Cherbourg

Thank you ThisguyAEl, Mium, Biscuit_willieon, George_Bush_2910, mrwolf_hdmi, TheHumble_Dogge and Daoistssr6xe for the support!

Enjoy the new chapter!

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While the British were facing major setbacks in North America, important events were unfolding in Europe.

Minister Pitt, more determined than ever to bring the Kingdom of France to its knees by crushing it, had proposed a series of raids along the French coast. His proposals were accepted, partly because this approach had allowed them to easily capture the French trading post in Africa known as Saint-Louis of Senegal.

However, this was no easy task, even though everyone knew Great Britain had the best navy in the world. It required skilled officers, numerous blockades, countless soldiers and sailors, and substantial funds.

They had attempted a raid on Rochefort, 120 kilometers north of prosperous Bordeaux, the previous autumn. Unfortunately for them, this operation had been a resounding failure.

The objective at that time was to assist the King of Prussia and allow Parliament and the elderly King George to renegotiate the Treaty of Kloster-Zeven.

In June 1758, they made another attempt, this time against Saint-Malo, often called 'the city of corsairs.' Alas, despite their efforts, they again faced failure, as the city remained undamaged. However, many merchant ships and privateers were destroyed, which partially encouraged the government to continue with this strategy.

Unusually, for this expedition, Prince Edward Augustus, son of the late Prince of Wales, who died in 1751, and grandson of King George II, was granted permission to participate. It hadn't been easy due to his status, but thanks to his eloquence, he managed to convince the elderly king of the importance of introducing him to warfare early on.

His interest in military affairs was no secret.

The young prince, nineteen years old, was very handsome, with large blue eyes and hair blonder than wheat. It was often said he bore a strong resemblance to his father at that age.

Among his brothers, Prince William Henry, four years his junior, resembled him most, sharing his interest in military command. However, those who knew the two princes knew how different they were. In simple terms, William Henry neither had the temperament nor the physical condition to be a great officer.

Although young Prince Edward Augustus was intellectually and physically superior to his younger brother, this did not mean His Majesty was ready to entrust him with the command of a troop or a fleet.

This time, their objective was Cherbourg in Normandy, more accessible as it lay in the English Channel. Again, Prince Edward Augustus requested his illustrious grandfather's permission to embark and participate in the attack, which was granted.

The embarked forces were placed under the command of Lieutenant General Thomas Bligh, while the squadron was led by Commodore Richard Howe.

The first, an old man who had spent his entire career in the army, had distinguished himself during the War of the Austrian Succession. The latter, much younger, in his thirties, had been in the navy since he was thirteen. He had quickly distinguished himself with his ability to lead men, making him a strong candidate to turn this operation into a turning point in the war.

He didn't know it yet, as news traveled very slowly back then, but his brother had died at Fort Carillon a month earlier.

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Thus, they embarked at the end of July and arrived off Cherbourg on August 7, at one o'clock in the morning. The night sky was clear, and the sea was calm. If nothing changed, the conditions would be ideal for a landing.

The sea was as black as ink, reflecting the gentle glow of the lanterns on the countless ships around them. These lights reflected on the water's surface, resembling majestic golden pillars. Although all this darkness might have been unsettling, to the prince, it was magnificent.

By focusing carefully, one could hear the sound of waves crashing on the distant rocks. Under the prince's fascinated gaze, a few shells were fired at the town where the inhabitants had taken refuge, but to little effect, which was a slight disappointment. The shells seemed to hit their target.

Is that it? No flames? No collapsing walls? Why aren't we firing more bombs?

The old lieutenant general, over seventy years old, approached the prow of the flagship, his hands clasped behind his back. Despite his age, his mind seemed as sharp as ever. This was evident from his eyes, sharp as arrowheads.

"Do not worry, Your Highness," he said calmly as he reached the prince's side. "The siege is just beginning. Look how vulnerable it is. It doesn't even have a rampart, only a few remnants. It will soon burn entirely."

The prince didn't respond immediately but nodded gently.

I'm not worried. With so many men and good ships, failure is impossible. This town will fall; it's a certainty. But why did we choose this town as a target? I don't understand.

"Sir," Prince Edward Augustus said, "forgive me, but is this town truly important to the French? It doesn't appear so."

The lieutenant general smiled and leaned on a sturdy railing to relieve his tired legs.

"Important, Your Highness? Any town is important. Strategic, not particularly, which is why we dare to target it. The more strategic a port, the more heavily defended it is. It's only natural. Parliament and His Majesty desire a victory at a lower cost. If we target one of their arsenals, we risk failure or winning a costly victory."

