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An Infantryman s
’

Perspective

Written by Chen Jun Hao

The earliest vague recollection that I could conjure up was the time I assisted my parents with

the farming, I was only about five years old if I could recall, helping out with menial tasks. Although I
have long forgiven my father for he has shown such genuine remorse for the sorrow he has caused me,
he was always prone to throw fits of pure rage, largely triggered by his excessive consumption of alcohol.
He was a veteran of the seven years' war and at times he would reminisce about his time spent fighting

in line battles against the British, though I was keenly aware of how greatly aggrandized certain claims
were made, I could not help but be amazed. When not in his drunken stupor, he would often take me to
the garden to train with a musket and shout common battlefield commands. These sessions were rather
brutal. Although scars, cuts, bruises and burns were all that's left, it certainly played a pivotal role in my

future career.

Under the Ancien Régime it was commonplace for certain tax collectors to come knocking on
https://pixabay.com/photos/napoleon-bonaparte-france-emperor-73543/?download
your door. I remember a 17-year-old me harvesting potatoes in the garden when I heard bickering at the

door. It was a band of private tax collectors. Although they tried to conceal their weapons, I could see
the outlines of a pistol under their cloaks. They were borderline extorting money from my family. My
parents tried protesting but to no avail, then for a split second, a hammer struck the frizzen of a pistol and
out came a single lead ball which struck my father. Cries rang out as he limped to the ground. The tax

collectors fled the scene, leaving us behind to mourn the death of the patriarch of the household.

After the hasty burial of my father, I decided to honour his legacy by enlisting into the army.
It was the year 1792 and I distinctly recall serving under Captain Napoleon Bonaparte as a grenadier.

Captivating, charismatic and cunning. We watched in amazement as he single-handedly suppressed a
band of protesters. At 168 centimetres, an imposing figure he was not, though his wits and sophistication
definitely won us over. I personally witnessed him sight a cannon all by himself despite his seniority
relative to his men.

It was with this singular campaign did I truly vow my loyalty to him. The year was 1793, right
in the heat of the revolution. I was barely given enough time to settle down when our regiment was
summoned. Confusion permeated throughout the ranks when finally the colonel informed us that we

were to prepare for our very first battle. Naturally many were filled with trepidation, myself included
though my resolve to avenge my father was stronger. Bugles sound and drums beat as we marched to
the port city of Toulon, it was France's largest and most important naval base in the south, or so we were
informed.

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