At the same time, in Turin.
Bellevue slapped the military report he had just received onto the table, then backed away until he was sitting on the throne, unable to believe his eyes.
The rebels had actually dared to ambush them between Turin and Savigliano. That meant they had broken through the Savigliano defensive line long ago.
Could those rebels—the guerrillas—launch a direct assault on Turin?
The question took root in Bellevue's mind. He could no longer bear it.
"Bring General Lazi and his Guards back at once!"
"But, Your Excellency, if we pull more troops back from the front, the Austrians will certainly attack. Then we'll be in the desperate position of not having enough men."
"Weren't you the ones who said whoever moved first would lose?"
Bellevue barked the question, but the experts from Saint-Cyr Military Academy were no ordinary men. Accustomed to arguing with others, they refused to back down.
"Your Excellency, circumstances have changed. The Austrians have added nearly two hundred thousand men, while we've withdrawn sixty thousand from the front in several batches. The disparity between our forces is too great for ordinary tactical principles to apply."
"Spare me the useless talk. Just tell me this: can't you beat that old man across the river?"
Bellevue worked in political affairs, not technical debate. Turning a technical issue into a question of confidence was what he did best.
Provoking people was his usual tactic. European soldiers of this era were rather touchy about their pride, and his words also let him shift the blame onto someone else.
But Bellevue had forgotten that this was a battlefield, and that the men before him were so-called experts, not the officers he usually dealt with.
Officers had to take responsibility for their subordinates. Experts, on the other hand, wouldn't