Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Two minutes later, Lefevre’s company had formed a line, though not a very neat one.

"Aim!"

"Fire!"

Following Lefevre’s loud command, more than 30 caplock guns fired a volley.

Seven or eight Albanian mercenaries, being close in distance, suddenly fell backward as if struck by an invisible fist, groaning. The others scrambled to turn and flee.

Lefevre directed his company to advance several dozen meters deeper into the enemy’s position, then ordered the line to turn southward, towards the edge of the left flank of the Albanian positions, beginning to fire and compress inward.

At this time, Anatole’s company also caught up, deploying into line formation and joining the battle behind and to the side of Lefevre’s men.

The Albanian Army, already reeling in the main battlefield, now faced added disaster, as nearly ten thousand mercenaries were being soundly defeated by three thousand members of the Guard Corps, continuously shrinking back towards the southwest.

This was due to not only the latter’s more reasonable tactical deployment but also the vast difference in soldier quality and armament.

The artillery of the Guard Corps also began to shell the center of the Albanian positions under Bertier’s command. With nearly ten thousand men sprawled across the empty wasteland, aiming was hardly necessary to ensure a kill with each cannon shot.

Soon, Semiz saw his left flank collapse completely; the French Army had formed a two-pronged attack, squeezing a large number of soldiers into the center of the battlefield, which was exactly where the French cannons were violently bombarding.

His face ashen, Semiz said to his aide-de-camp, "Send Fatese to hold the line. Order a full retreat!"

Fatese’s unit was the main reserve force of the Albanian Army, numbering around 1,200 men. They had been waiting behind the main battlefield but had already formed up by then and began to move forward in an orderly fashion.

However, Bertier had no intention of giving them the chance to leave in peace.

Seeing the enemy’s disarray through his binoculars, he said to the orderly officer, "Call the cavalry back, prepare to pursue the fleeing enemy.

"Order the infantry lines to start a bayonet charge."

"Yes, Commander!"

Joseph, observing the battle through his telescope, nodded in approval at the two companies that had cut into the enemy’s left flank, "Who commands the units to the north?"

Bertier replied, "Your Highness, the gunsmoke is too thick to make out the flags."

Joseph considered the situation on the battlefield and offered his opinion, "The enemy seems to be retreating. Perhaps those two companies could push deeper behind the enemy lines to cut off their retreat."

Bertier hesitated, considering that there were only two companies, a mere two hundred men or so.

"Your Highness, circumventing to the rear could very well lead to a clash with the enemy’s reserves, and they are too few in number."

Joseph nodded, "I was just speaking off the top of my head, don’t let me interfere with your judgement."

On the main battlefield, the infantry lines of the Guard Corps fired one last volley when they were within thirty paces of the enemy before fixing bayonets onto their muskets.

As the beat of the drums became unprecedentedly rapid, the officers at the front waved their swords towards the enemy, shouting loudly, "Charge! For His Majesty the King!"

"For His Royal Highness the Crown Prince!"

"Charge!"

The white lines of infantry immediately surged toward the Albanian mercenaries like a tumultuous wave. The mercenaries were already in disarray, lacking the courage to fight back—and even if they had the courage, their loose and uneven formation wouldn’t allow it.

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The mercenaries at the front were quickly taken down by bayonets, cries of agony rising and falling. Those who were already retreating became even more terrified and went from a slow retreat to turning around and running wildly.

On Lefevre’s side, his company, which had been advancing with orderly shots, suddenly found the enemy giving up resistance and starting to flee quickly to the west.

He was momentarily stunned, then turned to the company commander not far away and said, "Anatole, it looks like the enemy is running!"

"Then let’s chase them down!" n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Lefevre looked west and shook his head, "We are the deepest into enemy territory, now we should try to cut off their retreat route."

"Huh?"

"Do you want to come with me?"

"What are you going to do?"

Lefevre smiled and turned to the orderly officer, "Order the whole company to gather immediately into columns, do not entangle with the enemy. We’ll move west at top speed!"

