The End, and a Beginning

A section of the Bourbaki-Panorama in Lucerne, Switzerland
Edouard Castres

Soldat Pierre Junot shuffled along the track, the snow had been compacted by the hundreds of men, horses, and wagons which had passed this way. It was slippery in spots and a number of men had fallen already. At first it had been amusing, then one old soldier had lost his mind.

"This is funny to you?" he had screamed at a young lieutenant.

"Now see here old fellow ..." the lieutenant had tried to pass it off, but the old soldier wasn't having any of it.

"The honor of France has been compromised. Our banners once swept Europe from the plains of Spain to the spires of Moscow. We crushed all who stood in our way, now we are letting ourselves be disarmed by the bloody Swiss! This day I am ashamed to be French!"

A senior sergeant had stepped forward from the shuffling column. "That's enough grand-père, everyone is on edge. Besides which, you wouldn't remember the time of the great Napoléon. What are you, fifty-something? The Emperor died before you were born."

Turning from the lieutenant he had been berating, the old soldier got in the sergeant's face.

"My father marched with the Emperor, he was old when I was born. But I remember his stories, once upon a time all of Europe trembled at the approach of French soldiers. AND NOW THIS!"

The old man turned quickly and pulled the lieutenant's pistol from its holster. Unfortunately for him, the lanyard which secured the weapon to its owner got entangled and the old fellow was unable to do anything with the weapon. As he turned to again scream at someone over his fate, the sergeant used the butt of his rifle to knock the old soldier down.

After the man fell, his blood bright on the snow, the lieutenant managed to compose himself. "Sergent, get the men back in order. Give me two men to bind this man," he gestured at the old man lying at his feet, "then we must move on. We are causing a pile up here on the track."

Indeed, the column had halted when the altercation had begun, an officer on horseback was shouting at the men to get moving and a lot of pushing and shoving was going on. Discipline was rapidly deteriorating.

"ENOUGH!"

Sergent Leduc had fired his rifle at the same time he had bellowed at the men.

"Fall in and march you bastards. The Prussians embarrassed us, we outnumbered them by two to one at the Lisaine, now you wish to show the damned Swiss what a laughingstock the French Army has become? Fall in and march or I will shoot you all, one by one."

As Junot's battalion shuffled on, Pierre looked back once, he saw the sergeant who had struck down the old man kneeling next to the still form lying in the snow, he was looking at his lieutenant, shaking his head. No doubt the old man was dead.

They had piled their weapons in great heaps, the Swiss soldiers had simply pointed where to drop their rifles and where to move to. Junot and his comrades were sitting near a barn on the outskirts of the town they had marched to, Pierre had no idea what the name of the place was, nor did he particularly care.

Captivity was strange, he supposed that this was better than being taken captive by the Prussians, word had spread through the army that the Prussians were not exactly "correct" when dealing with surrendered soldiers. One man claimed that near the village of Dornach, the Prussians had murdered over two hundred prisoners of war.

"What happened?"

Pierre looked up, a civilian was standing in front of him, the man was well-dressed and his French was very good, though the accent was odd.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Kossakowski, I'm a journalist."

"You're not French." Caporal Thionville, sitting next to Junot, noted.

"No, I'm Polish, well more Lithuanian than Polish, but that doesn't matter. I work for a newspaper in America. I was sent here to cover this war."

"Why should we tell you anything?" Pierre sneered.

"Oh I have a story, 'French armies destroyed by Prussian military might, grandsons of the great Napoléon's soldiers run like children when faced with Krupp steel,' or, I could listen to your experiences and write the truth."

"Ah, the truth, what is that?" Thionville shook his head. "Very few people want to hear the truth."

Kossakowski shook his head, "Believe me, the people who read my newspaper hunger for the truth. Americans have become very curious of the world since their own great Civil War."

"So you say." Pierre said, still not believing what was happening to them.

"Yes, so I say. What else do you men have to do? Tell your story, tell me how this tragedy came to pass. For I fear it is a tragedy, as a Pole, I have hated the Prussians my entire life. This defeat of your country is a tragedy for all of Europe, not just France. Soon you too will learn how difficult life can be under the Prussian boot heel."

Caporal Thionville looked up, their lieutenant was approaching.

"If my Lieutenant will give us permission, we'll tell you our story. If you're ready to listen."

"And what story is that, Caporal?" Lieutenant Jean de Caumont asked as he strolled up. "And who is this fellow?" He asked, nodding at the Polish civilian.

"He's a newspaper man, he hates Prussians and he's looking for a story." Thionville said, nodding at the Pole.

"Well, I don't see the harm in that. We will be here a few days."

Turning to the Pole, de Caumont said, "I hope you brought something to take notes with."

"Of course, Lieutenant ..."

"And perhaps some money for a bottle or two of the local wine, story-telling can be a thirsty business."

Kossakowski smiled, "I think we can arrange something. Where do we begin?"

"First the wine, my dear fellow. Then we'll tell you our story, from the beginning of this war up to the events of the last few days. Did you know our general committed suicide?"

Kossakowski shook his head, "Ah, he tried to commit suicide, but he failed."

De Caumont shook his head, "Can the poor fellow do anything right?"

Pierre Junot felt something on his cheek, he looked up and noted that snow was falling once more. So he stood up and said, "Perhaps we should find someplace more comfortable, out of this weather."

"A very good idea, Junot. Do you know of any place, Mr. Journalist?"

Kossakowski nodded, "Yes, I believe I do. Then we can start."

"At the beginning?" de Caumont asked.

"Yes, of course."