19In the misty darkness of the French countryside, Hachiman nursed his blistered feet close to the fire. The camp around him could barely be called a camp. Most men didn't possess tents, instead they slept where they fell. In the rough, along grassy slopes and at the edges of the forest a sea of armed men. Their blue, white and red uniforms often times the only protection the men had against the elements.
He shivered as a cold breeze blew through the army and clung to his earthy bed. Carefully, he lay himself sideways so that his body received more of the flames glowing warmth. Beside him his fellow men, few volunteers, most conscripts like himself huddled together and chatted, ate or rested.
Only a hand few went through their gear even at this late of time. Checking their muskets with the help of the fire's light, patching up ruffles and holes of their own uniforms as if they were seamstresses. For a brief second a rampant thought blitzed through Hachiman's mind. The service club, Yukino and Yui were mere glimpses and he felt the familiar instinct for a cutting comment, but the words failed. He heaved and panted still. And then the moment was gone and Hachiman never remember it.
"Rest while you can lad. We're behind the enemy now. There'll be a battle soon." Terse and blunt, his new companion glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, before returning to sharpening his large knife. A bayonet, triangular and all around strange looking to Hachiman, glinted in the fire's light.
He wanted to speak, rage and rant against the man and the entire army, but two days of hard marching had sucked all the energy out of him. And with great dread he remembered his promise and the sights in Paris, barely a few days old, haunting his nightmares.
Clutching his chest, almost tearing the poor white shirt beneath his fingers, Hachiman struggled and fought through his exhaustion and looked at the man who had walked beside him, in line, for two days. "Will it matter if we win or lose?"
The thought had gnawed at him ever since he was conscripted from the Bosset household. Without even giving him ammunition they had thrust a patchy uniform and musket into his hands and sent him off. It was his luck that he had his own shoes, though even these felt two sizes to large for him now. His feet were red, sore and swollen. More than a few had marched along side him barefoot. They had marched through muddy and torn gravel roads and were now nursed their bleeding feet. Their quiet groans of pain just one of the many reasons for Hachiman's sleepless nights.
'What can a force like that even do? How can I keep my promise like this?' He looked at the man beside him, the bushy red moustache bristling as he breathed deeply, his gaze off in the distance.
"Live life I suppose. It's life after all. If I die, I die, but France will endure. She endured the English, the Calvinists and the King yet France remains. She'll remain even after we're all dead and gone. Now shut up and let me work."
Hachiman stared at the man, for a long moment, before he turned around clenched his eyes and tried in vain to sleep.
Sleep evaded him that night and to the noise of drums, bugle calls Hachiman clambered to his feet. Rubbing the dark circles under his eyes, he fumbled with his socks and boots. His fingers were stiff and cold as all around him, the men rose to their feet to make their preparations. Grabbing a bite from his stale bread ration, silencing his rumbling stomach as Hachiman recognized another sound. One that caused the men around him to pick their pace with a frenzy. Officers were running up and down, bellowing "The Prussian hogs are here! For France! For the Republic!"
Before he knew it Hachiman was in marching formation with the red moustached man beside him, companies and battalions marched through unattended wheat and grass fields to a small settlement that was no more than a humble village with a few wooden shacks and a few more stone houses. Some shuttered their windows, other houses stood abandoned while a few waved and cheered the marching columns on as the sound of boots against the gravel.
As the sun was starting to rise and they climbed up the small hill towards a windmill, with a patch of grass scrubs and young pine trees outside the village, Hachiman saw cavalrymen, waggons and cannons hurriedly moved into position.
"Forward! We shall step back no longer! The Republic stands here with you!" Shouted the company leader, a Captain as the bushy moustached man had told him once.
Closer and closer they marched, columns moving into lines along the slope before the windmill that loomed over them. Drums beat a frantic tune, trumpets, bugles and pipes sang a wild cacophony of songs Hachiman could not make heads or tails of. His palms were sweaty, his heart smashed against his chest, at a rate that would leave the incessant drummers spit less. The Captain, with dull eyes and bad breath stalked up and down their line, poking, shoving and pulling the men into their proper place.
"France's hour is here! And you are the honourable men to attain her salvation here! In these fields we will save the Republic! Generations from now, men will look at you with envy for they have missed the chance to stand here and attain ever lasting glory!"