"But even if we win a decisive victory, nothing will change, will it?"

What's the point of destroying a town that plays no role in the kingdom's functioning? To my knowledge, there is no significant shipyard here. There are basins and a port, but… This is not where the King of France builds his ships of the line."

The old man's smile deepened at the prince's innocence.

"Your Highness, in your opinion, what would happen if a small coastal town, not Plymouth or Bournemouth, were destroyed by a French fleet and army?"

"The… The people would be very worried. And angry."

A simple rumor already throws the people into turmoil. Just look at what's happening with Admiral Hawke. People fear he'll serve as an example to other navy officers, and rightly so. His Majesty should simply pardon him to ease public unrest.

"Precisely, Your Highness," the officer replied, unaware of the young prince's thoughts. "Then what should His Majesty do?"

"Position more ships in the Channel so this doesn't happen again!" the prince answered immediately, as if it were obvious.

"And position more troops along our coasts to reassure the people. That's what we aim to do. France doesn't have as powerful a navy as ours. She can't be everywhere at once unless she's weak everywhere. If this kingdom's coastal towns are threatened, then His French Majesty will have to keep a substantial part of his army and navy immobilized, leaving us free to act elsewhere, be it in the New World, Africa, or the East Indies."

"I understand! It's brilliant!"

The old lieutenant general smiled even more, keeping to himself the fact that this idea was vigorously defended by William Pitt, whom his grandfather despised but had to tolerate.

"You should go rest, Your Highness. We'll keep bombarding this town from time to time to deprive them of rest, but we won't do much more for now. We'll likely only land tomorrow or the day after, so the men can rest."

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The ships commanded by Commodore Howe continued shelling the town with bomb ketches until ten in the morning, though without causing major destruction. However, morale in the town plummeted as residents feared for their homes.

At eleven, the flagship fired a cannon, signaling the ships to head west to carry out a landing.

Two coastal villages lay there: Querqueville and Nacqueville. Here, using specially designed landing boats, a few units began to disembark. The frightened villagers quickly retreated.

They still had to face a few troops tasked with guarding the French coasts, but these were quickly eliminated.

Shortly after, Prince Edward Augustus set foot on the white sandy beach, seemingly wedged between two large piles of black rocks.

The powerful waves crashed at his feet and then withdrew only to return. He followed the many footprints left in the wet sand and immediately found the commander busy giving orders.

Many soldiers, dressed entirely in red, could be seen at the top of the beach, most carrying heavy wooden crates with military supplies.

"General, Your Highness! French soldiers are approaching!"

"W-what?! Already?!" the prince gasped, his face turning as pale as the commander's.

We're not ready yet! There are still many soldiers to disembark!

"All is well, Your Highness. This was expected. According to our intelligence, it's the regiment of Orion. They must have deployed two battalions. There's likely also a battalion of the Lorraine regiment, some dragoons, and a corps of Irishmen."

"That many?! Sir, you're not reassuring!"

Even if we came with eight thousand men, I'm not sure we can repel such a powerful enemy!

The commander then smiled, revealing very white teeth.

"They are likely as numerous as we are, but you forget we have ships. Each one has dozens of cannons! Hehe, let them come if they dare!"

The prince looked at the officer in surprise and couldn't help but smile at such courage and confidence.

Yes, that's how it should be. I want to be like this man someday.

Edward Augustus exhaled deeply, though his heart showed no signs of calming. With clammy hands, he watched as the French soldiers appeared and took position.

Then the English cannons began to fire. Even if they did little damage at this range, partly due to the angle, the noise alone was enough to panic the horses of the Languedoc regiment.

The sound was indeed terrible, carrying well with the light sea breeze. The prince felt as if he were standing right next to those many artillery pieces. It was an infernal symphony that resonated down to his bones.

On the other side, they had to dismount, as a charge was impossible under such conditions. Yet, no attack came. It was very strange.

Both enemies seemed to be at a standstill.

"Why aren't they attacking, General?"

"Their commander doesn't seem willing to expose his men to our cannons. It's a bit disappointing."

"Sir," said a brigadier general standing as straight as a young tree, "the enemy seems restless. It appears their officers hold opposing opinions."

"Let's provoke them a bit. Pillage and destroy everything you can. Maybe it will help them make a decision they'll later regret."

"At your orders!"

Despite Lieutenant General Bligh's orders, the French commander, Count de Rémond, did not give the order to attack. On the contrary, perhaps sensing a trap, he ordered a retreat to the Mont-Épinguet castle, nine kilometers from the town, then to Valognes, seven kilometers further.

