Victory against the odds

Albanian Army commander Semiz saw the French Army Infantry Line begin to move, then looked at his own still chaotic Infantry, and his face turned ashen.

What are the cavalry doing?! He angrily raised his Telescope and looked towards the north side of the battlefield, where he saw hundreds of Albania cavalry charging towards the outnumbered French Army Infantry.

The France stood firm like rocks and launched a volley. The first twenty or thirty cavalrymen immediately tumbled and fell to the ground, raising clouds of dust.

Then, there was a faint cannon blast. Semiz couldn't find the cannon, but he saw something that looked like an arm with half a shoulder attached fly into the air amidst a spray of blood.

Since the Albania cavalry did not form a battle formation, the charging column stretched out in a sparse manner for more than two hundred Domi. The cavalrymen who were slightly further away from the French Army were obviously frightened by the sound of cannons and the screams of their own men, and immediately turned their horses and fled to the sides.

Semiz saw some dead warhorses, propelled by inertia, rush into the French Army flank, causing some chaos. A few cavalrymen who couldn't control their horses also charged forward, but were immediately bayoneted to death by French Infantry.

However, no more cavalry followed, and the French Army lines quickly closed again.

Semiz cursed under his breath, "These cowardly Albanians! If they advance another 50 paces, the main French Army force will have to retreat to support the right flank!"

However, morale involves too many factors, and once it collapses, it is extremely difficult to recover unless one can withdraw from the battlefield to regroup.

Immediately afterwards, the French Army cavalry completed their formation and charged down the gentle slope from the north.

Seeing this, the Albania cavalrymen fled even faster. The Four-Pound Cannon switched to Solid Shot and kept bombarding them from behind, spraying out plumes of sweet-smelling blood.

On the front lines of the battlefield, the Infantry Line of the Royal Guard Legion continued their steady advance, their nearly kilometer-long line almost perfectly straight, radiating an unstoppable and intimidating aura.

By this time, the Albanians left flank, after dozens of rounds of heavy bombardment by the French Army Artillery, was reduced to a pile of mangled flesh and blood, leaving behind a huge breach.

A Skirmishers Royal Guard Legion stepped out of the ranks, checked their weapons according to the manual, and then three drummers struck their War Drum and marched forward with their heads held high.

Hundreds of soldiers immediately followed in a sparse formation.

Lefebvre on the right wing ordered his men to fire two volleys behind the enemy cavalry, only to find that the enemy had already fled far away and they could not catch up at all. Turning around, they saw that the general attack had already begun on the front.

He immediately ordered his troops to assemble, and after consulting with his battalion commander, he led his Skirmishers into the main battle.

The Albania soldiers watched in terror as the French Army advanced, no longer caring about maintaining formation, and some began frantically firing at the enemy.

However, given the accuracy of Flintlock Gun, hitting a target without using a dense volley would be purely a matter of luck.

The Royal Guard Legion Infantry Line advanced until it was 70 paces from the enemy, at which point it halted on the officer's command and quickly reorganized its ranks.

Immediately, the company commanders issued the order in unison, "Ready!"

"Aim!"

"Shooting!"

A neat burst of fire erupted from the Infantry Line as nearly a thousand Bullet pierced the ranks of the Albanian Mercenaries.

"Load! Second rank, move forward three steps!"

"Prepare!"

"Aim..."

The narrow, elongated line of the Royal Guard Legion moved like a precisely operating Machines, with each rank of soldiers taking three steps forward, firing a volley, and then reloading in place.

The row of soldiers behind him immediately stepped forward, fired another volley, and reloaded.

The soldiers behind then stepped forward...

Thus, under intense firepower, the Infantry Line quickly closed in to within 50 paces of the mercenaries.

The Percussion Cap Gun displayed their terrifying power—each volley from the Infantry line took the heads of nearly a hundred mercenaries.

The heavy casualties caused Albanian Army soldiers to flee continuously from the front lines, and the nascent battle lines became even more riddled with holes.

The most tenacious few hundred-man squads remained in place to resist, while most soldiers began to retreat under the pressure of gunfire, and some had already run to the rear and were grappling with the Provo Company.

The entire formation had been reduced to a tattered rag spread out on the Atlas Mountains.

At the gap on the left flank of the Albanian Army, a French Army Skirmishers company spread out over 40 Domi, crouching low and slowly advancing, occasionally stopping to fire sniper shots.

