When the various troops had gathered out of sight and sound of Berlin under the command of different disobedient Prussian officers, the weather was gradually improving day by day. The temperature averaged between five and ten degrees and could rise to as much as fifteen degrees Celsius. Lieutenant-General of Cavalry von Zieten was relieved, thinking they might have an early spring.
But a week later, starting on February 20th, temperatures began to drop, taking both officers and soldiers by surprise. The nights became particularly cold, even freezing at times, and a few snowflakes were seen falling.
During the daily meetings held by the highest-ranking officers of the army, there was growing concern about the future of the operation. The men's morale was plummeting, and if nothing changed in the coming days, they feared that part of the new recruits might desert.
It had been difficult to convince them, but thanks to their grand speeches and English gold, they had managed to assemble a force of eleven thousand men, including several thousand cavalrymen with iron willpower.
Almost every day, the officers had to speak to the men to explain the importance of their mission. When they told them that several members of the Prussian nobility had betrayed the king and the kingdom out of pure greed, the men became enraged, which was precisely the intention. They screamed for vengeance and wanted rivers of blood to flow.
The commanders of this army were very satisfied, but they feared that this fervor might be broken by the particularly harsh weather conditions. With each passing day, it became harder to keep the flame burning in the hearts of the troops.
Eventually, their eloquent speeches and promises were no longer enough to recruit a significant number of soldiers in the villages they passed through.
On General von Zieten’s orders, conscription was implemented. In the name of His Majesty Frederick II, all able-bodied men between the ages of eighteen and thirty were required to take up arms to defend the kingdom.
This decision, necessary in the eyes of many officers, created numerous problems, the most pressing being the state of morale within the army. Even the proud hussars of von Zieten wore gloomy expressions, as if they had already been defeated and humiliated. Sighs could be heard from one end of the camp to the other in Uelzen.
Meanwhile, the officers exchanged ideas about the course of action. Two days earlier, they had crossed the Elbe, and at this pace, in two days they would reach Celle, one of the five French camps in the region.
Besides Celle, there were camps in Bremen, Verden, Rethem, and Bothmer. Some army corps were farther south, in Hanover, Brunswick, and Wolfenbüttel, not to mention Halberstadt and Magdeburg.
“Gentlemen,” said von Zieten gravely, “it’s time to decide which place we will attack, knowing that wherever we strike, enemy reinforcements may arrive during our operations.”
“General, we should strike to the north, at Bremen, to ensure we don’t have any enemies at our back. If we attack elsewhere, as you rightly said, we’ll be attacked by troops coming from other camps. Worse still, if we attack Hanover immediately, where His Majesty and His Highness are located, we will face the armies of Richelieu and Broglie,” proposed Heinrich August de la Motte-Fouqué.
Auguste Wilhelm, Duke of Brunswick-Bevern, looked seriously at his fellow generals and at the highly detailed map spread out in front of him. Numerous wooden pieces in different colors representing regiments and squadrons were placed on it. For an outsider, it would mean nothing, but for him and his companions, it was very clear: they were advancing into enemy territory with a small force.
In recent days, he had spoken very little, preferring to reflect on their perilous situation. Fighting with an enemy at your back, especially when that enemy was your own government, was a pressure that was almost unbearable. But like the others around him, he had no choice but to persevere, hoping for better days ahead.
“How long would it take them to make the journey?” asked Brunswick-Bevern in a deep voice, looking extremely worried.
“They could do it in six days if not slowed down by the weather, maybe a bit longer depending on the condition of the roads and the composition of their army.”
“So, an extra day to reach Celle,” muttered von Zieten to himself.
“Which means they could reach us in nine days,” commented de la Motte-Fouqué. “That is, of course, if they go from town to town to gather their forces. That’s why it’s better to attack quickly in the north, at Bremen or Verden. The garrisons there are weak, and we’ll have the support of the civilians. They won’t be able to resist us!”
Von Zieten didn’t respond immediately, but as he analyzed the situation, he could see potential in this plan, particularly in taking Bremen. It would provide access to military supplies and a large population from which to draw fresh troops.
The Duke of Brunswick-Bevern clenched his teeth, his gaze constantly fixed on the wooden pieces near Magdeburg.
But if that’s not enough, Richelieu’s army will soon be upon us, and we’ll have to endure a siege. Our army wouldn’t survive that. Unless this weather persists and disease ravages their forces. In that case, anything is possible.
While he was deep in thought, as were the other officers, a messenger arrived at the entrance of the inn that had been converted into their headquarters, a broad smile on his face.
“Good news, General! The Crown Prince of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, nephew of His Majesty and the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, has escaped from Bremen and reached Stade!”
“What?!” exclaimed all the generals in astonishment.