On the side of the Albanian Army, the reserves led by Fatese formed a neat line, allowing several "Orcs," that is, battalion soldiers, to pass before they saw the white-uniformed Guard Corps charging with bayonets drawn.

"Aim! Fire!"

Fatese didn’t care that there were still many of his own men in front, and he hastily gave the order to fire.

A series of blasts rang out, thick gunsmoke billowed into the air, and dozens of Albanian mercenaries and Guard Corps soldiers fell to the ground.

The charge of the Guard Corps was momentarily slowed.

The frontline battalion commanders, upon seeing the Albanians somehow organizing a structured resistance, frowned slightly.

Just as he was about to regroup his troops for a volley fire exchange with the enemy, shouts came from the south side, "Don’t be afraid! They can only fire twice at most! In the name of the Crown Prince, follow me!"

The battalion commander stood up in his stirrups, peered through the smoke, and saw a company charging at the Albanians’ defense line like wild oxen without slowing down.

"Dawu?" He saw the company’s flag and immediately gripped his crop tightly, "That reckless fellow! If the enemy..."

Before he could finish his thought, he heard a responding shout from the right flank, "Let them see the might of the cadets! Charge with me!"

The battalion commander turned his head and saw that four or five companies were following Dawu, rushing toward the enemy lines with bayonets ready.

He hurriedly waved vigorously at the orderly officer, "Signal them, cover fire for their charge!"

The Albanian mercenaries, worthy of being one of the Ottoman Empire’s most combat-effective corps, were shocked by the overwhelming momentum of the Guard Corps, but they still gritted their teeth, reloaded, and raised their guns again.

Fatese shouted desperately, "Fire! Shoot quickly!"

A flurry of flashes passed in an instant.

As he ran, Dawu heard something with a "whoosh" sound fly past his ear. On instinct, he turned his head only to see that half of his sergeant’s face was missing, his body spun in place from the impact of the bullet and fell into a clump of weeds.

The mercenaries’ fire caused more than thirty casualties. This wasn’t much for the thousands-strong Guard Corps, but it had a substantial psychological impact on the soldiers.

Dawu, with bloodshot eyes and undiminished speed in his step, shouted, "They won’t have time to reload, advance! Avenge our brothers!"

In reality, they were still more than fifty paces from the enemy, who might have managed another volley. But Dawu knew that if they retreated now, they would sustain even greater losses.

They had to take the initiative!

The soldiers who had been fearful heard Dawu’s words and immediately followed his footsteps. The nearby police academy students, upon seeing their fallen comrades, charged even more fiercely than before.

The Albanian reserve troops began to fumble with their reloading, but when they saw the white uniforms of the enemy just twenty paces away, they could no longer keep their composure.

Some prepared to resist with bayonets, and others turned to call for the pikemen—yes, the Ottoman forces still had this close-combat unit in their ranks. Yet many more were trembling as they retreated.

Fatese personally killed two deserters, but he was completely unable to curb the tide of the rout.

Before Dawu’s bayonet could touch an enemy, the rear-guard of the Albanian Army had already thrown down their weapons and were fleeing in panic.

"Don’t let them escape!" the young Dawu waved energetically to those behind him, while he himself targeted Fatese on horseback, drawing his pistol and firing at him.

After dispersing the Albanian Cavalry, the Guard Corps’ cavalry made minor adjustments—mainly to allow the horses to recover their strength—and then the troops set off in pursuit of the fleeing enemy soldiers.

In a pursuit battle, the cavalry were always the main force.

With these few hundred cavalry joining the chase, the Albanian mercenaries were quickly overtaken in large numbers, and many knelt and surrendered.

The largest group of fleeing mercenaries, numbering three battalions’ worth, had retreated nearly a mile and could barely hear the shouts of their pursuers.

Just as they were about to breathe a sigh of relief, they suddenly saw a white "line" on the hill ahead.

That was Lefevre and Anatole’s two companies, who had set up in a line formation there.