The French officers under his command were furious, but they could do nothing without risking exemplary punishment.

This allowed the British to attack Cherbourg and ultimately capture it.

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The shame was immense for the French.

Slowly, the gates of the city opened, and trembling men appeared at the entrance. The man who seemed to be their spokesperson radiated no strength. His charisma was so lacking that one could easily forget his presence, even though he stood before everyone.

Lieutenant General Blight regarded this man, slightly younger than himself, with impressive, disdainful coldness. It was as if he were looking at an insect.

Shame was visible in the man's lowered gaze as he bowed deeply, forced into humility.

"G-General Blight, it is an honor to meet you," said the man, bowing even lower, followed by the city and judicial representatives. "You have brought glory to your name with this resounding victory. O-our defeat is total, and we acknowledge the superiority of your army and majestic fleet."

The lieutenant general looked with contempt at this tall, slender man, likely in his sixties, whose broad forehead was covered with deep wrinkles. From the corner of his eye, he saw a much younger man holding a large, dark but well-maintained key.

He ignored him for the moment and stopped the older man from continuing his hollow flattery.

"Superiority, you say? You should have acknowledged it earlier. This siege and this war would not have taken place. We would not have needed to remind you."

Gulp!

Prince Edward distinctly heard this man and all those with him swallow hard at the same time. Outwardly, he showed no emotion, but inside, he rejoiced in seeing the enemies of his people so weak and pitiful.

"P-please, sir, allow me to hand over the keys to the city."

The general accepted the keys and took a half-step back. He then presented them to the young prince, under the astonished eyes of the spokesperson, who could not know who this elegantly dressed young man was.

"Your Highness, please accept this gift and sign of submission from the city of Cherbourg."

"On behalf of His Majesty, I accept this gift and sign of submission."

The spokesperson's face, along with those of the dozens of men behind him, immediately crumbled. As if they were beautiful marionettes with their strings cut, they all prostrated before the grandson of George II, second in line to the throne after his brother George William Frederick.

"Your Highness, forgive us! W-we did not know who you were! Your presence honors us!"

The prince made a small gesture with his hand, and all the men rose. However, it was clear their minds were very unsettled. None of them had expected a member of the British royal family to come here.

"Your Highness, my lord, there are many poor people here. In the name of humanity, I beg your clemency; do not plunder Cherbourg!"

"I regret to say, sir, that we do not wish to make war on the people of this country, but our duty is to punish His Most Christian Majesty. Cherbourg must serve as an example and a warning so that there may never again be war between our two kingdoms."

"We… We can certainly come to an arrangement! Mr. Pivert, come forward!"

A small, fat man, trembling with fear, approached and held out a massive pouch filled with gold.

"I-it's not much, but perhaps you could consider it compensation for your journey and losses?"

Though there hadn't been many losses, the pouch looked indeed quite plump and heavy. However, it was not enough.

"I regret to say this will not be sufficient to spare your city."

"W-we… We can perhaps… Yes, I… I think we can certainly gather a little more gold, but please, restrain your men."

The general remained silent for a moment and then turned to the prince, who subtly nodded. This did not go unnoticed by the spokesperson or the men who had come to represent the city.

"Very well. I will do everything in my power to prevent looting. However, you will hand over all your cannons and mortars, as well as the bells from your churches and abbeys. We will remain in your city for several days. I expect you to properly house my men. They should lack nothing. I do not want any religious services held for the duration of our stay."

The priest of Cherbourg, named Pâris, shed a tear but was prevented from speaking to defend the places of worship.

"Finally, and this is non-negotiable, all ships in Cherbourg must be burned."

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Lieutenant General Blight and his army remained until August 16.

During this time, they did their best to destroy what little defenses the city had, though there was almost no looting. However, there were some condemnable actions against the town's priests and women.

Thanks to Father Pâris, the most important bells of Cherbourg's church were preserved. He only took the less significant ones as trophies, unless they were turned into currency or cannons.

The sixty-four ships unfortunate enough to be in Cherbourg at the beginning of August 1758 were all destroyed by fire, along with all the buildings in the port and the bridge.

They returned to England crowned with glory and with pockets filled with gold.

In his great generosity, General Blight left the poor people of Cherbourg the sum of four thousand two hundred pounds, which he entrusted to Father Pâris. In reality, he didn't spend a pound, as he used the money that Cherbourg had handed him — forty-four thousand pounds.

With their holds heavily laden, they arrived in England on August 19. However, the soldiers and sailors were not permitted to disembark. In their absence, terrible news had arrived, requiring a strong and immediate response.