The Radiant Republic 47. First Lesson of Training

Seated in the clean, bright, spacious enlisted ss, Masséna, Suchet, and the freshly bathed recruits were enjoying their first lunch since entering the Champagne Composite Regint. The al was generous—at least to most soldiers’ eyes: black bread as the staple; mashed potatoes with fresh vegetables; half a fish; a hard-boiled egg; a at-and-vegetable stew; and raisins as a sweet.

Under the regint’s logistics rules, a marching ration was 1.5 pounds of bread per day, 0.5 pound of fresh or canned at, 2 ounces of dried fruit or other sweets, and a small amount of cheese or butter. Outside combat there was 1 bottle of wine per day; in combat this was cut to 0.5 bottle, with strict limits on when it could be consud.

“Everything’s fine—pity there’s no Bordeaux wine,” Masséna remarked. He likely did not know that even in the officers’ ss, wine was limited to a small glass per head, and only at dinner.

Suchet snorted and ignored the complaint, tearing at the black bread and gulping the stew. The business at the Garonne had worn him out. For the rich boy, taste no longer mattered; filling up did.

“Eat while you can. Who knows what tornt cos next,” an old soldier said, thumping the youngster’s back and laughing.

Off to one side of the drill ground, the forr cavalry comrades—Penduvas, Finic, and Villed—gathered under a tree after lunch to chat. At the regint’s founding, all three had been promoted up to sergeant. Soon after, Penduvas was transferred to the new gendarrie, while Finic and Villed stayed with Lieutenant Hoche’s cavalry troop.

Among the horsen who followed the prosecutor south to Bordeaux, almost everyone held at least a sergeant’s stripe. Advancent was fastest, however, for the subject of their talk—their old mate, now acting Captain Saint-Cyr (substantive rank still sergeant).

“Finic, my friend, you really an to accept Saint-Cyr’s invitation? To that Caribbean colony full of ‘black n’ and yellow fever?” Villed asked again.

Finic only nodded, hard.

Villed sighed and exchanged a glance with Penduvas. Since last month’s news that Finic’s mother—bedridden for 5 years—had died, he had grown ever more silent. His father was already gone; his elder sister, long married, could no longer tend the ho. With no ties left, Finic resolved to leave France and try his luck overseas.

Saint-Cyr had also promised to get Sergeant Finic a temporary commission as Lieutenant to command a company—even a battalion. As an important piece the prosecutor was laying in the colonies, he was allowed to recruit a 10-man team in camp and ship to Saint-Domingue with full kit.

Saint-Cyr had likewise invited Penduvas and Villed to join the colonial force at Cap-Français, but both declined politely. Their parents were alive, and younger siblings needed them; they would not go so far as the Caribbean, 6,000 kiloters away.

France long saw itself as a continental power. Though its kings had pursued colonies since the Age of Discovery, emigration was scant—far behind Britain across the Channel. Those who did go were often Huguenots and other Protestants oppressed by the Catholic order, alien to Paris’s ruling class—one reason France fared poorly in the overseas duel with Britain.

Their rueful talk did not last. A great, booming voice rolled over from the field. Penduvas, Finic, and Villed stiffened as one. No mistake: the Prussian giant, Second Lieutenant Augereau, was about to put the infantry recruits through their paces.

On the parade ground, the recruits sensed sothing amiss and adjusted their stance. They could barely form ranks; many still whispered like a swarm of restless flies.

“Hey, look how tall that big fellow is!”

“Damn it, we’re supposed to call him ‘sir’!”

“Aha—I rember, he commands 1st Company.”

“Right, right! Must be Captain Augereau here to take recruits!”

…

Hearing the disrespect, Macdonald, standing near the rear, frowned and ant to scold them—until Chassé caught his arm and gave a small shake of the head. This was orientation, not duty; there was no need to stick their necks out.

“Enough! On your feet!” barked Masséna from the front rank. The sudden shout froze the ground. Even Suchet—usually ready to contradict him—snapped to attention.

Second Lieutenant Augereau halted 3 ters from the front line, coolly watching over 500 recruits—mostly farrs’ sons—making a poor show without officers and NCOs to steady them. Disappointed, but not despairing; at least one man had stepped up for the regint’s honor.

From the shade, Sergeant Penduvas strode out to introduce the officer: “This is the commander of 1st Company, Second Lieutenant Augereau. From today he will serve as instructor to the recruit depot.”

“Hurrah—hurrah!” the n cheered as common folk do—not how a trained army should.

“Silence, clowns!” Once in the role, the burly Prussian’s voice drowned hundreds.

Anger made the scars on Augereau’s face writhe, devilish. The ranks fell mute, cold with fear.

