《I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century》


 Prologue

    While his group marched far ahead in the German mountains, Adam spent his time flirting with his girlfriend, Joanna. From a distance, one could easily mistake them for a solid couple who had been together for months or even years, but in reality, they had only known each other for a little over a week.


    In Adam''s eyes, and he was certain Joanna was aware of it, this was just a holiday fling. Soon, the group would part ways, each person returning home, including the two young people who had been spending their days together for some time now.


    Every opportunity was a good one to kiss and hold hands.


    ¡°Hurry up back there!¡± grumbled a camp counselor for the hundredth time, who was twice their age.


    They had set out early in the morning from their leisure center to go on a hike, while others chose horseback riding or canoeing, much to the frustration of the young boy who didn¡¯t enjoy walking.


    At least, he thought with a slight smile on his face, I get to spend time with Joanna.


    She was a very pretty girl, one of the prettiest he had ever seen. She had long, wavy red hair and large, bright blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires. She was also fairly tall, as tall as him, which was uncommon. Adam himself was quite a good-looking boy, which had made it easy for him to attract girls¡¯ attention since middle school. It hadn¡¯t been difficult to charm this spirited young girl.


    At first, she had rejected his advances, but his sweet words eventually won her over. The past few days had been happy and entertaining.


    ¡°Hey, Adam, you¡¯ll call me often, right?¡±


    Adam looked at Joanna in surprise before smiling warmly at her.


    ¡°Of course! Every day!¡±


    This was exactly the answer the young girl was hoping for, and she returned his smile.


    Their stay in Germany was coming to an end, and soon it would be time to go home. Then, school would start again. He would see his friends, his family, his dog, and his cat. Even though it was highly unlikely they would ever see each other again, Adam couldn¡¯t bring himself to say anything else to Joanna''s question.


    ¡°Watch your step, it¡¯s slippery,¡± Joanna said to her boyfriend, whose hand she held tightly.


    The ground was indeed muddy due to recent rain showers. Although it was now sunny and warm, it hadn¡¯t been enough to make this long dirt path any easier to walk on. In some places, they had to step aside to avoid a large puddle, even if it meant walking through thick, damp grass.


    They were surrounded by tall trees, and the slope was steep enough to make everyone sweat.


    Ah, and to think it''s just to eat at the top of one of these small mountains! Ah, I¡¯m thirsty.


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    Adam pulled a plastic bottle out of his backpack and, while walking, began to drink in large gulps. He didn¡¯t see the large puddle in front of him, and without Joanna''s warning, he would have stepped right into it.


    ¡°Thanks, Jo¡ª¡±


    He didn¡¯t have time to finish his sentence before he felt his foot slip as if he were standing on ice.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Adam!¡±


    As he tried to regain his balance, he tipped to the side and tumbled down the slope to his left. The scenery whirled past him as he rolled over and over. Nothing seemed to be able to stop him as he gained speed.


    Instinctively, he tried to protect his head with his hands, and eventually, he came to a halt. Dazed, he looked around and made sure he wasn¡¯t injured.


    Phew! That was close!


    Not far from where he had stopped, there was a huge black rock shaped like a fang. He would have certainly hurt himself badly if he had crashed into it.


    ¡°Adam! Are you okay?!¡±


    From the path, Joanna called out to him with concern. The camp counselor and the other kids had turned back, each one as worried as the redheaded girl.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± he assured them as he struggled to stand up. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt!¡±


    Adam could almost hear the sighs of relief coming from the path.


    But as he was about to try climbing back up, his eyes noticed a small, shiny object at the base of the black rock. Wedged between the roots of a nearby tree, he found an old-fashioned pocket watch. The watch was clearly weathered and covered in moss, as if it had been there for years. However, its golden face still retained some of its luster. He thought he saw an engraving inside, but time had rendered it unreadable.


    With some caution, the young man picked it up and admired it.


    ¡°Wow! It¡¯s beautiful! But it¡¯s really taken a beating!¡±


    Proud of his find, he slipped it into the pocket of his denim jacket and began to climb, using the nearby tree roots as steps.


    Suddenly, a violent migraine struck, and his vision became blurry. Colors faded, and the sunlight instantly became unbearable.


    ¡°W-what?¡±


    Adam didn¡¯t understand what was happening to him. Just moments ago, he had felt perfectly fine, but now it felt as if his head was being crushed. With each passing second, the pain became more and more unbearable.


