Six hours later, the night descended on the port city of Boulogne.
Even though he had delivered his speech to the troops about them boarding their respective ships, it was figurative. There's something they needed first before they launched an actual invasion, and that is the Franco-Spanish Fleet to arrive at Boulogne, for they would be the ones to protect the invasion forces, and to transport Napoleon.
"Your Excellency," Berthier called as he swung the flap of the tent aside. "The Flagship of the Franco-Spanish Fleet has arrived!"
Napoleon, who was having his dinner with his other generals, rose from his seat at the sound of Berthier's announcement. The clinking of cutlery against porcelain ceased as the other generals also looked up, their curiosity piqued.
"Finally," Napoleon muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The time for action was drawing nearer, and he relished the thought of his meticulously planned campaign beginning to unfold.
He straightened his uniform and strode purposefully out of the tent, the other generals following closely behind him. The night air was cool and carried the scent of the sea. The port city was bathed in an eerie mixture of moonlight and lantern glow, casting long shadows across the docks and the array of ships bobbing gently in the water.
As Napoleon reached the vantage point overlooking the harbor, he saw it—the flagship of the Franco-Spanish Fleet, an imposing first-rate ship of the line with its hull painted a deep, foreboding black. The ship's masts stretched toward the sky like giants reaching for the stars, and its sails, now partially furled, bore the marks of wind and salt from countless voyages.
Napoleon's eyes narrowed in admiration as he took in the sight. First-rate ships of the line are basically the equivalent of battleships in the twentieth century and aircraft carriers in the twenty-first century. It was the means of projecting power across vast oceans.
Napoleon walked towards the edge of the harbor. His gaze remained fixed on the flagship, knowing that within its confines was the key to his ambitions.
Just as he was about to turn and issue further orders, a stir of activity near the gangway of the flagship caught his attention. A group of officers emerged, led by a tall, distinguished figure. Napoleon's eyes narrowed as he recognized the man.
It was Admiral Fran?ois-Paul Brueys d'Aigalliers, the Admiral of the Franco-Spanish Fleet, a man he had known for years and trusted for the pivotal mission of defeating the English Channel Fleet, and also the first Admiral he had met in the early days of the Egyptian Campaign.
Napoleon walked down the gangway and approached the gathering. As he neared, Admiral Brueys and his officers saluted.
"Admiral Brueys," Napoleon greeted. "You and the crews of your fleet have my eternal gratitude. To think that you have actually defeated the English Channel Fleet and made it here in such a coordinated manner is just purely amazing."
"Your Excellency," Brueys replied, his tone respectful yet filled with a hint of pride. "The crews have trained tirelessly, and we were fortunate to capitalize on favorable winds and currents. Our victory against the English Channel Fleet was a decisive moment, and it ensured your plan of invading the English Coast, which I must say, we are ready to embark on."
"As much as I'd want to do it now but I'm worried for you and your crews. You just went on a long journey and engaged with one of the British largest fleets," Napoleon voiced his concern.
Brueys chuckled softly "Your concern is appreciated, Your Excellency. But rest assured, my crews are fine. In fact, it's best that we move out immediately before the pursuing fleet of the British arrive."
"You are right," Napoleon said as he rubbed his chin.
They have a window of thirty-six hours for transporting troops, ammunition, weapons, supplies, and horses across the channel. The defeat of the British English Channel Fleet had made France the master of the seas temporarily.
"My men are ready for a rapid mobilization," Napoleon said. "In one day we would have all the troops of France get across the channel, according to our estimates."
"Then, we should get ready now, Your Excellency, as there are still ten hours left before dawn," Brueys said, nodding in agreement.
Napoleon's gaze shifted from the flagship to the bustling harbor where hundreds of varying ships were docked, ready to take in soldiers.
***
Two hours later, the first batch of the Army of France disembarked from the port of Boulogne. Each batch carried 54,000 troops, along with their supplies, weapons, and ammunition, and took two hours to prepare, and three hours to transport.
