Just when everyone thought the Emperor of the French Empire was returning to Paris aboard a warship, the warship carrying Jero Bonaparte was quietly sailing towards Sevastopol under the dim moonlight, breaking through the dense fog the next morning and reaching the vicinity of Sevastopol.
The French Navy, responsible for patrolling the waters near Sevastopol to guard against surprise attacks from the Russian Empire, was the first to spot the warship flying the French flag. The sailor in the lookout tower imdiately shouted down to those below, "Report to the captain quickly and say that a warship bearing our national insignia is heading towards us!"
Upon receiving the news, the sailor on the deck imdiately ran to the captain’s office and reported the news to the captain.
"You say you spotted a warship flying our national flag?" the captain repeated.
"Exactly!" the sailor nodded in acknowledgnt.
"But I haven’t received any reports of a warship arriving!" the captain murmured, furrowing his brows, and then lifted his head to ask the sailor, "Could it be that the Russians are using our flag to try to deceive us?"
"Sir, that’s not sothing we can confirm yet!" the sailor suggested a solution to the captain, "But I think we can use flag signals to ask for their identification and naval registry, and we can also inquire why they’ve returned here!"
The captain’s eyes lit up. He slapped his forehead and nodded repeatedly, "You’re right! Do it imdiately! We must find out the number of people on this warship and their assigned registry; we need to know their purpose for arriving here!"
"Yes, sir!" The sailor saluted the captain and left.
...
When the sailor conveyed the captain’s orders to the lookout sailor, the latter signaled to the other ship with flags to inquire.
"Your Majesty, they are using flag signals to ask which unit we belong to and what our purpose is for coming here," the captain aboard Jero Bonaparte’s warship reported respectfully to Jero Bonaparte.
"Inform them of your unit assignnt and tell them you are here on a special mission!" Jero Bonaparte instructed the captain next to him.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" the captain saluted Jero Bonaparte, then jogged to the mast under the lookout tower and relayed Jero Bonaparte’s ssage to the sailor atop, conveying everything through flag signals.
"The warship on the opposite side says they are mbers of the Third Detachnt of the diterranean Fleet, sent by the order of the Emperor of France, to carry out a mission in Sevastopol!" the sailor reported to the patrolling captain.
"Since they are here by the order of His Majesty the Emperor, let them pass!" the captain waved his hand and said to the sailor.
"Yes!"
After the sailor left, the captain sighed to himself, speaking with a slightly bitter tone, "The Emperor has co, so why did he leave so quickly without visiting personally?"
...
"Your Majesty, the warship on the opposite side has granted us permission to pass!" the captain reported back to Jero Bonaparte.
"Then let’s continue!" Jero Bonaparte said calmly.
The patrol fleet made way, and the warship continued forward, soon entering Sevastopol Port.
Standing on the deck of the warship, Jero Bonaparte smiled with satisfaction as he looked at the battleships docked in the port and the rows of houses in the distance.
In this world, no one besides Jero Bonaparte could know just how tough a nut Sevastopol was to crack.
Historically, Sevastopol was a veritable slaughterhouse, where nearly a hundred thousand lives were "sacrificed" by the British and French armies to conquer this fortress city.
Of course, most of those lives weren’t directly lost to the Russian Empire; instead, they were claid by cholera and cold.
Nowadays, the Allied Forces no longer needed to force an attack while under nurous debuffs; they only needed to quietly wait at Sevastopol for the Russian Imperial Army to arrive.
Just as Jero Bonaparte was feeling proud of his small contribution, Marshal Renio’s voice ca to Jero Bonaparte’s ear, "Your Majesty, we should disembark now!"
"Alright!" Jero nodded, coming to his senses, and accompanied Marshal Renio and Richard tternich to board a small boat and slowly made their way to the shore.
At this ti, the French Expeditionary Army’s chief quartermaster Leboeuf, who was checking supplies at the port warehouse, received a report from the dock soldiers.
"Report to Commander Pelissier imdiately!" Leboeuf ordered the soldier decisively.
"Sir, aren’t you going?" the soldier responded to Leboeuf.
"I need to head to the dock to greet the envoy! You can go by yourself!" Leboeuf said, as he started running towards the dock.
As Leboeuf was about to reach the dock, he was struck by the scene before him, nearly bringing his heart to a stop.