“And he has taken command of our soldiers and allies who had been confined in that city since the signing of the Treaty of Kloster-Zeven! He is already on his way to join us!”
“This is wonderful news! Excellent work!” exclaimed Brunswick-Bevern joyfully, smiling broadly.
Immediately, the mood in the room lifted. It was as if a warm ray of sunshine had finally pierced through the clouds after days of rain. Even the old von Zieten managed a faint smile beneath his thin mustache.
“Do you know how many men he’s bringing with him?”
“It’s reported, General, that he’s leading nearly five thousand men!” continued the breathless Prussian messenger.
"Wonderful! Excellent! Haha! How good it is to hear such good news!" exclaimed la Motte-Fouqué.
"Our chances of victory are growing," confirmed August Wilhelm, Duke of Brunswick-Bevern. "My cousin, the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel-Lüneburg, will be very happy to hear this news. With his financial troubles, he probably wouldn’t have been able to pay his ransom! And my other cousin, the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, must also be greatly relieved, as the Crown Prince was under his responsibility! By the way, have we received a response from him?" he asked, not directing the question at anyone in particular.
"Yes, he’s also on his way. However, he needs time to gather his men, who are scattered between Magdeburg and Hanover."
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
"This is very good news! With them and the men the Crown Prince of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel is bringing, we might just be able to turn the tide of this war!"
But just then, several messengers arrived one after another.
"Urgent message! Urgent message! The Russian troops have managed to seize Königsberg! The enemy general, Villim Vilimovich Fermor, is commanding a force reportedly numbering forty thousand men!"
"What?! Wasn’t he still at our border near Memel?! How could he have taken the city so quickly?!" cried von Zieten, his face as red as his coat, already imagining East Prussia falling into enemy hands.
"Damn it! If Königsberg has fallen, then the rest of our eastern territories won’t be far behind!"
The Duke of Brunswick-Bevern nervously bit his thumbnail and thought of one thing.
"W-when did it fall?"
We are so far from the front... It certainly didn’t happen yesterday! It’s possible that the situation has completely changed since then!
"M-my general," stammered the messenger, extremely embarrassed, "it happened on January 22nd. And there was no fight. The city surrendered to the enemy."
January 22nd?! Why are we only hearing about this now? We could have changed course and prevented it! Now half of East Prussia is in Russian hands! What is our army doing?!
"January 22nd," von Zieten growled. "Today is February 22nd. Why are we only being informed of this now?" he asked, as if he could read the Duke of Brunswick-Bevern's thoughts.
Though his voice was low and his pace slow, his words cut like the blade of a hussar's saber. The messenger, already pale as a sheet, seemed to melt on the spot. Trembling like a leaf, he hurriedly left the room, making way for a new messenger.
"My general, we have received a reply from General Seydlitz. He is riding with his men to join us, but Prince de Soubise’s army is pursuing him. According to his own words, it’s impossible for the French to catch him. He will be by our side in a few days, though he did not specify when."
"Soubise is on the move," moaned la Motte-Fouqué. "If they link up with Richelieu, we are lost."
"In that case, we must hold them off in the south. Tell the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg and Seydlitz to delay the enemy as long as possible. We need to buy time! Any word from General Keith?"
"None, my general. He must be keeping General Hinburghausen’s imperial soldiers chasing their tails."
A third messenger then appeared at the entrance to the room.
"A-a letter from your brother," said the messenger to the Duke of Brunswick-Bevern.
My brother? That’s rare. Which one is it? Oh, it’s Frederick Charles Ferdinand. Let’s see.
As soon as he began reading the letter from his younger brother, who was only twenty-eight, his expression hardened. The more he read, the more his eyebrows furrowed. By the time he finished, the muscles in his face were twitching wildly.
"Gentlemen, my brother informs me that we have all been sentenced to death for high treason. We are accused of sedition. Apparently, we are on the verge of surrendering with our men to the enemy."
The generals froze, each of them assaulted by their own thoughts. It was as if they had been turned into marble statues. It was the proud von Zieten who broke the spell.
"Well, gentlemen, it seems we no longer have a choice. We must defeat our enemy and thus prove to the good people of Berlin that they have been lied to. His Highness’s shameful lies will shatter like glass once news of our exploits spreads. Only a great victory will save our heads!"
Curiously, he wore a strange smile full of madness.
As expected of him. He has no fear. In another life, he must have been a great Spartan warrior! He’s right, we cannot retreat. We knew this from the moment we left. I must be mad, but I want to follow him to the end.
***
In a cell beneath the royal palace, a man was shackled like the worst of criminals. He was barely being fed. An atrocious, indescribable stench floated around him, as if a putrid swamp lay beneath the palace, far from its gilded halls and grand banquets.
