Winter Soldiers (3)
Lycaon pictus
Donor
Posting this one a little early because I've got a conference on Saturday. Also I want to know if I got anything wrong—much of it is based on one book, Byron Farwell's Mr. Kipling's Army.
Even as the war in Louisiana seemingly reached stalemate, the news from Florida was not getting any better for the Americans. General Twiggs, never a man to abandon the offensive, had begun the siege of Fort Weatherford almost as soon as he was able to put together an army big enough to surround it. The fort occupied a bend in the Suwanee near the border, and was surrounded by moats. It was more lightly built and armed than Louisiana’s Fort-Douane, which made it less prone to subsidence, but left it vulnerable to heavy artillery.
Twiggs, however, would not wait for that artillery to arrive. After his first charge on November 21 failed to capture the fort, he settled in for a siege. On the night of December 6, two battalions of Creek waterdragoons[1] canoed upriver, took his left flank by surprise and forced him to withdraw from the walls rather than be completely rolled up. Knowing that Twiggs enjoyed the President’s favor[2], Secretary Poinsett took the unusual step of ordering his brother, Captain Levi Twiggs of the U.S. Marines, to the border to talk sense into him.
Up north, William S. Harney committed an even greater blunder. Having been promoted to brigadier general (by order of Berrien and Poinsett, and against the advice of Gen. Scott) for his heroism in the battle of Mount Hope, his first act on returning to the northern front was to ride to the front and order an attack on Molson’s regiment across the frozen Saint John River. What he discovered the hard way was that at this point, the river was frozen to a depth that would allow men to cross on foot, but not horses or artillery. Harney was immediately sent to the Louisiana front by an outraged Scott…
December 19, 1837
No. 10 Downing Street
Henry Brougham had never thought of himself as a war leader, and he was certain no one had ever imagined him as one. Yet here he was, presiding over a government that was involved in three wars at once.
The war in Persia was going well, but Russia kept shoveling more and more men into it. Which meant Britain would have to respond likewise, with regiments from India. That was not good news, for two reasons. The longer the civil war went on, the weaker Persia would be when it was over, and the more it would depend on British support to protect it from Russia and the Arabs. This was turning into a long-term obligation. More immediately, it meant there was no prospect of war with the Sikh Empire. Not that Ranjit Singh had given them any pretext—he was being very careful about that. Lord Elphinstone[3] was of the opinion that the best option was to wait for the man to die. He was a warlord, after all. The main part of his empire’s strength was his own martial skill. Which made sense, but Brougham couldn’t help thinking isn’t that what they said about Napoleon?
And now Palmerston was briefing him on the latest news from Bosnia-Rumelia, another war that was going well, but still managed to worry him somewhat. It had long been one of the basic goals of British foreign policy that no one power be allowed to dominate the Continent. At the moment, Russia was the main concern—Britain was fighting two wars against them, after all.
But France was strong and getting stronger. In Italy they had a capable ally, and with Napoleon II marrying an Italian noblewoman next spring[4], that alliance would only grow closer together. Something had to be done to prevent the emperor from becoming the master of Europe his father had tried to be. Unlike the fight against the Sikh Empire, that absolutely could not be put off too long.
“The Greek army, such as it was, was advancing this way,” he said, pointing at a map. “They were coming northwest from Thermopylae—I suppose for the symbolic value. We sailed into the Malian Gulf under cover of darkness. Dean-Pitt landed here and met them at Lamia. They never saw us coming. We routed them.”
“Dean-Pitt?” The general had been serving unofficially as minder to the Prince of Wales and his regiment. “Was His Highness involved?”
“Yes. Fortunately, he was not harmed. They say he acquitted himself gallantly.”
“Nonetheless, it would be better to arrange a more… logistical posting for him soon.” The infant Princess Julia had given birth to in June—a daughter they had named Elizabeth Charlotte Julia—had died last month. The kingdom was still in mourning. Julia herself seemed healthy enough and could bear more children, provided the heir to the throne was there to do his part. “And I hope Dean-Pitt understands—we do not seek to conquer Greece. We seek to convince Kolokotronis to withdraw from the war.”
