Life of Being a Crown Prince in France - Chapter 1251 - 1156: Major Napoleon

Chapter 1251: Chapter 1156: Major Napoleon

Napoleon held his head in agony, whispering softly, “God! If I hadn’t violated the military order back then, I would have been the one to go to Egypt.

“Imagine fighting in that endless desert, leaning on the Pyramid, using the cannon to fiercely batter those barbarians, what an exhilarating war! God, even if it means going as an ordinary soldier…”

He was born a soldier; his life is fulfilled only in war after war, and since coming to this small island, every minute and second has tortured him, nearly driving him insane.

Desiree suddenly grabbed his hand, “Bonnie, are cannons all you care about? You haven’t even kissed me.”

“See, I was just caught up in excitement.” Napoleon smiled as he walked around the table, wrapping his arm around her waist, “I think about you every day.”

But Desiree turned away, fell silent for over ten seconds, then sighed heavily, “Bonnie, actually, my father wants me to…”

She choked up, “He wants me to marry Baron Kruze.”

Napoleon abruptly released her, as if scalded, “Why? Who is that man? Is Mr. Clary so eager to sweep me into the rubbish heap?”

Desiree grasped his hand, tears flowing continuously, “Father says this is your tomb… I, I’ve been delaying for half a year, using every excuse, I’m really at my limit, Bonnie…”

“No, no…” Napoleon staggered back.

Previously, he was infatuated with her appearance and her family’s status, thinking she could never leave him, but now it felt like a heavy blow.

“Shame… What a shame. No, this is all my fault!” Napoleon slammed his fist on the table, “If it weren’t for my stupidity then, we should have been married long ago… I ruined it all myself.”

Yes, he said so, but after being promoted to General, he already felt Desiree was beneath him. Yet now he only wanted to possess her forever.

“No, Bonnie! You didn’t mean to…”

Napoleon’s voice was low and despairing, “I beg you not to marry that Baron, just give me some more time. I swear, I’ll give you a stable life…”

“It’s useless, I only have three days.” Desiree kept shaking her head, “Even if you were just an ordinary soldier, I would marry you without hesitation. But here, in this ’tomb’, we have no future.”

She wiped a tear, “I came here just to see you one last time before stepping into the abyss…”

“Ordinary soldier…” Napoleon instinctively repeated, “Soldier? Yes, soldier.”

The image of Major Garell flashed through his mind, suddenly realizing something, he hurriedly said to Desiree, “I will not disappoint you!”

Two hours later.

Napoleon stood before Garell, head lowered, “I beg you to deliver this letter to the Crown Prince, I swear to spend the rest of my life making up for past mistakes…”

Garell tucked the letter of repentance into his pocket, looking toward the other end of the vineyard, “You should thank Miss Clary. It’s her contribution to Paris’s education that made the Crown Prince consider giving you an opportunity.”

Napoleon immediately widened his eyes, nodding excitedly, “Thanks to His Highness’s compassion, even letting me be a soldier is fine!”

“His Highness gives you two options.” Garell stared at him, “One is to go to Mantua to manage the fortress’s military supply depot. The other is to go to Saint Louis Louisiana as a camp leader.”

Napoleon thought for only two seconds, then loudly said, “Please convey to the Crown Prince, I hope to go to North America.”

Garell nodded.

Following the Crown Prince’s instructions, if Mr. Bonaparte chooses to go to Italy, then let him stay on Elba Island for a few more years—Napoleon, as the former Italian Front Army Commander, still holds some influence there. Choosing Mantua indicates he still has a “restless heart.”

Garell stood up, handed Napoleon the General Staff’s document, “Then Major Bonaparte, please enjoy your time with Miss Clary, we’ll set off for New Orleans in two days.”

…

Iran’s northeastern border, Salahis.

The Cossack Cavalry, stretching in a queue several kilometers long, led their war horses, trudging wearily through the desert sands.

Every two to three hundred meters, there would be a war horse falling dead.

Yes, this Russian army tasked with attacking India has gone three days without supplies.

In such desert terrain, lack of water and food is more deadly than encountering enemy cannon volleys.

Commander General Nikolai Bakhov turned disheartened to ask the staff, “Still haven’t reached Muru?”

Muru is the city northwest of Bukhara responsible for logistics and supply for this segment of Russia’s march.

The staff equally downcast replied, “Not yet, General. I sent another batch to Muru this morning, there should be a response.”

Bakhov glanced at the sand dunes ahead, asking again, “How far to Hale?”

“Approximately a three-day journey, General.” The staff hesitated a bit before adding, “At this rate, fear it might take four days.”

The nearby officer whispered complaints, “If supplies don’t come, in four days we’ll be buried in this desert…”

Bakhov raised his hand intending to lash him with a whip, but held back to conserve strength, slowly retracting his hand.

The complaining officer kept muttering, “If I die in this damned place, Anton and Oleg might not even afford college tuition. Damn it.”

The officer behind chimed in, “Lieutenant Colonel Malaveyev, stop crying poverty, your family has over fifty hectares.”

Malaveyev slumped over the saddle, shaking his head, “It was manageable before, but now with ’local administration taxes’, can’t even save up a thousand Rubles a year.

“I heard when leaving Orenburg, our Emperor might impose ’special taxes’ soon; listen, no effort even to name it—sure enough, another ’barber’s’ suggestion.”

The officer behind spurred his ride to his side, “Yeah, even nobles have to pay taxes now. People like me with little land struggle more, those supervisors wish they could hang us upside down and shake all the Gold Coins out.”

They, like all Russian officers, are victims of Paul I’s reforms.

Nobles who previously didn’t pay taxes lost privileges, forced to bear additional tax burdens.

Meanwhile, Paul I also scrutinized military officials for ghost salaries and embezzlement, deploying officers from his guard to inspect soldier by soldier.

Though well-intentioned, Russian officers’ salaries rank lowest in Europe, yet have to self-fund military gear and ammunition supplies.