"Les Braves."

When a nation so gloriously enshrined in riches and success as France has a leader as magnanimous as L'Empereur, hostilities from the jealous will of course break out. After the numerous victories achieved by the Imperial Army resulting in the destruction of Austro-Hungarian forces, repulsion of Scottish invaders, route of Prussian Guards, the annexation of Spain and the annihilation of British skirmishers, a coalition formed between the Prussians and Austrians.

L'Empereur had foreseen this unholy alliance and had mobilised the best the French army had to offer. With the superiority of both supplies, planning, wit, cavalry and infantry skill the 18e Régiment d'Infanterie was dispatched to the French border to prepare for the inevitable assault that was guaranteed to come from the now bolstered Prussians.

The Prussian saw the true value of their allied Austrian troops, a walking wall of white meatshields to cover the advance of the KSW. They realised that the Austrian troops were also unsustainable, being too much of a burden to the collapsing Prussian economy due to the cost of rebuilding a military that had been pulled apart before. Delaying the offensive to push back the advancing French border was not an option. So with the leadership of the Austrian troops still in disarray, the Prussians appointed their own officers to lead the disorganised troops and the march begun.

*

The sun was rising, shining brightly over the encamped Frenchmen. Pushing aside the door to his tent, the Capitaine himself emerges, from the crest he has the view of the entire camp, seeing the Fusiliers training, chefs cooking, non-commissioned officers roaming the rows of orderly tents, inspecting boots, buckles and the gleam of polished brass.

He spies the Adjutant sitting at a table under the nearby pavilion and walks over, the two regimental gardes falling into step behind him, with Regimental Eagle propped up to his left and musket and sabre against the chair to his right he eyes the man before him. A nervous potential recruit sits opposite sweating in the cool morning air at the presence of the 18e all around and the legendary adjutant in front. He doesn't even notice the Capitaine himself until a golden plate scabbard is placed on the desk next to him. Eyes wide he looks up, the Adjutant has an eyebrow raised, and the man himself, Alexandre de Bourbon looks back.
A word jolts the soon to be Cadet back to reality, "Name?".
"Lannes", he splutters with hands shaking, "Segal Lannes".

*

The now enlisted man of the 18e stands before his NCO, a one, Morely Adrien. With cap lopsided and musket fumbled in hand the load and march drill is taught to the new recruit, shoulder to shoulder with other young faces desperate to earn a name in the eyes of the Officers and L'Empereur himself.

*

Stumbling through the camp with shoulders raw from the newly issued rucksack and chin strap chafing his skin, deaf to the shouts of those around him. Jarring his eyes to the world around as a horse skims past him and he is enveloped in a cloud of dust.
Scouts ride hard through the camp, carrying word to the officers, the Prussian-Austrian forces have been seen marching directly to the border.

Orders are issues, drums strike up the battle march, lines are formed, cadets shoved into gaps between more veteran Fusiliers to stiffen their resolve. The young cadet finds himself between, the names of Aluin and Berenice embroidered upon their chests in golden thread. Marked as veterans from the line, with cuffs red and muskets marked with scars of battle, performing their pre-march rituals, checking straps, shot and shako for the battle to come.

The drumming beat changes and the entire regiments boots fall as one, kicking a great storm of dust behind them. From his place in the line, young Lannes can see the officers mounted at the front, the golden epaulettes, pristine whites, golden threads, the Eagle over one's shoulder with the tri-colour blazing behind and the golden sabre of the Capitaine shining at the forefront.

*

The size the invasion is colossal, pushing the French border in three locations. The first cannon fires, a single white mark on the green countryside, immediately echoed by the roar of the French artillery with the range found. Unwilling to risk a prolonged engagement with the slow assault of the Coalition troops the 18e bravely advances, pushing back and the Austrian troops man by man, cleverly surrounding, then crushing the hostile lines one at a time, leaving Austrians stained red and burnt black from the brutal engagements.

All throughout the regiment, moments of bravery are witnessed, Fusiliers fearless engaging, pushing back groups larger than their own and unflinching the face of presenting enemy lines.

The Coalition advance is halted to the frustration of the Prussian command, the Austrian troops failing to meet the requirements to succeed in their role. Prussian troops are dispatch across the battlefield, one line even led by a foreign veteran of a legendary English regiment.

*

Time and again the 18e push the Coalition back, hill by hill, a never ending offensive of bayonets and close-range musket volleys. Attempting to waterfall away to ready line, but finding themselves cut off, or with no friendly line to retreat to the Coalition casualties steadily rise.

A stalemate develops, with the Coalition defending their last refuge before the open plains behind, which retreating over would be a death sentence for those still alive either from the advancing artillery, cavalry, skirmishers and the dread regiments of the line.

The Prussian stands upon the hill, witnessing the enveloping French forces with a sense of dread. Seeing few Austrians still alive in the now mainly Prussian lines, they realise they must gamble it all. Either counter the 18e rolling offensive or accept their defeat and surrender. Unwilling to do so they orders the lines forward to take the ridge before them and turn the battle.

Seeing the Prussian army change form and direction the Officers of the 18e saw their opportunity. Using the townhouse and the wheat fields to cover their redeployment to the Prussian flank.

The ridge is heightened with the plumes of Prussian soldiers as they advance, confident in believing that they had the high ground. A wall of smoke appear and the Prussian ranks become ragged in a heartbeat, the roar goes up from the fields and trees, "VIVA L'EMPEREUR!". Prussian hearts sink, suddenly the 18e are assaulting from all side.

*

The young cadet yells with the rest of his line in this last assault, bayonet clutched forward determined to fight to the last. Muskets clash and bayonets strike home, the battle becomes a blur, red cuffs become red sleeves, and sleeves to faces and throats.

A moment of clarity shines through the battle, the cadet looks around the final carnage surrounding him, and through it all sees the last Prussian line form to fire. The Adjutant, locked in a duel with the Prussian Feldwebel, bayonets locked and it down to a struggle of strength.

The Prussian line fires, musket balls fly through the wall of smoke aimed at the officer before them. Unwilling to see his Adjutant harmed, the brave Caporal Morely tackles both the Prussian and Adjutant to the ground, being struck twice in the back during his heroic actions. The melee continues, the Prussian ranks becoming smaller and smaller, the ground growing thick with the black coats of fallen soldats.

The last Prussian officer stands, musket in hand and blood dripping from the multiple wounds covering him, the standard of his regiment threaded through his arm, supporting his final stand. The Capitaine steps forward, golden sabre by his side shimmering red.

The Oberst raises his musket as the sabre flashes.

Musket falls..

Oberst falls....

Prussia falls.....


~ Adjutant Brecken d'Anjou, Champion of Vienna, Porte-Aigle, Hero of Brandenburg, Commissar du France, Garde de L'Empereur, recipient of L'Empereur's Personal Legion d'Honneur, Minister of Propaganda, Butcher of Gibraltar, the Eagle of France, the Merciless