The men of the Royal Dragoon Regiment had been simmering with resentment for some time. They were already frustrated enough at having to dismount and fight on foot in streets like these.
To reduce casualties, Franz had even ordered the regular troops to shelter behind the barricades. In his view, that was perfectly reasonable. After all, people in later generations would think there was nothing shameful about letting the enemy come to them and get themselves killed—it was actually pretty satisfying.
But soldiers back then didn't see it that way. At least, those who had been fed ideas about so-called honor since childhood didn't. They only felt that being pinned down by militia was humiliating.
By now, they had long since grown impatient.
"Let's show those Italians our courage!"
Colonel Monta rolled up his sleeves and drew his saber, only for Franz to push him back into his seat.
"What kind of commander leads a charge personally?"
"Your Highness! This is all about which side has higher morale. As long as we push them back, they're as good as beaten, even if I die!
Besides, aren't you here?"
Colonel Monta tried to explain why his actions made sense, leaving Franz at a loss.
"How am I supposed to promote you if you act like this?"
"You're going to promote me?" Colonel Monta asked excitedly.
"That's not the point! I'm telling you not to go and get yourself killed!" Franz was already at a loss for words over the man's thought process.
"Oh."
Meanwhile, on the battlefield, close combat put them at an even greater disadvantage than exchanging rifle fire. Most importantly, the Venetian rebels and insurgents had not only been kept under the Austrian army's fire, their morale was already on the verge of collapse.
Worse still, although they had