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It is a town surrounded by irises, and you can see the national flower of France everywhere.

However, the tired army after the rapid march was not in the mood to stop and enjoy the scene, but quickly deployed at Saint-Conlay.

As Ferdinand Foissy had guessed, they had just entered the town of Saint-Conley, and the cavalry units of the First Bavarian Army had already rushed over, but this time they had learned their lesson and did not rush to attack the under-formed French infantry regiment.

They adopted a policy of encirclement, originally intending to surround them layer by layer until the other side had no food and grass and surrendered. The cost of rash attack is too great, and besieging but not attacking is the best option.

Everything did not go as smoothly as the commander of the expeditionary force imagined, and the Count of Tann sent a telegram to him, ordering the Bavarian expeditionary force to take the choke town as quickly as possible, otherwise the fighter plane would be sent directly to the military court. Under pressure from his superiors, the commander had no choice but to attack.

However, the battle was not as easy as he imagined. There was artillery fire covering the entire town, but the French army, thanks to its familiarity with the geographical location, skillfully minimized the losses.

By the time they sent infantry regiments to attack, the hand-cranked Gatling guns began a new round of harvesting. The bloody battle lasted from noon to evening, and after a premonition that the losses were too great, he had to abandon the attack. By this time, the Low Rhine Army had already arrived to support, and the Prussian army was regrouping, waiting for the next opportunity to attack.

Commissar Berdoon stood at the head of the city, the light of the setting sun shining only on half of his face, which was not covered by the brim of his hat, and his indifferent eyes looked at the retreating Prussian army in disarray, and a mocking smile on the corner of his mouth.

He didn't expect the Bavarian servant troops to be so vulnerable.

What is even more ridiculous is that they actually used backward line infantry tactics, which were equivalent to lambs to the slaughter standing in front of the French, and the French army, which used skirmish line tactics, combined with the fire cover of the hand-cranked Gatling, relied on the city wall as a cover, and routed the Prussian army, which was many times larger than them.

Without the support of Napoleon's bronze cannons, this army relied on its iron will to stop the Prussian soldiers who rushed up. They had no time to dig trenches, so they had to pick up the green bricks that could be found everywhere in the town with bayonets and pile them up into bunkers, and the penetration of black powder was far less than that of later generations of smokeless gunpowder, so they had to use local materials to defend themselves in the same way that the citizens of Paris rioted against the government troops.

Bullets are stuffed into the chamber of the gun, then loaded, and the bayonet is equipped for white-knuckle combat. They stared at the darkness in front of them, and before the last rays of light faded, the dense figures in the field slowly dispersed.

The sun has not yet completely set, and the dusk here is eerie and quiet.

The French inhabitants of the town, who had not yet fled, volunteered to bring food to the soldiers, and sought doctors in the church in the center of the town, treated and bandaged their wounds.

Night began to cover the town, and the bonfires reflected every excited or uneasy face, and the mood of the vast majority of the people was still immersed in the day's fighting, which was the most exhilarating of their time against the Prussian army.

After arranging the sentry, Bedorion began to think about how to deal with the next situation. It was right to enter the town, otherwise it would be impossible for an infantry regiment to engage in a chase with the enemy's cavalry under the plain without any cover from the treacherous terrain. At least now they can defend from the towns.

The flickering kerosene lamp flickered in and out of view, and the brooding commissar of Bedorion was interrupted by an impassioned singing, and he put down the brush in his hand and walked to the door. Soldiers were seen sitting in the very center of the town, singing the Marseillaise around a lit bonfire.

The war had stained the young man's handsome face, and the red bandages wrapped around his arms did not slow their smiles, and someone whispered a harmonica, accompanied by the rhythm of hundreds of chorus, wafting a stirring melody in the silent night.

Allons enfants de la Patrie，

Forward, people of the Fatherland, stand up,

Le jour de gloire est arrivé!

Glory awaits you ahead!

Contre nous de la tyrannie，

You see the tyrant is glaring at us.

L'étendard sanglant est levé

Raise the blood-stained banner of freedom.

Entendez-vous dans les campagnes

Do you hear that? Murderous executioner

Mugir ces féroces soldats?

Roaring over the land of France,

Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras

They rush to you,

Egorger vos fils，vos compagnes!

Kill your family.

Aux armes， citoyens!

Arm up, our people

Formez vos bataillons!

Assemble a powerful army!

Marchons， marchons!

Advance! Advance!

The Marseillaise inspired every French soldier present, humming softly along with them. Some of the townspeople, who had been planning to flee the fighting, also stayed behind and volunteered to help the besieged soldiers.

When the others saw the political commissar appear behind them, the original chorus of 100 people quietly stopped, and everyone else turned around and noticed that the political commissar was leaning against the door, his eyes slightly closed, and he was softly humming the Marseillaise.

The chorus, which was still lively at the moment, has now become silent.

Every soldier was in awe of the commissar in front of him.

The cessation of the singing caused Bedorion to open his eyes, but he did not care about the gaze of the soldiers, but held his saber in his left hand, stepped over the threshold with his boots, and walked towards the campfire in the center of the town. "It's great to see that you can keep your spirits high after a day of war, and today is the most memorable and celebratory day, because I saw every French soldier fighting to the last moment." Although you were facing the elite of the Prussian army, not a single one of them retreated, and not a single one of them surrendered. This is the quality of a French soldier. Remember, the dictionary of the Imperial soldiers only has a fight to the death, not surrender. ”

The commissar clenched his fists and said word by word.

"France will not surrender!"

The motivating slogan lingered in the ears of every soldier and endured. Especially the last sentence in the dictionary of imperial soldiers, there is only defeat, not surrender. Let everyone worship with a new trend, and tears in the eyes of excitement.

The commissar looked around at the quiet crowd around him, and the young face focused his gaze on his face. The political commissar slowly drew his knife in his left hand, and after the sound of the metal scabbard was over, the narrow saber shimmered in the light of the bonfire.

The grim face trembled, and the commissar asked sharply, "What should we do if the Prussian army dares to invade again?" ”

By the time this was heard, the soldier's frenzy had already exploded. Shout in a loud voice.

"Kill them all!"

"None of them will be left!"

(The Chinese meaning of Marseillaise has been slightly changed to cater to this article)