Reincarnated as Napoleon

August 2nd, 1796, on the outskirts of Mantua, General Count von Wurmser took full command of the Austrian Army of Italy. His primary objective was to relentlessly pursue the French forces, as time was running out and he feared the French might overrun the fortress of Mantua.

As Wurmser rode on his horse, he used his spyglass to observe the situation. He spotted a French line facing them, indicating that the French had finally decided to confront them instead of retreating once again.

Shifting his gaze upwards, Wurmser directed his spyglass toward the fortress of Mantua. The flags of the Austrian Empire waved proudly above its seemingly impenetrable walls. A slight smile formed on his lips reassured that he hadn’t arrived too late and that there was still hope to relieve Mantua.

“Gather round, my generals!” Wurmser addressed his officers. “Our utmost priority is to relieve Mantua by any means necessary. Prepare for the march!”

The Austrian soldiers, dressed in their distinctive white uniforms, stood ready for the upcoming operation.

Meanwhile, on the French side, Generals Augereau, Massena, La Harpe, and Serurier sat atop their horses, observing the Austrian forces as they prepared for a frontal assault.

Augereau turned to his fellow generals. “Gentlemen, the Austrians have taken the bait. It seems they believe they can relieve Mantua. Write a telegraph to General Bonaparte, inform him that the Austrians are fully committed.”

“Will do, General,” Augereau’s aide-de-camps acknowledged the order and spurred their horses into action.

As the aides galloped away, the four French generals continued their observation of the Austrian forces.

“Their line appears solid,” Massena commented. “Can we really hold them off? We are even in numbers.”

“Just stick to his plan, Massena,” Serurier interjected, his voice brimming with confidence. “General Bonaparte has entrusted us with this crucial task…” he paused, as he noticed the Austrian lines are nearing their defensive lines. “They are coming now, signal La Harpe! Begin the operation!”

The French generals swiftly relayed the orders to their respective divisions. La Harpe, positioned in the center, received the signal and immediately set his plan in motion.

Minutes later.

With a well-executed feint, La Harpe’s division began a strategic retreat, enticing the Austrians to advance further into the French positions. The Austrian forces, believing they had gained the upper hand, pressed forward, their sights set on the retreating French.

Unbeknownst to the Austrians, Massena and Augereau, commanding the right and left flanks respectively, had already initiated their wide flanking maneuver. Their divisions moved swiftly attempting to wedge the Austrians in between.

As the Austrian forces pushed deeper into the French lines, confident in their progress, they suddenly found themselves ensnared. Massena’s division emerged from the sides, striking the exposed Austrian right flank with a ferocious assault. Augereau, coordinating his movements with Massena, swiftly followed suit, crashing into the Austrian left flank.

Caught between the converging French forces, the Austrians faced a devastating onslaught from multiple directions. Chaos ensued as their lines wavered, their formation crumbling but Wurmser, determined to relieve Mantua, shouted orders to General Sebottendorf and Schubirz to form a line to counter Massena and Augereau’s division.

Meanwhile, Serurier, commanding a division in reserve, and La Harpe, leading his feigned retreating troops, pivoted their forces with precision. Seizing the opportune moment, they executed a swift about-face, their divisions now facing the Austrians head-on.

Wurmser, witnessing the maneuver conducted by the French, couldn’t help but feel impressed. “To think that they managed to outmaneuver us into this position, the French are truly a worthy adversary,” he admitted. “But, I fail to understand their motive for this maneuver. Our forces are evenly matched, and it seems we will be engaging in a multi-front battle. Very well, we’ll accept the challenge. Order General Lipthay to press forward. As long as we breach their center, we can make our way to Mantua. We’ll reinforce his position with the reserves.”

Wurmser’s command echoed through the ranks as his officers swiftly relayed the orders. General Lipthay received the directive and prepared his forces to spearhead the assault on the French center.

With an air of grim determination, the Austrian troops surged forward, their bayonets glinting menacingly in the sunlight. The thunderous war cries reverberated through the air as they clashed headlong with the resolute French forces. Undeterred by the formidable Austrian advance, the French soldiers stood their ground, unyielding in the face of the onslaught.

The battlefield became a maelstrom of chaos and violence as the two armies clashed with unyielding resolve. French and Austrian soldiers fought with fervor, their weapons clashing, and musket fire tearing through the air. The cries of the wounded mingled with the thunderous roar of cannons and the relentless beat of drums.

General La Harpe and Serurier, witnessing the ferocity of the Austrian onslaught, realized that their lines were under immense pressure. The Austrian troops began to break through the French defenses at certain points, creating dangerous breaches in their ranks.

La Harpe swiftly ordered his reserve units to reinforce the weakening sectors, desperately trying to stabilize the crumbling front lines.

“First row, fire! Second row, fire!” La Harpe’s voice boomed across the battlefield as his reserve units responded to his command. The crackling sound of musket fire filled the air as the French soldiers unleashed a volley of bullets upon the advancing Austrians. The lethal hail of lead tore through the Austrian ranks, felling many soldiers in its wake.

The devastating volley momentarily halted the Austrian advance, allowing the French soldiers a brief respite to regroup and strengthen their positions.