Two hours and thirty minutes in, the Flagship Orient and its first batch of troops are 10 kilometers away from Romney Marsh.
The invasion forces were escorted by French and Spanish ships of the line. A squadron-sized ship of the line was detached from the main fleet and was one kilometer off the coast of the Romney Marsh, firing their 36-pounder cannons intermittently towards the shore, creating a curtain of fire and smoke.
Napoleon stood on the deck of Flagship Orient, peering through his spyglass, scanning the scene unfolding on the shores. He saw flickers of light as heavy cannons from Martello Tower, a defensive fortification constructed by the British.
He was not simply gazing at it, he was making calculations. In order for the invasion to be successful, they'll have to take out that Martello tower. Factoring in the distance, the wind speed and direction, the sway of the ocean, and the precision of his own cannons, Napoleon mentally plotted the trajectory that would bring down the tower.
"I need a pen and paper, Admiral Brueys. Do you have one?"
"Of course Your Excellency! You, bring my pen and paper from my quarters!" Admiral Brueys ordered promptly. Within moments, a junior officer scurried away to retrieve the requested items.
Moments later, the junior officer arrived and handed it to the Admiral.
"Here it is, Your Excellency," Admiral Brueys said as he extended the pen and paper to Napoleon.
"Thank you, Admiral," Napoleon replied with a nod. He quickly took the pen and paper and set it down on the railing to finalize his calculation.
As Napoleon worked, Admiral Brueys and his officers gathered around, their curiosity piqued. Brueys leaned over to take a look and there he saw complex diagrams and mathematical notations scribbled across the paper, and he couldn't help but feel impressed by it. Before he and Napoleon met, Brueys conducted his research about him. He became an artillery officer when he graduated from école Militaire, and used his knowledge of artillery to defeat Hood's fleet docked on Toulon.
To be able to calculate such precise trajectories and coordinates for artillery fire, even in the heat of the impending invasion, was a testament to Napoleon's strategic prowess. Finally, Napoleon straightened up, a determined look in his eyes. He had found the perfect angle for cannon fire. He glanced at Admiral Brueys.
"You have a telegraph here, right? I want you to transmit this data to that paddle steamer over there," Napoleon said, pointing his fingers at the paddle steamers that were sailing among them.
Brueys ordered his communication officer to swiftly relay Napoleon's calculations to the nearby paddle steamer.
The paddle steamer, equipped with its wireless telegraphy apparatus, received the message and swiftly conveyed it to the designated ship responsible for coordinating the cannon fire.
On the paddle steamer, a group of skilled artillery officers received the transmission. They quickly analyzed the data and compared it to their own calculations. Adjustments were made to account for any minor deviations in conditions.
Seconds later, they were ready to fire.
Back at the Orient.
"I still couldn't believe my eyes that you can use steam as a means of propulsion," Brueys commented.
"In the next five or ten years Brueys, all of our ships will be powered by steam or perhaps even oil. Out for the old and in for the new," Napoleon replied. "Oh you might want to cover your ears, it's going to be loud."
"Wait…you are firing your artillery from here? We are still ten kilometers away, could whatever cannon mounted on that paddle steamer reach it?"
"You'll see," Napoleon grinned, and as if on cue, the 155mm howitzer on the paddle steamer fired. The heavy artillery piece released a thunderous boom that echoed across the water, and a massive shell hurtled through the air, leaving behind a trail of smoke.
The officers and crew on the flagship Orient watched with bated breath as the shell soared through the sky, heading straight for the distant Martello tower on the coast of Romney Marsh.
Then, the shell struck its target. There was a brilliant flash of light, followed by a powerful explosion that sent shockwaves through the air. Debris and smoke billowed upward as the tower suffered a direct hit.
"Direct hit," Napoleon commented. "Now let's do that again, as there is still more Martello tower on the coast."
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