He stepped forward two paces and swept them again with his sharp gaze. “You rabble salute your officers. You do not cheer—unless after a victory!”

Sha-faced, they lifted right hands and fumbled through a salute, looking more like circus jesters than soldiers.

“Enough—trash!” he snapped. “For once I thank that slow-moving quartermaster—since you have no regulation dress yet, I’ll not accept any salute from you. You don’t deserve my return of it.

“Sergeant Penduvas tells you dislike restraint—fidget, talk back. That displeases . From this mont, such things end. Orders are to be obeyed—promptly, unconditionally, to the letter. The unit will learn discipline and move in step—or the enemy will kill us, not we the enemy! Do you understand?” His roar all but split the front rank’s ears.

“U…understood…” The answer was feeble and uneven.

“Damn it—I heard nothing! Are you sickly Turks, or Spanish flies in heat?”

“Understood!” The chorus ca together, but still too soft.

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He kept at them, lashing with words until the fifth shout finally rang out crisp and even. He nodded, grudgingly.

It was Day 1 for 513 trainees—the start of their hardship. After the talk ca inspection. With Penduvas, Finic, and Villed in tow, the instructor moved through the ranks and kicked nearly 200 slackers—ill-dressed, whispering, out of stance—out of line.

Second Lieutenant Augereau ordered the offenders to run 20 laps of the 400-ter track with 20-kilogram packs, no rest allowed—or lose dinner. The gendars would enforce it.

Macdonald, Chassé, Masséna, and Suchet were also called out. The instructor looked them over, then eased his tone and smiled: “Given your superior bearing in ranks, I appoint you acting commanders of 4 recruit companies.”

Macdonald, Chassé, and Masséna—old hands—knew instructors like Augereau always had tricks in the bag. Only Suchet, guileless as ever, looked thrilled, grateful for the “promotion.” For now it was strictly temporary; once folded into the battalion, it might earn a real sergeant’s stripe.

“So,” Augereau went on, “as company leaders, when your n are punished for breaches of discipline—what do you do?”

“We know, Instructor!” the three veterans answered in unison. Suchet lagged a beat—until Masséna’s discreet kick prodded him to repeat the line. Augereau saw, and let it pass.

Soon, each drew a 20-kilogram pack from a tent at the edge of the field, slung it on, and trotted off with the punished n for 20 laps. The unpunished recruits were to remain at attention—javelin-straight under the noon sun—until their leaders and mates returned.

At so point Lieutenant Hoche ca up beside Augereau, handed him a glass of lemon water, and nodded toward the four loaded leaders on the track. “Those four are the boss’s special concerns? Leave two for the cavalry?”

Since the regint’s formation—and with transfers of Augereau and Saint-Cyr, plus the gendarrie standing up—the cavalry lacked good NCOs. Even after Lieutenant Hoche promoted a batch, it wasn’t enough.

Augereau drank, then first nodded, then shook his head. “Sorry, sir—none for you. Chassé and Macdonald will command 2nd and 3rd Company; Masséna will be 2nd’s deputy, as the boss seems minded to post Lieutenant Chassé to the gendarrie as chief. As for Suchet, word is he’s a university graduate; after this camp he’ll serve at HQ as a staff officer. Er—what’s a staff officer, exactly?”

“Per the boss’s order, the regint will set up an operations staff section—one field-grade chief of staff over several operations officers. They draft plans and assist the commanding officers in control,” Lieutenant Hoche explained.

His 3 months in Paris were not only artillery; he had studied organization and logistics as well. The staff system, first seen in the French Army as early as Louis XIV (so so argue), had grown ever more complete after a century of war.

He rembered sothing and smiled. “I just heard from the boss—Officer Training Course, Phase 2, restarts in 7 days. Congratulations in advance, Lieutenant.”

“And to you—Captain,” Augereau grinned, flattering the boss’s first confidant. He himself was second; Captain Senarmont, off in Paris and tz raising an artillery company, would be third or fourth.

By the Colonel’s order, any officer slated for promotion must complete focused short-course training: not only combat skills, but political and moral formation. For Phase 1 and 2, Lieutenant-Colonel André would be the chief examiner; specialists would teach tactics, while André took political analysis, ideological drill, and strict sanitation.

There might be a Phase 3, even Phase 4, before the regint moved to the Marne. André’s aim was plain: to stamp the regint through and through with his mark—from company, platoon, and squad leaders, down to NCOs and privates.

Most recruits in Bordeaux were farrs’ sons. To strengthen loyalty, André proposed that the Bordeaux Wine rchants’ Chamber give preference to soldiers’ families; he even coordinated with local vineyard owners to reduce tenant rents by 20–30%. The benefit applied only to households with sons serving in the Champagne Composite Regint.