Hachiman gripped his musket, the wooden forestock, the switch to the metallic ramrod and the smooth barrel oddly comforting. In front of him, beyond the rapidly expanding French artillery line, was a see of green and yellow. A flat expanse of green and yellow fields. Farmlands stretching from horizon to horizon, rich and fertile in peace, some fields had been claimed while others had patches of half finished work while others were completely abandoned. Spots of forestry separated the lands almost like boundaries and from these patches of woods, Hachiman saw the enemy of the French.
Tiny specks in the land moving with precision, first as companies. Then as battalions. And then there was a whole army moving into position. From the great distance between them Hachiman could not identify their clothes or appearance. Just barely, did his tired and weary eyes make out flags with black, white and golden colours.
'Prussians.'
Hundreds of metres away from the french position, they were nothing more then black and white spots crawling across the land. Moving from columns into line formations, facing Hachiman french position on the inconspicuous height in front of Valmy.
Glancing to his left and right, seeing the men of the Revolutionary Army stand firm on the height supporting the windmill despite the fear, anxiety and trepidation carved into their exhausted faces, Hachiman felt him swept away by a strange sensation. An emotion he could not place, yet in that moment, he knew he felt no fear, no tiredness. Not even bravery.
When the Prussian artillery opened fire, the wind carrying their noise to the French lines as distant and quiet coughs, their shells crashing into the land between the two arrayed armies and the French responded in kind with their cannons roaring to life, Hachiman felt himself pulled further and further away.
As if a truly insurmountable distance was growing between himself and what was happening around him. The wind cracking with the sound of cannonade filling the land with a growing white fog. Thick and cloudy, only disturbed by the flashes of Prussian and French guns.
When the first soldiers began to sing, Ca Ira, La Marseillaise, Hachiman's lips moved on their own, as if out of instinct. A chaotic cacophony of cannonade, songs, commands and encouragements crashed into each other, morphing into a orchestra that only Hachiman could hear as you observed himself and realized.
He felt at peace.
And he shuddered.
In that exact moment, the ground shook as a massive explosion ripped through the the french ranks leaving Hachiman gasping and the whole battlefield fell silent as they looked and waited.
A thick plume of black smoke rose to his right, just in front of the windmill but Hachiman could see anything more than that as seemingly the entire french line watched the scene unfold with baited breath. Some looked frightened to their bones, and yet, all remained standing in formation.
The harsh gallop of a horse caught Hachiman's attention as from the direction of the explosion a old but venerable looking man, his uniform littered with golden trimmings signifying a high rank, unsheathed his sabre, put his hat on it's tip and roared, "Long live the Nation! We stand here for France! Long live the Nation! Long live France!"
Like a mad chant the old man repeated the same phrases as he rode up and down the line and the men erupted into cheers. Almost as if they were high on an ecstasy, Hachiman could only scarcely fathom, the men threw them themselves into the chant, hollering and howling in defiance, they raised their hats and muskets as the French cannons roared back to life.
"Sacred love of the Fatherland,
Lead, support our avenging arms
Liberty, Liberty beloved, "
Hachiman lips moved on their, the lyrics spilling out of him as he was seized by the massive euphoria.
"Under our flags may victory
Hurry to your virile accents,
So that your dying enemies
See your triumph and our glory!"
Hachiman sang, for the first time in as long as he could remember, filled with an powerful emotion as his heart beat to the tune of the songs of the revolution.
And slowly as they sang and stood against the enemy, as the sun dipped lower, Hachiman watched as the Prussians slowly but surely, retreated.
Hachiman blinked, the jubilation of his comrades blowing past his ears as he simply muttered, "That's it?!"
Limp and numb fingers let go of the musket, the stock slamming into the ground, nearly catching his neighbour on the left, who harshly shoved an elbow into Hachiman's side.
Officers and strange bureaucrats were now along the frontline, cheering with the men and at the same time reigning them in as was necessary.
He must've looked out of place as a boyish man, with brown hair falling to his shoulders and a dark coat stomped over to him with a grin.
"Hard to believe it eh?"
Wearily, Hachiman nodded, "Yes. Strange and weird. But also great."
Tired and terse was his response Hachiman's words began to tumble out of him, "Am a rower and my family belonging to the sea by trade. Fighting on land, feels alien."
