Waterloo, Washington, and the New World Order. Chapter 1

Waterloo.
June 18th, 1815

As He looked out north into the late summer afternoon.

Tens of thousands of dead bodies covered the battlefield, human and animals littered around in a dead chaos.

He smiled.
There was a lot to smile about.

He was very happy.

He was back, and the British were gone. And soon the others would submit.

Without Wellington and his army on European soil, not even the money from the the British would be enough to stop him from ruling his empire once again.

The coffers of Moscow and Vienna- filled with British gold, would not help them.

He was destined to be master of Europe, He knew it. He had always known it.

He would not - he could not- let his people, his children, succumb to the Evil walking this earth. It had a name.
It's name was nobility.

Why they had let him live was still a mystery to Him.

It was always their fatal mistake - underestimating him. They had done so at Morengo, and at Austerlitz, and at a hundred other places.

Hubris he thought, Evil hubris.

He had not wasted a single minute of a single day while He was in his open prison - on that rock of an island.
He had been calculating, corresponding, and planning.

Things were now in place. He had support and he had allies. He had hope. More than hope.

He would be walking through London by next Summer, if all went according to plan.

He looked over at his old leather satchels, dwelling on the contents held within.

If Jefferson - and now Madison- were true to their word (he had no reason to doubt them) then those letters, those promises- held the prosperous future of a new Europe and the New world.
The whole world in fact.

Jefferson was had been good friend of over 20 years - from the time when he was minister to France.
He knew he was no fool, and much smarter than most.
Jefferson was one of the few men he truly looked up to, and respected.

They had known this moment was coming, all those years ago when they chatted for days upon days, walking in the grounds of Malmaison (his country residence away from the petty politics of court. ). They spent talking talking and appreciating the rose gardens that Josephine had lovingly spent nurturing them, to their finest blooms.

There was no where to hide, even as far away as the new world of Jefferson's' Americas.
Jefferson knew this, and He said had so to Napoleon, many times.
Evil knows no human boundaries.

He always kept those papers close, even when sleeping. They were beyond any monetary value.
Carried by his most trusted bodyguards, they were kept safe.

.....Ah! - an image.
Josephine's image. Her face swept briefly across his mind as He looked out across the battlefield.

He had promised her a coronation in Westminster Abbey, all those many years ago.

It made him melancholy thinking about her and all their years together.

Her untimely death recently had shook him to the core, and would have loved nothing more than to shut himself away, and despair in solitude, until he felt whole again.
If He could ever feet whole again.

The world would not let him that privilege.
Destiny would not indulge him that breathing space.

My sweet dear Josephine, He thought.
She hadn't known of course, but He had already made plans for her to be the Empress of the British Isles.

It was his promise he had made to her.
It was too late now.
He remembered placing the crown on her head in Paris.

There would be no other coronation for His one true love.

He had only ever felt love for this one woman in His life. Only for His Josephine...

Shaking his head to clear it of the memories, and of what could have been, he came back into the moment.

Onward, only onwards.

He turned.
“Ney, Ney!,” He shouted.
“Yes sire,” Ney said, running over to him, looking at His Emperor for further instruction.

“Push Wellington and his rabble into the sea. Keep the pressure in his back. Don't let up.” He said.

“Yes Sire,.....” Ney replied, not sure weather he was expected to give any further input, or await orders.

“Send one Corp and some artillery,” He said, “And blast them back across the English Channel. A corp will be enough.”

He looked at his soldiers near to him, bloodied, filthy with war. His children.

“Let my army rest tonight," He said, " They have done more than I could have hoped to ask of them, this day.
Wellington's artillery and cavalry will be loading onto barges in Ostend by now," He said, smiling "Blucher and his Landwehr rabble will be begging me for peace tomorrow,”

“Yes sire,” Ney said, moving off to give orders to his subordinates.

“Oh, Ney!”, He shouted.
“Yes sire,” He replied.

“Send a rider with this message to Blucher - to arrive tomorrow afternoon.” He held out his hand with a rolled up, sealed scroll towards his general.

“Yes sire,” Ney said, taking the scroll. “May I inquire as to what is in it, sire?,” He said.
Nervous, but the battle adrenaline still coursing through his veins and giving him the courage to ask.

Napoleon laughed, looking at him. He knew Ney. He knew he wouldn't normally ask such a question. His old war horse.

“Yes, Ney,” He said, smiling broadly, “How would you like to be the Prussian First Consul? ”

Ney Stopped dead in his tracks. Looked at His emperor. His life. His love.