Saving Austria, Part One

Chapter 25: Saving Austria, Part One

The weather in Vienna was especially cold in January 1848, and the snow and ice had yet to melt.

The cold wind brushed his face, and Franz shivered. The noble officers behind him were even worse off; many were already trembling from the cold.

If Franz hadn't been training on the grounds too, they would have run back inside to warm themselves long ago.

There was no helping it. The glory of the nobility would not allow them to retreat now.

Lieutenant General Albrecht, who was in charge of training, wore a satisfied smile. He hadn't expected Franz to get this bunch of pampered officers to take part in training this way.

The bitter cold was the best time to temper a person's will. Franz knew Austria's peaceful days were about to end. Once the March Revolution broke out, where would be the safest place?

Without a doubt, the barracks!

Whether they were putting down a rebellion or making a run for it, staying with the army was safer than staying in the palace.

The noble officers behind him were Franz's foundation. They didn't look reliable in the slightest, but he had to give them a try, didn't he?

When you realize your teammates are useless, don't panic or be afraid. The truth is, your enemies are even more useless!

That was where Franz got his confidence. No matter how useless the City Defense Force was, it was still an army, wasn't it?

The enemies he would face weren't a world power—not even a proper army. If the enemy could put a gun in everyone's hands, then he'd admit defeat!

"Attention!"

"Everyone, run one lap around the training grounds. Anyone who can't finish won't get breakfast!"

Albrecht issued the order coldly. Against the backdrop of the biting wind, many on the grounds felt their hearts jolt.

The training grounds were enormous. One lap was more than ten miles—a real hardship for these pampered nobles.

Before they could refuse, Franz had already taken the lead and started running. They had no choice but to grit their teeth and follow.

After all, their whole family had made a boast of it! Before training began, Franz had already hosted these officers at a banquet.

After a few drinks, each and every one of them had forgotten what they were really like. Without a second thought, they'd agreed to Franz's proposal.

And now here they were, training alongside the Crown Prince. Whoever chickened out would be the biggest coward of all. For the glory of the nobility, they had to stick it out.

Otherwise, they could get ready to become a laughingstock among the nobility! It was one thing to break a promise, but it mattered who you'd made it to!

Many were waiting for Franz to give up, so they could seize the chance to ask for the training to be scaled back. That way, they could save the Crown Prince's face without having to suffer alongside him.

Clearly, the outcome disappointed them all. Franz had been exercising since childhood, and he could handle a run of more than ten miles.

Breakfast began. Franz and the noble officers who had finished running ate bread and drank milk, quietly watching the main group still inching along at a snail's pace.

When someone collapsed and was carried away for treatment, the others still couldn't resist pointing and whispering, as if those men were a disgrace to the nobility. The rest didn't dare imitate them.

They all cared about appearances. With everyone watching, none of them wanted to admit they were useless.

Besides, Franz hadn't invited just anyone. Most of those taking part in the training were boys in their teens or early twenties. The old hands naturally weren't among them.

In Franz's view, these hotheaded young men could still be salvaged. With some guidance, they might even become the backbone of the Austrian Empire.

The old hands were another matter. No amount of training could change their nature as parasites of the empire. The more capable they were, the greater the harm they could do.

When he saw the last officer finish running, Franz didn't mock him. Instead, he applauded.

"Archduke, they did so poorly. Why are you applauding?" one officer asked, playing along.

Franz said against his conscience, "No, they didn't do poorly. The process was a little rocky, but they still stuck with it and completed the task. That's what makes a qualified soldier. Of course, their physical fitness still needs work!"

At those words, everyone's faces brightened. That was right—they'd completed the task and hadn't disgraced themselves.

One after another, they comforted themselves: a soldier's first duty was to carry out orders. What did it matter if the process was a little rocky?

Franz wasn't a fool. Why would he deliberately undermine everyone's morale? These nobles might not amount to much, but their foundations weren't bad at all.

They had received military education since childhood. With all they had seen and heard, their professional skills were better than those of most people. It was only because no one had kept them in line later that they had slowly become spoiled young men.

To save the Austrian Empire, he first had to save the next generation of Austrian nobles. Only when these people stood on their own feet could the empire truly grow strong.

Franz had wanted to join the army long ago, but he was too young—he still wasn't eighteen. If the January Revolution hadn't broken out, he wouldn't have had a reason to persuade his family.

Looking at these gullible young men, he knew the road to shaping them would be long and arduous.

There was no time left now, so he would have to make do. Surely a short, intensive training program would be enough to deal with a rabble of a crowd?

With the Labor Protection Act in place, the masses of hardworking people shouldn't fight the government to the death, should they?

Historically, the March Revolution of Vienna had been dismantled through political maneuvering. It was only after the May Revolution broke out later that the government lost control of the situation and made a strategic retreat.

"Fall in!"

Albrecht's stern voice rang out. The officers who had been resting dragged their exhausted bodies into line, arranging themselves in order at a sluggish pace.

Seeing Albrecht's face, livid with anger, Franz knew the general thought his men had disgraced him.

The formation was neat, but their spirit—or rather, their lack of it—reminded Franz of university military training. Every last one of them looked like eggplants battered by frost.

Suddenly, the corner of Albrecht's mouth curled into a faint smile. Franz knew someone was about to be in trouble.

Albrecht took his baton and walked down from the platform. A scream came from behind them.

Franz reflexively turned around. A fat man was lying on the ground in a ridiculous heap. On closer inspection, there was a footprint on his backside.

"What are you looking at?"

Albrecht's icy voice rang out, and everyone quickly looked away. This time they stood much straighter. With one chicken made an example of, no one wanted to be the second.

Even so, screams rang out now and then. Albrecht swung his baton, correcting anyone whose posture was off with a quick smack.

There was no helping it. The noble officers were all pampered types, and apart from Albrecht, whose rank as commander-in-chief was high enough, the other instructors wouldn't dare lay a hand on them.

This was a rare opportunity. If they missed it, it would be hard to find them anywhere in the barracks again.