Meanwhile, in London.
Approximately two hours after the battle of Maidstone, Royal Tunbridge, and Rochester.
The Duke of York, Commander-in-Chief of the Forces Frederick Augustus, second son of King George III was overseeing regulars, militia, and civilian volunteers constructing a sandbag barrier on the Westminster Bridge.
Walking next to him was General Wellington, who spoke, breaking the ice between them.
"We have also placed barricades on the bridge of Blackfriars, Kew, Battersea, and Richmond. Should that barricade fall, the explosives planted underneath will be our last line of defense to deny the enemy passage into the heart of London," General Wellington said.
The Duke of York nodded grimly, his eyes fixed on the preparations taking place around them.
"Tell me, Arthur, how does it feel like, fighting the French?" Frederick asked.
"Why ask that all of a sudden, Your Highness?"
Frederick leaned against a wall and sighed, his thoughts seemingly far away for a moment. "I am just wondering what it's like for those who face the French on the battlefield. To stand against Napoleon's forces and stare into the eyes of those who would conquer our land."
"Well, Your Highness, to be honest, it was scary. The French are using the weapons they are using in Egypt. Their howitzer can fire from many kilometers away in great precision and pack a lot of manpower that could destroy the Martello Towers in one strike."
"And yet you still fought them hard right?" Frederick inquired again.
"Yes, Your Highness, but I also came to realize that fighting to the end is an illogical move that we could have pulled, considering that our forces are limited."
"I won't blame you for retreating from Romney Marsh," Frederick sighed softly. "In fact, I would be mad if you didn't retreat. Anyways, how many men do we have left?"
"Well, Your Highness, we have lost 4,000 troops in Romney Marsh, placed ten thousand troops in the Royal Tunbridge Wells, Maidstone, and Rochester, and the remaining are here. So in total, we have 16,000 regulars defending London, not counting the Militia, which I am sad to say that not all were armed with muskets."
"Okay, and how about the forces that you placed in those three cities? Any news from them?"
Wellington shook his head. "The last transmission we got from them is that they were under attack, after that, there's nothing. Which is why we are doing these preparations."
"I know," Frederick nodded, his expression somber. "The uncertainty of battle is a heavy burden to bear. We can only hope that our forces in those cities are holding their ground and buying us the time we need."
"I concur…Your Highness, the French just have a lot of troops and are better armed. And pardon me for saying this, continuing this lost cause would only weaken Great Britain."
"Great Britain has already been weakened the moment the French landed in our lands, General," Frederick corrected.
"Then why is His Majesty and the Parliament not negotiating favorable terms with the French Republic?"
"Because surrendering to the French is the greatest humiliation that our nation could suffer," Frederick said with a tone of determination. "We may be outnumbered and facing a formidable foe, but our duty is to defend our country, our people, and our honor. Surrender is not an option we can entertain lightly."
General Wellington nodded in understanding. "I apologize if my words seemed disrespectful, Your Highness."
As they were having a brief conversation with one another, a messenger approached them.
"Your Highness…Your Excellency," the messenger greeted. "We have received a letter from a forward scout of the French Republic. This is the letter."
Frederick and Wellington turned their attention to the messenger as he handed over the letter. Frederick took it and quickly opened it, perusing the contents.
[To the Commanders of the Defending Forces in London,
We acknowledge your courage and determination in the face of our advance. We offer you an opportunity for a temporary cessation of hostilities. Our forces have taken control of Maidstone, Royal Tunbridge Wells, and Rochester, and your troops in those cities are now under our supervision. We have the means to show you the conditions of your captured troops and assure you that they are treated with respect.
In light of the inevitable outcome of this conflict, we propose that you consider the lives of your remaining forces, the innocent civilians in London, and the future of your country. We are willing to discuss terms of surrender that will spare unnecessary bloodshed and destruction. We extend this offer as a gesture of goodwill, with the understanding that your cooperation will prevent further loss of life.
Please send a representative to Rochester at six o'clock in the morning tomorrow. We believe that rationality and the preservation of life should guide our decisions in this dire situation.
If no representative is sent, we will interpret it as a refusal to negotiate and will continue our advance towards London. We will resort to any means necessary to secure our objectives.
With respect,
Napoleon Bonaparte
First Consul of the Republic of France.]
Frederick's brows furrowed as he finished reading the letter. He exchanged a contemplative glance with General Wellington.
"What does it say?" Wellington asked.
"The French said that they have taken control of Maidstone, Royal Tunbridge Wells, and Rochester. They have offered a temporary cessation of hostilities, proposing that we consider the lives of our remaining forces and civilians. They want us to send a representative to Rochester tomorrow at six o'clock in the morning to discuss terms of surrender."
General Wellington's expression hardened, and he looked around at the ongoing preparations on the bridge.
"Well, Your Highness, you are the Commander-in-Chief of the Forces. It's up to you. Do we send a representative and end this war or do we continue?"
"I made myself clear earlier, Arthur. We are not going to surrender. The men that you have sent to protect those cities have fulfilled their goals. It's up to us now to defend our capital with everything we have got."
"May God help us in our endeavor, Your Highness," General Wellington said, his resolve echoing Frederick's sentiment.
***
Five fifty-seven in the morning, in the city of Rochester. Napoleon was sitting on a chair with a table in front of him. Across the table was a chair, vacant, supposedly to be filled by the delegates of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.
Napoleon sighed and smacked his lips. "They are not coming?"
As the minutes ticked by, the chair remained empty, a symbol of the British decision to reject the French offer. Napoleon's face remained impassive, though his thoughts were undoubtedly churning with the implications of this outcome. His initial hope for a relatively bloodless resolution was now in jeopardy.
Minister of War Berthier approached Napoleon cautiously. "Your Excellency, the appointed time has passed, and there is no sign of the British delegation."
Napoleon leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the vacant seat. "Very well. It appears they have made their choice."
"What are your orders, Your Excellency?"
Napoleon's expression hardened. "Prepare our forces to resume the advance towards London. We will take the city by force if necessary. The British have shown their determination, and now we shall show ours."
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