Chapter 751: The Paris Police Academy's Assessment
Alois suddenly shouted, "Do you remember? The instructor in Paris said that our training is enough to handle a real army!"
Bourget listened to the increasingly clear sound of Austrian military drums and nodded. "Yes! Even if it's the Austrian army, we might not necessarily lose!"
"Everyone, don't be afraid! Just treat them like gang members!"
"Yeah, just a gang with more people!"
The Walloon police said this, but their hands gripping their guns so tightly that their knuckles turned white betrayed their lack of confidence.
Bourget suddenly remembered something. Looking at the Austrian soldiers faintly visible in the distance, he said, "The officer said that after this battle, we will receive three times our salary."
The promise of a high bonus immediately eased the tension among the men. Some even showed an expectant expression.
The coal and iron mines in the Walloon region had brought great wealth, and combined with their access to Rhine trade, the Walloon Chamber of Commerce was drowning in money. Handing out a few extra months' worth of salaries to the police wouldn't even make them blink.
Before long, rhythmic military drums echoed in front of the Walloon police formation.
Bourget checked his Charleville Model 1776 flintlock musket one more time to ensure it was loaded. Then, he heard his police superintendent shout loudly:
"Prepare—!"
He silently murmured, "God protect us," and raised his flintlock.
The Austrian skirmishers, maintaining a distance of three to four paces from each other, advanced with a relaxed demeanor.
They knew very well that the police were only capable of handling thieves and robbers—when faced with a real army, they would be completely powerless.
Soon, after two or three volleys, the seemingly orderly formation ahead would collapse.
After that, they would just chase them down for a few hundred yards, then accept their surrender—or kill them.
"Aim—!"
The police superintendents overseeing the line formation, nervous about the advancing Austrians still more than eighty paces away, could barely contain themselves.
"Fire—!"
Thick smoke filled the police formation as dense lead bullets rained down on the Austrian soldiers.
But the Austrian skirmishers only scoffed in their minds.
As expected, they were just a bunch of policemen who had never fought a real battle. At this distance, flintlock muskets had almost no killing power.
The Austrian officers, experienced as they were, immediately ordered the drummers to increase the tempo, accelerating the soldiers' advance.
The police had wasted their precious first volley. Before they could reload, the Austrians would close in and unleash a devastating point-blank volley!
In almost the blink of an eye, over a thousand Austrian skirmishers had advanced to within fifty paces of the police formation.
The drumbeats suddenly halted. The officers raised their hands and shouted:
"Prepare! Aim—!"
But to their surprise, the police formation across from them also echoed with a shout:
"Aim—!"
The Austrian officers were taken aback. By their calculations, after advancing just thirty paces, the police shouldn't have had enough time to reload.
Was this a bluff? Or had their commanders panicked and started shouting orders randomly?
"Fire—!"
The Austrian officers waved their hands and gave the order.
"Fire—!"
Almost simultaneously, the Walloon police shouted the same command.
Two thousand meters of musket fire erupted as both sides filled the battlefield with groans and screams.
The Austrian officers were shocked to see their own soldiers being hit and collapsing beside them.
How could the police have reloaded so quickly?!
Yes, the Walloon police only trained at the Paris Police Academy for one month each year. But—it was the Paris Police Academy!
Even if their assessment standards were much lower than those of regular police cadets, they were still on par with the Austrian regular army.
In fact, they were even superior to some of the poorly trained Austrian troops.
The Walloon police superintendents suddenly recalled their field training in Paris.
At the time, they had all complained—why should police officers practice line formations, dense bayonet tactics, or even fighting alongside artillery?
If it hadn't been for the training stipends, they might not have completed those grueling assessments.
But at this moment, they understood just how meaningful that training had been.
Almost instinctively, the police superintendents shouted loudly:
"Reload! Don't just stand there, reload immediately!"
Bourget smelled the blood in the air. His hands trembled.
But he felt like he was back at his first field assessment, with the instructor behind him yelling, "You're about to fail! Hurry up!"
His hands moved faster, almost as if by muscle memory.
Just like in that assessment.
With sheer determination, he had passed and earned his training stipend.
He rammed the bullet down, placed the ramrod back under the barrel, poured priming powder into the flash pan, and pulled back the frizzen.
Then, the superintendent's voice rang out again:
"Prepare—!"
He raised his flintlock, only to realize, with some surprise, that the Austrians opposite them were still reloading.
At that moment, a bizarre thought crossed his mind:
"Their assessment… probably won't pass."
"Aim. Fire—!"
The Walloon police formation erupted in flames first.
Dozens of Austrian soldiers, just about to raise their muskets, were blown off their feet by the oncoming lead.
The survivors, hearing the agonized cries of their comrades, stared in horror.
Was that really just a bunch of policemen?!
This level of training was terrifyingly high!
Urged on by their officers, the Austrian soldiers hurriedly raised their muskets and returned fire.
But they were already at a disadvantage—they had fewer men than the police, were using a looser skirmish formation, and their firepower density was far weaker than that of a line formation.
As a result, their counterattack only managed to take down about ten policemen.
"Reload! Quickly!"
"Move faster, reload!"
As both sides' officers shouted commands, the race to reload began again.
But the Austrians had already fallen behind once. And when training levels were this closely matched, falling behind once meant falling behind every time.
As the wind blew away the gunpowder smoke, Bourget took a quick glance while tamping down his powder.
The Austrians had suffered clearly heavier casualties than his side. They were also reloading more slowly.
Confidence surged through him.
It seemed the instructors hadn't been lying.
"Aim. Fire—!"
Once again, the police formation fired first.
Austrian blood misted into the air. This time, the police's accuracy seemed even better—at least ten more enemy soldiers fell.
Indeed, as many policemen regained their confidence, their performance stabilized and improved.
After the police fired their fifth volley, some Austrian soldiers finally snapped.
A few ran, and then more followed, until it turned into a full-blown retreat.
The Busaec Corps abandoned nearly 200 bodies and fled nearly two kilometers, stopping only when they reached Count Radetzky's main force.
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