Just as they had taken thirty or forty steps forward, a rough laugh came from behind, "Anatole, you're too dogmatic. There aren't many enemies on the other side; we should move in as quickly as possible!"

Captain Anatole turned his head and saw Lefebvre's Skirmishers, arranged in five Column, rushing past him toward the Albania positions.

"You... we're just Skirmishers..."

Lefebvre concluded with, "The only tenet of Skirmishers is flexibility. Goodbye!"

Anatole watched helplessly as Lefebvre's men surged ahead, plunging into a gap in the enemy lines. He quickly straightened up and shouted to his company, "Column! Charge forward!"

Lefebvre's company was practically pressed against the Albanians ' faces before he ordered them to deploy. During this time, more than a dozen fierce mercenaries charged forward with Pike, but the Second Lieutenant in charge of providing cover led a battalion to shoot down several of them before separating them with bayonets.

Two minutes later, Lefebvre's company had formed a somewhat disorderly line.

"Aim!"

"Shooting!"

At Lefebvre's loud command, more than 30 Percussion Cap Gun fired a volley.

The seven or eight Albanian Mercenaries were closest to him were struck as if by an invisible fist, groaning as they fell backward. The others hurriedly turned and fled.

Lefebvre commanded his company to advance several dozen meters deeper into the enemy lines, and then ordered the line to turn south, to the left flank of the Albania positions, and begin firing while compressing inward.

At this moment, Anatole's company also followed, deploying in a line formation to his flank and rear to join the battle.

The Albanian Army, already teetering on the brink of defeat on the main battlefield, was dealt another blow. Nearly 10,000 mercenaries were utterly overwhelmed by 3,000 Royal Guard Legion and were forced to retreat the South.

This is due to both the latter's more rational tactical approach and the huge gap in soldier quality and weaponry.

Under Berthier's orders, the Royal Guard Legion Artillery also began to bombard the central Albania positions. With nearly 10,000 men spread out on the open plains, they could be assured of hits with almost no aiming.

Soon, Semiz saw his left flank completely collapse, and the French Army had formed a pincer movement, squeezing a large number of soldiers into the center of the battlefield. That was precisely where the French Army artillery was bombarding them.

His face was ashen as he said to his aide, "Let Fates take the lead. Issue the order for a full retreat!"

Fates's unit was the Albanian Army's general reserve force, numbering about 1,200 men. They had previously been stationed at the rear of the main battlefield and had already completed their formation; now they began to move forward in an orderly fashion.

However, Berthier would not give them a chance to leave peacefully.

Seeing the enemy's chaotic state through his Telescope, he told the Orderly Officer, "Bring the cavalry back and prepare to pursue the routed enemy."

"Let the Infantry Line launch a bayonet charge!"

"Yes, sir!"

Joseph spotted the two companies that had cut into the enemy's left flank through his Telescope and nodded approvingly. "Whose company is that on the north side?"

Berthier said, "Your Highness, the Powder Smoke is too thick to see the flags."

Joseph observed the situation on the battlefield and offered his opinion. "The enemy seems to be retreating. Perhaps we could send those two companies deep into enemy territory to cut off their retreat."

Berthier hesitated for a moment, after all, it was only two companies, about 200 men.

"Your Highness, if we try to flank them, we're likely to run into the enemy's reserves, and they're too few in number."

Joseph nodded. "I was just saying, don't let me influence your judgment."

On the main battlefield, the Royal Guard Legion's Infantry Line fired a final volley less than thirty paces from the enemy, and then fixed bayonets to their rifles.

As the War Drum grew increasingly rapid, the officers at the front pointed their swords at the enemy and shouted, "Charge! For His Majesty the King!"

"For His Crown Prince!"

"Charge!"

The white Infantry Line immediately crashed into the Albanian Mercenaries like a surging wave. The latter were already in complete disarray and had no Courage to engage in battle—even if Courage, their loose and uneven formation wouldn't allow it.

The mercenaries at the forefront were instantly felled by bayonets, their cries of agony echoing throughout the battlefield. Those who had already retreated were terrified, their small steps turning into a frantic run.

On Lefebvre's side, the troops were advancing with orderly firing when they suddenly discovered that the enemy had given up resistance and was fleeing rapidly to the west.

He paused for a moment, then turned to his company commander not far away and said, "Anatole, it seems the enemy is about to flee!"

