A Lesson in Leadership (Tag: Lucien)

[ANDRE BOUVIER]

Pulling back the reins of his horse, a man dressed in full military dress uniform stopped at the edge of the Champ de Mars, gazing upon the familiar rotunda that sat upon the roof that adorned what had been his home for four years. The Ecole Militaire, birthplace of the finest officers in all of Europe. Or at least it was supposed to be. Once a center where young men like himself could rise above their station through merit and ability, it had been changed into a den of aristocratic second and third sons now doing nothing but seeking glory. Glory at the expense of the men was something Andre had witnessed plenty of... And something he was hoping he could correct today. The administration must have thought the same as well, if not they wouldn't have asked he visit when he came up to Paris.

Having only arrived in the city a day before, he barely had enough time to get his uniform fixed up. It was early morning, the sun had yet to fully rise and the heat was still bearable in wool. Dismounting his horse, he handed the reins to the lieutenant who accompanied him and asked him to go with it to the stables, he wanted to walk across his old stomping grounds. It was a nostalgia trip, the Champ, the entrance of the school, watching cadets walk by and salute him. He also caught more than a few staring at his left hand, which was missing two of its fingers, but he didn't mind in the least. The fact that they were expected to sacrifice for France was something they needed to come to terms with regardless if they were going to become good officers...

"ALL RISE!" The sergeant major called out as Andre entered the auditorium. It was more packed than he had anticipated, filled with many cadets, junior officer, and a few civilians just curious to see who it was the papers had all spoken about a few months prior. The Lion of Medea looked very much the part as he walked into the room, his left side (and, consequently, his left hand) facing the crowd, his skin tanned and eyes alert and focused as he looked out on the crowd taking the podium, his uniform impeccable with the gold officer's embroidery on his sleeves and collar. His white glove altered to not have what would have been spare fingers neatly hemmed in. Thanking the sergeant major, he spoke. "Take your seats lads."

In unison, in the same military manner they had back when he was a cadet, they sat and looked attentively and respectable. Well, at least that part of the academy hadn't changed. Clearing his throat, he began.

"Good morning gentlemen. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Bouvier, commander of the Spanish battalion of the Légion étrangère. It's been a while since I've been back in Paris, or civilization at all really, so you'll have to forgive me if my language is a bit coarser than it typically would be. If there are any women here, or men who act like women, you know who you are, promptly cover your ears." That caused a small chuckle to erupt in the room, and Andre offered them a small smirk. Good, they have a small sense of humor. Make things considerably better.

"Now, why I'm here... Battlefield Leadership. This is something most of you have probably just spoken of in theory, something intangible and downright foreign to how some of you are accustomed to living. The actual field is not as simple as giving a command and soldiers doing it. It's not as simple as your chess, where you can simply send the pawns forward as the king stays back. Soldiers are not pawns. They are men, with hopes, dreams, aspirations, families, and for the most part a very strong sense of self preservation. This is something you must always remember. Treating them as mindless beasts that will blindly follow orders is a good way to get them to fucking kill you."

Pausing for a brief moment, gazing into the crowd as his words sunk in, trying to remember something his father had taught him. He asked. "What is the definition of a leader? A true leader, not just a man who gives commands. What is it? Have they told you? Well, it's not the epaulets on your shoulders that say you're a leader. It's not the sword on your hip. It's your character. Specifically, the willingness to actually stand in the front with your men and lead. Let your mantra be 'follow me!' Men respond best when their commanders share the same dangers they do. Saying 'take that hill,' then proceeding to stand in line with them as they face the enemy, will raise their morale and watch how the men will follow you to the gates of hell itself. This was how Napoleon led in his younger days when taking a British position in Toulon, this was how Nelson led his fleet against us by placing his flagship in the very front in Trafalgar, and this was how Washington led his colonial rebels to victory against the English in numerous engagements. And it is the way all our officers should conduct themselves. With honor, service, and selfless sacrifice. Expect of yourself tenfold more than you expect from your men, and watch how the men themselves will raise their own standards."

He paused for a moment to take a sip of water from the glass on the podium, gathering his next thoughts. The speech hadn't been well prepared, he hadn't had much time to think about it much less write it down. In a sense, he was winging it. The Legion had been an excellent crash course in this. Doing the job even if you hadn't been expecting to do it.

[LUCIEN DE LA TOUR D'AZYR]

Having visitors from outside was a nice break of the otherwise often quite dull routine of the academy, so obviously everyone was quite excited. Word had it that the so-called ‘Lion of Medea’ was to hold a lecture about leadership in battle. Lucien had his own thoughts about the matter, as a few inquiries had told him just who this man really was: a parvenu, a homo novus, so to say, someone who had risen in rank though rank was not due to them as they were of inferior birth. What was he going to tell them, huh? That everyone could make it in the army? That probably would be the gist of it, and he was not for wasting his time with an hour or more of utter rubbish. He had matters of state to think on, something this guy could only dream of! With the Chouannerie, he was dead close to be at the pulse of politics, they ruled Paris and France, no matter what the rabble would say!

