I'm the King of Curry at Hogwarts

Chapter 173 I'll Kill You

Since Mikoro had escaped control and her whereabouts could not be tracked down for the time being, Louis decided to stay here a little longer to ensure that the Battle of Waterloo proceeded as historically intended.

Meowlington treated his saviors well, providing them with the special meals reserved for marshals and the private tents befitting generals. Meowlington even planned to assign them a few orderly, but Louis refused.

Just kidding, we have dragon maids, how can we let a few hairy soldiers serve us?

Besides, it wouldn't be convenient if there were women in the tent, would it?

Many people may have the misconception that generals must share weal and woe with their soldiers in order to win battles. In fact, this is not the case. In the era of line infantry, there were not so many rules.

It should be said that the way soldiers were trained was different from that of modern times. In this era, all soldiers needed to do was fear the whip in the officer's hand more than being shot. The treatment of ordinary soldiers was not much better than that of livestock.

There's another little-known fact that laymen might not know, and it's not exactly surprising because it's not that cold. In those days, bullets weren't actually that accurate. If two people were firing at each other from 100 meters apart, assuming no one was incredibly lucky, two line infantrymen with only ordinary training could probably keep firing from noon until dinner.

Of course, this is just an exaggeration. In reality, the training methods reveal the futility of aiming accuracy. In the 1792 Infantry Mobility and Training Regulations, soldiers were generally only required to be able to point their guns at the enemy.

The bullets from the smoothbore gun were like Indian missiles; after being fired, they underwent Brownian motion in mid-air.

So some people say that lining up to shoot idiots is stupid, why not just lie down and shoot them? You can just treat these people as idiots. This tactic was the best solution at that time. You can't use the era of rifled guns and fixed bullets to apply to the era of smoothbore guns. It's like asking why the hegemons of the Spring and Autumn Period didn't use trenches to deal with their invincible chariots.

Isn't this pure cerebral palsy?

In those days, every country had its own unique tricks. For example, the British liked to fire several volleys at close range and then crush the enemy's morale with a single volley. The Prussian army, on the other hand, was better at reloading. Their reloading speed was very fast, which put a lot of pressure on Tsarist Russia. Finally, the famous Tsarist general Suvorov came up with a desperate solution—fire the volleys and charge with bayonets at 300 meters!

Whether this trick works against others is another matter, but it is quite effective against Prussians with their fast reload speed.

From then on, Suvorov would tell everyone he met that bullets were idiots, but bayonets were heroes.

It's true that some fans have turned against their idols.

Of course, the topic has strayed a bit, but in short, special treatment is a common and ingrained thing in this era.

Louis had neither the interest nor the opportunity to enjoy the rations of ordinary British soldiers; the field marshal's special meals were far superior to those of ordinary soldiers.

It rained heavily all night, and the rain didn't stop until dawn. In those days, there weren't many roads, and after a heavy rain, the roads were always muddy. Every soldier's boots were covered with at least two or three pounds of mud.

That wasn't the most bothersome part. The damp and cold mornings were even more unbearable, with many soldiers' clothes still sticking to their bodies, soaking wet. Imagine how uncomfortable it is for a person to be completely soaked, let alone a furry cat. Every cat soldier was baring its teeth and fidgeting, trying to shake off the moisture.

Fortunately, Meowlington had already led his troops to the pre-set destination. The troops were not too uncomfortable while setting up camp and resting. However, the mountain was still cold and damp, and some soldiers still caught colds after a night of dampness.

I don't know how the British army in the original world assembled in the morning, but the British army in this world was urged to get up in the morning by the melodious sound of bagpipes.

Louis also got up very early. The marshal's private kitchen was pretty good, with everything you could need, and even rare items like baguettes.

You're fighting a French cat, my marshal!

After finishing his meal, Louis planned to stroll around the military camp to digest his food. Smoke rose from the cooking fires, and many of the big-headed cat soldiers were sitting together, enjoying this rare moment of peace.

Louis walked over to a group of soldiers gathered around a campfire and looked down to see a little tabby cat holding a plate of fried fish and a piece of bread, licking its lips and staring intently at the rare delicacy.

