The Crimson Snow - A Story of the Napoleonic Wars

[dupuy 318]

          Hi all! Here is the beginning of a new series, The Crimson Snow - A Story of the Napoleonic Wars. This is historical fiction, and it does get rather involved in the history of the time period, so a flip through your history book may not be a bad idea before reading. Some of the significance of the events in the story could be lost with an incomplete knowledge of the basic events of this period. I know the Napoleonic Wars are not exactly well known, and that was part of the reason I begun writing this series: to give a little known era of history more air time. Enjoy!

 

          Dawn broke under the calm, early-summer French countryside. The first rays of sun peaked over the horizon, revealing quaint country farms and rolling fields of crops. The farmland and vineyards outside of the bustling city of Paris were full of workers who were preparing for a large harvest in just several short months. As the sun rose higher, it revealed carriage-marred roads of dirt that eventually transformed to cobblestone as they wound towards the center of Paris. The city itself was also beginning to rise with the morning sun. The sharp clip-clop of horses and the grinding of coach wheels rang through the streets, including the prominent Champs-Elysees, around which the landscaped trees were beginning to turn green once again. One would be surprised to know that this normal scene had been veritable anarchy just years before.

          Less than two decades before this spring day in 1812, The entire country of France had been in the midst of a volatile and ultimately destructive revolution - one that had claimed the lives of many thousands. Away had gone the king, the bloody guillotine taking away his place and his head. It was fortunate that the people of France had at long last tired of this increasing turmoil and had supported a better government to rule them more efficiently. As their unrest grew, so did the ambition of the one man who would come to hold the wealth of France in the palm of his hand. Napoleon Bonaparte had taken the reins of a dying horse and snapped it back to life with his successful Coupe d'etat of 1799. The fall of the old government marked the beginning of a new power under Napoleon himself. With his coronation as emperor of France in 1804, the "Little Corporal" began a military and economic powerhouse that the rest of Europe quickly learned to fear. Despite multiple attempts to depose this ambitious ruler, he stood fast, unmoved by the march of thousands against his very life. Since his leadership began, the French people had adored him - almost as a deity - and had entered into looming wars with more courage than ever before. Napoleon was a fighter: one that would not be brought down easily. Now, on this spring day, the emperor had hatched a new plan that had been in the making for several months. His ambition had grown yet again, and this time he had his lustful eyes on Poland, maybe even Moscow - the heart of that great enemy Russia. His Grande Armée was ready for action once again, and they would soon be on the move. It was simply a matter of time.

*  *  *

            "We march in ten minutes! Gather your gear and prepare to move!" shouted the sergeant. Twenty year old Philippe Cartier moaned as he sat up in his bunk, bleary eyed from a night of uncomfortable sleep.

            "What am I doing here?" he wondered to himself for the millionth time since he was forced to join this confounded army. Unlike many of the conscripts around him, Philippe was of the aristocracy, a class that many of the French population had grown to hate. The only reason that he had been brought to this miserable state of a private in the Grande Armée had been to save him from the madness of the revolution. Philippe had barely emerged from his mother's womb before his father, an advisor to the late King Louis the XVI, had been taken to the guillotine. After rotting in a cramped Bastille cell since the death of the king, his father had finally been walked to the infamous Place de la Revolution in 1794 to meet his fate. Philippe's father had been one of the last victims of the Reign of Terror, a decade long madness that cost the lives of thousands. According to Philippe's mother, his father's last advice to her had been to send his son to the army so he would have a better chance of surviving the madness and have the opportunity to contribute to his country. Even though the Reign of Terror had long since ended, Philippe's mother had taken that advice to heart. At the age of eight, Philippe had enlisted as a drummer boy and had already served in portions of the war against Great Britain that had begun in 1803. When he came of age to bear arms, he had been conscripted as a private in Napoleon's Grande Armée. Now off the frontlines of battle and with a brand new unit, he was beginning to feel that the emperor had a new offensive planned. "Austria perhaps, or maybe Great Britain," he thought to himself. Those seemed to be the main threat to France at the moment.

          "On your feet, Cartier!" The sergeant's growling voice interrupted his reflective daydreaming. "We march in seven minutes!" Philippe grumbled as he reluctantly rose from his bunk and began to hastily gather his gear. He donned his blue uniform and mess kit, then picked up his long musket which leaned against the wall. Lastly, he placed his tall black shako on his head. Every morning he had been with his new unit, he had repeated these same monotonous actions before daily drills in the countryside. "We eat on the march today!" yelled the sergeant. Philippe frowned. It was unusual for them to eat on the march if they were just planning to drill. He began to wonder what unusual plans were being put into play.

          Once all the men were outside the barracks building, the sergeant took the lead and began the march. Instead of marching into the parade field towards the west side of Paris, they moved east, away from the grounds. Philippe was even more confused now. "What could possibly be happening?" he wondered to himself yet again. He jostled the man next to him.

          "Camarade, what is happening? Why are we going in a different direction?" The soldier, a lower class conscript, slowly looked over at him.                

          "Haven't you heard?" he said. "We're invading Russia." Philippe nearly stumbled over his own feet and leaned momentarily on his musket in an effort to recover from the shock.                                             

          "Invading Russia?!" he stuttered back. "The emperor must be-" Philippe bit his tongue just in time to stop the stream of words that could get him locked in prison for treasonous language against the government. The soldier looked suspiciously at him.              

         "The emperor must be what, ehh?" he questioned. Philippe balked, still shocked by the news and tongue tied by his close call. He attempted to regain his composure.                                                                    

         "Uhhm... the emperor must be... err... ready and willing to expand the glory of France," he finally said hastily. The soldier turned his head away, satisfied with the reply, but Philippe could still hardly believe his ears. "Invade Russia?" he thought. "A vast country of snow and cold that has yet to be conquered?"  Philippe shuddered at the thought of perishing in the snow, thousands of miles from his home. "No, the emperor is not ready and willing to expand the glory of France," he said to himself. "The emperor is mad!"

 

[Pythor 1,354]

Article Approved!

 

In the introductory chapter of this historical fiction series, dupuy blends the true facts surrounding the Napoleonic Wars with the fictional life of a French private enlisted in Napoleon's army. As somewhat of a history buff myself, I can appreciate the research that went into this piece. Not much in this part as far as plot line goes, but you did an amazing job at setting the scene for what I believe will be an intriguing saga. 

 

Edits -
 

Spoiler

- Minor grammatical fixes involving punctuation and capitalization 

- Inserted a couple additional paragraphs 
- Couldn't help but notice you spelled dying as "dieing" a couple times. Not sure if yours is an acceptable spelling over in England, but I changed it for the sake of clarity. 

 

[dupuy 318]

18 hours ago, Pythor said:

Article Approved!

 

In the introductory chapter of this historical fiction series, dupuy blends the true facts surrounding the Napoleonic Wars with the fictional life of a French private enlisted in Napoleon's army. As somewhat of a history buff myself, I can appreciate the research that went into this piece. Not much in this part as far as plot line goes, but you did an amazing job at setting the scene for what I believe will be an intriguing saga. 

 

Edits -
 

  Reveal hidden contents

- Minor grammatical fixes involving punctuation and capitalization 

- Inserted a couple additional paragraphs 
- Couldn't help but notice you spelled dying as "dieing" a couple times. Not sure if yours is an acceptable spelling over in England, but I changed it for the sake of clarity. 

 

Wow, thanks for the fast approval! It's also nice to see another history person out there. You were correct about "dieing" vs "dying" A quick google search enlightened me to the fact that dying is correct when talking about death and dieing is only correct when discussing a die cutting machine. English is a crazy language, am I right?