The man's eyes glinted, "Sailing is in your blood then?"
Hachiman shrugged and nodded.
Taking out a notebook he quickly asked for Hachiman's name and as Hachiman replied the man looked up to him, "Mongoloid?"
"Japanese." Hachiman tired awareness reared up and he straightened his back.
"I see."
More boy than man, the brown haired bureaucrat clapped Hachiman's shoulder, "Stay alive for a couple of days and once we've kicked the hogs and inbred Hapsburg's out of our Nation's soil you'll be back to your calling. I can promise you that citizen."
He thought of Paris, the Seine and the Bosset household and Iroha and his heart almost melted at the thought.
"Thank you."
Was all Hachiman could say as military officers approached and called for the bureaucrat, Saint-Just, with a hint of caution in their voices, leaving Hachiman alone in the whirlwind of celebrations. Unaware of the hardships in the coming as this minor meeting marked his call of destiny.
Silence in Paris had become an even rarer commodity when news about the victory at Valmy reached the Parisian populace. Iroha carried out her duties, trying her best to ignore the fiery ecstasy that had captured the city.
She was preparing another set of beverages and biscuits for the members of the Convention when Jacque visited her.
"Ah! Bosset- I mean Jacque great to see you!"
"Good to see that you're able keep your nose to the grindstone."
Iroha stiffened and returned to her task but this time, her hands trembled minutely. Work was all that was left for her to do to distract herself of their current situation. Of Hachiman, out there somewhere in the countryside. The memory of waking up that morning to find the Bosset household cold and barren without Hachiman's presence whittled away at her. With only her work able to keep her mind from going astray.
"He'll be fine. As you will be Iroha."
Halting her work, the question that had long haunted her rose to the back of her throat. But she reigned herself in.
'Undue curiosity is a dangerous thing these days.'
Together they left the kitchen and walked the hall towards the Manège. "With Saint-Just back from the front and the Abolition of the Tyranny, things will be moving quickly now."
Iroha registered Jacque's words for what they were and nodded as the whispers of concerns about the naval blockade reached the pair's ears.
Having witnessed how the Parisians treated the monarchy, the King and his family, Iroha knew they approaching a culmination point.
'With the victory at their back, they're going to deal with the loose ends one or another. What will be the consequences though?'
At a turn in the maze of corridors Jacque spied a boyish young man with long brown hair and excused himself leaving Iroha alone with her thoughts as she continued on with her tasks.
Her sole distraction and escape from her worries. Despite how helplessness she felt, trapped in this turbulent sea of history, Iroha realized she was still in control of her own actions.
While confined by her surroundings she could still listen, observe and speak with whoever she dared to speak. Tasting the faint whiffs of freedom at every opportunity she diligently went on with her work. Knowing that her friend and only true companion relied on her.
'Hachiman. Where ever you are, I hope you are well. And that I will see you again soon.'
Her silent daily prayer went unheard as she entered the Manège, unaware that Hachiman's destiny would not lead him back to Paris. Instead, he along with other volunteers and conscripts marched west towards the sole major naval base the Revolutionary Navy had left. L'Orient.
Took longer than expected. Studies, elections and RL stuff kept me busy, writing whenever I got the chance, few they have been. Still I'm satisfied to present you with this new chapter. A little bit of an anti-climax (anyone knowing the Battle of Valmy will know why) and a bit of foreshadowing including a slight change of plans. The good news is that Hachiman won't be involved in the War of the Vendee. The bad news is that he's going straight to the navy and has to fight his way up the ranks while facing the coalition navy (mainly the british) during the first war of the coalition.
As I did my research for this chapter and the upcoming ones, considering my change of plans, here are a few of the sources I can highly recommend:
- battles/valmy/
- Far-Distant-Ships-1793-1815-Revolution/dp/1915070910#
- -/de/gp/product/1912866722?ref_=dbs_m_mng_rwt_calw_tpbk_33&storeType=ebooks
- -/de/gp/product/1915070392?ref_=dbs_m_mng_rwt_calw_tpbk_77&storeType=ebooks
- .de/Influence-French-Revolution-Empire-1793-1812/dp/198760749X
- .de/-/en/William-S-Cormack/dp/0521472091
Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and see you in the next one.