The person standing on the dock is no special envoy, it’s the Emperor himself!
Who am I? Where am I? How could the Emperor be here?
Leboeuf’s gaze was dazed, his mind completely blank, and his steps gradually slowed.
Jero Bonaparte on the dock also noticed Leboeuf, and waved to him, saying: "Leboeuf!"
Hearing His Majesty the Emperor’s call, Leboeuf imdiately ca to his senses, and quickly ran towards Jero Bonaparte, soon arriving in front of him.
"Your Majesty, Marshal Renio!" Leboeuf straightened his posture and shouted at them with a resonant voice.
Jero Bonaparte carefully sized up Leboeuf, then crouched down.
"Your Majesty!" The surrounding people all had shocked expressions on their faces.
Jero Bonaparte tightened the laces on Leboeuf’s boots, then stood up and patted Leboeuf’s shoulder, saying warmly: "You’re a general of the Empire now, you must pay more attention to your appearance!"
"Your Majesty!" Leboeuf’s face showed a touched expression, his voice choked as he said: "I..."
"None of that now!" Jero Bonaparte pretended to show a face of disdain, teasingly saying: "You’re not a child anymore, don’t burst into tears so easily! A general who cries doesn’t command much respect!"
"Yes!" Leboeuf put away his emotional side and answered in the iron-blooded manner of a soldier.
"Alright! Take to the headquarters!" Jero Bonaparte ordered Leboeuf.
Under the watchful eyes of the soldiers near the port, Leboeuf and Jero Bonaparte walked and talked, soon arriving near the French Command.
At this mont, Jero Patterson, deputy officer of the French Expeditionary Army Command, and the deputy commander of the Expeditionary Army, Conrobel, happened to be stepping out of the headquarters.
When they saw Jero Bonaparte and Marshal Renio accompanied by Leboeuf in the distance, their minds also went blank.
"Patterson, Conrobel!" Jero Bonaparte waved at Jero Patterson and Conrobel.
Quick to react, Conrobel whispered a reminder to the bewildered Jero Patterson, and the two ran together to the front of Jero Bonaparte.
"Your Majesty x2!" Jero Patterson and Conrobel shouted in unison to Jero Bonaparte.
Jero Bonaparte looked them up and down, "General Conrobel!"
"At your service!" Conrobel saluted Jero Bonaparte.
"You’ve lost weight since last ti!" Jero Bonaparte patted Conrobel’s shoulder, saying kindly, "Thank you for your hard work!"
"For the Empire!" Conrobel responded firmly.
Then, Jero Bonaparte glanced at his nephew, nodding satisfactorily, "Patterson, the training in the army has certainly made you more mature than before!"
Jero Patterson said nothing, but saluted Jero Bonaparte.
"By the way! Where is our Marshal Pellissier? I ca all this way to bring him his Marshal’s Staff!" Jero Bonaparte joked with Conrobel and Jero Patterson.
"Your Majesty, Commander Pellissier didn’t know you were arriving today, so he is supervising the fortifications of Sevastopol!" Conrobel quickly explained on behalf of Pellissier, "I will imdiately send soone to bring Commander Pellissier here!"
"No need!" Jero Bonaparte raised his hand to stop him, "Let’s give our great contributor, Commander Pellissier, a surprise at the headquarters!"
After speaking, Jero Bonaparte and Renio entered the Expeditionary Army Headquarters, leaving Conrobel and Jero Patterson no choice but to follow them inside.
A few kiloters away from the French Expeditionary Army Headquarters, up on Inkman Mountain, was where they were supervising the construction of the fortifications. Accompanying him on the inspection work on Inkman Mountain was not the British Expeditionary Army’s Commander Lagren, but rather, Marshal Lagren.
"Ah! I really don’t know when we’ll finally be able to truly defeat the Russian Empire!" Commander Lagren sighed as he overlooked the small forts and trenches halfway up the mountain from the peak of Inkman Mountain.
He couldn’t understand why the Emperor of France insisted on having his troops build fortifications at Sevastopol to await the arrival of the Russian Empire.
Would the Russian Empire foolishly ram the fortifications and get bloodied?
Probably not!
"Soon!" Pellissier gazed into the distance, saying with certainty, "According to the intel brought by the Tatar Cavalry, Gorchakov, the current commander of the Russian Empire, is intensifying the training of troops near Perekop!"
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