    ¡°A-ah¡­ My head¡­ My head hurts.¡±


    Unaware of the situation, Joanna and the others were waiting for Adam to climb back up.


    Help!


    Even the mere act of thinking aggravated his headache. Leaning against a huge oak tree, Adam covered his face with his dirt-stained hand. Only his mouth, twisted in pain, was visible.


    It hurts so much! God, please make it stop!


    His heart seemed to pound loudly, drowning out the sound of the wind in the leaves and his own breathing. His legs went weak, and before he realized it, he found himself sitting on the ground at the foot of the great oak. All his strength left him, and he collapsed to the side, losing consciousness.


    When he reopened his eyes, he found himself surrounded by strangers dressed in strange clothing. Though he lacked the strength to move or speak, he realized he was lying under a large white tent made of thick canvas. Confused, he looked around and noticed that many people were lying on makeshift beds, many of them covered in blood and bandages. As for the smell, it could only be described as foul, a mix of blood, straw, sweat, and animals. The combination made Adam want to vomit, even though he had just woken up.


    ¡°Fran?ois! You¡¯re awake!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a miracle!¡±


    Huh? Why are they calling me Fran?ois? Who are these people?! Oh, my head!


    The pain, still present, suddenly exploded in his head with the force of a punch. It was so intense that, despite his efforts, he lost consciousness once again.

 Chapter 1: Military Hospital

    The mist had long since dissipated around the war-ravaged village of Hastenbeck, replaced by an oppressive heat that drove men and beasts alike to seek shade, particularly near the tall trees in the region. An eerie atmosphere prevailed, a sort of heaviness that contrasted with the beauty of the cloudless blue sky. The smell of burnt powder still lingered in the air, barely diffused by a light breeze from the southeast. It tickled the soldiers'' noses, making those not yet accustomed to it wrinkle their brows.


    While the men were busy dealing with the aftermath of the battle that had ended a few hours earlier, the wounded were being cared for in a makeshift hospital set up a little away from the camp. The screams of pain that escaped from it could be heard from afar, prompting most soldiers to keep their distance.


    "How is he?" asked a man with a distinguished appearance and a pleasant face.


    "Fran?ois still hasn''t opened his eyes, Colonel."


    "He did regain consciousness earlier, but after looking around, he passed out again. I''m afraid the blow to his head did more damage than that bullet to his shoulder."


    The colonel, dressed in his fine uniform adorned with numerous gold elements, silently looked at the young soldier lying practically on the ground. Like most new recruits, he was barely an adult, possibly half the colonel''s age, and could have easily been his son. The officer let out a deep sigh, his expression grave.


    This young man was under his command, but they didn''t know each other since one was an officer and noble, while the other was just a common soldier and a peasant. The boy''s features were delicate like those of a woman; his thin lips had lost their color, and his elastic skin appeared terribly pale.


    The officer turned his attention to the other young men who seemed to be the first''s friends. He addressed the eldest-looking one in a calm, reassuring tone.


    "I see. Your friend is in good hands. Let me know when he wakes up."


    "Yes, sir!"


    Despite his title of marquis, his honors at Court, and his rank of colonel, Monsieur de Br¨¦hant remained very close to his men. He was respected as much by the king as by the brave soldiers of the Picardy regiment, which he commanded.


    By visiting the field hospital, he showed his care for the soldiers, even the most modest among them.


    "Hey, guys," said one of the soldiers dressed entirely in white, "do you think there''s a chance he might never wake up?"


    "Don''t say nonsense, Jean!" retorted another, in a tone both aggressive and full of concern. "He will wake up! We just have to hope that fall didn''t damage his brain."


    "Still, what a fall! Did he really have to land headfirst on a rock?"


    "Earlier, when Fran?ois opened his eyes, he seemed completely lost. Do you think he''s become an idiot?"


    "More than usual, you mean? Hahaha!"


    Perhaps out of nervousness, the small group began to laugh softly around their unconscious friend. Quickly, the mood became somber again.


    "Haha, we shouldn''t laugh about this, guys. Besides, he''s not really an idiot, he just likes to joke around. He''s always been like that, even though he''s changed a lot since we left. And he was smart enough to enlist in Monsieur de Br¨¦hant''s regiment!"


