Seeing Ney about to salute with a hand over his chest, Moreau casually waved it off:

"Oh, no need to be overly grateful. The Cavalry Regiment Guided by God is merely following honor."

Ney paused, feeling an urge to kick this arrogant nobleman.

He took a deep breath and said, "Still, I must thank you for the reinforcements. However, it was us who ultimately held Tamiré."

"Oh?" Moreau glanced at the Tunisian soldiers nearby. "If it weren't for them holding off the enemy, you and your men would likely still be stuck outside the town."

"I was the one commanding them…"

"No, no," Moreau interrupted with a sly smile, "It was my order that directed them to defend the western side of the town. You can ask your messenger if you don't believe me, assuming he's not dead."

Ney was taken aback, signaling to his aide. The aide quickly left and returned a moment later, nodding to Ney. "Lieutenant, it was indeed Lieutenant Moreau's order."

"Good Lord..."

Half an hour later, the rest of Ney's soldiers finally completed their march and caught up. Shortly after, the remaining noble cavalry arrived, though most of them came on foot.

To make it in time, Moreau had selected 150 of the best riders, had the others give up their horses, and assigned three horses per rider, enabling them to race ahead to reinforce Ney.

After this collaboration between the nobles and commoners, the tension between them eased somewhat. They all returned together to the town of Tamiré.

Outside the town hall, Ney glanced at the setting sun and said to Moreau, "It looks like the Moroccans won't be coming back today."

"So, can we have dinner now?"

Ney gave him a subtle glare before turning to walk towards the west side of town. "Let's have the soldiers build a breastwork while we have the chance. It'll be useful when the enemy attacks tomorrow."

"A breastwork?" Moreau frowned. "Are you planning to defend this place to the death?"

"Of course. Why else did we fight so hard to hold off the Moroccans today?"

Moreau waved dismissively. "Haven't you heard? The Moroccan army has at least ten thousand men, and combined… How many soldiers did you bring?"

"855. Now only 782 are left."

"Well, we have less than 1,800 in total. With the Tunisian soldiers, we're still just about 2,000." Moreau gestured around. "If we stay here, we'll be surrounded. This town doesn't even have a fortress to rely on."

"What's there to fear?" Ney scoffed. "General Schérer must already know about the attack here, and his army can reach us in three or four days."

"We can't hold out for two days here."

"We can."

"We can't."

"Suit yourself. You can leave if you want; I'll defend Tamiré myself."

"Are you sure?"

"…No."

"Then that's reckless." Before Ney could react, Moreau continued, "But since we're being reckless, why not do it in a way that gives us a better chance of success?"

Ney looked at him, surprised. "What do you have in mind?"

"It's simple. Leave the Tunisian soldiers and your wounded in the town," Moreau suggested. "Hmm, that might not be enough, so leave the servants too."

More than half of the nobles had brought servants with them, many of whom had some basic training and could fight.

"That will give us nearly a thousand men in the town. They'll pretend to be us while we move south of Tamiré."

Ney instinctively asked, "What for?"

"To pretend to be General Schérer's army, of course." Moreau grinned mischievously.

...

Before dawn the next day, the noble and commoner forces left Tamiré together.

As Ney glanced at the several wagons full of supplies, he looked back at the town, uneasy, and turned to Moreau. "Where did you get all these supplies? You didn't steal them, did you…"

"You insult me," Moreau feigned anger. "These were requisitioned by the municipal commissioner overnight for us."

"Huh? But you don't have the authority to requisition supplies."

They were only here to reinforce Schérer's corps, and without officially reporting for duty, they didn't even have unit numbers, let alone requisition authority.

"Well, I told them it was under General Schérer's orders."

"Good Lord!" Ney leaned in closer, whispering nervously, "This could get you court-martialed!"

"So, you'd better pray we win."

"I'll pray for you."

"No, pray for yourself."

"For me?"

"Yes, I told them it was your order."

"…You're a scoundrel."

The two led their forces about 10 kilometers south of Tamiré, where they selected a high ground to camp. The camp was more than twice the size they needed.

Soon, Moreau's hussars arrived with a report. "Lieutenant, the Moroccans have begun their attack on Tamiré. There are over 3,000 of them."

Ney was alarmed. "We need to go help them!"

But Moreau checked his watch and shook his head. "No need. A thousand men, using the town's defenses, can hold out for four or five hours. And in two hours, it'll be dark."

He put away his watch. "Everyone, rest well. Tomorrow morning, we'll attack. That will feel more like General Schérer's style."

...

The next day.

The Moroccan black general, Agord, looked through his telescope at the nearly 5,000 troops surrounding Tamiré, a cold smile on his lips.

There should be less than 2,000 French troops in the town, maybe some Tunisian soldiers, but once his forces launched their attack, the town would fall today.

Although it was a day later than Pasha Saïd wanted, they could still capture Bizerte before the French main force returned.

He gestured to his aide, and soon the low sound of horns echoed around them. Over a dozen cannons began bombarding the town.

Agord watched as the wooden fences around Tamiré were shattered by the artillery, and just as he was about to order a full-scale assault, two cavalrymen rode up urgently, saluting:

"General, a French force has appeared on our right flank, and it seems they're preparing to attack."

"Hmm? How many?"

"We're not sure yet; they have many scouts, making it hard to get close."

Where did a large French force come from around here? Agord thought briefly before spurring his horse southward.

As he approached the right flank, he heard the rumbling of cannons.

He counted silently in his mind. There should be more than 15 cannons. This must be the French main force!

Could it be that Schérer's corps had arrived?

To be safe, Agord quickly recalled the troops attacking Tamiré and set up defensive lines on the southern side.

Not far from the Moroccan army, a group of French soldiers was busy loading gunpowder into several barrels wrapped in cowhide, tamping it down, sealing the barrels with dirt, and then lighting the fuses through small holes.

Sparks flew, followed by a series of deafening explosions.

(End of Chapter)

Friends, if you want to read chapters in advance, subscribe to my patreon.

Read 20 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/johanssen10