'With my kit, sir.'
'Then that's where it can stay.You're Private Macon from now on.'
The soldier's eyes widened in surprise. 'You can't do that!'
'I'm your new commander,' Napoleon growled.'I can do what I like, Private.'
'No.' Macon shook his head. 'I protest.'
'Protest noted, and you're on a charge for insubordination.' Before the man could reply Napoleon turned to one of the other men. 'Name?'
'Private Barbet, sir.' The man stood to attention, as stiffly as he could.
'Right then, Barbet, who's the senior officer in the camp?'
'The officers are in Ollioules, sir.'
'Ollioules?'
'At the inn, sir.'
Napoleon's expression darkened. 'What kind of a miserable excuse for soldiers are you lot?'
The three soldiers stared straight ahead silently, not daring to meet his gaze.
'Pah!' Napoleon spat on the ground. 'You're a fucking disgrace!'
'What the hell's going on here?' a voice called out behind the soldiers, and an instant later a young sergeant thrust his way through the soldiers and stopped in surprise as he caught sight of Napoleon.
'Name?'
The sergeant snapped smartly to attention. 'Sergeant Junot, sir! Senior staff clerk to the commander of the artillery.'
'Ah! Then you work for me.'
'Sir?'
Napoleon drew out his notice of appointment and handed it to Sergeant Junot. 'I am Captain Buona Parte, the new commander of artillery.'
Junot glanced over the document and handed it back as Napoleon gestured towards Macon. 'My first order to you is to enter it into the journal that this man is reduced to the rank of private and put on a charge for insubordination. Fine him a week's pay and give him a week on latrine duties. Got that?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Very good. Next, I want you to send someone to find my officers and have them report back here immediately. Once that's done you come back to me with a notebook. I'll be over there, inspecting the guns.'
'Yes, sir.' Junot saluted and turned towards the large tent in the centre of the camp. Napoleon turned back to the three soldiers. 'Find the rest of the men. I want everyone on parade at once. Go!'
Napoleon strode off towards the guns, trying hard not to smile. He was pleased with himself. The first impression these men would have of him was as a stern disciplinarian, and that was just what he wanted them to think. He needed quick results from his new command. Unless he could show his superiors that he was a man who got things done swiftly and effectively, then they would not hesitate to replace him when the Army of the Alps got round to sending someone to take over from the injured Captain Dommartin.
As he had observed from Carteaux's position, the guns, limbers and wagons had been left in a disorganised jumble and the draught animals were grazing amongst the equipment. A mule raised its head to glance at the young officer as he began to inspect the guns, then lowered its muzzle and continued to graze disinterestedly. As soon as Sergeant Junot returned, Napoleon began dictating detailed notes as they moved through the artillery park, scrutinising each gun carriage and caisson minutely. When they had completed the task Napoleon glanced over the notes.
'Twenty-six cannon, of various calibres. Four are unserviceable, awaiting repairs.' He glanced up. 'Why hasn't the field forge repaired them?'
'We don't have a field forge, sir.'
'What?' Napoleon shook his head. 'How the hell can an army artillery train function without a forge?'
'The general had promised Captain Dommartin he would see to it, sir.'
'Did he? How long ago?'
'A month, sir.'
Napoleon exhaled sharply through clenched teeth. 'A month… Right, then I'll have to see to that myself. Next thing, how many men are on the strength?'
Junot replied at once, 'Three hundred and thirteen men, including you, sir. Of those, two hundred and ninety- eight are fit for duty.'
Napoleon looked at the sergeant with approval. Here was a man who seemed to respond at once to a challenge. 'And what proportion of the men are like those three I came across by the fire? I assume they aren't regulars.'
'No, sir.They're volunteers. A third of the men are volunteers. The rest are regulars or naval gunners.'
'Any other good news for me, Sergeant?'
Junot smiled. 'Does that mean I shouldn't mention that we don't have enough draught animals to haul the guns, nor enough tools to maintain them, and there's hardly any powder and shot for the guns that we do have?'
Napoleon took off his hat and ran a hand through his dark, lank hair. 'I see. Right then, it seems that we're about to become very busy in the next few days.'
'Yes, sir.' Sergeant Junot nodded. 'It's about time.'
Napoleon punched him lightly on the shoulder. 'Good man! Now then, I think I'd better let the men know what's in store for them. Go and announce me.'
Sergeant Junot ran off and Napoleon waited a moment before he replaced his hat, clasped his hands behind his back and set off for the open ground in front of the tents.At his approach Sergeant Junot shouted, 'Commanding officer present!'
Napoleon's keen eyes noted that some of the men moved with a purpose to take up their positions, but far too many shambled into place with a diffidence that wounded his sense of professionalism.
'Move yourselves!' Junot bellowed at them.
Napoleon walked down the front rank, scrutinising his new command, especially the four lieutenants that stood in front of their divisions. One, an aged man in a faded uniform, was clearly drunk and had great trouble standing to attention. Napoleon made his way back down the line, and stopped abruptly in front of the drunk man.
'Name?'
'My name?' The lieutenant slurred. 'My name is Lieutenant Charles de Foncette, Captain, sir.'
'You are drunk, are you not?'
The man grinned. 'Yes, my captain.'
Napoleon quickly stepped up to him and thrust hard against the man's chest. Lieutenant de Foncette flew backwards and sprawled on his back, the impact driving the air from his lungs in an explosive gasp. Immediately he threw up, over his face and down his front.
Napoleon pointed to the nearest men. 'You and you, throw this fat bastard out of my camp.Take him up to headquarters and leave him there. He can send someone for his possessions when he sobers up.' Naploeon waved his hand impatiently. 'Well? What are you waiting for?'
As two men reluctantly helped the foul-smelling officer to his feet and half dragged him away, Napoleon turned to face the others. Inside his chest, his heart beat wildly.This was the moment of truth. His future depended on what he did in the very next moments. If he spoke well then these men would accept him as their leader. If he failed to appeal to that spirit in soldiers that made them achieve great things in the face of almost any adversity, then this opportunity to spur his career forward would be lost. Napoleon drew a deep breath and began.
'Soldiers! Before you lies the enemy. The traitors of Toulon, who have betrayed their birthright, and sold it to the enemies of France. Our foe has the advantage of numbers, formidable defences and the fire support of the most powerful navy in the world. To an outsider our situation might seem to be a cause for despair. What can this army achieve against such an apparently impregnable fortress?' He paused long enough for the rhetorical effect of his words to sink into their hearts, and then pressed home. 'This army can achieve nothing, so long as it continues in such a slovenly, unsoldierly and desperate state as I discovered in this camp. My God! Even the camp followers have made more effort than you. And if the enemy ever launches an attack on the army that surrounds Toulon, I'd put good money on the camp followers being a tougher proposition for the enemy than you! Gentlemen, simply put,