Russell nodded. “I have made that clear in all my dispatches.”
“Turning back to the war,” said Palmerston, “I wish the Austrians were doing so well. They’ve been pushed back into the Carpathians and the Balkan mountains, here and here. The Italians continue to hold Varna and supply it by sea, but by now the Danube will have begun to freeze over, so they’ll have to hold off on any further attacks on Russian logistics until spring.[5]” He paused.
“Apparently Sultan Husein’s Arab allies are giving him some trouble. Their generals are people that Muhammad Ali identified as potential rivals or troublemakers, and it seems he was right. They keep trying to win glorious victories when a better strategy would be to stand on the defensive.
“And then there’s France. Officially their contribution is to reinforce Husein’s rule in Thessalonica, in case the Greeks attack.”
“The Greeks we just trounced?” said Brougham.
“Yes, but after all they do have more than one force headed north, so it may not be useless. What I don’t understand is why the French force came with representatives of the Grand Sanhedrin and a former mayor of Bordeaux.”
“The Sanhedrin, eh?”
“There are many Jews in that city. It could be just an effort to maintain good relations with the community.” Palmerston sighed. “The truth is, the situation in Macedonia is…”
“Complicated?”
“Opaque might be a better word—or, to be quite honest, we failed to gain good intelligence in the first place and are now seeking to remedy that. It seems Husein’s rule suffered particular opposition there, but as to who did the opposing, or why, or where things stand right now… it’s possible the French know something we don’t.”
“And Talleyrand is still alive.” Palmerston nodded grimly.
“There is another matter which may or may not prove relevant,” said Palmerston. “King Milos of Serbia turned up in Pesth[6] seeking asylum.”
“Lost his civil war, has he?”
“It would seem so.”
The discussion continued in that vein for another ten minutes or so. They weren’t losing, the Tsar seemed to be doing rather well until you remembered that he’d begun this war with the intent of seizing power in a single fell swoop and had now committed an army as large as the one that had served under Barclay de Tolly at Nancy with no immediate prospect of victory, and the whole peninsula was a complicated place where no one really knew what was going on.
That was the pleasant part of the discussion. “And now,” said Brougham, “the moment we’ve been dreading. We must discuss the news from America. Frederick, you needn’t worry—I will take full responsibility for this disaster.” Mentally, he once again cursed himself for an arrogant fool. I thought we were being so cautious, building up much greater forces than we’d attacked with last time. It wasn’t nearly enough. We know at least as much of railroads as the Yanks—how could I not have anticipated the effect they would have?
“I would call it a defeat rather than a disaster,” said Russell. “Our strategic position remains what it was out the outset, and the armies we sent are intact and ready to be sent to other fronts. I recommend sending Cole and FitzGerald to Trafalgar, and Kerrison and Slade—just Slade, for the moment—to Halifax.”
“Talking of Kerrison, how is he?”
“They say he’ll lose the arm, but he’ll live. I recommend letting him rest at Bermuda until he’s fully healed.”
Brougham nodded. “GIve the orders. Any idea what the concoction they used at Fort Severn was?”
“Without a sample, we can’t say for sure. Some of our chemists believe it was a form of phosphorus—at least in part.”
Brougham nodded. To his way of thinking, that incendiary was worse news than Sinepuxent. There were only five demologoi left, and everyone knew where they were. No one but the enemy knew where that evil white fire would turn up next.
“Any word on our expedition to Louisiana?”
“None yet.”
“At last report, Louisiana had lost ground but not yet fallen, and Florida was still secure,” said Palmerston. “And I hear that… other little project of yours is beginning to bear fruit. Two, maybe three regiments.”
“Excellent.” There would be questions raised in Parliament when this was all over, but there was no help for it. Britain had the money to win this war. The problem was getting enough men in place quickly enough.
And that would continue to be a problem. Britain’s army was one of the finest in the world, but from a certain point of view, Britain didn’t have an army at all. What she had was a great many regiments.
Brougham was sure these were the finest regiments in the world. Bands of brothers, every one. The old established units each had their own storied history and reputation for heroism that every soldier would die to uphold, and when new regiments were formed, they sought to earn such reputations for themselves. Sometimes their gallantry galloped ahead of their common sense (witness Brooke’s charge at Mount Hope) but that was a better problem to have than the opposite.
