March 4, 1848, Milan.
The streets were eerily quiet. According to the informants, today would be the day of the Milan uprising.
Marshal Radetzky had declared martial law at once. Personally, it was a painful decision for him, since the old marshal loved this land dearly.
In fact, over the past week, Marshal Radetzky had already dismissed a great many soldiers from Lombardy.
It was an act of mercy, meant to keep brothers from fighting one another, and a way to remove unstable elements from the army. After all, the deepest wounds were often dealt by one's own people.
"Children, take the money and leave with your families. At the very least, don't take up arms against the Empire. This isn't a request; it's advice."
As a senior statesman and the man chiefly responsible for Lombardy, Radetzky knew perfectly well what Franz intended to do, and he would carry out the General Staff's orders without fail.
Even so, he didn't want to destroy this beautiful city unless there was no other choice.
But as the alarm bells rang out, battle became imminent, and the people began surging toward City Hall and the armory like madmen.
On one side stood the people, carrying crude weapons beneath the Tricolour Flag. On the other stood the army, prepared and waiting. The outcome of their clash was easy to foresee.
Within just two hours, blood and corpses carpeted the entire street. The narrow roads severely limited the rebels' advantage in numbers, while magnifying the power of artillery to the utmost.
No carbon-based life-form could withstand cannon fire at close range. Grapeshot exploded above the crowd, and countless steel balls, propelled by gunpowder, burrowed into human flesh.
The wails and screams went on without end, but this was only the beginning. Solid shot, explosive shells,