It's cod, a favorite food of the British at that time, something they never tired of.

There were also quite a few side dishes, including a small clump of fried onions and a mixed vegetable and meat stew, which was a rare delicacy on this morning after the rain had stopped.

Fried onions were the ultimate delicacy in the military during that era. The French even composed an onion song to praise this delicious food, claiming that fried onions boosted their combat effectiveness—and they also made a special mention of the Austrians and dogs, who were forbidden from eating fried onions.

As a result, the emperor turned around and married the Austrian emperor's daughter, which can be described as a betrayal from a superior.

Ironically, through this marriage, Napoleon became the grand-nephew-in-law of the headless Louis and Marie Antoinette.

Normally, the breakfast wouldn't be this lavish, but since the general offensive was about to begin, Duke Meowlington ordered that the soldiers be given a good meal and eat something nice.

A delicious and hearty meal can significantly boost troop morale, especially after a cold, damp rain, with a campfire, plenty of food—and most importantly, steaming hot soup to warm them up.

The little kitten first ate the large piece of bread with the vegetable and meat soup and fried onions, then put the grilled fish into the lunchbox that originally contained the soup, savoring this rare delicacy bit by bit—he wasn't in a hurry at all, the warm campfire made him very comfortable, and he was too happy to get up.

After finishing the grilled fish with lingering relish, he licked his cat paws, took the kettle from the campfire, and poured two-thirds of the boiling water into his lunchbox.

Cats are very sensitive to heat, and the little kitten wasn't in a hurry to drink the hot water. Since the campfire could only warm his limbs and face, not his tucked-up belly, he put the lid of the lunchbox on and held it in his arms, his eyebrows and whiskers slowly stretching out, revealing a very satisfied and lazy expression.

Once the water in the lunchbox had cooled slightly, he carefully opened it. First, he solemnly sucked up the top layer of oil droplets in circles. Then, with an expression of having successfully reached the other side, he sipped the warm water in small sips, swallowing it with a "ha" sound. Just by listening to the sound, you could tell the owner's current mood.

Even Louis is getting hungry.

We already knew that there was such an eccentric person in the army who was Marshal Meowlington's personal advisor, so there was nothing to be surprised about. Everyone ate and drank as usual, and after they were full, they gathered around the campfire to continue warming themselves.

In this battle, the British army adopted a defensive posture, waiting for the French army to launch an attack.

Senior officers were all meeting in Mealington's command tent. The Duke of Mealington was optimistic, after all, he had already made contact with Blücher, the commander-in-chief of Prudential, who assured him that he would lead the entire army to support the British forces on the morning of the 18th.

To paraphrase what Meowlington said in Blücher's letter, it was like stabbing Napoleon in the back.

The opinions of the allied forces were basically in agreement: if the French army did not launch an attack on the 18th, then the allied forces would attack the French army on the 19th.

Good heavens, if the mountain doesn't come to Muhammad, then Muhammad goes to the mountain; that's right.

But the Duke of Mearlington preferred the French to launch the first attack. As a master of reverse slope tactics, Mearlington's position was carefully chosen. It stretched along a gentle ridge for about four thousand yards. Three hundred yards directly in front of the center of the position was a manor house, hastily fortified, serving as an outpost. The allied forces, cobbled together from several national armies, cautiously mingled with the British along the entire front.

The crucial right flank was assigned to Cook's 1st Division, composed of four British Guards infantry battalions. Cavalry brigades were deployed as the central reserve between the front and Mont Sainte-Jean, while two additional British cavalry brigades formed the left flank's tip, where the terrain was relatively flat.

Most of the artillery units occupied positions along the hilltop west of the road. From here, they could sweep the slopes ahead. Following Meowlington's instructions, the artillery ignored enemy artillery and concentrated their fire on enemy infantry and cavalry for close-range engagements.

Louis didn't know much about war, but Chromie thoughtfully made him a map like Total War. From his perspective, Meowlington had already set up a pretty secure trap, just waiting for Napoleon's troops to rush up and come down the mountain to harvest the corn.

