Reincarnated as Napoleon



As the dust settled from Napoleon's decisive victory over Quasdanovich's forces in Gavardo, his gaze shifted westward, fixed on the remaining Austrian army that awaited him.

Ever the strategic mastermind, Napoleon maintained constant communication with his detached divisions through the use of the telegraph, granting him invaluable real-time updates on their movements and positioning.

With the Austrian defeat in Gavardo behind him, Napoleon's focus sharpened as he planned his next move. The telegraph wires crackled with messages, relaying crucial information from his trusted commanders scattered across the battlefield.

The speed and precision of telegraphic communication afforded Napoleon a distinct advantage—a bird's-eye view of the ever-evolving situation. This technology bridged the gaps between his forces, enabling coordinated actions and timely decision-making.

"It seems like Wurmser is just as fixated as Beaulieu. They are pushing towards Mantua."

"Should we march towards there now, General?" Junot asked as Napoleon's gaze continued to linger on the map before him, which was filled with boxes painted with symbols of infantry, cavalry, artillery, supply depots, and strategic markers.

Napoleon shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips as he contemplated the situation.

"Non, Junot. We shall not march towards Mantua just yet. Instead, we shall bide our time and wait for our comrades to lure the Austrians deeper into their web."

Junot looked puzzled, his brow furrowing in confusion. "But General, if we strike now, we could cut off their escape routes and secure a swift victory."

Napoleon raised an eyebrow, his piercing gaze fixed on Junot. "Haste can be both a boon and a curse in war. We must remember that our ultimate goal is not just to defeat the Austrians, but to dismantle their forces entirely. To achieve this, we must ensure they are fully committed, entangled in a position from which they cannot easily extricate themselves."

"Just listen to our commander, would you, Junot?" Marmont chided lightly.

Napoleon casually waved his hand, his eyes remaining fixed on Junot. "No need to worry, Marmont. It's perfectly alright for Junot to raise questions. In fact, I encourage it."

"I apologize, General…still, this telegraph that you invented, although I haven't fully adapted to it yet, is sure to be impressive. It's like I can see them moving from here without being there."

Napoleon chuckled softly as Marmont realized the power of instantaneous long-distance communication. For now, the Army of Italy is the only Army of France utilizing such technology. Jourdan and Moreau's Army in the north were reluctant to embrace the new system, still relying on traditional methods of communication. However, Napoleon hoped that with his using it on the battlefield, the military would accept the telegraph as an invaluable tool for future campaigns.

"Oh, I almost forgot, how many soldiers got killed and injured in the previous battle?" Napoleon asked.

Marmont lowered his head somberly and replied. "More than two thousand five hundred and seven hundred were injured. They are in the hospital tent as we speak, why do you ask, General?"

"Can you escort me to the hospital tent, Marmont?" Napoleon requested. "I wish to pay my respects to the fallen and provide solace to the wounded."

Marmont nodded, his respect for Napoleon deepening. "Of course, General. I will accompany you to the hospital tent."

As they made their way through the camp, the atmosphere was heavy with the aftermath of battle. Soldiers moved about, their faces etched with weariness. The wounded, bandaged and bruised, lay on cots, their spirits uplifted by the presence of their leader.

Napoleon walked with purpose, his steps measured and deliberate. He stopped at each cot, offering words of encouragement, comfort, and gratitude. He listened to their stories, and he made mental notes of their names and ranks, determined to ensure that their deeds would be recognized.

However, even from the confines of the hospital tent, Napoleon couldn't help but observe the woefully inadequate conditions that surrounded him. The tent, meant to provide a haven for the wounded, offered little respite. Its cramped interior and lack of proper amenities exposed the injured soldiers to the unforgiving elements.

In this era, medical knowledge remained in its infancy, lacking a comprehensive understanding of germ theory and proper sanitation practices. The consequences were starkly evident within the tent's confines. The wounded lay in close proximity, their collective groans forming a somber symphony that echoed throughout the space.

He even witnessed one of the soldiers being amputated by a saw without anesthesia, the sound of the bone being sawed through mingling with the soldier's agonized cries.

So he took a mental note of what must be done, improving the conditions of not only the hospital tent but the hospital itself.

'It seems like I have to write a paper about germs, introducing antiseptics, anesthetics, and medicines such as morphine and antibiotics.' he thought to himself.

Still, he can make some improvements.

"Get me, Berthier," Napoleon ordered, glancing at Marmont. "Tell him there is something that needs reform."

"Understood, General Bonaparte," Marmont replied with a nod before swiftly carrying out the order. Moments later, Berthier, Napoleon's trusted chief of staff, appeared at the entrance of the hospital tent, a look of curiosity on his face.

"You summoned me, General?" Berthier inquired.

Napoleon turned his attention towards Berthier, his gaze piercing and determined. "Indeed, Berthier. We must address the inadequacies we witness here. The conditions for our wounded soldiers are deplorable, and it is our duty to improve them."

"What do you have in mind?" Berthier queried.

ƥαṇdαs ηθνε| "Come join me for a walk," Napoleon invited, stepping out of the tent and into the open air where they discussed the challenges and solutions for improving the medical care for wounded soldiers.

"First and foremost, the hospital tent should be clean and well-organized," Napoleon began... "We need to establish separate sections for different types of injuries and illnesses, ensuring that each soldier receives appropriate care and attention. I call it a triage system."

"Triage system?" Berthier repeated, he hadn't heard those words before.

"Yes, a triage system. It involves categorizing the wounded based on the severity of their injuries or illnesses. By doing so, we can prioritize medical attention and allocate resources efficiently. Additionally, we should implement strict sanitation practices to prevent the spread of infections. I'll write a more comprehensive and detailed plan for the improvements we need to make."

"Understood, General. Is there something more?"

"That's it for now," Napoleon said.

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