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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 304
🕑 Added 2025-07-05 19:04:01 +0000 UTCChapter 304: A Grand Versailles Showcase by the Imperial Guard
On the high ground near the camp of the Champagne Corps, several thousand soldiers peeked downward curiously. The General Staff had even prepared over a dozen telescopes for them to take turns using.
Soon, they saw a thin white line of soldiers sprinting out from the drill field, so fast that it was almost unbelievable—if they themselves tried to run at that pace, they’d be flat on the ground within a kilometer.
Yet the soldiers of the Imperial Guard maintained that breakneck speed nearly the entire way.
A Champagne soldier who had just gotten hold of a telescope suddenly exclaimed, “They’re carrying gear!”
Others quickly snatched the telescope and cried out in shock, “That’s right, they’ve all got rifles… and blankets too…”
A General Staff officer nearby overheard their discussion and smiled as he raised his voice: “Each of them is carrying eighteen pounds—ah, we’re using the metric system now, so nine kilograms of load.”
The Champagne Corps soldiers fell into stunned silence. They had just run five kilometers, or more accurately, most of them had walked it—and even that had left them feeling like death. Yet these soldiers from the Imperial Guard had managed to run the entire course at high speed with such heavy gear on their backs. And finished in under twenty-two minutes?!
Ten minutes later, the Champagne Corps onlookers went completely quiet. From their high vantage point, they could clearly see that the runners hadn’t slowed at all and were already making the turn at the halfway point.
At last, someone murmured, “Are they even human?”
After a brief silence, a lieutenant sighed. “Maybe we’re just that bad.”
Napoleon rounded the mountain path, feeling as if his legs were about to give out, the pack on his back like a mountain, making every breath agonizing.
He glanced up at the surrounding soldiers who hadn’t slowed at all, clenched his jaw hard, and muttered to himself, “I won’t lose to you. It’s just running…”
He pushed his pace a little faster, overtaking a soldier ahead, thinking to himself: See? Not that hard. Come on, pass another one!
Who knew how long he had run when he finally saw the gates of the drill field in the distance. Though his chest and abdomen throbbed in pain, the corners of his lips curled into a smile.
He felt that with this speed, he should have passed the test.
Sure enough, as he crossed the gates, an officer standing beside them checked his stopwatch and said, “Twenty-one minutes and nineteen seconds.”
Napoleon clutched his abdomen, fighting back the nausea from the exertion, yet joy surged within him—he had passed yet another assessment.
This damned Imperial Guard—he had taken one more step toward conquering it!
With the final few Imperial Guard soldiers dashing into the drill field, the five-kilometer cross-country demonstration came to an end. The slowest time: twenty-one minutes and fifty-two seconds. Every single one passed.
On the distant mound, the thousands from the Champagne Corps were completely speechless.
They had always seen themselves as one of the most elite corps in France, looking down on other units. But today, they finally understood what true elites looked like.
Even the slowest runner from the Imperial Guard had been three minutes faster than their own fastest—Captain Lacoste. And they’d been carrying eighteen pounds!
It was a devastating blow to their proud confidence.
Anyone who had truly seen battle knew the immense importance of stamina in combat. In this era, where firepower was not overwhelmingly decisive, battles often dragged on from sunrise to sunset.
If your enemy’s stamina collapsed while your own troops were still strong, you could launch a ferocious assault, while they would only have strength left to defend. Moreover, ample stamina allowed for wide-ranging maneuvers—flanking, encirclement—all of which could decide victory or defeat!
Even so, some officers from the Champagne Corps grumbled in defiance. “It’s just running. If we train harder, we can do it too.”
“That’s right! Give me five months—no, three! I’ll do it in twenty-two minutes too!”
But the next day’s marksmanship test delivered yet another crushing blow.
According to the evaluation standards, only a few dozen chasseurs—roughly equivalent to modern-day snipers—from the Champagne Corps met the qualification.
Meanwhile, on the side of the Imperial Guard, only a little over twenty soldiers failed to pass. Honestly, with the smoothbore muskets of this era, accuracy was often a matter of luck. Without rifling, bullets could veer unpredictably, making it impossible to guarantee a hit even with perfect aim.
Those unlucky twenty-plus soldiers were roundly mocked by their comrades, their faces red with embarrassment as they went off alone to practice their firing posture.
Napoleon, unfortunately, was among those twenty-plus.
However, he didn’t bother with rifle drills—after all, he was in the artillery. His shooting score didn’t count toward the evaluation. And he didn’t think mastering fire cap muskets was essential either.
Instead, he stayed in his tent cramming logistics and supply theory—a key topic in the officer exams and one he was still unfamiliar with.
Joseph had never imagined that, had Napoleon not possessed such a tenacious will, bringing him into the Imperial Guard might have completely shattered his confidence...
In the days that followed, the Imperial Guard continued to “torment” the Champagne Corps with their overwhelming scores.
And the latter grew numb to it all—whether in running, shooting, formations, or hand-to-hand combat, they were utterly crushed. Without some mental self-deception, they wouldn’t have survived.
Just when the Champagne Corps officers and soldiers thought they could finally breathe a sigh of relief, having completed all their evaluations, the Imperial Guard dealt them one final, crushing psychological blow—with a concluding joint exercise.
This wasn’t a joint training session—it was a grand “Versailles” showcase.
From the very first glimpse of the Imperial Guard up close, the Champagne soldiers were green with envy, practically drooling.
Their impeccably cut wool uniforms, of excellent quality, made their own cheap gear look several classes lower.
Those uniquely styled fire cap guns were said to require three fewer loading steps than their own Charleville 1776s, with a range more than twenty paces farther.
As for boots, hats, or the perks of free tailoring—they no longer even wanted to compare...
But the final straw came at lunch.
The Imperial Guard soldiers were served beef in gravy. Although it was still preserved meat, it had been cooked and tasted ten times better. They also had boiled eggs, white bread, and vegetable soup. And the drink? Fine wine.
It was a feast better than what the Champagne officers were eating!
The Champagne soldiers looked down at the hard blocks of salted meat in their hands, the black bread, and the sour wine【Note 1】, and could barely resist the urge to snatch food from the Imperial Guard.
But remembering the enemy’s terrifying marksmanship and hand-to-hand skills, they silently accepted their “pig feed.”
【Note 1】 “Sour wine” refers to improperly fermented wine with an acidic taste. It remained popular among commoners due to its low price.
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