Out of habit and drill, he followed the command to rise with precision and elegant swiftness, but his eyes immediately wandered towards the man who was to speak to them now. He was surprisingly young, something that irked Lucien quite a bit. Someone not much older but clearly no match for the title of a Marquis-to-be should be in such an important position? No family to speak of and yet already commander of the Spanish battalion?! How on earth had this man deserved such a promotion? What had he ever done?! Perhaps there was only one way to find out: listening to this lecture.
He started with a joke, not the very best one, but the cadets around Lucien laughed, some dutifully, some apparently genuinely amused. He gave a small huff and rolled his eyes. Well,wasn’t that starting wonderfully?! He hadn’t had many sympathies with the man to begin with, but now he was eating away at the rest.

It got even more ludicrous when this so-called Lion started to talk about soldiers being men and not ought to be treated as chess-pieces. Well, of course he would say that, coming from the likes of those random soldiers! Of course he would see a virtue in being at the front line, or create a virtue from it, as it had been a necessity and an order for him before he rose in rank and glory! And then he even said that if you treated lowly soldiers like they in Lucien’s eyes ought to be treated, they would rise and kill you?! Was he maybe a secret revolutionary scum?! Lucien was sure he would not listen to any more of this idiocy! Instead, he began examining his fingers, rubbing at the callous spot fencing had given him. And he leaned over to his neighbour, a young cadet that he knew adored him and whispered: “Selfless sacrifice, doesn’t he sound more like a wimp-monk than like a general? We’re here to win wars and not to die! If we put ourselves at the foremost front and get injured, they have no orders and will just stumble around like the idiots they are. Fool…!”

The young man next to him hastily nodded and gave a nervous chuckle, shuffling his feet. Lucien smirked and flashed another glance at the still talking man. After having heard so much rubbish in one go, he would simply not listen anymore, he had more important things to think of.

[ANDRE BOUVIER]

Placing his water back onto the podium Andre surveyed the room for a brief moment. Here and there were pockets of small conversation, a snicker every once in a while, but as a whole the vast majority of attendees sat respectfully in their seats. Stepping away from his podium, he took a step towards the crowd and continued.

"No doubt, many of you have studied many battles of antiquity. Cannae, Alesia, Gaugamela, Marathon, Tours... Though the occurred thousands of years ago one can learn much from the tactics of our ancestors. Cannae: perfect example of military maneuvering. Tours: a clear example of how training and prior planning will lead to victory against an enemy that seems undefeatable.... But I am not here to discuss tactics. The nitty-gritty of those battles you will no doubt explore further in your classes. To illustrate my earlier point, one only need to look at the actions of Alexander the Great during the battle of Gaugamela."

Standing in front of the podium Andre maintained a steady gaze with the crowd. As he looked around and spoke he made it a point to look each and every person in the eyes. Some listened intently, eager to learn. Some seemed to give just the proper amount of attention due, not disrespectful but you could tell they were there because someone ordered them to be. He couldn't fault them on that as he had been in the same position some years before. Others, a small amount, seemed put off by his words... Most likely nobility given the clean looking and almost arrogant nature they exuded. Andre ignored them and continued with his speech.

"The battle was turning desperate. Persians outnumbered the Greeks more than ten to one, and their left flank was near collapse from the weight of the Persian army. Then came the lightening bolt: Alexander and his companion cavalry. Having exposed an opening in the line through the use of a feint right and some light troops, he personally lead the charge and struck into the heart of the Persian line, striking where Darius III had been standing. The result? Darius fled in panic, followed shortly by his army, and was murdered by his own generals. Alexander? He went down in history as the greatest conqueror of the western world, the kind men such as Caesar, Hannibal, and even our own Napoleon could never live up to."

"Now what was the point I mentioned before?" His hands behind his back Andre continued to scan the crowd. "Leaders who cannot stand with their own men in the line of danger cannot expect their men to do the same. The Greeks were a people who while yes, Alexander was their king, they had been accustomed to democracy. They came from a tradition where their leaders, such as King Leonidas of Sparta and Pericles of Athens, would stand shoulder to shoulder in the phalanx with them. They wouldn't follow a tyrant like Darius III, and neither did the Persians who had been expected to."

"Treat your men like pawns... And they will fucking kill you. Or let you get killed. I said this before. No matter the time period it is a universal truth that soldiers follow the brave, not the weak simply because they wear an officer's sword and sash."

A small smirk forming on his face he leaned against the podium and grabbed the glass of water, taking a sip and crossing his arms with the glass still in his hand. "Now the big question... Can anybody tell me the parallel I'm attempting to make with our modern state of France and the way you handle the men who take up arms to defend her?"