The Radiant Republic

The main force of the Elbe Army Group, as planned, reached the outskirts of Leipzig on February eleventh. It was a commercial free city under the Electorate of Saxony, situated in the centre of the Leipzig Basin in eastern Germany, at the confluence of the White Elster and the Pleisse. To the northeast of the city lay the Mulde and the Elbe. The greater Leipzig region was crisscrossed with rivers, its transport links convenient and its population dense. Agriculture, livestock, and commerce were especially developed—more than enough to supply the Elbe Army Group’s one hundred thousand men with food, drink, ammunition, and other necessities.

In 1507, Emperor Maximilian I of the Holy Roman Empire issued an edict granting Leipzig priority market rights within a radius of fifteen leagues. As a result, Leipzig’s role as a trade fair city grew ever more prominent. Though in past decades it had repeatedly been trampled by war, driven by the ambitions of successive Prussian monarchs, it remained the most famous city of fairs and commerce in Germany.

At the army camp outside Leipzig, Basseville, in his capacity as the envoy for a marriage proposal, was introducing Saxon city officials, local deputies, and noble landowners one by one to the Elbe Army Group’s commander, General Moncey; the deputy commander, General Pierre (General Hoche); the Inspector-General of Artillery, General Senarmont; the gendarmerie commander, General Wade; and the acting Chief of the General Staff, Colonel Scharnhorst.

Amid laughter, songs, and mutual flattery, host and guests remained entangled for nearly an hour before Basseville finally saw the visitors out of the Army Group’s camp and returned with Moncey and the others to the meeting room.

“I apologise, gentlemen,” Basseville explained with a hint of embarrassment as he looked at the exhausted officers. “We need the strong support of our Saxon allies, and so we have disrupted your rest.”

Moncey only smiled and said nothing. He glanced at Hoche, who understood at once and took over the topic.

“In truth, the Army Group is very grateful for Saxony’s help,” Hoche said. “At least the quartermasters need not worry that our logistics will fail us.”

Under André’s edict, once the Elbe Army Group reached Leipzig successfully, Basseville would become one of seven members of the Elbe Army Group’s decision committee. Besides Moncey, Hoche, Senarmont, Wade, Colonel Scharnhorst, and Basseville, the seventh member was Talleyrand, far away in Berlin.

Basseville and Talleyrand were both civilians by status—diplomats. Just as soldiers were not permitted to meddle in politics on their own authority, civilians were likewise forbidden to interfere in any way with the Army Group’s military affairs. Basseville’s primary duty was external liaison, especially coordination with allies such as Saxony. Talleyrand’s mission was to remain in Berlin and, with MI6 assistance, quietly incite anti–Wilhelm II political forces within Prussia.

At a temporary meeting of the decision committee, Basseville reported the latest intelligence from Berlin.

“Talleyrand is convinced that if the Army Group successfully encircles and destroys the main Prussian force assembled around Potsdam, the peace faction—led by Prince Heinrich of Prussia, the King’s brother, and by cabinet ministers such as Alvensleben, Struensee, and Lucchesini—will take over the capital’s defence. They will follow the precedent of the Seven Years’ War and declare Berlin an open city, rather than resist to the bitter end.

“At present, the nominal commander of the Prussian army remains the Duc de Brunswick. However, he is still in his estate within his own duchy, convalescing. It has been confirmed that he has suffered a stroke, not an ordinary chill. The commander of the Prussian army at Potsdam is Marshal Wichard von Möllendorf, who is said to be of Bavarian origin.”

After Basseville finished, Moncey turned his gaze to the gendarmerie commander. Wade spoke at once.

“According to intelligence confirmation, the Prussian Army Command Headquarters and their King both believe the false report that the French will hold the left-bank Rhine line until the spring of 1793 and wait for Prussia to attack. Therefore, the total strength deployed along the Potsdam–Brandenburg line still remains at roughly seventy to eighty thousand. Only about half of them fought in the 1792 invasion of France. The rest are replacement recruits with almost no combat experience.”