And the system itself had many advantages. It (and of course the Royal Navy) were why Britain could pursue different wars in different parts of the world, assembling the proper force for any task great or small. Seeing that such a useful and adaptable system had emerged entirely by chance made Brougham understand conservatives and their skepticism toward the power of human planning to improve on what had happened. No one could say this system had failed in the wars of the last generation, or the Seven Years’ War.
The problem was numbers. Britain was outmanned in America, against an enemy with perhaps sixty percent of the population. Of course, part of that was that Britain had to send every soldier across by ship, with supplies and provisions, whereas Americans could simply walk to the battlefield. But in the east, Italy had almost as many troops committed to the war as Britain, and France a third again as many, despite the fact that they were also arriving by ships and had fewer ships to work with.
And it was likely to stay that way, because Britain’s army could not expand its ranks as quickly as that of other nations. There was no central office either to recruit or conscript—instead, each regiment did its own recruiting. The system had long ago chosen quality over quantity. It was recruiting men, training them and sending them into the field as fast as it could, and they weren’t coming fast enough. Given time, the War and Colonial Office could field armies in the hundreds of thousands, but it would be a bad sign if the war should drag on so long.
That was the problem, and it should not be an insurmountable one. Nor would it necessarily prevent the kingdom from winning the conflicts it was in. But if they didn’t solve it… Brougham could see the future of war, and even by the standards of war it was dismal. The guns of tomorrow would be better than the guns of today—deadlier, more accurate, carrying more ammunition, able to be fired more rapidly—because ingenious minds like his were always trying to think of ways to make them so. They would improve with every generation.
But the men who held those guns would remain men. Some said that human faculties diminished as civilization advanced. Brougham wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but even if it wasn’t, those faculties would not increase. Bones would be no stronger, eyes no sharper, hearts no braver, hands and brains no more cunning.
And so, in a generation or two, the difference in valour and skill between Britain’s finest soldiers and the conscripts of Russia, Italy, or France would be utterly eclipsed by the sheer power of their weapons. In any contest between nations of comparable technical skill, raw numbers would become the deciding factor. Of course, no matter how far back you went in history—even into the realm of myth—strength, skill, and even courage had never guaranteed victory. Achilles was the greatest fighter of the age, but a pampered prince killed him with a poisoned arrow to the foot. The mighty Goliath was a warrior from youth who intimidated whole armies, but a shepherd boy struck him down with a sling and a river rock. But one day there would be no more Goliaths. There would only be many, many Davids with many, many rocks.
Brougham shut his eyes and imagined some fine old regiment, some assembly of heroes for whom battle was their life’s work… obliterated in a matter of moments by a hail of bullets from a horde of farm-boys, shop-boys, stevedores, and millworkers who’d been pulled from their tasks by the State and given a few months of training in the art of firing their guns at the enemy and just wanted to get this done as quickly as possible so they could go home. It will happen one day, if we do not change. If we’re lucky, it will happen in Normandy or Flanders or Picardy, or outside New York or Constantinople.
If we’re unlucky, it will happen in Kent or Sussex, or outside London.
Brougham put that thought away. Now was not the hour for reform. If he won the wars, he might be able to affect some sort of structural change amid the glow of victory. If he lost the war, he would also lose the next election and the Tories would do as they saw fit.
There was a knock at the door. “The two men from the Canadas are here to see you, sir.”
“Talbot and Papineau? Excellent. Send them in at once.”
[1] A translation of dragons d’eau, the official term for those Louisiana army units that use rafts and small boats to get around but do most of their fighting on shore.
[2] Which is why he wasn’t fired after he lost his entire army in September.
[3] Recently appointed Governor-General of India to replace the retiring Lord William Bentinck.
[4] Donna Ippolita dei Principi Ruspoli, second daughter of Don Lorenzo dei Principi Ruspoli and Camilla Curti. They’ll be married April 8, 1838, the bride’s 21st birthday.
[5] One of the things complicating the war is that the Italians really, really don’t want to fight alongside Austrians, even though they’re technically allies.
