As they were talking, a leisurely rhythm of drumbeats emerged from the north side of the parade ground.
The instructor in charge of training immediately called a halt and began to gather the troops. A team of police officers closest to the parade ground’s main gate were already lining up and running towards a grey building not far away.
Dibowa patted Alexander on the shoulder and gestured towards the grey building, “It’s time for lunch. Oh, what day is it today?”
“Wednesday.”
“Oh, right, it’s Wednesday. You’re in luck; today there’s beef stew and butter pea soup.”
In the spacious dining hall, Alexander, looking at the hundreds of cadets waiting for their meal, asked in a low voice, “Francois, aren’t we going to the officers’ mess hall?”
Dibowa said as if it were obvious, “This is the officers’ mess hall, and of course, also the cadets’ dining hall.”
“But…” Alexander instinctively remembered the black bread and cured meat usually eaten by soldiers in the army he had served, “Are we really eating here?”
Dibowa knew why his old friend was asking such a question.
In the French army, officers and soldiers belonged to two different classes, and it was similar in the police force. Soldiers or police officers were like commoners, while officers and police chiefs were nobility. Their living conditions were vastly different; they never ate together, let alone the same food.
He nodded and explained, “Yes, that’s how we do it here. Officers and police officers mix together; I’ve gotten used to it.”
Before he had finished speaking, a police officer with a tray came over, bowed to him and Dibowa, and then placed two servings of food in front of them.
Alexander was instantly taken aback—it was beef stew and butter pea soup, along with white bread and half a boiled egg.
He quickly turned to look at the other academy tables; they had the same food!
He said to Dibowa in surprise, “The cadets here eat this well?!”
Dibowa handed him utensils and shook his head, “Only on Wednesdays can you have beef stew, and on Fridays, you get lamb or turkey. Other times, it’s just pork or fish.”
Alexander’s eyes widened, somewhat unable to accept this. In the army he served, soldiers’ rations included bread, wine, and a small piece of cured meat. But the plate of stew in front of the police officers here was equivalent to the meat ration of those soldiers for three days.
And this was freshly stewed, steaming hot with an aromatic smell, incomparable to cured meat.
No wonder those police officers could carry an 18-pound load and run a mile in 15 minutes. This was built on excellent food!
He turned to Dibowa again, “How much does this cost?”
“Between five and seven sous per person per day. The Crown Prince said that food is one thing we can’t skimp on.”
“That much!” Alexander found it hard to believe. Were these policemen? His soldiers only got three sous a day…
He suddenly realized something, “Francois, why do you always mention the Crown Prince?”
“Because this police academy was established by His Royal Highness.” Dibowa said while chewing beef, “The funding is directly allocated by His Highness. He also set the training curriculum. Oh, and the Crown Prince often comes to attend classes or to participate in training.”
As he spoke, a loud voice at the entrance commanded, “All rise!”
Everyone in the dining hall immediately stood up with a “whoosh,” followed by a jovial voice of a young man, “Please, everyone, take your seats, don’t let me interrupt your meal.”
Alexander looked around and saw a young man in a Paris Police uniform entering the dining hall, accompanied by several high-level officers of the police academy.
Dibowa whispered, “I told you, His Highness often comes.”
“Is that the Crown Prince?”
“Yes, he usually comes on Mondays and Thursdays, but sometimes he drops by to check on things.”
Only when Joseph had taken a seat at a table did the other officers also sit down together.
Soon, several police officers proudly placed stewed beef and other dishes on the table for Joseph and the Director of Education. It was an immense honor to serve a meal to His Royal Highness the Crown Prince, achievable only after excelling in exercises twice in a row.
“Thank you very much.”
Joseph nodded his thanks to the officers, his gaze suddenly catching a strange face next to Dibowa.
“Major Dibowa, who is this?”
Dibowa and another hurried over, lifting their hats to salute.
Dibowa gestured to the person beside him, “Your Highness, this is Major Bertier, whom you had once inquired about.”
Alexander Bertier appeared very reserved, immediately saluting again, “It’s a great honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”
Joseph’s eyes instantly lit up, he had only decided on a whim to attend a logistics class that day, and didn’t expect such an unexpected gain.
Mr. Chief of Staff, finally seeing you in person, this time I must keep you here at all costs!
He smiled and nodded to Bertier, “Please sit down. I have long heard of your excellent performance in the Yorktown campaign. Without your meticulous planning, the British might have held out much longer.”
Bertier sat upright, “It was indeed a tough fight, Your Highness. Fortunately, we eventually won victory and glory.”
Joseph then started to talk with Bertier about the Yorktown campaign.
“Oh? Was it Major Dibowa who invited you to visit the Paris Police Academy?”
While speaking, Joseph gave Dibowa an approving glance without revealing too much.
“Oh, yes, Your Highness,” Bertier still seemed a bit nervous, bumblingly saying, “Actually, I have a cousin in Paris who is getting married, so I rushed over. Coincidentally, Francois mentioned in his letter that he is working at the Paris Police Academy and said that it is quite special here…”
Joseph waited for him to finish, then casually asked, “By the way, Major Bertier, you are currently stationed in Soissons, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Dibowa leaned in, whispering, “Your Highness, Francois has been serving in the engineer camp. In fact, he came to Paris this time to look for a way to be transferred back. However, I fear he might not yet have ‘sufficient conditions’.”
Joseph knew the “conditions” he referred to meant the cost of pulling strings, and was surprised the Chief of Staff was faring so poorly within the old army system.
However, for himself, it was as if he had stumbled upon a treasure without any effort.
He thought with joy, wanting to return to Paris is great, I just need people here.
He smiled at Bertier, “Perhaps I could recommend you to Marquis Saint Priest, to serve in the Imperial Guard or the France Guard.”
Bertier had not expected the Crown Prince to extend such significant help and immediately stood up, excited, “Your Highness, I really don’t know how to express my gratitude to you!”
…
Besanval pulled at his collar; the winter wind was so biting that he could hardly keep his eyes open, “This damned weather.”
He shook the reins, turned his head, and asked the officer beside him, “How much further?”
“General, less than 3 miles.”
“All right, let’s pick up the pace.”
“Yes, General.”
As the officer conveyed the command, the beat of the drum immediately quickened and hundreds of soldiers from the France Guard hurriedly quickened their step as well.
Besanval muttered under his breath, “Why couldn’t those noble ladies wait for it to get warmer before coming…”