    The few soldiers surrounding Fran?ois all nodded in agreement.


    "Yeah... He mostly wanted to escape his parents'' pressure. They kept pushing him to take over the butcher shop."


    "Are you sure it wasn''t to get away from Agathes Desmoulins, Charles?"


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    "You''re one to talk, right? Didn''t you enlist to escape her sister? By God, they''re as ugly as each other! The only thing they had going for them was their bosoms!" he said, crossing his powerful arms over his broad chest.


    "Why are you talking about bosoms, Jean? Let me remind you that the last time you saw one was when you were still suckling your mother!"


    "Hahaha!"


    Although they joked among themselves, their laughter sounded hollow. Everyone could see that worry was gnawing at them. The entire upper part of their friend''s head was wrapped in a thick layer of white bandages.


    Fran?ois belonged to the Picardy regiment, just like these few people around him. They were his most loyal friends, well before being his comrades in arms. Although they had enlisted in this regiment at the same time, it was for very different reasons.


    A man''s voice, full of irritation, suddenly rang out behind them, interrupting their conversation.


    "Have you finished chattering like a bunch of old women?! Can''t you see there are injured men here?!"


    The field surgeon was an old man with the look of a butcher and the croaking voice of a sick crow. He was in charge here, responsible for getting all these men back on their feet. Pale-skinned, with thin limbs and a forehead covered in sweat, he looked like a malevolent madman.


    "Oh, come on! We''re just visiting our friend. We''re from the same village."


    "I don''t care!" the man cut in. "You want to help? Then leave the tent! Our patients need rest, and your friend is no exception. Those bandages aren''t there just for show!"


    Indeed, young Fran?ois had nearly died that day from a very bad fall after being hit by an enemy bullet. He had fallen to the side, where unfortunately the ground sloped steeply, and his head had struck a rock the size of a pig. When he had been brought to the surgeon, the latter had deemed his chances of survival very slim. That didn''t stop him from doing everything possible to keep him from dying.


    Under those bandages was an impressive wound shaped like a half-horseshoe, running from his temple to above his left ear. The surgeon, despite his frightful temperament, had done what he could by disinfecting and stitching the horrible wound, but it would be up to the young man and God to decide the final outcome.


    Hours passed without Adam noticing. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the weathered peaks covered with massive trees surrounding Hastenbeck. In the increasingly dark sky, a few stars were already visible. The temperature was finally beginning to drop, making the air a bit more breathable. It was then that he opened his eyes.


    Immediately, an excruciating headache seized him, to the point where he wished he could lose consciousness again. The slightest sound, the slightest light, the slightest thought¡ªall caused pain.


    With great effort, he raised a trembling hand to his head. As soon as he touched the rough, dirty bandages with his fingertips, a strange sensation overcame him. The world seemed to spin around him. It took him a few more seconds to regain his senses.


    His memory was confused. He remembered going on a hike with his little group in the German mountains, then slipping and tumbling down a slope. While he hadn''t been injured, it had been a frightening experience. At the bottom, he had found a very old-fashioned watch, then started feeling unwell.


    Strangely, these memories were mixed with others that were familiar yet unfamiliar. The images were so intertwined and blurry that he had great difficulty analyzing them and putting them in order. The name Fran?ois kept coming up, along with smiling faces. A family he didn''t recognize, a peaceful village he had never visited, and nameless friends.


    What are these memories? What''s happening to me?


    One by one, like a silent film or a slideshow, strange memories surfaced randomly, some old, some recent. He saw himself being recruited into an army, not knowing which one, training hard, not knowing why, then leaving with his friends in a troop without knowing where to.


    Where am I?


    Confused and disoriented, he looked around with immense effort. Adam realized he was under a large tent that he shared with several hundred wounded and dying men, groaning and calling for their mothers. Where they all came from, however, was a mystery. He belatedly noticed that his throat was very dry, as if he hadn''t had a drop of water in days.


    It was then that he saw a small group enter the tent, taking advantage of the surgeon''s brief rest.


    These are... my friends? Why does it feel like I know all of them?


    "Ah! You''re finally awake! Praise be to the Lord!"


    "Ouch!"


    Jean, a tall, strong man, had thrown himself on Adam to hug him, accidentally hurting him. Surprised and unsure how to react, but also too weak, Adam didn''t respond. His other "friends" quickly reacted, albeit a bit late:


    "You idiot, be careful! You hurt him!"


