Due to the visit of Her Highness the Princess of the Two Sicilies to Paris, the French Guards, as part of the Paris Garrison, naturally assumed the responsibility of escorting her along the way.
And General Besanval, the commander of the French Guards, became the busiest person.
He had to ensure that all officers and soldiers remembered every step of the reception, along-the-way vigilance, and escort process before the princess’s arrival.
Such affairs could not afford any mistakes. Therefore, he had to personally oversee the troops, repeatedly practice the entire reception and escort process along the princess’s predicted route, and only then could he feel reassured.
Thinking of the upcoming visit from the Grand Duchess of Tuscany, he felt a headache coming on.
The French Guards marched in three columns along the small roads of the outskirts of Paris, moving briskly. Just as they were about to reach the predetermined reception point, a sudden thunderous explosion came from the southwest, and the advancing columns came to a halt like startled rabbits.
General Besanval furrowed his brows; he could tell that it was the sound of a cannon.
How could there be cannons in this godforsaken place?
As if in response to his query, another boom resonated from afar.
The soldiers of the French Guards had already taken their flintlock guns and were looking around, preparing for possible attackers.
General Besanval made a gesture to an officer next to him. The latter immediately sent out two Cavalry Scouts toward the direction of the cannon fire to reconnoiter.
After more than ten minutes, the scouts returned, halting their horses and shouting:
“Report, it’s the Paris Police Academy conducting artillery training!”
“The Paris Police Academy? Artillery training!” It took General Besanval a good while to connect the two, puzzled, “Isn’t the Paris Police Academy in the Saint Antoine District?”
“General, they say this is their training field.”
General Besanval squinted his eyes. As the commander of the Paris defensive forces, he was unaware that there was a training field with cannons in the Southern Suburbs of Paris!
Actually, he couldn’t be blamed for this; with the level of information in this era, sometimes two large armies could brush past each other ten kilometers apart without any detection unless one made a deliberate reconnaissance effort.
Since enemy forces could not possibly appear around Paris, the French Guards naturally wouldn’t scout around aimlessly.
Thus, the training base of the Police Academy had been in use for a month and a half, and they had not discovered it until now, as they happened to pass by this location while familiarizing themselves with the princess’s route.
After thinking for a moment, General Besanval instructed the officer next to him, “Orders to rest in place. We’ll go have a look.”
…
Inside the training base of the Paris Police Academy.
Major Bertier watched in shock as nearly two hundred police officers, following the beat of the drum, efficiently formed infantry lines, and also heard a messenger shouting, “Maintain the formation!” as he galloped past the front of the troops.
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To the left of the troops were conspicuously two four-pound cannons.
And opposite them were another hundred or so police officers, their arms tied with white cloth bands.
The “Blue Team” seemed to lack training, as only two-thirds were formed into two thin lines, while the remaining third was sparsely scattered in front of the lines, constantly advancing towards the opposite defense line.
Going by his military instinct, Major Bertier shook his head and said to Dibowa, “If the white side doesn’t form up soon, they’ll probably be overwhelmed.”
The latter, however, smiled and shook his head, “Alexander, their formation has no problems at all.”
“Formation?” Major Bertier frowned. What formation did the “Blue Team” have? This was clearly a case of officers unable to restrain their soldiers…
Suddenly, he felt something was not right.
Although the “Blue Team” looked messy, those scattered police officers in front of the infantry line always maintained the same pace, as if they were forming a barrier in front of the infantry line.
Immediately, the “Blue Team’s” cannon roared. Of course, it was just an exercise, with no projectiles loaded.
The instructors responsible for casualty assessment quickly made their judgments, with one of them giving two numbers to an assistant. The latter then immediately signaled to the training ground with flags, indicating that the shell passed through the scattered formation of the “White Team,” causing only 2 deaths and 4 injuries.
“They’re courting death. I think they need more training,” Bertier couldn’t help shaking his head.
“Please watch patiently,” Dibowa calmly reminded.
After the “Blue Team’s” cannon fired another two times, the “White Team” changed their approach.
The beat of the drum suddenly quickened, and the disarrayed police officers in the front erupted in a roar:
“Charge!”
“Break through the enemy lines!”
“Don’t be scared, go for it!”
The disorganized formation began to run, and the “Blue Team” immediately greeted them with volley fire from their flintlock guns.
However, because the “White Team” was too scattered, the shooting only inflicted limited damage. Over three-quarters of the “White Team” police officers charged to within thirty meters of the “Blue Team’s” infantry line.
“Stop advancing!” With the order from the “White Team’s” officer, dozens of police officers halted simultaneously and raised their flintlock guns.
“Fire!”
A puff of smoke rose from the scattered formation. The close-range volley instantly claimed seven or eight men from the “Blue Team.”
As the “White Team” began to reload their ammunition on the spot, the “Blue Team” fired another volley in retaliation. The “White Team,” having just charged forward, was immediately assessed with 3 deaths and 6 injuries.
While the “Blue Team’s” infantry line was entangled with these disorderly opponents, the “White Team’s” infantry line had quietly arrived less than 50 meters behind them.
The scattered “White Team” police officers suddenly retreated, quickly “merging” into their own lines.
Immediately after, the “White Team” line of police officers raised their guns, while the opposite “Blue Team” was in disarray due to the prior exchange of fire.
“Fire!”
A well-ordered volley from the “White Team” caused even more chaos in the “Blue Team’s” ranks.
In a line infantry exchange of fire, whoever maintained a tighter formation and unified firing rhythm gained the upper hand.
The “Blue Team” subsequently began to suffer more gaps in their ranks under continuous fire from the opposition and were ultimately judged as defeated by the overseeing instructors when their casualties reached one-third.
Bertier turned his head to stare at Dibowa, his face full of disbelief—how did the disorderly “White Team” manage to win? Their numbers were even slightly less than the enemy!
From his first day at the military academy, he had been taught, “The infantry line must be kept orderly. If disarray occurs, it’s better to stop firing and reform than to continue.”
He was certain that the exercise just now was conducted properly, without any trace of favoritism, but why did the side with the disorganized formation win?
Dibowa resolved his confusion, “This is called the ‘scattered infantry assault tactic.’ It was invented by His Royal Highness the Crown Prince.”
“Scattered infantry? That’s impossible…” Bertier’s face was full of questions. The Austrians did indeed use skirmishers, which was to facilitate mountain warfare, but he had never heard that this could overpower the enemy’s well-organized infantry lines.
Sitting in the front watching the exercise, Joseph felt somewhat ashamed, saying to himself that this was a tactic created by Napoleon, and all he did was copy and paste it.
However, he still turned around, displaying a sly smile reminiscent of a little fox, “Major Bertier, if you would like to understand more about this tactic, you’re welcome to often visit the Paris Police Academy. Oh, there are also many other new tactics here that you might find interesting.”
…
Besanval had barely caught sight of the walls of the Paris Police Academy training base when he was stopped by several individuals in police uniforms, “Police Academy training, keep away!”
An officer spurred his horse forward, proudly stating, “This gentleman is the commander of the France Guard, General Besanval. Who is in charge here? Let him come over.”