Napoleon

by Stephen Arseneault

  A check of the archives revealed only a slight acceleration of Laplace's works, resulting in little change to the archives and no change to the Opamari ancestral trees.

  A frustrated Reno asked, “What is our plan from here?”

  Naffi gestured toward the pod. “I believe it to be in our interest to have you travel back to meet with Laplace. Explain the formulas. You might even take credit, stating they had been stolen from you by me, your protege.”

  “A protege who will look exactly like me?”

  Naffi chuckled. “There are other bodies from that time that are not Caucasian, although that number is limited. Perhaps we give your genius mathematician a birthplace of somewhere else?”

  “I believe I have a place. The French wrestled the British for power over the Indian peninsula during this era. The Kingdom of Mysore was a powerful French ally, located toward the southern regions of the peninsula. We will warm a clone from this region and inject its memories with the archived information of both Mysore and France.”

  “An excellent plan. And you will want to earn yourself some sort of royal title. It will allow you to approach Laplace with credentials, something I lacked.”

  Reno paced the floor of the lab. “I would like those credentials to have some basis. We will send my clone to a point several years earlier, allowing me to build wealth and to acquire the prestige you believe I will need.”

  He sat and crossed his arms. “When we first began this adventure I was both angry at Nunol for pinning the blame of changes on me and shutting the project down, and eager to continue my research. I now find it far more fascinating to venture to the Human past than I do to continue my work. In fact, I seem to have lost much of that scientific desire.”

  “In reality, what more is left for you to accomplish?”

  Reno smirked. “This solution is far from perfect. My original goal was to send someone back to the past and to then bring them forward again to the present. With these clones, a genius development by Bouthis, we now no longer need to bring anyone home. And with the accelerated time coming forward, something I would not have thought possible, the current setup makes even more sense. Other than minor nuisances such as not being able to communicate with the clone going back in time, I don't see anything that needs to change.”

  “Would communication backward be possible?”

  “I don't see how. The time acceleration coming to present day, and the wormhole restrictions we continue to see, would prevent it.”

  Naffi shrugged. “Well there we have it then. May we proceed?”

  “By all means. I will have to find passage from Mysore to France, but I believe that task to be easily achieved.”

  “That voyage may take many months.”

  “We'll set the journey for three years earlier than your last visit. Given my knowledge, I believe wealth and title can be achieved during that time. Place me near Mangalore. I will make effort from there.”

  A clone of Indian heritage was warmed, injected with memories from the location and era, and brought to the lab. After first being bio-linked to Naffi, it received a second bio-link to Reno. Minutes later, the naked clone was standing on the banks of the Netravati River, twenty-five kilometers from the coastal town of Mangalore.

  Less than a minute later, Reno awoke with a smile. “A fantastic and wondrous journey.”

  “Six years,” Naffi said. “I would have to believe you were able to make your way to Paris.”

  “I was. But I arrived in the area while your clone was alive. Your original visit was too close to the city, so I was prevented from entering until your clone had passed.”

  “You met with Laplace?”

  “He was quite accepting of the Asif of Bidnur, the title given me by Tipu Sultan himself, the prince who ruled the Mysore Kingdom. And I would add the title of Faujdar, but I declined the offer. If you search your memories you will find that Tipu Sultan pioneered the use of iron-skinned artillery rockets. I aided in that effort with the result being several new victories over British backed forces, helping to expand his kingdom.”

  “At what point did you arrive in Paris?”

  “Spring of 1785. I did meet your friend Napoleon while spending time with Laplace. An interesting, intelligent, and driven individual. He had stopped in for a visit.”

  “And Laplace?”

  “Pierre Laplace originally published his first work on celestial mechanics in 1796. I managed to bring that in to 1787. I also usurped the works of Joseph Fourier and Évariste Galois, giving Laplace credit for those as well. I'm certain the archives will make mention of his stellar achievements.”

  “Will we find the name of the Asif of Bidnur in the archives?”

  “Doubtful. I made every effort to remain behind the scenes and Laplace seemed all too willing to take full credit for those advances and the acclaim that came with them.”

  “And your death?”

  “Cholera. Quite unpleasant.”

  A check of the archives was performed. While advances in math and science were evident, none were significant enough to alter the Opamari family trees and timelines.

  Reno sat back in his chair. “I expected more. Perhaps our attempt at accelerating knowledge won't have the effect we desire.”

  “Nonsense. I would have to believe any such changes will be cumulative. However, I'm of the growing opinion that change through conquest might be a better option.”

  “Would this be because you desire to go back to a fight?”

  Naffi smiled. “Is there a reason we shouldn't enjoy our journeys? You seemed quite satisfied with Laplace.”

  “He was brilliant. Although not very endearing. How is it you believe we should proceed?”

  Naffi tapped the armrest of his chair as he thought. “What if we were to focus our energies on building an empire? And what if that empire was responsible for pushing forward discoveries in both the sciences and warfare?”

  “Are you suggesting we tamper with the Napoleonic Wars?”