    "Oh, sorry, Fran?ois."


    Everyone in the group, as well as in their native village, agreed that God had played a strange trick by giving Jean a weak mind in exchange for a strong body. The wounded man, not wanting to react strangely, forced a slight smile to reassure these people, whose eyes were full of concern.


    "I-it''s okay, it''s nothing."


    It was probably the worst lie they had ever heard, but the group pretended to believe it. Even Jean wasn''t entirely convinced.


    They''re calling me Fran?ois... But it feels... normal?


    Still confused, he asked the question that was burning on his lips.


    "Where are we? What happened?" Adam asked weakly, not directing the question to anyone in particular.

 Chapter 2: The Battle Of Hastenbeck

    Seeing their friend so confused, the small group of soldiers couldn¡¯t help but exchange sorrowful glances, as if having a silent conversation.


    ¡°You don¡¯t remember?¡± asked a young man with hair as red as Joanna¡¯s. ¡°Well, you did take a nasty hit to the head. We¡¯re in Hastenbeck, near Hameln, deep in enemy territory. We won a great victory yesterday against the Hanoverian troops led by the Duke of Cumberland. We managed to drive him off, that butcher of Culloden!¡±


    Little Paul¡¯s enthusiasm didn¡¯t seem to be shared by everyone.


    ¡°Yeah, right, it was chaos over there!¡± grumbled Jules, shaking his head, his fine blonde curls bouncing on his forehead. ¡°We only noticed he¡¯d left at the end of the battle, all because Marshal d¡¯Estr¨¦es thought we had an enemy at our back when we didn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°But at least we won!¡± insisted Little Paul. ¡°Hey, maybe we¡¯ll get a reward? After all, it¡¯s thanks to the Picardy Regiment and Mr. de Chevert, who commands us, that we won this battle!¡±


    ¡°Hmm, if I were you, I wouldn¡¯t count on it too much,¡± Jules said. ¡°It¡¯s mostly thanks to our artillery that we routed the enemy.¡±


    Adam was struggling to think. Most of the information made no sense to him, but thanks to his friends, he began to grasp the situation.


    Hanoverians? Cumberland? D¡¯Estr¨¦es? I don¡¯t get it, except that there was a battle yesterday. Oh, my head hurts so much!


    ¡°So, um, the enemy is retreating, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°And our¡­ regiment distinguished itself?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    Uh, okay. I guess. Damn, this is ridiculous! None of this makes any sense! It feels like I¡¯m in a dream! That¡¯s it! I¡¯m hallucinating! Am I hallucinating? This doesn¡¯t really feel like a hallucination; what am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to react?!


    ¡°T-that¡¯s good.¡±


    The weak response, which sounded more like a question, was interpreted oddly by the small group.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look so grim, Fran?ois! You¡¯ll see more battles like this!¡±


    Adam, exhausted by the recent events, didn¡¯t have the strength to correct these people every time they called him by that name. He let the enthusiastic soldiers talk and recount a battle that didn¡¯t stir any feelings in him.


    They chatted cheerfully for a few more minutes, but as Adam slowly pieced together the puzzle, they were interrupted by the old surgeon, who had already returned. In a fit of rage, he chased everyone out except for Adam, of course, who, like all the patients in this hospital, needed rest.


    As soon as they left, Adam¡¯s face grew serious. Lying still on his poor cot, he tried to ignore the groans and complaints coming from the nearby beds to focus on his own situation.


    Thanks to his friends, whose names he had somewhat memorized, he understood that France was at war with the Hanoverians, the English, and the Prussians, and that they were winning. He didn¡¯t know where Hanover and Prussia were, but he suspected they were somewhere in Germany. As for the reason behind this war, he had no clue.


    To him, ever since the end of World War II, there had been no reason to go to war with the Germans, as they were allies and friends. The problem was that he no longer seemed to be in his own time. The clothes his friends were wearing and the main thing that made him think this, as absurd as it might seem...


    Unfortunately, he was as bad at history as he was at geography. Just as he didn¡¯t know who these Hanoverians and Prussians were, he had no idea who this enemy general they had driven off was. In fact, he hadn¡¯t even memorized his name.


    Adam was so bad at history that he mixed up the kings and confused them with the wrong centuries.


