Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Seeing Ney about to place his hand on his chest in salute, Moro casually waved him off:

“Oh, there’s no need for excessive gratitude. The Cavalry Corps is simply following the call of honor.”

Ney paused, truly wanting to kick this loathsome aristocrat twice.

He took a deep breath and said, “Still, I must thank you for the reinforcements. But in the end, it was us who held Tamire.”

“Oh?” Moro glanced at the Tunisian ranks to the side, “If it hadn’t been for them holding back the enemy, you and your men would probably have been standing outside the Town of Tamirai.”

“They were under my command…”

“No, no,” Moro said with a sly fox-like grin, “it was I who ordered them to defend the town’s west. If you don’t believe me, you can ask your messenger, hmm, I hope he hasn’t fallen in battle.”

Ney paused again and gave a look to his attendant. The latter quickly departed and then ran back, nodding to him, “Lieutenant, indeed it was Lieutenant Moro’s order.”

“God…”

Half an hour later, the other soldiers brought by Ney finally completed their formation and caught up.

Afterward, the rest of the Nobility Cavalry arrived, most of them on foot.

In a rush for time, Moro had picked 150 cavalrymen with better riding skills, having the others hand over their horses to them, with a configuration of three horses per person, they raced all the way to reinforce Ney.

After one cooperation between the nobles and civilians, the two sides appeared less confrontational than before, and immediately returned together to the town of Tamirai.

Outside the town hall, Ney glanced at the setting sun in the west and said to Moro, “It seems the Moroccans won’t come again today.”

“So, can we go enjoy dinner now?”

Without showing any trace of emotion, Ney glanced at him and turned to walk westward, “Let’s take this chance to have the soldiers build a breastwork. It will be useful when the enemy attacks tomorrow.”

“Breastwork?” Moro frowned, “Are you planning to hold out here to the death?”

“Of course, otherwise, why would we have desperately stopped the Moroccans today?”

Moro waved his hand dismissively, “Didn’t you hear the news? The Moroccan Army has at least ten thousand men, whereas together, we have… Oh, how many soldiers did you bring?”

“855 men. Now only 782 remain.”

“Hm, we have less than 1800 men in total. Adding the Tunisian soldiers, that’s just 2000.” Moro gestured around, “Defending this place, we’ll be surrounded immediately. This little town has no fortress for support.”

“What’s there to fear?” Ney snorted coldly, “General Sherelle surely knows we’ve been attacked here, and his army could arrive in three to four days.”

“We can’t hold out for two days if we stay here.”

“We can.”

“We can’t.”

“As you wish. You can take your men and leave; I’ll defend Tamirai on my own.”

“Are you confident?”

“…No.”

“That’s reckless.” Not waiting for the other to get angry, Moro immediately continued, “Since we’re being reckless, why not use a method with a higher chance of success?”

Ney looked at him somewhat unexpectedly, “What do you suggest?”

“Simple, leave the Tunisian soldiers and your wounded in the town,” Moro said, “Hmm, the numbers might not be sufficient, so let’s also leave the servants.”

More than half of the nobles had brought attendants who had been somewhat trained and were capable of combat.

“That will leave nearly a thousand people in the town. Let them masquerade as us, and we will move to the south of Tamirai.”

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Unconsciously, Ney asked, “To do what?”

“Why, to pretend we are General Sherelle’s troops,” Moro said with a cunning smile.

…

The nobility army and the civilian army left Tamirai together before dawn the next day.

Lieutenant Ney glanced at the several carts of logistics supplies, then looked back at the town with concern, and turned to Moro, saying,

“Where did you get these things? Surely not by looting…”

“You are insulting me,” Moro replied indignantly, “These were all requisitioned for us by the civic commissioner overnight.”

“Ah, but you don’t have the authority to requisition.”

They were all there to bolster Sherelle’s Legion, and before officially registering, they didn’t even have a unit number, much less the authority to requisition supplies.

“Hmm, I told them it was authorized by General Sherelle.”

“God!” Ney moved in closer, alarmed, and whispered, “You could be court-martialed for this!”

“So you’d better pray that we win.”

“I will pray for you.”

“No, for you.”

“Me?”

“Hmm, I told them it was a command relayed by you.”

“…You really are a scoundrel.”

The two men led their respective troops until they were more than ten kilometers from Tamirai, where they chose a piece of high ground to camp. The camp was built to be more than twice as large as they needed it to be.

Before long, Moro’s hussars arrived to report, “Lieutenant sir, the Moroccans have begun attacking Tamirai. There are over three thousand of the enemy.”

Ney was shocked, “We must go and assist at once!”

Moro, however, glanced at his pocket watch and shook his head, “No need, a thousand men can certainly hold the town for four or five hours. And in two more hours, it will be dark.”

He closed the watch, “Everyone rest well, we will take the offensive at dawn tomorrow. That’s the way to maintain the spirit of General Sherelle.”

…

The next day.

The Moroccan black General Agold peered through his telescope at the nearly five thousand-strong army surrounding Tamirai, a cold smirk flickering in his eyes.

There should be less than two thousand French troops in the town, or perhaps Tunisian troops, but as long as his forces launched an attack, they were bound to take over the place today.

Although it was a day later than Said Pasha hoped, they would still manage to take Bizerte Port before the main force of the French Army could come to its aid.

He waved his finger at an attendant by his side, and soon a deep horn sound echoed all around, and more than a dozen cannons began to pummel the town with shells.

As Agold watched the wooden fences on the outskirts of Tamirai being blasted to pieces, just as he was about to order a full assault, he saw two cavalrymen hurrying over, saluting him and saying,

“General, a French force has appeared on our right flank, it seems they are about to attack.”

“Hm? How many are there?”

“It’s not very clear, their scout cavalry is too numerous, it’s hard to get close.”

Where did this large force of French troops come from nearby? Agold pondered for a moment and then galloped south.

At some distance from the Moroccans’ right wing, Agold heard the resounding boom of cannons.

He counted silently, there had to be more than fifteen cannons. This was definitely the main force of the French Army!

Could it be that Sherelle’s Legion had arrived?

Agold, exercising caution, quickly called back the troops besieging Tamirai and set up a southern defensive line.

Not far from the Moroccan forces, a group of French soldiers was busy filling several iron barrels, wrapped in cowhide, with gunpowder, tamping it down, sealing it with mud, and then igniting the gunpowder through a small hole at the back of the barrels.

Suddenly, there were bright flashes of light followed by a series of deafening explosions.