Northeast Switzerland.
Glarus.
Blucher cursed under his breath for nearly half an hour, finally seeming to tire himself out as he grabbed the wine bottle on the wooden table and took a big swig of wine.
It was bland, almost tasteless.
He glared at the attendant beside him, ready to start scolding again, but suddenly slumped back into his seat: "Is there no wine left? How much food do we have remaining?"
The corps staff quickly replied, "At two-thirds supply, there's enough for 4 days, General."
Blucher waved his hand: "Distribute it to the soldiers at normal rations, please. Send someone to contact Massena, we might consider surre…"
He was halfway through the sentence when two Hussar officers rode in swiftly, excitedly shouting, "General, we discovered a Swiss convoy, estimated to be transporting at least twenty thousand bushels of wheat, currently on the north side of the Mouten River Valley."
Blucher shot to his feet: "How many troops are guarding it?"