    Later in the evening, just as everyone was returning to their tents, a worrying rumor began to spread throughout the camp and soon reached the young man¡¯s ears. The Duke of Cumberland was said to be planning a surprise attack on the French army at sunrise. Someone had heard this story from a friend who knew someone in a grenadier brigade who had heard that this was what Hanoverian deserters had revealed to Marshal d¡¯Estr¨¦es.


    This rumor unsettled many of the French soldiers, exhausted from the recent battle. Many wondered if the rumor was true. If it was, it was particularly cunning of the enemy commander, because an army that had just won a victory would certainly not expect to be attacked that very night by the defeated army.


    In the end, the night passed quietly. There was no attack at dawn or during the night.


    That night, Adam alternated between phases of sleep and wakefulness. Often, he wasn¡¯t sure whether he was sleeping or not. Without thinking, he turned to his usual side and felt intense pain from his head injury. This pain far outweighed the one he felt in his shoulder, where he was said to have been shot.


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    The pain was so intense that it made him cry. He used all his strength to stay silent, not wanting to be seen in this state and draw attention to himself. All he wanted was to sleep and wake up in a familiar environment, in a modern and comfortable bed.


    It was already well past dawn when Adam finally woke up. His headache, though still present, was much more bearable as long as he didn¡¯t do anything foolish.


    From his cot, he could hear heavy explosions in the distance. Curiously, he instinctively knew they were cannons and mortars, not threatening thunder. The sound of the marshal¡¯s cannons was short and regular, while thunder was long, like a dog¡¯s growl.


    His dreams had been restless for most of the night, and when he opened his eyes, he had come to the conclusion that he, Adam, now occupied the body of another, the one these people who had come to see him called Fran?ois. Whether he liked it or not, he had also acquired part of his memories, and perhaps even more.


    I-I have to get up! I can¡¯t stay in the hospital forever, thought Adam, without realizing that a normal person would certainly choose to stay safe until at least the cannons fell silent.


    The old surgeon, surprised to see his patient trying to stand up, urged him to lie down for a few more days. But it was a lost cause, as the young man was as stubborn as he was determined.


    Powerless and still too busy due to the recent battle, the surgeon let the foolish young man, too eager to rush to his death, leave.


    The field hospital wasn¡¯t in the same place as the camp, but a bit further south in a large village located along a river called the Weser. Daylight had been up for a few hours already, and from what Adam could gather by listening to the conversations around the camp, the Duke d¡¯Estr¨¦es¡¯ army had moved a bit further north to besiege the small town mentioned by his ¡°friends¡± the day before, the one named Hameln.


    They must all be there! I have to hurry and join them!


    Adam didn¡¯t understand why he was so eager to go. It was as if a part of him really wanted to join the action and witness the fall of the town.


    Luckily for him, he wasn¡¯t completely left to his fate. At the hospital entrance, he encountered a man in his thirties with a nose as red as a clown¡¯s, where tiny purple veins were easily visible. Although he had never seen this man before, Adam recognized him.


    It¡¯s thanks to Fran?ois¡¯s memories, he realized as he approached the man.


    He was the lieutenant of his company. Although Adam knew nothing about military ranks in this army, he had no doubt that this man was much higher-ranked than him.


    Like his friends and all the soldiers he passed, this man wore a strange uniform that vaguely reminded Adam of Napoleon Bonaparte. The weapons he had seen, at least, seemed roughly from that period.


    Though poor at history, Adam had a few basic notions. He couldn¡¯t ignore that name, one of the most famous historical figures in France. The more he saw, the more he understood that, somehow, he had traveled through time. The question now was, what year was it?


    Leaning on a makeshift crutch, the lieutenant had also been under the surgeon¡¯s care. Fortunately, he had managed to keep his leg, which wasn¡¯t the case for everyone.


    ¡°Glad to see you on your feet, kid! The Marquis de Br¨¦hant came by the hospital yesterday, but unfortunately, you were asleep. I¡¯m surprised to see you up already. How are you feeling?¡±


    Adam hesitated for a moment and decided to reply more politely than ever to blend in.


    ¡°I¡¯m feeling much better, sir. Thank you. Um, I want to return to my company, but I don¡¯t know where my uniform is.¡±


    Fortunately for Adam, the man didn¡¯t notice anything strange in his response.