Kromie even thoughtfully marked the ranges of various artillery pieces and infantry, making it look just like playing a video game.

Unfortunately, this is not a game, but a real war in which countless people risked their lives and sacrificed their lives.

It's easy to see from the map that everything was in place, just waiting for Napoleon to walk right into the trap.

Unlike the British army, Napoleon's troops had long been out of supplies due to being separated from their convoys. Around 9 a.m., Napoleon ordered his troops to have a hearty breakfast before preparing for the attack. Although the intention was good, even the most skilled cook cannot cook without rice. The French army could only scrape together the remaining supplies and eat a meager meal.

If Napoleon were Cao Cao, he would probably have had to borrow the heads of his logistics personnel.

He is very optimistic. After all, as a renowned coach who has never tasted defeat in his life, even the previous loss in Leipzig was just "fate has doomed us, not our fault in the battle."

After all, he was the one who initially chased the allied forces, a string of kings and emperors running all over the place.

"Our chances of winning are at least ninety percent, and the chances of losing are only ten percent," Napoleon said confidently to the generals who were dining with him.

However, this confidence did not infect others, especially Sirte and Ney, who had fought against Meowlington in the Iberian Peninsula, and they were not optimistic about the current situation.

The French army is now basically all morale and no substance. The French have the advantage of favorable timing and location, while Napoleon only has the advantage of personal charisma.

"Hard to say," Prince Jerome muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" This time Napoleon heard the whisper, and he looked sharply at his brother.

Prince Jerome shrugged and gave a crucial piece of information: "One of my waiters overheard some gossip among British officers while having lunch at the 'King of Spain' tavern in Ginape, saying that the Prussians were planning to depart from Vavre..."

Napoleon slammed his baguette on the table, stood up, and loudly denied it, saying, "Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"

"The Prussians have been driven away by Grouchy, and it will take them at least two days to arrive and provide support. Even if they return, we still have Grouchy! As long as Grouchy launches an attack, everything will be alright..."

"It's hard to say," Jerome once again contradicted his brother.

Napoleon panicked. He looked around, drew his sword from a servant, and shouted, "You beast, I'll kill you... kill you!"

Unfortunately, the agile Ney snatched the commander's sword with a single, physical attack.

Seeing that things were going badly, Jerome had already run away in a panic and disappeared without a trace...

"Your Majesty, please calm down!" Ney put his sword back into the attendant's scabbard. Napoleon had actually regretted drawing his sword a little, but now that he had a way out, he took a few deep breaths, sat down, and continued to discuss the possible course of the battle.

Overall, everyone was quite optimistic under Napoleon's influence. After all, the emperor's sword might not be very discerning, and it would be a loss if they were killed by the emperor before being stabbed by the British bayonets.

At 10:00 AM, after Napoleon checked watches with the army commanders, the commanders returned to their respective units. At 11:00 AM, Napoleon issued the final battle orders to the commanders. Around 1:00 PM, when the entire army was deployed according to the battle order, the emperor would immediately order Marshal Ney to launch an attack and seize the village at the crossroads of Mont Saint-Jean.

Furthermore, Napoleon issued a strict order that all artillery in the army must be used in a concentrated manner to cover Marshal Ney's offensive.

Napoleon was far too arrogant. He was convinced that he only needed to prepare the cannons with his beloved twelve-pound cannons, and then advance his invincible army toward Brussels. He could then break through the center of Merrington and crush his army in one fell swoop. He could then leisurely continue for twelve miles with his guards and enter Brussels.

To match his arrogance, the old guard had already packed his uniform for the upcoming military parade in his backpack.

That's somewhat related to Shevchenko's behavior.

What does it mean to pop champagne at halftime? (Tactical lean back)

At this moment, the reconnaissance troops dispatched by Duke Mearlington also discovered the French army's movements. He dispersed his troops on the hilltop of Saint-Jean, and Old Li alone peered out, observing the French army's movements with binoculars.

At 11:30 a.m., the world-famous Battle of Waterloo officially began.

(End of this chapter)