Chapter 39: The Road to Lyon
Lancelot stepped onto the command flatcar—once a cattle wagon, now transformed into a mobile headquarters. A large map of southern Francois territory had been nailed to the interior wall. Colored pins marked rail junctions, river crossings, telegraph lines, and suspected rebel strongholds.
Alicia was already inside, poring over the logistics manifest with a pencil between her teeth.
"We’re sending food ahead to the villages," she said, looking up. "Civilians along the route will either welcome us or at least not resist. If we feed them, they’ll remember."
"Clever as ever," Lancelot replied.
"The mobile field kitchens are ready," she continued. "Pulled on flatbeds, steam-fed, built with quick-deploy chimneys. We can feed two thousand men in a single sitting per train."
Montiel tapped the map. "We’ll need to secure the Rhône River bridge near Orange. That’s the choke point."
"We’ll hit it at dusk," Lancelot said without hesitation. "Send a fast detachment with engineers. Disable their telegraph lines. Once that bridge is ours, the route to Lyon is wide open."
The train jolted into motion with a shrill whistle. Outside, cheers echoed from the ranks as fresh banners were raised along the engine’s sides—deep red with Aragon’s steel gear insignia. It was not just a military march. It was a parade of progress.
Two nights later, Avignon lay before them, half-abandoned, its mayor nowhere to be found.
Aragonese cavalrymen rode through the streets unopposed. The local garrison had vanished, reportedly retreating north to regroup. What remained were frightened shopkeepers, scattered papers, and empty municipal halls.
Lancelot’s army did not slow. They left behind a delegation—civic engineers, a magistrate, and a detachment of the Urban Guard—to restore order and establish provisional administration.