    ¡°Is that wise? Well, as you wish. Follow me, everything¡¯s stored under that tent. Everything¡¯s labeled.¡±


    Noticing the young man¡¯s face, pale as a sheet, he couldn¡¯t help but add, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, soldier. I wager you won¡¯t need to fire a single shot. There can¡¯t be many people left inside that little town. We¡¯ve been bombarding it since dawn, and it¡¯s more likely they¡¯ll surrender either today or tomorrow.¡±


    Oddly, Adam felt a sense of dread rising within him. It was as if his future depended on whether or not he participated in the capture of this town he knew nothing about.


    He followed the directions to the letter and retrieved his few personal belongings. Under the watchful eye of the quartermaster, he hurried to put on his red jacket and snow-white coat and set off on foot for Hameln. This outfit was really strange for someone used to jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers. Thanks to the habits ingrained in this body, he managed to dress without embarrassing himself. The hardest thing to put on had, of course, been his black felt tricorne hat trimmed with gold.


    Because it was far too early to remove his bandages, he placed his tricorne with the utmost care¡ªthough not enough to avoid pain¡ªover the soiled dressings. He had been clearly told that the wound was significant and that if he wasn¡¯t careful, it could reopen. In any case, it would leave an impressive scar.


    Still somewhat nauseous and disoriented, he painstakingly followed a dirt road, guided by the terrible sound of cannon fire cracking through the air. The closer he got, the more visible the fear became on his rigid face.


    This was far from the image he had of war, thanks to¡ªor because of¡ªvideo games. Here, it felt like he was willingly walking into Hell. If he had first very naively thought that because he occupied the body of a soldier, he would know what to do when the time came, he quickly had to rethink that.


    Somehow, when he arrived in front of the besieged town, he knew that this was his real battle. The day before, Fran?ois had, for the first time, loaded his musket with the intent of firing it at someone. His accident had happened early in the battle, so he hadn¡¯t had the chance to harden himself in the field.


    Regretting his decision the entire way, Adam felt fear rise within him like a slimy serpent along his leg. He imagined himself charging at the small town with its high walls like in the Middle Ages and dying immediately.


    As he walked, less and less resolute, Adam noticed that despite such a march, he wasn¡¯t tired at all. He had already realized how different his body was from his original one. First, he was a bit taller, then he had good muscles, and finally, his hands were rough as if he had spent many years working. There were even a few small scars and superficial cuts.


    Both fascinated and frightened by the fact that he was occupying a body that wasn¡¯t his, he didn¡¯t slow down, thinking there was nothing he could do about it and that he would have the chance to explore his new body later.


    To his great relief, at the very moment he presented himself to his captain, the gates of the town opened, allowing the French troops to enter. The garrison in Hameln, consisting of only two battalions, saw no way they could hold out against such a large army.


    The Hanoverians were arrested, and the town was immediately searched for anything that could be of use to His Majesty¡¯s army.


    Fortunately, a large quantity of resources was found, including fodder for the animals and wine for the soldiers.


    ¡°Victory!¡±


    ¡°Long live France!¡±


    ¡°Long live the King!¡±


    ¡°Vive le mar¨¦chal d¡¯Estr¨¦es!¡±


    ¡°To Hanover!¡±

 Chapter 3: Hameln

    The residents of Hameln watched helplessly as a victorious foreign army marched into their city. They gathered along the main street, on balconies, at windows, and on stone staircases to get a better view of the scene. Some, however, couldn¡¯t bear to witness the sorrowful event and chose to lock themselves inside their homes, drowning their grief in alcohol.


    Everyone felt abandoned now that the Duke of Cumberland''s army had not stayed to protect them. Instead, he and his forces had left¡ªor rather fled¡ªthe area under cover of night, heading north.


    It hadn''t been difficult to determine the route they had taken, as the tracks left by such a large troop couldn¡¯t be concealed, especially not in such a short time. However, the route they had taken did not lead to Hanover.


    This was very strange, as Hanover was an important city for His British Majesty, who was also the Prince-Elector of Hanover. For King George II, losing that city would be like losing London. If the Duke of Cumberland had intended to defend it, he should have taken the road heading northeast. All the high-ranking officers surrounding Marshal d¡¯Estr¨¦es were left wondering what the Duke could possibly be thinking.


    For the common soldiers, however, this question was of little concern. Known for their meager pay, they saw this as an opportunity to enrich themselves and finally eat properly.