[6] The merger of Buda and Pest hasn’t happened yet.
Even as the war in Louisiana seemingly reached stalemate, the news from Florida was not getting any better for the Americans. General Twiggs, never a man to abandon the offensive, had begun the siege of Fort Weatherford almost as soon as he was able to put together an army big enough to surround it. The fort occupied a bend in the Suwanee near the border, and was surrounded by moats. It was more lightly built and armed than Louisiana’s Fort-Douane, which made it less prone to subsidence, but left it vulnerable to heavy artillery.
Twiggs, however, would not wait for that artillery to arrive. After his first charge on November 21 failed to capture the fort, he settled in for a siege. On the night of December 6, two battalions of Creek waterdragoons[1] canoed upriver, took his left flank by surprise and forced him to withdraw from the walls rather than be completely rolled up. Knowing that Twiggs enjoyed the President’s favor[2], Secretary Poinsett took the unusual step of ordering his brother, Captain Levi Twiggs of the U.S. Marines, to the border to talk sense into him.
Up north, William S. Harney committed an even greater blunder. Having been promoted to brigadier general (by order of Berrien and Poinsett, and against the advice of Gen. Scott) for his heroism in the battle of Mount Hope, his first act on returning to the northern front was to ride to the front and order an attack on Molson’s regiment across the frozen Saint John River. What he discovered the hard way was that at this point, the river was frozen to a depth that would allow men to cross on foot, but not horses or artillery. Harney was immediately sent to the Louisiana front by an outraged Scott…
Charles Cerniglia, 1837
December 19, 1837
No. 10 Downing Street
Henry Brougham had never thought of himself as a war leader, and he was certain no one had ever imagined him as one. Yet here he was, presiding over a government that was involved in three wars at once.
The war in Persia was going well, but Russia kept shoveling more and more men into it. Which meant Britain would have to respond likewise, with regiments from India. That was not good news, for two reasons. The longer the civil war went on, the weaker Persia would be when it was over, and the more it would depend on British support to protect it from Russia and the Arabs. This was turning into a long-term obligation. More immediately, it meant there was no prospect of war with the Sikh Empire. Not that Ranjit Singh had given them any pretext—he was being very careful about that. Lord Elphinstone[3] was of the opinion that the best option was to wait for the man to die. He was a warlord, after all. The main part of his empire’s strength was his own martial skill. Which made sense, but Brougham couldn’t help thinking isn’t that what they said about Napoleon?
And now Palmerston was briefing him on the latest news from Bosnia-Rumelia, another war that was going well, but still managed to worry him somewhat. It had long been one of the basic goals of British foreign policy that no one power be allowed to dominate the Continent. At the moment, Russia was the main concern—Britain was fighting two wars against them, after all.
But France was strong and getting stronger. In Italy they had a capable ally, and with Napoleon II marrying an Italian noblewoman next spring[4], that alliance would only grow closer together. Something had to be done to prevent the emperor from becoming the master of Europe his father had tried to be. Unlike the fight against the Sikh Empire, that absolutely could not be put off too long.
“The Greek army, such as it was, was advancing this way,” he said, pointing at a map. “They were coming northwest from Thermopylae—I suppose for the symbolic value. We sailed into the Malian Gulf under cover of darkness. Dean-Pitt landed here and met them at Lamia. They never saw us coming. We routed them.”
“Dean-Pitt?” The general had been serving unofficially as minder to the Prince of Wales and his regiment. “Was His Highness involved?”
“Yes. Fortunately, he was not harmed. They say he acquitted himself gallantly.”
“Nonetheless, it would be better to arrange a more… logistical posting for him soon.” The infant Princess Julia had given birth to in June—a daughter they had named Elizabeth Charlotte Julia—had died last month. The kingdom was still in mourning. Julia herself seemed healthy enough and could bear more children, provided the heir to the throne was there to do his part. “And I hope Dean-Pitt understands—we do not seek to conquer Greece. We seek to convince Kolokotronis to withdraw from the war.”
Russell nodded. “I have made that clear in all my dispatches.”