  Naffi began to smile. “That is precisely what I am suggesting. We have a complete history of battles and of the mistakes that were made by both sides. What if some of those grand mistakes were avoided? And what if advances in weaponry enabled a single, strong empire that spanned the continent and beyond? I would have my adventures with battles while you focused on the advancement of Human knowledge.”

  “I would agree to such a plan.”

  Naffi looked down in thought for several seconds before raising a finger. “What of Marwal? Neither of us had an encounter with his clone during our journeys.”

  Reno turned to the console. “Our link to Mentox-II reveals several jumps. Three to the north side of Paris that show a maximum duration of fifteen days each. I can only conclude the clone of Marwal to have had difficulty adjusting to the time and location. The revolution was a brutal time. And there was another jump to Mangalore, which I departed from after the first day, taking just such a precaution.”

  “So we keep on the move and we become difficult to track?”

  “It would appear so.”

  Naffi stood. “This is excellent news. Let us prepare a new clone. I would like to befriend Napoleon Bonaparte. It's time history recorded an expansion of the French Empire.”

  A hand was extended with Reno being helped from his chair.

  “Plan your journey, Naffi. You'll be leaving in an hour.”

  Chapter 2

  _______________________

  A clone was prepared and sent back through time to April 6, 1796, to the outskirts of the seaside town of Savona in what the last archive records designated as Italy. After a short hike, clothing was acquired and the town entered.

  Naffi sped through playback until the moment when the clone reached the fortifications in Savona where Napoleon was holding his command.

  A pair of guards stood beside a gate. “What is your business?”

  “I wish to see General Bonaparte.”

  “For what purpose and under wh
ose authority were you sent?”

  “I was sent by my cousin, Jacques Lamonde. The General will remember him from his time at École Militaire. Jacques worked closely with Pierre Laplace.”

  A lieutenant who had been listening came forward. “Remain here. If the General accepts your audience, you will be escorted through. If not, you will be asked to not approach this place again.”

  The clone nodded. The recording was forwarded to the point where an escort came forward to walk Daimon Lamonde, the name given to the clone, to just outside a stone building.

  “You will wait here.”

  Three hours passed before a messenger came out. “The General sends his apologies. He is deeply engaged and will not be able to accept your inquiries.”

  “May I pass him a message?”

  “I cannot guarantee its delivery.”

  “He will want to know it. General Beaulieu of the Austrian Army has two columns of soldiers marching on Voltri. Tomorrow they will come through Bochetta Pass. Two days after, Sunday, they will attack Colonel Cervoni at Voltri.”

  The messenger bowed before turning away. An escort motioned for the clone to move toward the gate.

  Naffi sighed as the playback was again forwarded. “The message was not delivered. I instead stole a corporal's uniform from a shop where it was being tailored and hurried toward Voltri, acting as though I was a messenger coming from Bonaparte. I was allowed through to Colonel Cervoni, but not fully in time. My message did get passed to command, aiding in a hasty retreat that saw fewer casualties.”

  “And?”

  “And word of the retreat was received by Napoleon. He was furious, but instead of a panic, he immediately went on the offensive, which he had been planning anyway. I used the time to hurry toward the village of Montenotte where the next battle would be fought. I arrived at a redoubt on top of Monte Negino on the morning of April 10, with a message that Colonel Cervoni had been attacked at Voltri. A second messenger with the same information arrived shortly after, giving my credentials credence.”

  The forwarding of the recording was stopped and put into playback.

  Daimon stood before Colonel Henri-François Fornésy. “Sir. The Austrians have thirty-seven hundred soldiers. We are about to be reinforced by Colonel Rampon and another twelve hundred men. I can tell you without doubt, sir, we will hold this position. It is superior. All we must do is delay the troops of Austrian General Argenteau.”

  “And you say you came from General Bonaparte's command?”

  “Yes sir, in Savona. We will hold here today and tomorrow General Masséna's force will attack, coming up from Altare. Argenteau's force will be driven all the way back to Acqui.”

  Several hours later, the Austrians could be seen on their approach. The day was cold and overcast, threatening rain.

  Fornésy gestured to a lieutenant. “Get this man a musket. Position him on the line. Let's hope Colonel Rampon arrives soon.”

  The lieutenant pointed. “The Colonel is approaching with three columns from the south, sir.” The lieutenant turned to face Daimon. “You will follow Sergeant Portier.”

  Daimon was handed a musket by the sergeant. “Come with me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You came from Savona?” The sergeant asked as they walked.

  “Yes.”

  “I would give my right arm to be back there. Here it is cold and wet. And the wind will chill you to the bone. Where are you from, Corporal?”

  “La Rochelle.”

  “Ah. To be near the sea. I come from Dijon.”

  “You have family there?”

  The sergeant smiled. “Three daughters and a wife who I adore. You?”

  “Only a cousin, the others, my parents, uncles and brother, sailed for the Americas, to Acadia. I was to join them after my studies, but the revolution changed things for me. Much of our family land was sold to finance their move, which was largely due to the unrest. What remained was taken from me by the Royalists. I have yet to see it returned however, leaving me with my only option— to join this army.”

  “There have been rumors of corruption. I hope they are not true.”

