Chapter 2: William
June, 1694
William grimaced as his shoulder flashed with pain. A consequence of the attempt to take Brest last year. The fleet had gotten within sight of the fortress, and the enemy had come out with their full attack arsenal. A bullet had scraped his shoulder, and another had almost lodged itself within his shoulder. Thanks to Portland’s quick thinking he’d been spared. But the pain remained.
Now if he moved too suddenly, the shoulder flared. It was something, but at least he was not dead. Unlike Admiral Russell, who had gone down with his ship when it had been sunk during the engagement. William had not yet named a replacement as First Naval Lord, he had considered bringing back Lord Torrington, but the man had been found dead in Oatlands, in a pile of his own sick, which had put paid to that. So, instead the Navy was in Commission, and various Vice and Rear Admirals were handling the duties that would normally be done by the First Naval Lord.
But right now, that was not the concern. The concern was the land war. The French held far too much of the Southern Spanish Netherlands, and whilst they’d managed to hold them away from Brussels, William knew they would try again. And he needed a way to stop them when they came.
That was why he had called a meeting of the senior Allied leadership in Brussels, that included himself, the Elector of Bavaria and the Earl of Marlborough. Marlborough was someone that William had gradually come to trust thanks to his efforts last year-he’d won a superb battle against the French last year-and since.
Bavaria was a snake, that much William had been able to work out. He wanted something more than what he had, and he’d likely do whatever he could to get it. That was why William kept him at an arm’s length.
Still, the man had knowledge of the Spanish Netherlands, and it made sense to use that knowledge.
“The French are chasing our ankles, snapping at them and wanting us to make a mistake. We cannot afford that, especially with how the war is progressing elsewhere.” William said. The French had defeated an attempt by the Emperor to regain Lorraine recently, and were still in control of vast swathes of the Palatinate.
“We must hold the line.” William said. “Ensure that it is as solid as can be so that the French must break themselves trying to break it.”
“I disagree, Your Majesty.” The Elector said, his French thick with his accent. “We must take the attack to them. If we wait for them to come to us, we will see the rest of the Spanish Netherlands fall before then.”
“We do not have the army and the resources that they do.” William pointed out. The English army itself was the bulk of the allied forces within the Spanish Netherlands, and that put it at around 50,000 men, whilst the French army was around 70,000. “If we do that we will overstretch ourselves and we will be broken.”
“Not if we act smart about it.” The Elector said. “We must find one particular target, one which the French will want to preserve and we must strike there.”
“Where?” William asked, though he knew where the Elector would suggest, there was only place that was worthwhile after all.
“Mons.” Bavaria said, as William knew he would.
William laughed. “We will break ourselves trying to take Mons. The French will have made the fortress nigh untakeable, and our men lack the weaponry to break the thing down.” That was a consequence of the battle for Brussels last year, in which cannons and other such tools had been used in great numbers and many had been destroyed.
“We must try something, Sire.” Bavaria said. “We sit here like lame ducks, we risk being flanked.”
William exhaled, what Bavaria was suggesting went against his instinct. His instincts were defensive, years of fighting the French had taught him that the French never knew how to handle defensive tactics like what had been used during the Franco-Dutch War. He needed to hold on for just a little while longer.
He was about to say that when Marlborough spoke. “Perhaps there is a compromise that can be reached between both of your preferences, Sire?”
William looked at Marlborough then, wondering what the man was going to suggest, and whether he would regret listening to him.
“We could send a small force toward one of the lesser locations, perhaps Oudeenarde? To gauge the French reaction, if they take the bait then we know that they are not as clever as we think. If they do not, then we know that we have work to do.” Marlborough said.
He expected Bavaria to protest, but instead the man said. “I think Lord Marlborough is correct. We must do something, we cannot allow them to circle us within Brussels.”
William wanted to protest, his shoulder was aching something fierce, but he could not see a flaw in what Marlborough had suggested. After all Oudeenarde was the smallest French garrison, and the easiest to take. He had thought as much the moment he’d learned it had fallen. He exhaled. “Fine, choose someone to lead the expedition and then prepare them accordingly.” He would need to send an emissary to Savoy somehow, to strengthen the Duke’s resolve, and he’d need to prepare for another attempt on Brussels.
“Of course, Sire.” Marlborough replied, William looked briefly at Bavaria and saw him smiling, that made him feel worse, if such a thing were possible.
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