the gunners food, and so a battery of field pieces requires a hundred horses that need to eat in turn. Any economy saves lives and francs. What if our army was armed with Jaegers?”
So that was in it. This Frenchman wanted to mimic Daniel Morgan’s frontiersmen in our Revolutionary War, picking the British off from an impregnable distance. “Rifles are fussy,” I warned. “They take too long to load, are more apt to foul and misfire, and are easily broken. Muskets can take the abuse of an oaf and be loaded by a village idiot.”
“An elite rifle unit, then. Lafayette brought back enthusiasm for skirmishers from your Revolutionary War.”
“Red Indians are most expert, so perhaps you should go back to arrows. They’re silent and don’t emit smoke.”
The idea was meant as a joke, but he took it seriously. “Do you know how to shoot a bow?”
“Regrettably, no. Years of practice are required, I’m guessing.”
“Crossbows, perhaps. Let me ponder that.” Duhèsme had more imagination than most army officers I’ve encountered.
“For every advantage there is a disadvantage.”
He nodded. “You understand war, Monsieur Gage. People think generalship is arrows on a map, but it really is difficult choices, and getting men to function when they’re hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. They seldom know exactly what they’re fighting for, so they fight for friends and flag. Their reward is proof of their own courage.”
“Men fight wars to become men.”
“Indeed.” He cocked his head. “So why are you here, so far from home?”
“My goal is peace, which no one seems to share.”
“You’re not loyal to a flag?”
“I understand being loyal to yourself, your family, and even the country that protects them. If that’s represented by the flag, then of course. But if the flag represents a king’s quest for glory, or a vainglorious general? Then I’m loyal to reason. I’ll retreat or desert if it will save my life.”
Duhèsme was disappointed in me, as so many people are. “You’re missing the meaning of life, Monsieur Gage. You need a cause and companions! Someday, perhaps, you’ll experience the exhilaration of dedicating yourself to a banner, melding with your unit, and feeling as one. It’s transforming: a touch of the Divine.”
“The transformation comes when a cannonball shreds your extremities. And I hope the Divine is dedicated to beauty, not butchery. Yes, I know my selfishness makes me a poor soldier. But a sensible man, don’t you think?”
“A morally impoverished one.” He shook his head.
That’s the nut of things, isn’t it? Do you live for yourself or your country? For reason or passion? Are you responsible for your actions, or do you hand responsibility to an army and commit glory and crimes on its behalf?
“I mean no insult,” Duhèsme said, “but one’s country is all. And unity is what we’re drilling here, and why we’ll cut through English militia like a knife through butter if we can cross the Channel. Nearly half our number here has already seen combat. No army in history has the preparation of Napoleon’s Army of England. But we constantly seek advice, even from independent Americans, to improve even more.”
“I’m flattered but mystified, General. You already know the advantages and disadvantages of rifles.”
“I’m asking if they are practical.”
I rummaged for something useful. “In America the colonials fought from behind trees and rocks. The British regulars couldn’t close without breaking apart their lines in rough terrain. Washington wanted to fight on level fields, but I never understood the point of it. Fight like Indians! The English called cowardice what I call cunning.”
“I want you to work with us on tactics, Gage. And when you’re finished, go tell your British friends they can’t stand against us. Your incorrigible character will convince them you’re betraying us, so they’ll believe you.”
I sighed at this assessment. For all my skepticism of following a flag, I had effectively been drafted into the French army. Some spy! “This is what Napoleon called me here for?”
“Napoleon called you for a different purpose. When his ears heal, he’ll give you your true mission.”
CHAPTER 11
What Astiza calls fate I call luck, and Napoleon has bad luck with the sea. He lost an entire fleet to Nelson at the Battle of the Nile. He’d turned his back on Fulton’s nautical ingenuity. And I reunited with him on a day that was stormy in more ways than one.
It was July 20, 1804, the kind of sullen summer day that promises thunder. Our audience with the emperor had yet to be scheduled, but General Duhèsme sent word that