Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Morocco’s Black Guard fought with discipline, quickly maneuvering under an officer’s command, forming a front facing the reinforcement troops of the French people.

Almost a thousand black soldiers, arranged in four rows, charged towards the French Army at the urging of the trumpet.

Ney himself stood at the very front of the infantry, drawing his sword and pointing it towards the dense, black mass of soldiers opposite him, he shouted loudly,

"Do not fear, they are but slaves who have been captured, they do not know how to fight! Just shoot as you did in training, and they will soon flee!"

Although he said this, the orderly ranks of the Moroccan soldiers showed they were well-trained, and their combat strength was not to be taken lightly.

Soon, the Moroccan Army had closed in to less than 80 paces, and some of Ney’s soldiers began to shoot in panic.

Fortunately, the panic did not spread. When the two sides were about 60 paces apart, Ney swung his sword forcefully,

"Fire!"

More than 200 Charleville 1763-type flintlock guns emitted irregular flashes of light, causing the Moroccans’ advance to stagger slightly, but they almost immediately continued their push forward.

At the same time, because the Moroccans outnumbered them by several times, the narrow ends of the infantry line started to close in, forming an encirclement around Ney.

"Do not fear!" Ney still stood in the very front of the line, braving enemy fire, loudly boosting morale, "Do not tremble, reload quickly. Our men will be here soon, these slaves won’t do anything to you!"

His 200 soldiers, who were farmers not long ago, looked at their commander, Ney, standing resolutely in place, and felt much more at ease. Following the drum command, they exchanged fire with the Moroccan Imperial Guard at a distance of 40 paces.

Ney heard the bullets whistling past his ears, followed by the piercing screams of agony from behind.

He glanced over and saw at least twenty or more soldiers hit by bullets, their bodies torn open by the shots, writhing and struggling on the ground like fish tossed ashore.

The soldiers around him, covered in their blood and innards, stood petrified in place, not knowing what to do, while others started to shuffle backward in overwhelming fear.

"Hold on!" Ney picked up a dead soldier’s gun and started loading gunpowder, while shouting, "Remember the oath you made when you came here. Just hold out for another half hour, and you can return home full of honor! Your families and villagers will be proud of you, and your neighbors will tell stories about you!"

"And all of this, god damn it, starts with the hands that load your guns. Get moving, move it!" @@novelbin@@

He then looked toward the less than 300 Tunisian soldiers on the flank,

"You all must’ve had enough rest by now, right? On my command, fire together!"

He quickly loaded his musket, aiming at the black faces coming his way. With his lead, the soldiers of the French Army finally began, trembling, to pour gunpowder into their barrels, while the Tunisian soldiers also lifted their guns once more.

"Aim—"

"Fire!"

At Ney’s loud shout, he also pulled the trigger.

Following him, the sound of "crackling" gunfire came from behind; the Moroccans, who were nearly in their faces, didn’t expect the French Army to still be able to organize a volley, and nearly 30 of them fell at the sound, while those on either side of the dead instinctively turned away, attempting to dodge the bullets.

"Well done! You’ve done it!" Ney’s voice was already hoarse, but he still shouted with all his might, "Continue to load, do not stop!"

There was no wind near the battlefield, the thick gun smoke obstructed the vision of the French soldiers, which ironically prevented them from becoming overly frightened. Anyway, Commander Ney was still with them, which meant the situation was not too dire.

The nearby Tunisian soldiers also commenced their intermittent firing, and the Moroccans, after taking a heavy blow, began to fall back.

Hearing the enemy’s footsteps begin to recede, even the French people and Tunisians who, just a moment before, had been scared to the point of wetting their pants now let out a sigh of relief, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted, and cheered.

Ney was just about to take a breath of relief when he faintly heard a "thud, thud" knocking sound coming from both flanks, causing his pupils to constrict suddenly.

The Moroccans were closing in from both sides.

They had barely managed to hold off the frontal attack just now, and if they were to be caught in a pincer attack, they would surely collapse immediately.

He closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross in front of his chest, pondering which side to launch a counter-attack on—retreat was out of the question; at such a close distance, turning their backs to the enemy was tantamount to suicide. Attacking one side of the enemy fiercely might still buy some time.

He just didn’t know whether these soldiers could adjust the direction of their line formation in time…

Muttering to himself, not a single thought of surrender crossed his mind. He had grown up listening to his father, who had served in the army, talk about the Seven Years’ War, and he detested cowards who surrendered. He always saw himself as someone who could keep up with the enemy until the very last moment.

Ney ran back and forth, loudly ordering the officers to have their soldiers turn to face the north.

However, within just over ten minutes, he heard a din of Arabic behind him.

When he looked at his soldiers again, they were still in a disorganized clump, and the Tunisians were even more so.

There was no way they could fight in this kind of formation. His heart suddenly cooled, realizing that his first true command in battle would also be his last…

Just as he was preparing to recklessly collide with the Moroccans and meet his death, a series of hoofbeats emerged again from the south.

"The enemy’s cavalry has joined the fray?" Discover exclusive content at NovelBin.Côm

He laughed, shaking his head, drew his sword, and pointed behind the gunsmoke:

"Come on, I’m not afraid of you!"

After waiting for a moment, the Moroccan’s offensive seemed to slow down, followed shortly by faint gunshot sounds occurring behind them.

Although Ney didn’t know what was going on, he immediately seized the opportunity, urging the soldiers to form up desperately.

Once the smoke finally cleared, he hurriedly stood on his horse and used a telescope to look to the south. He saw a troop of cavalry dressed in white military uniforms harassing the enemy from behind and to the side, forcing the Moroccans to tighten their formation for defense.

"It’s those nobles!"

For the first time in his life, Ney felt that those noble lords weren’t so hateful after all, and turned to the soldiers, excitedly saying:

"Our reinforcements have arrived! Victory is ours!"

Sanel spurred his "flying crossbow" to speed past the Moroccan Army formation, raised his short musket, and pulled the trigger toward the dark-complexioned enemies.

At a distance of over 80 steps, the short musket had no killing power, but its loud report was enough to intimidate the enemy.

As 150 or more noble cavalry thundered towards the nearby Moroccan positions and then turned around to form up, the Moroccans were thrown into confusion by this sudden attack, and quickly chose to retreat.

Moro ordered his soldiers to close ranks with their compatriots, and soon located Ney amidst the crowd.

He stepped forward graciously, lifted his hat, and smiled:

"Lieutenant, it seems you were surrounded by the enemy. Luckily, my timely arrival with the men saved you all. How about that, we’re impressive, right?"