“We could really use some help right now,” La Harpe muttered under his breath as he watched the Austrians resume their march.

“Press forward Lipthay!” Wurmser shouted. “Just a little bit more!”

Wurmser’s voice carried over the battlefield, urging his troops to press on. General Lipthay, leading the charge at the head of the Austrian forces rallied his men and surged through the hail of muskets.

As Lipthay’s division bore down upon the French center, the two armies clashed once again in a fierce and bloody engagement. The intensity of the battle reached its peak as both sides fought with unwavering determination. Despite the valiant efforts of the French troops, the Austrians managed to break through the center, creating a dangerous bulge in the French lines.

Witnessing the breach, Wurmser’s heart soared with joy, filled with a renewed sense of hope. Urgency surged through his veins as he spurred his steed forward, racing towards Mantua. With a triumphant motion, he seized an Austrian standard from one of his troops and brandished it high, proudly signaling their victory and calling for their stranded forces to regroup and join the fray. The elation in Wurmser’s eyes was unmistakable as he realized that they had finally broken through the formidable French lines, paving the way for their advance toward their objective.

However, a wave of disbelief washed over Wurmser as he watched the Austrian flag being lowered from the fortress walls, replaced by the triumphant sight of the French tricolor. His grip on the standard loosened, his face etched with shock and disbelief.

“What… What is this?” Wurmser stammered, his voice quivering. “Could it be? Have the French already taken Mantua?”

His worst fears were confirmed as the gates of the fortress creaked open before him. From within, the French infantry and cavalry emerged, confidently crossing the bridge that had been a symbol of Austrian strength until this moment.

A mix of emotions overwhelmed Wurmser—disappointment, anger, and a deep sense of defeat. The fortress he had hoped to relieve was now under enemy control, slipping through his fingers despite his valiant efforts. A bitter taste of failure lingered in his mouth as he realized the gravity of the situation.

“General!” Lipthay called out. “It seems that the Mantua has been overtaken days or weeks ago. We have been lured! We have to retreat now while our flanks are still holding the ground.”

Wurmser’s gaze hardened, his mind racing to find a solution amidst the turmoil. He knew that time was of the essence, and he needed to salvage what remained of his forces.

“Sound the retreat!” he bellowed.

The Austrian forces who broke through the French center, began to fall back, fighting a stubborn rearguard action as they retreated. Wurmser, his disappointment transforming into determination, led the retreat, rallying his officers and urging them to maintain discipline amidst the chaos.

Little by little, Wurmser and his army are making their way back as they retreat. Bitter of the defeat, Wurmser swore that he will retake Mantua at another time, doing so will need rethinking and restrategizing. They couldn’t let the French control Mantua, it was that fortress that strengthened the grip of the Austrians on Italy.

As minutes passed by, the French Forces squeezed the Austrians out of the outskirts but remained in pursuit. The operation to capture Wurmer’s army is not yet finished.

𝗇𝚘𝒱𝑒𝐥𝑵𝚎xt.𝔠𝑜𝑀

“Any moment now, General,” Massena whispered.

And at that moment, Wurmser, who was on retreat, raised his hand, signaling his men to stop as he noticed something over the horizon. He grabbed his spyglass and scanned the landscape. To his astonishment, he saw a sea of French soldiers heading towards them in earnest.

“What is happening…” Wurmser stammered, he counted their number. He approximated fifteen thousand. “Why is there a division heading towards us? What happened to Quasdanovich?… Oh God…”

Wurmser now realized that he had unwittingly played into the hands of the commander of the Army of Italy. Quasdanovich’s forces had fallen, and they had strategically positioned themselves to cut off the Austrian retreat. If Quasdanovich hadn’t suffered defeat, they wouldn’t find themselves in this predicament. It became clear that the French had meticulously planned to exploit his fixation on Mantua and lure him into a trap. The realization struck him like a devastating blow, leaving him with a mix of anger and despair. He berated himself for falling into such a carefully orchestrated scheme.

As the French forces closed in from behind, cutting off their path of retreat, Wurmser understood the gravity of their situation. The enemy’s numbers likely doubled their own.

Surrender.

Wurmser snapped out of his reverie as that word flitted across his mind. It’s the word that he feared the most, and probably the most logical thing to do to avoid total onslaught or massacre.

However, surrender is not an option for him. He will not bow down to the enemy without a fight, at least for him. But, his resolve wavered for a moment as he surveyed the faces of his men. Their expressions of fear and nervousness mirrored his own inner turmoil. How could he ask his soldiers to continue the fight when their spirits were already shaken?

A sense of responsibility washed over Wurmser as he realized that his duty as a commander extended beyond his personal pride. He had to consider the welfare of his men, their families, and the lives entrusted to his leadership. Surrender, as distasteful as it seemed, might be the only way to ensure their survival.

Turning to his officers, Wurmser swallowed his pride and spoke with a somber tone.

“Gentlemen, it is clear that our situation is dire. The odds are against us, and the French have effectively cut off our retreat. Continuing this battle would be a futile endeavor that would only lead to more unnecessary loss of life. It is with a heavy heart that I must make the decision to surrender.”

After announcing his decision, Wurmser did not think anymore.

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