirit.
Carefully considering Leptay's proposal, Beaulieu realized that this was their best option.
They had to hold the river.
Retreating from Milan outright was not an option.
If they abandoned the city, Emperor Francis II would personally throw him into a prison cell. There wouldn't even be a need for a court-martial.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to Leptay.
—Very well. You will take full command of Valenza's defenses.
—The infantry and skirmish battalions are under your command.
Leptay snapped to attention.
—Yes, Marshal! Thank you for your trust! I will hold until the reinforcements arrive!
West Bank of the Po River
Napoleon stood at the edge of the river, watching its waters surge past.
He bent down, picked up a small twig, and tossed it into the current.
The moment it touched the water, the powerful current sent it spinning and bouncing, and within seconds, it had vanished.
His brow furrowed slightly.
The reconnaissance unit that had just forced its way across the river reported that the Austrians had artillery positions on the far bank.
And they were ready to destroy the bridges at any moment.
He was confident that, with proper artillery support, he could take the crossing in three to five days.
But that would come at a terrible cost in casualties.
Not because he was sentimental about his soldiers—but because if he lost too many men, he wouldn't have enough troops left to fight Melas when he returned.
Raising his spyglass, Napoleon carefully examined the Austrian positions once more.
Then, he suddenly turned to his aide.
—Have the men form up along the riverbank. Keep the drums playing—continuously.
—But make sure they stay just outside the range of enemy cannons.
The aide hesitated.
—Which regiment should we deploy?
Napoleon smiled.
—All of them.
—Except the cavalry and grenadiers.
—Make them look as intimidating as possible.
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