  Daimon stood on his toes to look over the dirt wall of the redoubt and down at the Austrians. “Napoleon will be successful with this campaign, bringing him much recognition.”

  “Napoleon?”

  “General Bonaparte.”

  “You know the general personally?”

  “Only through word of my cousin.”

  The sergeant came to a stop in a trench. “You will be here. As you saw, they are moving their forces into position down there, but have yet to begin their move forward. And I would not spend time with my head raised until you are prepared to shoot. Have you fought before?”

  “I have. It is a glorious but horrible thing. Today it will be horrible for the Austrians.”

  The sergeant pursed his lips. “Let us hope so. Here. I will leave you my powder and wadding. Give me ten minutes and I will be joining you.”

  “Very well.”

  The sergeant scurried off in search of more supplies.

  Daimon looked at the frightened soldier beside him. “Hello. What is your name?”

  “Henri Depaul.”

  “Daimon Lamonde. And do not worry about the Austrians today. They will not prevail. Of that I am certain.”

  “Nothing is certain in war.”

  Daimon smiled. “I can only agree. How long have you been here?”

  “A month. It is miserable. There is little protection from the wind and cold when you come outside the tents.”

  “Ah, but the air is crisp and clean.” Daimon drew in a deep breath. “I was recently in Paris. The air was foul with smoke from a thousand fires. Where are you from?”

  “Le Mans. You?”

  “La Rochelle.”

  “My uncle does business in La Rochelle. Perhaps you have heard of him. Renne Depaul?”

  “I am sorry. No. What business is he in?”

  “A merchant. He trades in grain and timber. I had hoped to one day work for him, but family tradition has me here instead.”

  “One day you will be proud of your accomplishment. The day will come when Napoleon is emperor over all of Europe... and possibly even Britain.”

  A shout came up. “They are coming!”

  Daimon turned and leaned up on the edge of the trench, giving himself a view going down the slope toward the Austrians. “Look at those rows of targets. This will be a slaughter.”

  Henri replied, “We are outnumbered.”

  “But our position is superior.”

  The sergeant returned. “Do not fire until the order is given.”

  His musket was loaded as he joined the others on the wall.

  Daimon said, “We should be firing upon them now. The ease with which they would be dying would be demoralizing for the rest.”

  The sergeant shook his head. “That's not the proper order of war, Corporal.”

  A lieutenant came by. “Hold until the order is given.”

  Daimon turned, “Sir, we are wasting valuable time. Even now they are a fat target. The more we take out before they make their charge, the fewer we have to fight against when they reach this trench, which they will.”

  “Hold your fire, Corporal.”

  The Austrians marched up the slope, coming within fifty meters of the wall before the order rolled down the line. Five hundred muskets fired at once, decimating the forward rows, killing or wounding nearly two hundred men with the single volley. The Austrians returned fire. A private standing beside Henri Depaul took a musketball to the back of his head as he labored to reload his weapon. Ten meters down the trench another French soldier fell.

  Powder was poured from a horn into a measure and then down the barrel. A ball was wrapped in wadding and placed into the end of the barrel before being forced down with a ramrod. A charge of finer powder was poured into the pan and the frizzen closed.

  The musket was raised and the trigger pul
led. The click of the flint striking the frizzen was followed by the short fizz sound of the powder flash in the pan before the clap of gunpowder exploding sent the musketball toward its target. A puff of white smoke popped from the touch hole with the result of the main charge billowing out the end of the barrel. Damian got to immediate work on a reload.

  Henri stood up and fired. “They are still coming. Thirty meters.”

  Daimon growled. “They waited too long. Prepare your bayonet. And stay near me. I have done this before.”

  The Austrians continued to force their way up the hill, although taking heavy losses. Damian rose to fire, striking a soldier center chest who was no more than ten meters away.

  The sergeant said, “They aren't stopping.”

  Several men scampered out of the back end of the trench in fear. One taking a lead ball to the back, another to a leg.

  Colonel Rampon was suddenly standing behind the forward trench, his body in full view of the enemy. He rallied the French troops by making them swear to "conquer or die."

  Daimon scaled the front of the trench, stepping over the mound of dirt as he screamed and vaulted himself forward, plunging his bayonet into the chest of the nearest Austrian. Kicking a boot high into the soldier's chest, the weapon was withdrawn and then thrust into another. Several other soldiers, including Henri Depaul and Sergeant Robert Portier, followed.

  It was the defiance that was needed as moments later Rampon's reinforcements came into a line behind him. Firing almost point blank into the still onrushing Austrian infantry, their charge was broken. With a single decimating volley the attackers turned to flee. The clone of Naffi, Daimon Lamonde, screamed as he thrust his bayonet into an injured soldier who was attempting to reload his musket.

  After a rally of their own, the reformed lines of the Austrian assault began to move back up the slope. Daimon and the others scrambled over the top and back into the trench, regaining their cover. The waiting French defense was too powerful and too well protected. A second and then a third butchering of the attacking lines followed before Austrian General Rukavina was shot in the shoulder. With that, the commanding Austrian General, Argenteau, halted the attack.