Two hours later the punished n finished their laps and fell back in. At Sergeant Penduvas’s dismissal, the recruits and their 4 acting company leaders were given a 20-minute break.

“Up, now!” panted Masséna, giving the “dead-on-the-grass” Suchet a kick. He lowered his voice: “If you don’t want your stripe pulled in 20 minutes—and another 20 laps—get up. Now.”

The rich boy’s temper had cooled. Perhaps hungry for rank, he took the old hand’s advice—stood up, and squared himself away.

Chassé and Macdonald walked over—ti to know their fellow officers. Though Masséna and Suchet were civilians before enlistnt, their acting posts marked them as n with prospects.

They had barely traded a few friendly words when Chassé, sharp-eyed, saw Captain Moncey heading their way. He snapped upright and called out, long and loud: “Company—attention! Salute the officer!”

They ca to attention and saluted as one.

“At ease, gentlen,” Captain Moncey returned the salute with a smile and moved on—he was looking for Lieutenant Hoche and Second Lieutenant Augereau. Late September already; the regint would march north next month. He ant to invite both to his ho.

“No problem—have you invited the Colonel?” Augereau asked, casual but shrewd. Private gatherings weren’t banned, yet it was wise to let the boss know.

Moncey nodded, then sighed. “Lussac says the Colonel’s schedule is booked into next month. It’ll be hard. But the boss said he’ll try to stop by for a glass.”

“Bring those four?” Hoche ant the four acting company leaders laughing outside the field.

“So long as they’re off duty, bring them. And Saint-Cyr, Penduvas, Finic, Villed.” Captain Moncey added, “By the way, the boss promised 10 cases of Lafite this morning.”

…

The 20-minute rest was soon over. Second Lieutenant Augereau blew the assembly whistle. The n moved sharply; four companies dressed their lines; no whispering now. All eyes fixed on the scarred instructor, awaiting the next order.

Satisfied, Augereau stepped up and gave a belated welco: “n of Bordeaux, thank you for volunteering for the Champagne Composite Regint. From our first eting I saw you were strong and sound—sons of farrs on the Garonne. You know how to build your bodies. But strength alone does not make a good soldier. You must also obey orders and respect discipline. Only then will you cheer one victory after another—instead of throwing your lives away.”

…

Since August André had been petitioning in Paris for the Champagne Composite Regint to receive an official line designation from Comte de Tour du Pin, Minister of War, in hopes of regular pay and supply. He did not expect success. The ministers still served at the pleasure of Louis XVI; their loyalty was to the Tuileries, not to the Manège (the Constituent Assembly).

Even so, placing the regint on the National Guard rolls had clear advantages. Beyond controlling officer appointnts, André could shape the unit as he wished—arms, uniforms, tactics, and regulations—provided he himself found the money.

At the Assembly, the ultra-left deputy Buzot had demanded the regint copy the National Guard and set up soldiers’ committees at company level, allowing privates to recomnd company- and platoon-grade officers and NCOs—“liberty, equality, fraternity.” Before André in far-off Bordeaux could reply, Marquis de Lafayette blocked it.

As diator between King, Assembly, and People—a “chief minister” trusted by the King under constitutional monarchy—Marquis de Lafayette saw it as a thinly veiled attack on his regularization of the Paris National Guard (the volunteers), a slur that he was building a soldiers’ dictatorship—“France’s Cromwell.”

After sharp exchanges in the hall, Deputy Buzot—out of argunts—fell back. On Lafayette’s side stood a host of allies from the Club of 1789 (forerunner of the Feuillants): Sieyès, Talleyrand, Comte de Mirabeau, Bailly, Barnave, the Lath brothers, and others.

anwhile, Buzot found few friends among the ultra-left. Even the nearby deputies Pétion and Robespierre sat tight-lipped. President Prieur clearly favored André—his fellow Rémois—and warned Buzot not to mix private grudges into affairs of state.

“Why the silence?” Buzot raged back at the Jacobin Club. “You wanted a force pledging itself to the Assembly—this regint is perfect—so long as you strip André’s influence!”

Pétion and Robespierre exchanged a glance and said nothing, waiting for the storm to blow out.

Brissot, having heard the story, explained:

“Money, my friend. The Constituent Assembly has a fatal defect—it holds no purse. It cannot even cover mbers’ stipends without asking others. National revenue sits in the Finance Ministry and obeys the Tuileries; local taxes belong to local authorities; remittances to the central Assembly are paltry—by early October this year, under 2,000,000 livres.

“A few days ago I learned from a friend that André’s submission to the Minister of War puts the regint’s budget over 3,000,000 livres. Granted, much padding may be there; still, I believe the true cost is not less than 2,000,000. Tell , Buzot—will you pay it yourself, or will the Assembly?”