General Wade added, “However, under the Prussian Kingdom’s mobilisation act, they can double their western strength within two weeks and raise it to one hundred and fifty thousand. If we add the forces that can be recalled from Königsberg in East Prussia, then in two to three weeks the Army Group may have to face at least two hundred thousand Prussian troops.”

While Wade was speaking, Colonel Scharnhorst had already hung the operational map on one side wall of the meeting room. The moment Wade finished, he stepped forward and, using the map, continued with the Army Group’s dispositions.

“…It is precisely for these reasons that the Army Group staff has set the objective as follows: within one week, encircle and destroy the eighty thousand-strong main Prussian force along the Potsdam–Brandenburg line—or, at the very least, inflict such heavy damage that they can no longer form an effective operational grouping—thereby compelling Berlin to sign the peace treaty we require.

“Once the army has reached Leipzig, the fact that the Elbe Army Group is approaching the Prussian frontier can no longer be concealed. However, under the original standing plan, from the moment we crossed east of the Rhine, the Army Group has externally been referred to as the Army of the Meuse. MI6 agents and diplomatic envoys are actively working to convince the Prussian General Staff and their King that Command Headquarters has dispatched only thirty to forty thousand men, with the sole purpose of launching a raid on Berlin.

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“Once our forward troops take Dessau on the southern bank of the Elbe, the Army Group will have only one hundred and twenty kilometres between itself and Berlin, and the terrain is nothing but open plain and forest. There are no defensive fortresses or strongholds between us. Given Prussian habits of deployment, that old and conservative Marshal Möllendorf will concentrate all his strength on the plain south of Potsdam to block our advance on Berlin. As for the likely battlefield, I estimate it will be along the Michendorf–Nuthetal line.”

General Hoche suddenly rose. He studied the map for a long moment, then turned back with a tight brow and challenged the director of operations.

“Why not follow the original plan—detour through the Zossen and Wildau line to attack Berlin from the southeast—instead of changing to a set-piece battle against the Prussian army at Michendorf and Nuthetal? Both flanks there are dense forest, with large lakes and rivers. Only a narrow corridor in the centre allows the Army Group to pass north. If we fail to break through in time, we will easily end up locked in a disadvantageous standoff. Three weeks later, the Prussians streaming in will instead form a great encirclement around us.”

It seemed Scharnhorst had been waiting for precisely this question. He answered with complete confidence.

“General Pierre—no, my apologies, General Hoche.” A ripple of good-natured laughter ran through the room.

To disrupt Prussian intelligence collection, General Hoche’s external designation at present was the obscure “General Pierre”, meant to conceal the fact that the First Army (formerly the Army of the North) had reached the Prussian front. As for the former Army of the Moselle, which had been dissolved, Northern Command Headquarters had announced that it was merged into the former Army of the Rhine, now designated the Third Army.

It should be noted that all of these measures were parts of a carefully designed programme of strategic deception and tactical fraud devised by the General Staff. The aim was to induce the Prussians—who believed themselves “superior in numbers”—to abandon passive defence and come out to fight, rather than retreat into forts and cities and drag the Elbe Army Group into a war of attrition.

Hoche returned to his seat with a faint smile and gestured for the director of operations to continue.

Scharnhorst went on, “The reason for changing the plan is this: yesterday afternoon, Monsieur Basseville told me that, with the assistance of the Military Intelligence Office and Engineer Fulton, four inland single-masted merchant vessels have been successfully converted into ‘Meuse No.1’ steam gunboats, and the trial runs were successful. These four gunboats together mount fifty-two 12-pound guns. Early yesterday morning they departed Dresden, entered the Elbe, and will cooperate with General Lefebvre’s forward troops to seize the port of Dessau, sixty kilometres away.”

Under the acting Chief of the General Staff’s revised plan, once these four steam gunboats moved north up the Elbe and, using the convenient artificial canals, successfully entered Lake Schwielow and Lake Havel, they would pose a massive threat to the Prussian right. If conditions allowed, the gunboat squadron could even assist the Elbe Army Group in landing operations against the enemy’s belly and rear, shaking their morale and seizing Potsdam to menace Berlin directly.