    Not all the French soldiers had entered the city yet, and in front of Hameln¡¯s gates, an immense throng of men in white uniforms and black tricorns could be seen. Here and there, colorful uniforms stood out¡ªthese were mainly the foreign regiments. Some of them had been killed by accident during the Battle of Hastenbeck, as they had been mistaken for enemies due to their different uniforms.


    Lost in the crowd, young Adam waited his turn, barely managing to stay upright by leaning on his long, heavy rifle, while he scanned the crowd for the familiar faces of his comrades. He looked disoriented now that he stood at the foot of the city wall. The wall had visibly suffered a great deal in just a few hours, as evidenced by the fragments of stone scattered across the grass, yellowed by the heat, and the deep impacts left by the iron cannonballs.


    "Fran?ois! Fran?ois!"


    "We¡¯re over here!"


    A small group of soldiers dressed like Adam pushed through the crowd, huge smiles on their faces.


    "It¡¯s another great victory!" exclaimed Jean, as imposing as a wardrobe.


    "Yes! Two victories in two days!" confirmed P¡¯tit Pol¡¯, nodding vigorously, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "Maybe we¡¯ll win another one tomorrow? Hahaha!"


    Once everyone was gathered around Adam, Jules adopted a more serious expression and looked around.


    "Hmm, I doubt that Monsieur the Marshal will order the army to move. We have a lot of wounded, and we¡¯ve only just captured this city."


    "Ah, that¡¯s true," sighed P¡¯tit Pol¡¯. "I heard we had nearly three thousand dead and wounded yesterday!"


    "That¡¯s what I heard too," confirmed Louis, a young man with an angelic face. "I also heard that a good number of them were injured or killed by our own men!"


    "I heard that story too," added Charles, fanning himself with his right hand to cool down a bit.


    "Apparently, Monsieur de Randan¡¯s troops, the Swiss, attacked a position we already held, and because they came from a different direction and wore red uniforms, they were mistaken for the English."


    "I heard that actually, that redoubt had been attacked by eight hundred furious Hanoverians who got lost in the woods while trying to retreat," said Louis, clearly not convinced by this rumor, which he found too ridiculous to be true.


    "Bah, it¡¯s probably the officers trying to cover up their mistakes," commented Jules, clicking his tongue in disdain.


    "Yeah, well, we¡¯re not entirely innocent either, you know, Jules? If you didn¡¯t aim so poorly, I might be among the casualties!"


    "Well, what kind of idea is it to go off and relieve yourself without telling anyone? Don¡¯t be surprised if you¡¯re mistaken for an enemy and shot at!"


    The five men laughed heartily while recounting these stories, though they occasionally cast worried glances at their wounded friend. Seeing how pale Adam was, with his left hand trembling on the rifle he was using as a crutch, Jean stepped forward and placed a friendly hand on his uninjured shoulder.


    "Are you sure you¡¯re alright, old friend? Do you want to go back to the hospital?"


    He¡¯s so tall! He must be at least 1.90 meters!


    "Um, no, no. Thank you. It¡¯s just that¡­ I don¡¯t feel very well. I just need to rest a bit. So, did we win?"


    "Yes! The Duke of Cumberland packed up and left with his army during the night! He only left a very small force behind. In other words, he abandoned them!"


    It was P¡¯tit Pol¡¯ who had spoken.


    Like a flash, a bit of information appeared in Adam¡¯s mind. His real name was actually Hippolyte, but everyone called him that. He was a small redhead with a face covered in freckles. He seemed kind but mischievous. His red hair, which stuck out from under his tricorn, was impossible to miss. It looked like fox fur, except it was slightly wavy. If it weren¡¯t tied back in a short ponytail, it would have stuck out in all directions and covered much of his face, which still retained its childlike features.


    By carefully listening to the conversation they had had the previous day, Adam had learned that he had enlisted with Fran?ois in hopes of making a fortune during this new war. He had quickly become disappointed, as he had said he regretted not inquiring about the pay. Apparently, everyone knew that the pay for a common soldier was so low that many of them resorted to looting to make up for it and to eat their fill.