“Turning back to the war,” said Palmerston, “I wish the Austrians were doing so well. They’ve been pushed back into the Carpathians and the Balkan mountains, here and here. The Italians continue to hold Varna and supply it by sea, but by now the Danube will have begun to freeze over, so they’ll have to hold off on any further attacks on Russian logistics until spring.[5]” He paused.
“Apparently Sultan Husein’s Arab allies are giving him some trouble. Their generals are people that Muhammad Ali identified as potential rivals or troublemakers, and it seems he was right. They keep trying to win glorious victories when a better strategy would be to stand on the defensive.
“And then there’s France. Officially their contribution is to reinforce Husein’s rule in Thessalonica, in case the Greeks attack.”
“The Greeks we just trounced?” said Brougham.
“Yes, but after all they do have more than one force headed north, so it may not be useless. What I don’t understand is why the French force came with representatives of the Grand Sanhedrin and a former mayor of Bordeaux.”
“The Sanhedrin, eh?”
“There are many Jews in that city. It could be just an effort to maintain good relations with the community.” Palmerston sighed. “The truth is, the situation in Macedonia is…”
“Complicated?”
“Opaque might be a better word—or, to be quite honest, we failed to gain good intelligence in the first place and are now seeking to remedy that. It seems Husein’s rule suffered particular opposition there, but as to who did the opposing, or why, or where things stand right now… it’s possible the French know something we don’t.”
“And Talleyrand is still alive.” Palmerston nodded grimly.
“There is another matter which may or may not prove relevant,” said Palmerston. “King Milos of Serbia turned up in Pesth[6] seeking asylum.”
“Lost his civil war, has he?”
“It would seem so.”
The discussion continued in that vein for another ten minutes or so. They weren’t losing, the Tsar seemed to be doing rather well until you remembered that he’d begun this war with the intent of seizing power in a single fell swoop and had now committed an army as large as the one that had served under Barclay de Tolly at Nancy with no immediate prospect of victory, and the whole peninsula was a complicated place where no one really knew what was going on.
That was the pleasant part of the discussion. “And now,” said Brougham, “the moment we’ve been dreading. We must discuss the news from America. Frederick, you needn’t worry—I will take full responsibility for this disaster.” Mentally, he once again cursed himself for an arrogant fool. I thought we were being so cautious, building up much greater forces than we’d attacked with last time. It wasn’t nearly enough. We know at least as much of railroads as the Yanks—how could I not have anticipated the effect they would have?
“I would call it a defeat rather than a disaster,” said Russell. “Our strategic position remains what it was out the outset, and the armies we sent are intact and ready to be sent to other fronts. I recommend sending Cole and FitzGerald to Trafalgar, and Kerrison and Slade—just Slade, for the moment—to Halifax.”
“Talking of Kerrison, how is he?”
“They say he’ll lose the arm, but he’ll live. I recommend letting him rest at Bermuda until he’s fully healed.”
Brougham nodded. “GIve the orders. Any idea what the concoction they used at Fort Severn was?”
“Without a sample, we can’t say for sure. Some of our chemists believe it was a form of phosphorus—at least in part.”
Brougham nodded. To his way of thinking, that incendiary was worse news than Sinepuxent. There were only five demologoi left, and everyone knew where they were. No one but the enemy knew where that evil white fire would turn up next.
“Any word on our expedition to Louisiana?”
“None yet.”
“At last report, Louisiana had lost ground but not yet fallen, and Florida was still secure,” said Palmerston. “And I hear that… other little project of yours is beginning to bear fruit. Two, maybe three regiments.”
“Excellent.” There would be questions raised in Parliament when this was all over, but there was no help for it. Britain had the money to win this war. The problem was getting enough men in place quickly enough.
And that would continue to be a problem. Britain’s army was one of the finest in the world, but from a certain point of view, Britain didn’t have an army at all. What she had was a great many regiments.
Brougham was sure these were the finest regiments in the world. Bands of brothers, every one. The old established units each had their own storied history and reputation for heroism that every soldier would die to uphold, and when new regiments were formed, they sought to earn such reputations for themselves. Sometimes their gallantry galloped ahead of their common sense (witness Brooke’s charge at Mount Hope) but that was a better problem to have than the opposite.