…

Dessau lay near the point where the Mulde flowed into the Elbe, less than sixty kilometres north of Leipzig. After the seventeenth century, it served as the seat of the rulers of the House of Anhalt, whether styled Comte, prince, or Duc.

For centuries, the House of Anhalt existed as a protected state under Saxony, much like the Thuringian princes to the west. After Frederick the Great captured Dresden, the Comte d’Anhalt changed allegiance and attached himself to the stronger Prussian kingdom. A few years ago, King Wilhelm II of Prussia, despite the vehement protest of Elector Friedrich August I of Saxony, insisted on confirming Duc Léopold III d’Anhalt-Dessau as Duc d’Anhalt-Dessau, granting him a standing in state rank not inferior to Saxony’s.

At this moment, atop a tower on Dessau’s walls, the fifty-three-year-old Duc Léopold III d’Anhalt-Dessau watched the unending flow of French soldiers approaching him. They sang all kinds of songs—most of them incoherent—and marched forward in a disorderly column. The human tide spread across the limestone road like a carpet, and countless helmets and caps bobbed in rhythm, a spectacle of sheer scale.

Yet when the French discovered that the stone bridge over the river had been demolished by the defenders, it was as if a pot of porridge had been overturned. Shouting and neighing erupted, and the whole scene dissolved into chaos. After waiting a full forty minutes, the foolish French commander finally decided to ford the river. During the delay, sutlers and camp prostitutes in gaudy and mismatched clothing ran back and forth among the troops. Ignoring the gendarmes’ objections, they traded with officers and men in secret.

“This is the French army that forced forty thousand Prussians to surrender?” Duc Léopold III d’Anhalt-Dessau was genuinely puzzled. How had the shrewd Duc de Brunswick lost to Frenchmen who looked so undisciplined and could not keep their formations?

“How many troops do you see?” Duc d’Anhalt-Dessau asked, turning his head.

The generals and staff officers on both sides lowered their spyglasses and reported: among the ten thousand-odd French soldiers before them, apart from two light cavalry regiments, the rest were line infantry with poor discipline and little training. There were a few guns, but they were all small 4-pounders—no more than an understrength artillery company. Seeing this, the commanders pressed forward to volunteer, eager to march out and drive the French intruders from their soil.

Léopold III d’Anhalt-Dessau was tempted as well. As a Prussian prince and the ruler of Anhalt, he wished to emulate his father, Leopold II, who had been a Prussian Marshal and one of Frederick the Great’s most talented commanders. Although the old Duc had died of illness when Léopold III d’Anhalt-Dessau was only ten, the duchy’s soldiers still spoke reverently of the old Marshal’s brilliant exploits.

At the Battle of Hohenfriedberg, Leopold II had led twenty-one infantry battalions in a perfectly aligned line straight into Austrian cannon fire. They advanced without fear, endured casualties, and did not fire a shot until they had marched into effective musket range. Then, at a single command, they loosed a volley. The fire was said to be so destructive that the first discharge alone brought down half the enemy…

After a brief consideration, Léopold III d’Anhalt-Dessau decided to take the field in person and restore his father’s honour beneath the walls. Soon, more than ten thousand ducal troops marched out from the protection of the city and formed an immaculate line, preparing to launch a fierce attack against the French force two kilometres away.

At that very moment, four vessels disguised as Saxon single-masted river merchants—already hidden since before dawn on the southern side of the Elbe near a wild backwater—revealed their true fangs. They suddenly raised the French tricolour, threw off their gun covers, and trained fifty-two guns upon the unsuspecting ducal troops…

At one o’clock in the afternoon, the Leipzig camp received a victory report from General Lefebvre: under the overwhelming fire support of the four gunboats, the Army Group’s forward force had annihilated fifteen thousand enemy troops outside Dessau. With no way out, Duc d’Anhalt-Dessau finally declared unconditional surrender. French casualties, meanwhile, were fewer than two hundred.