Chapter 518: Napoleon's Bloodbath in Corsica
Yet all of this came at the cost of destroying the National Guard.
Napoleon's heart churned with turmoil. Was he truly going to do this? Without the National Guard, the Corsican independence movement would lose its backbone.
His gaze fell on the large headline of the Ajaccio Daily:
"Corsican Parliament Passes Law to Dissolve the National Guard by Overwhelming Majority."
He frowned deeply.
It wasn't his decision to crush the National Guard; it was the folly of the Corsican Parliament, which had passed such a law. Among those who voted in favor, at least half were members of the independence movement.
In other words, the independence movement had destroyed its own foundation.
Napoleon inhaled deeply. Paoli had fallen into disgrace—or perhaps, he had never been honorable to begin with. The independence movement was rotten to the core, and they had lost the ability to achieve Corsican independence.
If he stayed with the independence movement, he would never achieve greatness.
The thought gave him pause.
Why, at this moment, was he thinking about greatness?
Clutching the ship's railing, Napoleon examined his heart with unprecedented honesty.
Was it truly only about seeing Corsica become a republic?
After hesitating for several seconds, he shook his head slightly. It seemed that all along, he had merely wanted to use Corsican independence as a stepping stone to secure a prominent position in its government.
After all, he had grown up in Brienne, near Paris, and lived like a proper Frenchman. His life had been far better than that of most Corsicans. Perhaps giving other Corsicans the same opportunities he'd had was the true way to grant them freedom and prosperity.
Suddenly, Napoleon felt a sense of relief and turned to return to his cabin.
Starting as the interim commander of the Corsican military garrison wasn't such a bad beginning, he thought. Once he climbed higher, he could help his homeland develop even further.
Outskirts of Asco, Northern Corsica
"Colonel, I really cannot let you enter the city," said a well-dressed man with a silver cane tucked under his arm. He looked apologetically at Cesare Colonna Paoli. "You know the parliament has forbidden your troops..."
"You're a member of the independence movement too!" Cesare grabbed the Asco municipal commissioner's arm and pointed toward the temporary encampment in the distance. "Our soldiers need supplies. We have less than a week's worth of food left."
"It is precisely as a member of the movement that I've come to see you," the man replied. "But neither I, nor the town hall, nor the merchants' guild can defy the law. Please understand."
The Corsican Parliament had been elected by the people, and its decisions carried unquestionable authority among Corsicans. Years of propaganda by the liberals had instilled in the populace the belief that "the parliament represents me." So how could one oppose oneself?
As a result, the National Guard, once held in high regard, now struggled even to gain entry to towns. Gone were the days when Corsicans greeted them warmly with food and wine.
In fact, after the parliament's law to dissolve the National Guard took effect, more than a quarter of its members had deserted and returned home. The number of deserters continued to grow.
After all, their leaders in the independence movement had also voted in favor of the law. Without any clear leadership, morale among the soldiers plummeted.
"At least give us some bread and wine," Cesare pleaded in frustration. "For God's sake."
The commissioner hesitated, considering whether to spend his own money to buy supplies to placate the National Guard, when a mounted scout rode up urgently.
"Colonel, we've spotted French forces five miles to the north—approximately 2,000 men."
Cesare's face turned pale. "Did you communicate with them?"
There hadn't been any conflict between the Corsican National Guard and the French garrison for a long time—mainly because the National Guard couldn't match them in strength. This could just be a routine French troop movement.
The scout's voice was grave: "They refused contact, sir."
Hearing this, the lieutenant colonel and other officers gathered anxiously around.
"Colonel, it seems they're here for us."
"We only have 1,300 soldiers. A direct fight would be disastrous..."
"Colonel, we should retreat into Mount Rous."
Corsica's terrain was mostly mountainous, with over 80% of the island covered by rugged peaks. Only the coastal plains near the Mediterranean were suitable for habitation.
In the past, whenever the National Guard faced a French siege, they would retreat into the mountains. Their familiarity with the terrain, coupled with support from mountain villages, allowed them to evade capture and exhaust French forces.
Eventually, the French would tire of the high costs and withdraw, allowing the National Guard to reemerge.
Now positioned north of Mount Rous, they could retreat into the mountains within a day. But Cesare hesitated.
In recent weeks, every village and town they'd passed had refused to aid them. After the Earl of Buttafuoco's extensive propaganda campaign, the National Guard had become the island's pariahs.
Cesare looked toward the distant city of Asco. If the National Guard retreated into the mountains and the villages refused to provide food, his 1,300 men might starve.
More importantly, he had another mission to complete.
Sending the Asco commissioner away, Cesare called an emergency meeting. He addressed the officers:
"We've fought the French many times before—they're not invincible.
"We must defeat them here and continue south to Ajaccio. We need to force those foolish parliamentarians to repeal the law. That's the only way for the Guard to survive!"
The officers exchanged uneasy glances but eventually nodded in agreement.
They had often triumphed over the French garrison stationed in Corsica. What they didn't realize was that this time, they were facing the terrifying "Corsican Monster."
With their current numbers, even doubling their forces wouldn't make much difference. It would be like lambs challenging a lion.
Through his telescope, Napoleon observed the National Guard's encampment and smiled faintly.
The intelligence bureau's report was accurate—the Guard was indeed near Asco. Acting on this tip, Napoleon had landed at Calvi, the closest port, and marched rapidly for two and a half days to catch up.
A staff officer approached briskly and saluted.
"Commander, our scouts report that the enemy is setting up defenses. It appears they intend to fight."
Napoleon's mind raced. It seemed his mission to eliminate them would soon be complete.
He motioned for an aide to bring a map and pointed to a high ground to the west.
"Send the artillery to this position—"
He stopped mid-sentence, raising his hand to silence himself.
"Wait... this might be an opportunity."
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