Reincarnated as Napoleon

March 25th, eight o'clock in the morning. Napoleon and his aides-de-camp rode their horses toward Nice, the Army of Italy Headquarters. Along the way, they engaged in conversation to pass the time.

"Wait... General Bonaparte," Junot exclaimed, unable to hide his astonishment, "you were the inventor of the steam locomotive that we rode yesterday?"

Napoleon smiled at Junot's reaction. "Yes, indeed," he confirmed. "I took an interest in engineering during my time in the artillery. It's remarkable what technology can achieve."

Marmont chimed in, his disappointment evident in his tone. "Junot, you should have done some research about our General before meeting him. It's standard procedure."

Rubbing his head in embarrassment, Junot replied, "I... I don't know. I'm not particularly keen on reading scientific journals, much less about someone."

"You are shameless, Junot," Marmont clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "At the very least, you should be aware of his achievements in Toulon, considering you participated in that battle."

Junot's face brightened with recognition. "Of course, I know," he said eagerly. "I saw General Bonaparte barking out orders as our cannons wrecked the British fleet."

Napoleon listened attentively to Junot and Marmont's exchange, appreciating their banter. It reminded him of the camaraderie he had experienced among his fellow soldiers during the early days of his military career.

"That being said, I'm still worried that the Generals there may not accept you."

Marmont's statement caught Napoleon's attention, causing him to interrupt the conversation. He turned slightly in his saddle, his gaze fixed on Marmont.

"What do you mean by that?" Napoleon asked, his tone tinged with curiosity and a hint of concern. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure they had some privacy amidst the open road.

Marmont exchanged a brief glance with Junot before sighing softly. "Well, General Bonaparte, it's no secret that your appointment as Commander of the Army of Italy was politically influenced."

Napoleon's brow furrowed, his curiosity turning into a mixture of surprise and intrigue. "Political influence?" he echoed, urging Marmont to continue.

Murat, who had been relatively quiet until now, spoke up. "Allow me to explain, General. You see when we quelled the uprising in Paris on the 13th of Vendémiaire, it was your decisive actions that saved the National Convention and ensured the stability of the government."

Napoleon's memory flickered back to that fateful day in Paris. The uprising led by the Royalists threatened the very foundation of the Republic, and he had been entrusted with the task of defending the National Convention. It was a pivotal moment in his career, where his strategic brilliance had won the day and preserved the fledgling French Republic government.

Marmont continued. "Your success in Paris elevated your status, but it also made some of the established generals uncomfortable. I must say this with all honesty but General Napoleon, the Generals that we will be meeting at Nice is as just as competent as you are, if not more so. They have established themselves through years of service."

"But I am the one who expelled the British and the allied forces from Toulon. I orchestrated the battle and without my presence, the British Fleet would still hold dominance in the Mediterranean Sea," Napoleon interjected defiantly. "I do acknowledge that those older generals may possess more field experience, but without my efforts, we would find ourselves under the rule of the Bourbons once again."

"Uhm…General," Murat chimed in carefully. "We are not saying that you are not fit to command the Army of Italy, we are just saying that there are others who find your appointment controversial due to political considerations."

Napoleon's expression softened as he absorbed Murat's words. "I apologize if I sounded arrogant or defensive," Napoleon said sincerely. "It's just that I've faced countless challenges throughout my career, and sometimes it's difficult to grasp why my authority is questioned despite my accomplishments. Anyways, enough of this, how far are we from Nice?"

Junot glanced at the map in his hand and replied, "General, we should be arriving in Nice within the next hour or so. We are making good time."

"Very well.."

***

One hour later.

In the headquarters of the Army of Italy, Nice. General Sérurier paced back and forth inside the drawing room of the Prefectural Palace of Nice. Seated on the velvet sofa were Augereau and Masséna. 𝘣𝑒𝑑𝘯𝘰𝘷𝑒𝘭．𝑜𝘳𝘨

"Could you please stop doing that, General Sérurier? You are disturbing my thoughts," Augereau chided lightly.

Sérurier paused his pacing, his face flushed with frustration. "Forgive me, General Augereau. I can't help but feel restless. The news of General Bonaparte's appointment has left me unsettled. Why would the Directory appoint someone who is younger than us, someone with limited experience in warfare? I must admit, I don't even know him. Oh, how far the French have fallen if ranks are so easily manipulated."

Masséna leaned forward in his seat and clasped his hands together. "General Sérurier, let's not jump to conclusions. We have all heard of Bonaparte's triumphs in Toulon and his recent victories in Saorgio and the royalist in the 13th of Vendemiaire. His reputation precedes him, and it would be unwise to underestimate his abilities."

Sérurier sighed, his frustration evident. "I understand that, General Masséna, but it still feels like a blow to our own accomplishments. We have dedicated our lives to the service of France, fought battles, shed blood, and earned our ranks through years of experience. And now, we are to be led by someone who has risen through the ranks swiftly, thanks to his political connections."

Augereau interjected with a hint of skepticism. "Politics and military leadership don't always go hand in hand. We have seen many generals fail despite their political influence. However, Bonaparte has shown promise, and his records speak for themselves. After all, he is the one who expelled the British from Toulon and weakened their influence in the Mediterranean Sea. Nevertheless, I must admit that I have my reservations about this young general and whether he can effectively lead the Army of Italy."

As they were having their talks, another person entered the premises, startling the three generals.

"Oh, General Berthier. You are assigned as Chief of Staff for our new young general. What do you think about him?" Sérurier asked.

"I don't know, General Sérurier," Berthier simply replied. "I haven't met the man personally, but I have heard of his exploits. He is a promising commander. Why did you ask?"

"Well, General Berthier, do you find his appointment acceptable? A twenty-seven-year-old, barely French, taking over command of the Army of Italy because he saved the government?" Sérurier asked.

Berthier paused for a moment, considering his response carefully. He knew that his words held weight, and he needed to choose them wisely.

"General Sérurier, I understand your concerns and those of the other generals. It is natural to question the appointment of someone relatively young and inexperienced. But we must not overlook General Bonaparte's accomplishments. His victories in Toulon, Saorgio, and the suppression of the royalist uprising in Paris are not to be taken lightly."

After saying that, a military officer entered the premises. "Generals, The Commander of the Army of Italy, General Napoleon Bonaparte, has arrived."

Augereau and Masséna rose to their feet, their gazes fixed at the hall where Napoleon Bonaparte along with his aides-de-camp were emerging.

As soon as Napoleon stepped foot in the drawing room, the four generals rose to their feet, their gazes fixed upon him. With synchronized movements, they performed a salute, raising their right hands to their foreheads in a swift motion.

Napoleon, observing the generals' salute, nodded in appreciation and reciprocated with a salute of his own. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the distinguished figures before him.

"Now, let's begin the planning," Napoleon said.