The Fox of France - Chapter 323: The Drill

Using this method, the attacking French army swiftly broke through the minefield. At this moment, the French artillery began suppressive fire on the first simulated defensive trench with shrapnel shells because the French soldiers were nearing the barbed wire. Of course, the defenders also started firing blanks and, following a predetermined proportion, random French soldiers were forced to withdraw from the exercise.

The French soldiers forced to withdraw from the exercise took off their jackets, revealing white shirts. They sauntered away from the “battlefield” and found a nearby patch of grass, setting down their rifles and reaching into their leather bags—where they kept bandages, triangular bandages, and pulled out sausages and small bottles of brandy. They ate while sending triumphant laughs toward their still-“alive” comrades.

However, those fortunate enough not to have “died” yet were too preoccupied to mind the revelry of these mock “deceased.” They swiftly approached the first line of barbed wire. Several soldiers inserted rod-like objects they held under the wire, then swiftly pulled a fuse, turned around, and ran. The bullets on the exercise field were virtual, most of the shells were as well, but the barbed wire and the smoking explosive tubes under it were very real!

As a series of explosions ensued, the barbed wire suddenly had dozens of breaches. Simultaneously, from the opposing trench, a series of training grenades were launched, and another batch of French soldiers joined the group indulging in sausages and spectating.

The French retaliated with grenades and swiftly stormed the trench. Then, joyously, many soldiers from the League of the Rhine happily sat down beside the “fallen” French soldiers, exchanging food, wine, and various tobacco products, all the while enjoying the spectacle together.

“Wait, why do the exchanges in the trenches favor the French?” complained the Austrian standing next to Bagration. “Even if the French army is a bit more courageous, the exchange rate shouldn’t be this skewed.”

Bagration also harbored doubts, but he believed the French wouldn’t stage such an anomaly in a demonstrative military exercise. Therefore, he refrained from immediately expressing his thoughts and continued observing through his telescope.

Soon enough, Bagration noticed something distinct about the French army.

“Alyosha, take notes for me,” Bagration continued with his telescope trained on the “battlefield,” addressing his adjutant.

“Yes, General,” his adjutant fetched a notebook and a pencil—both French-made.

“Each group of five French soldiers storming the trench forms a combat unit. Two carry rifles with bayonets, while the other three wield shorter firearms—likely specialized weapons for trench combat,” Bagration remarked.

Bagration’s speculation was spot on. Those French soldiers were equipped with pump-action shotguns specifically designed for close-quarters trench combat. Compared to standard rifles, their range was limited, but within a trench, that wasn’t an issue. They could load eight rounds at once, with each pump action completing a firing and reloading motion, almost as fast as a revolver. The shotgun’s spread vastly improved their accuracy compared to a revolver. In a trench, these were like weapons of the gods.

During trench combat, soldiers using rifles often ran out of ammunition before this stage of the battle. Hence, they resorted to bayonets or multi-purpose entrenching tools made in France for close combat. While two soldiers with bayonet-equipped rifles held the enemy at bay, those with shotguns unleashed a torrent of fire. The opposing Franks were delighted, shedding their jackets, leaping out of the trench, and heading to the adjacent grassy area to eat, boast, and watch the show.

In almost the blink of an eye, before the picnic audience could finish a bottle of beer, the first trench changed hands, and the tricolor flag fluttered.

“Vive la France!” cheered the onlookers.

“For France, cheers!”

“Anyone who doesn’t drink is a coward!”

“What if I’m a coward? Let’s compare! One drink against one, dare you?” occasionally, a girl from the Montmartre highlands would shout.

“Marguerite, let’s have a bet for the competition. What’s the wager?”

“How about this, if Marguerite loses, tonight, she’ll obey Denny in everything. If Denny loses, tonight, Marguerite sleeps with whoever Denny chooses. How about that?”

Amidst this lively banter, French artillery extended their fire, preparing to attack the two rear defensive lines again.

The subsequent battles in the rear almost mirrored the previous ones, yet the enthusiastic onlookers were thoroughly entertained. However, the more intricate aspects were lost on the most vociferous cheerers. The observers from various nations, on the other hand, were breaking out in cold sweats. The French army displayed an exceedingly short pause between organizing the first and second wave of attacks during the battle. In this brief time, they fortified their positions, readjusted artillery placements, and prepared for another assault. This level of organizational prowess surprised those who truly understood warfare.

“Leaving aside everything else, can our army keep up with the French in battle rhythm? This is in a defensive scenario; in open warfare, how many divisions do we need to counter just one of theirs?” questioned someone as evening approached.

By dusk, the French successfully breached three lines of defense against an equal force, essentially concluding the day’s exercises. At least, it ended the part that entertained the onlookers.

The remaining agenda was to invite the observers into the French military camp. However, given the lateness of the hour, this was deferred until the next day.

As the sun descended behind the mountains, figures scattered. After a day of amusement, the gleeful onlookers boarded carriages back to Paris, exchanging their observations and opinions incessantly. Of course, their discussions mainly revolved around “How formidable France is, hahaha…” or “Warfare is so much fun, hahaha…”

The next day, during the visit to the French military camp, the observers’ myriad of doubts gradually unraveled. Firstly, why did the French artillery fire so rapidly? That was because they used breech-loading cannons, which loaded much faster than muzzle-loading ones. Moreover, they had a specially designed sighting system that ensured reasonable accuracy even in indirect aiming.

Additionally, Bagration noticed that the wheels used by French artillery were distinct from standard ones. These weren’t made of wood but of a black material with unique elasticity.

“Perhaps this is the secret to the French army’s rapid artillery mobility,” Bagration pondered. He heard someone exclaiming, “This gun, this gun, it’s incredible!”

Bagration hurriedly glanced over and saw an Austrian officer holding a shorter version of a rifle he’d noticed yesterday, voicing his astonishment.

Bagration hastened over and inquired, “What kind of gun is this?”

“It’s the 1801 shotgun,” a French captain replied, saluting. “This gun can fire up to eight rounds at once…”

As he spoke, the captain took the shotgun from the Austrian and began demonstrating how to use these firearms.

“See, beneath the barrel, there’s a tube that serves as a magazine, holding seven rounds. Plus, you can fit one more in the chamber, for a maximum of eight shots.”

As he spoke, the captain swiftly loaded the gun with cartridges, which were paper tubes with a

small metal piece at the base. Loading them into the magazine didn’t take much time.

Then, he pulled back the breechblock, and with a click, the gun was loaded. He raised the gun, pointing it at the sky, and turned to a few foreign generals nearby, saying, “Look, the gun’s loaded, and now you can shoot at your targets. Each shot, pull this here, and you’re ready for the next. Hmm, who wants to try?”

“I do! I want to try!” Bagration immediately exclaimed, stepping forward and using his broad frame to shield the other spectators behind him.

The captain handed the gun to Bagration. “General, the gun’s loaded.”

Bagration took the gun, glanced at a human-shaped target about forty meters away, nodded, took aim briefly, and fired a shot, immediately toppling the target. Bagration then pulled the breechblock again and fired another shot, hitting another target.

“How far can this gun shoot?” Bagration asked.

“It’s effective at around sixty to seventy meters,” the captain answered, “beyond that, it’s less accurate.”

“Hmm,” Bagration nodded. He had already noticed that the French army predominantly equipped itself with standard rifles, presumably for this reason.

“Is your cavalry now considering this as a primary weapon?” Bagration suddenly asked.

The French captain hesitated for a moment, then stammered, “General, regarding this question, um, I can’t answer you…”