No one had spoken a word to him since his arrest at the palace gates like a common thief, despite being one of Frederick II’s key ministers.
And he knew exactly why.
Traitor! I thought you were innocent, but you were in league with our enemies! Curse you, Your Highness!
His eyes, filled with hatred, glared at the cold chains that bound his hands and severely restricted his movements, the thick, mold-covered walls, the heavy door, and the vile rats scurrying at his feet.
How could you betray your kingdom and your blood like this?! Why?! What did they offer you to make you forsake everything?! How much gold?! The throne?! Then you will be the king of a broken kingdom! A puppet, a fool in the service of other states!
His fury, so great it could destroy the world in a flood of fire and blood, did not wane. All he had was time. Every day, every hour, every minute, and every second was spent hating this young man he had once believed to be righteous and just even more.
He was so good... How could he have changed so much?! And when?! How did I not notice anything?!
A metallic sound echoed from the lock on the closed door in front of him. The noise seemed deafening in the deathly silence. His hateful gaze immediately turned toward the door, unsure of who might be coming to see him. Perhaps an assassin, to discreetly silence him here and now.
But to his great surprise, it was Prince Augustus Ferdinand of Prussia.
Unlike him, the prince appeared well-groomed, as if he had just come from a fine dinner in good company. But there was not the slightest hint of a smile on his face, and his gaze was cold, if not icy. It was as if he was looking at an insect rather than an enemy.
"Mr. Former Minister, because of your actions, I’ve had a lot of work these past few days. I hope you’re proud of yourself."
"I have no regrets, except for believing there was goodness in you! Who could have thought you were a traitor!"
"A traitor, von Finckenstein? Don’t make me laugh. Your actions speak for themselves. And look where they’ve led you!"
"At least I tried! For the good of the kingdom, I was willing to make any sacrifice! I still am! If I had to do it again, I would, over and over!"
"Then you are hopeless. I had hoped to find a repentant man by coming here… but I was wrong," said the prince with disappointment. "But I want to understand. Why?"
"Why what? Isn’t it natural to want to protect one’s kingdom from ruin? To reject a shameful peace that would destroy the nation? It’s my duty as a subject of your brother! But what truly drove me was learning there were secret clauses being discussed! You were going to carve up the kingdom, destroy everything your ancestors built, betray even your own brother! That’s the real treason!" von Finckenstein declared, his hatred for the young man before him, barely an adult, growing.
The prince, initially surprised, raised an eyebrow. "Secret clauses? What on earth are you talking about?"
"Come now, Your Highness, there’s no need to pretend! Especially not here and now! I know what you and your minister friends are doing. I’ve seen the proof! You sold your honor for gold and power! Until the end, I believed you weren’t involved in this vile plot, but as soon as I mentioned freeing His Majesty and His Highness to pacify the kingdom, I was arrested! Don’t make me laugh, prince! You’re one of those who were ready to sacrifice His Majesty and His Highness for a few favors after the negotiations. Admit it, you wanted the throne for yourself!"
The prince, stunned by such shocking and outrageous claims, remained speechless for a moment.
"Y-you’ve completely lost your mind, von Finckenstein! Have you gone mad?! How could I do that?! Even think of something so vile! It’s ridiculous! No, there’s no word to describe such nonsense! I love my brothers, and more than anyone, I wish for their return! I’ve agreed to pay their ransom even if it means ruining myself and my closest friends! How dare you utter such horrors?!"
The ex-minister, surprised, as he certainly hadn’t expected this response, remained silent for a moment.
"But I saw the proof! A good dozen letters, all signed! It was that old spy in your brother’s service who revealed the affair to me!"
At that moment, the expression on the prince's face changed.
"T-that spy… What did he look like?"
"Why should I tell you?! So you can arrest him, like you did to me?!"
"Did he have a very fine face, pale skin covered in small wrinkles, piercing light blue eyes like knives, and long white hair?"
"Huh? Um, yes."
The prince clenched his teeth so hard that von Finckenstein thought he heard a crack. He saw the prince’s fists tighten in fury, and it was only then that doubt began to creep into his mind.
"That man… Did he come to see you?"
"He told me you had been paid by our enemies to plunge the kingdom further into misery, and that you had tasked your brother with convincing generals to surrender to the French with as many soldiers as possible. All to ensure we couldn’t continue the war and would have to accept more humiliating terms."
"What?! That’s absurd!" shouted the prisoner as the prince was already turning to leave.
And in that instant, the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place for Karl Wilhelm Finck von Finckenstein. The reality of what had happened crashed down on him like a cold wave.
The door to the cell closed behind His Highness, the sound of the lock echoing loudly.
"Your Highness! I’ve been tricked! It was a trap! Your Highness!"