"Then go after them!"

Lefebvre looked westward and shook his head, saying, "We are the deepest point in enemy territory; now we should try to cut off their retreat."

"Ah?"

"Would you like to come with me?"

"What are you up to?"

Lefebvre smiled, turned to the Orderly Officer, and said, "Order the entire company to immediately regroup into Column and avoid engaging the enemy. We'll head west as quickly as possible!"

On the Albanian Army, Fates led the General Reserve in a neat line formation, letting several "Ok" (regimental soldiers) pass by, and then the white- Military Uniform Royal Guard Legion charged forward, bayonets in hand.

"Aim! Fire!"

Fates, disregarding the fact that there were still many of his own men in front of him, hastily ordered his men to open fire.

A loud explosion rang out, thick smoke billowed into the air, and dozens of Albanian Mercenaries and Royal Guard Legion fell to the ground.

The momentum of the Royal Guard Legion's charge immediately slowed down.

The battalion commander at the front frowned slightly when he saw that the Albanians had actually organized a systematic resistance.

He was preparing to rally his troops and exchange fire with the enemy when he heard someone shout from the south, "Don't be afraid! They can only fire two shots at most! In the In the Crown Prince's Name, follow me!"

The battalion commander stood up in his stirrups and, through the billowing Powder Smoke, saw a company charging towards the Albanians lines like wild bulls, without slowing down.

"Davout?" He saw the company flag and immediately gripped his riding crop tightly. "That reckless fellow! What if the enemy..."

The thought flashed through his mind, and then he heard a shout from the right wing echoing in agreement, "Let them see what Police Academy students are capable of! Charge with me!"

The battalion commander turned his head and saw that four or five companies were closely following Davout, rushing towards the enemy lines in hand-to-hand combat.

He hurriedly waved his hand at the Orderly Officer: "Order them to fire cover fire!"

The Albanian Mercenaries, worthy of being one of the most formidable legions of the Ottoman Empire, were taken aback by the overwhelming force of the Royal Guard Legion, but gritted their teeth, finished reloading, and raised their guns once more.

Fates shouted urgently, "Fire! Fire now!"

A burst of intense firelight flashed by in an instant.

As Davout was running, he heard something "whoosh" past his ear. He instinctively turned his head and saw that half of his Sergeant's face was gone. His body spun around in place from the impact of the bullet and fell into a pile of weeds.

The mercenaries' shooting resulted in over thirty casualties. This was nothing to the thousands of the Royal Guard Legion, but it had a profound psychological impact on the soldiers.

Davout, his eyes bloodshot, didn't slow his pace at all, shouting, "They don't have time to reload! Charge! Avenge our brothers!"

In reality, they were still more than fifty paces from the enemy, who might still be able to fire another shot. But he knew that retreating at this point would result in even greater losses.

We have no choice but to fight with all our might!

Those soldiers who had been hesitant immediately followed Davout's lead after hearing his words. Meanwhile, the Police Academy students nearby, seeing their fallen comrades, charged even more fiercely than before.

The Albanian Reserve scrambled to load their equipment, but when those white Military Uniform appeared twenty paces away, they could no longer remain calm.

Some men braced themselves for bayonet resistance, while others turned to call for the Pikemen —yes, the Ottoman Army still retained this melee unit. Many more, however, retreated tremblingly.

Fates personally killed two deserters, but he was completely unable to stop the rout.

Before Davout's bayonet could even touch an enemy, the Albanian Army had already dropped their weapons and fled frantically.

"Don't let them escape!" The young Davout waved his hand vigorously behind him, then fixed his gaze on Fates, who was riding on horseback, and drew his Pistol to fire at him.

After the Royal Guard Legion cavalry dispersed the Albania cavalry, they rested briefly—mainly because the horses needed to recover their strength—before regrouping and pursuing the fleeing enemy troops.

In pursuit battles, cavalry is always the main force.

After these hundreds of cavalrymen joined the fray, the Albanian Mercenaries were quickly overtaken and surrendered on their knees.

The largest group of fleeing mercenaries, numbering as many as three Ok soldiers, had retreated nearly a mile and could barely hear the shouts of their pursuers.

Just as they were about to breathe a sigh of relief, they suddenly saw a thin white line on the hill in front of them.

Those were Lefebvre and Anatole's two companies, which had deployed into a linear array there.