And the system itself had many advantages. It (and of course the Royal Navy) were why Britain could pursue different wars in different parts of the world, assembling the proper force for any task great or small. Seeing that such a useful and adaptable system had emerged entirely by chance made Brougham understand conservatives and their skepticism toward the power of human planning to improve on what had happened. No one could say this system had failed in the wars of the last generation, or the Seven Years’ War.
The problem was numbers. Britain was outmanned in America, against an enemy with perhaps sixty percent of the population. Of course, part of that was that Britain had to send every soldier across by ship, with supplies and provisions, whereas Americans could simply walk to the battlefield. But in the east, Italy had almost as many troops committed to the war as Britain, and France a third again as many, despite the fact that they were also arriving by ships and had fewer ships to work with.
And it was likely to stay that way, because Britain’s army could not expand its ranks as quickly as that of other nations. There was no central office either to recruit or conscript—instead, each regiment did its own recruiting. The system had long ago chosen quality over quantity. It was recruiting men, training them and sending them into the field as fast as it could, and they weren’t coming fast enough. Given time, the War and Colonial Office could field armies in the hundreds of thousands, but it would be a bad sign if the war should drag on so long.
That was the problem, and it should not be an insurmountable one. Nor would it necessarily prevent the kingdom from winning the conflicts it was in. But if they didn’t solve it… Brougham could see the future of war, and even by the standards of war it was dismal. The guns of tomorrow would be better than the guns of today—deadlier, more accurate, carrying more ammunition, able to be fired more rapidly—because ingenious minds like his were always trying to think of ways to make them so. They would improve with every generation.
But the men who held those guns would remain men. Some said that human faculties diminished as civilization advanced. Brougham wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but even if it wasn’t, those faculties would not increase. Bones would be no stronger, eyes no sharper, hearts no braver, hands and brains no more cunning.
And so, in a generation or two, the difference in valour and skill between Britain’s finest soldiers and the conscripts of Russia, Italy, or France would be utterly eclipsed by the sheer power of their weapons. In any contest between nations of comparable technical skill, raw numbers would become the deciding factor. Of course, no matter how far back you went in history—even into the realm of myth—strength, skill, and even courage had never guaranteed victory. Achilles was the greatest fighter of the age, but a pampered prince killed him with a poisoned arrow to the foot. The mighty Goliath was a warrior from youth who intimidated whole armies, but a shepherd boy struck him down with a sling and a river rock. But one day there would be no more Goliaths. There would only be many, many Davids with many, many rocks.
Brougham shut his eyes and imagined some fine old regiment, some assembly of heroes for whom battle was their life’s work… obliterated in a matter of moments by a hail of bullets from a horde of farm-boys, shop-boys, stevedores, and millworkers who’d been pulled from their tasks by the State and given a few months of training in the art of firing their guns at the enemy and just wanted to get this done as quickly as possible so they could go home. It will happen one day, if we do not change. If we’re lucky, it will happen in Normandy or Flanders or Picardy, or outside New York or Constantinople.
If we’re unlucky, it will happen in Kent or Sussex, or outside London.
Brougham put that thought away. Now was not the hour for reform. If he won the wars, he might be able to affect some sort of structural change amid the glow of victory. If he lost the war, he would also lose the next election and the Tories would do as they saw fit.
There was a knock at the door. “The two men from the Canadas are here to see you, sir.”
“Talbot and Papineau? Excellent. Send them in at once.”
[1] A translation of dragons d’eau, the official term for those Louisiana army units that use rafts and small boats to get around but do most of their fighting on shore.
[2] Which is why he wasn’t fired after he lost his entire army in September.
[3] Recently appointed Governor-General of India to replace the retiring Lord William Bentinck.
[4] Donna Ippolita dei Principi Ruspoli, second daughter of Don Lorenzo dei Principi Ruspoli and Camilla Curti. They’ll be married April 8, 1838, the bride’s 21st birthday.
[5] One of the things complicating the war is that the Italians really, really don’t want to fight alongside Austrians, even though they’re technically allies.
[6] The merger of Buda and Pest hasn’t happened yet.
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