I'm the Dauphin in France

Chapter 1157 Major Napoleon

Napoleon clutched his head in anguish, muttering to himself, "God! If I hadn't disobeyed orders, I would be the one going to Egypt."

"Imagine that endless desert, with the pyramids behind us, pounding those barbarians with cannons—what an exhilarating war that would be! God, I wish I could go to war as an ordinary soldier..."

He was a born soldier. Life could only be fulfilled in battle. But ever since he arrived on this island, every single moment had been tormenting him, almost driving him mad.

Desirée suddenly grabbed his hand: "Bony, is all you care about is the cannon? You haven't even kissed me yet."

"You see, I was just too excited." Napoleon laughed as he walked around the table and put his arm around her waist. "I think about you every day."

Desiray turned her face away, remained silent for more than ten seconds, then sighed heavily and said, "Bony, actually, Father wants me to..."

She choked up a little: "Let me marry Baron Cruzee."

Napoleon abruptly released her, as if burned: "Why? Who was that person? Is Mr. Clary in such a hurry to throw me into the dustbin of history?"

Desirea grasped his hand, tears streaming down her face. "Father said this is your grave... I... I've been putting it off for six months, using every excuse imaginable. I really can't hold on any longer, Bonnie..."

“No…no…” Napoleon staggered backward.

He used to be infatuated with her looks and her family background, and he thought she would never leave him, but now it felt like he had been hit hard.

“Disgrace… What a disgrace! No, it’s all my fault!” Napoleon slammed his fist on the table. “If it weren’t for my stupidity back then, we would have been married long ago… I ruined all of this with my own hands.”

Yes, that's what he said, but in reality, after he was promoted to general, he already felt that Desire was not good enough for him. And now he only wanted to possess her forever.

“No, Bonnie! You didn’t mean it…”

Napoleon's voice was low and desperate: "I beg you! For God's sake, don't marry that baron! Give me a little more time! I swear, I will give you a stable life..."

“It’s no use, I only have three days.” Desire just kept shaking her head. “Even if you were just an ordinary soldier, I would still marry you without hesitation. But here, in this ‘grave,’ we can’t have a future.”

She wiped away her tears: "I came here just to see you one last time before I step into the abyss..."

“Ordinary soldiers…” Napoleon repeated subconsciously, “Soldiers? Yes, soldiers.”

The image of Major Garrel flashed through his mind, and suddenly, as if remembering something, he quickly said to Desiray, "I won't let you down!"

Two hours later.

Napoleon stood before Garrel, head bowed, pleading, "Please, you must deliver this letter to His Highness the Dauphin! I swear I will spend the rest of my life making amends for my past mistakes..."

Garrel put the letter of repentance into his pocket and looked at the other end of the vineyard: "You should thank Miss Clary. It is her contributions to education in Paris that have led His Highness the Crown Prince to consider giving you a chance."

Napoleon's eyes widened immediately, and he nodded repeatedly with excitement: "Thank you for your kindness, Your Highness. I would even be willing to be a soldier!"

“Your Highness offers you two choices,” Garrel said, staring at him. “One is to go to Mantua to manage the fortress’s supply depot. The other is to go to St. Louisiana to become a battalion commander.”

Napoleon thought for only two seconds before loudly proclaiming, "Please convey to His Highness the Crown Prince that I wish to go to North America!"

Garrel nodded. As instructed by the Crown Prince, if Monsieur Bonaparte chose Italy, he should remain on Elba for a few more years—Napoleon, as the former commander of the Italian Army, still wielded considerable influence there. His desire to go to Mantua indicated that he still harbored "a restless heart."

Garrel stood up and handed the General Staff documents to Napoleon: "Then, Major Bonaparte, please enjoy your time with Miss Clary. We will depart in two days and head straight for New Orleans."

……

Salah, on the northeastern border of Iran.

A line of Cossack cavalrymen, stretching for several kilometers, led their warhorses, their weary legs dragging them as they trudged through the desert.

Almost every two or three hundred meters, a warhorse would collapse and die.

Yes, this Russian army tasked with invading India has not received supplies for three consecutive days.

In such a desert region, the lack of water and food is far more deadly than being hit by a barrage of enemy artillery fire.

Commander General Nikolai Bakhov turned listlessly to his staff officer and asked, "Have we made contact with Merv yet?"

Merv is a city southwest of Bukhara, responsible for logistical support for this part of the Russian journey.

The staff officer, equally dejected, replied, "Not yet, General. I sent another group of men to Mulu this morning; there should be a response soon."

Bakhov glanced at the sand dunes ahead and asked again, "How far is it to Harleigh?"

“It’s about a three-day trip, General.” The staff officer hesitated for a moment, then added, “Given the current situation, it will probably take four days.”

The officer next to him muttered under his breath, "If the supplies don't arrive soon, we'll all be buried in this desert in four days..."

Bakhov raised his hand to whip him, but then thought it was a waste of energy and slowly withdrew his hand.

The officer who had just been complaining was still muttering to himself, "If I die in this godforsaken place, Anton and Oleg probably won't even be able to afford their university tuition. Damn it."

Another officer behind him chimed in, "Lieutenant Colonel Malaviev, stop pretending to be poor. You own over 50 hectares of land."

Malawiev lay on the saddle, shaking his head, and said, "It used to be alright, but now we have to pay 'local administration tax,' and we can't even save 1 rubles a year."

"When I left Orenburg, I heard that our Emperor might soon impose a 'special tax'. Listen to that, he can't even be bothered to come up with a name for it, it's probably another of the 'barber's' ideas."

The officer behind him urged his mount on, and then walked up to his side: "Yes, even nobles have to pay taxes. It's even harder for people like me who don't own any land. Those tax inspectors wish they could hang us upside down so that all the gold coins would fall out."

Like all Russian officers, they were victims of Paul I's reforms.

Previously tax-free nobles have had their privileges revoked, forcing them to pay additional taxes.

At the same time, Paul I also strictly investigated the situation of officers receiving salaries without working and the embezzlement of military pay, and directly sent officers from his own guards to check each soldier one by one.

His initial intention was not wrong, but Russian officers' salaries were among the lowest in all of Europe, yet they had to pay for the army's equipment and ammunition supplies themselves.

(End of this chapter)