    Including Fran?ois, there were six of them who had left their village of Corbie. There was P¡¯tit Pol¡¯, the youngest of the group; Jean, the big guy with a body carved out of stone, who seemed ten years older than the rest of the group; Jules, whose calm demeanor and intelligent reflections had greatly helped Adam grasp the situation he was in; Charles, who seemed to be suffocating in his uniform; and Louis, whose perfect face inspired nothing but deep jealousy in Adam.


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    No one should be that good-looking! Damn, he looks like a top model! If I hadn¡¯t traveled back in time, I¡¯d swear he had cosmetic surgery! Is that even possible in this era?


    Turning his gaze away from that face, which was too perfect to be real, Adam¡¯s thoughts began to wander. He pondered the reasons that had driven Fran?ois, the original owner of this body. A significant part of the information he had been able to gather was still somewhere in his brain.


    Fran?ois apparently had several motivations for enlisting. Adam believed he understood that Fran?ois was something of a dreamer. He wanted to live great adventures like those in the epic stories he¡¯d heard in his childhood. These stories were filled with bravery, honor, romance, grand voyages, and riches.


    But Fran?ois was also ambitious. This might have been the most important factor in his decision-making. He didn¡¯t want to live an ordinary life, stuck in a role imposed by others. He also wanted to escape a marriage he didn¡¯t want with Agathe Desmoulins, the daughter of Joseph Desmoulins, the butcher like his parents in Corbie. His parents had been very enthusiastic about this union because the Desmoulins¡¯ butcher shop was much larger than theirs. Adam vaguely remembered a heated conversation between Fran?ois and his parents about this. Not wanting to settle down in that small shop and miss out on his life, Fran?ois had jumped at the first opportunity to escape his grim fate.


    ¡°Hey, Fran?ois, you alright?¡±


    ¡°Huh? What?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look well.¡±


    ¡°Uh, it¡¯s fine. Thanks, Charles.¡±


    Wait, that¡¯s Charles, right? Yes, that¡¯s it! Phew!


    ¡°Alright. In that case¡­ You should still go see Monsieur de Br¨¦hant later. It¡¯s not worth it right now. He¡¯s probably with Monsieur the Marshal, taking full possession of this town and inventorying what might be useful for the rest of the campaign.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. I¡¯ll do that.¡±


    ¡°Alright, enough talking! It¡¯ll be time to eat soon. Now that Hameln has fallen, we can certainly hope for more than just bread. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll have chicken or pork!¡±


    ¡°Stop it, Jules! You¡¯re making me hungry!¡± said Jean, looking like a sad puppy as he rubbed his stomach.


    Although the campaign had just begun, food was already scarce within the army, so the men mainly relied on what they could find from the enemy. The capture of Hameln was therefore a promise of a delicious meal.


    Around noon, during the hottest part of the day, the six companions sat directly on the ground on a small stone staircase to eat their meal, which was leaner than they had hoped. By luck, they had found some good charcuterie, butter, and eggs.


    As they wondered where they might find utensils to make an excellent omelet, a small squad of soldiers from the Navarre regiment passed by. Their uniforms were very similar to theirs, with the only difference being the pockets. With different shapes, they couldn¡¯t be confused. This was how, in most cases since a reform of the army, regiments were distinguished from one another.


    Contrary to what one might expect, this regiment didn¡¯t come from southern France, since that region was on the Spanish border, but from the northeast. Its name indicated its prestigious origin, as it was formerly called the "King of Navarre¡¯s Guards Regiment," but that was centuries ago! Like the Picardy regiment, the Navarre regiment was one of the oldest in France.


    Ignoring all these details, Adam watched warily as this group approached them, eyeing their precious food. The good mood that had surrounded the group collapsed suddenly like a house of cards, and everyone fell silent. In this tense silence, the footsteps of these armed men seemed deafening.


    ¡°Hello, everyone!¡± one of the men said, raising a hand in greeting with a broad smile. ¡°I see you¡¯ve found some good ingredients!¡±


    The man seemed friendly, but neither Adam nor his companions let their guard down. They had seen many soldiers behaving like thugs in town. Just because they were part of the same army didn¡¯t mean they wouldn¡¯t try something against them.


    ¡°Yes, we were lucky,¡± Jules acknowledged without taking his eyes off the soldiers. ¡°But well¡­ We won¡¯t go far with this.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see?¡± one of the soldiers asked without really waiting for an answer. ¡°Ah, not bad at all! Hey, guys! They¡¯ve got eggs and butter!¡±


    ¡°Really?! Then we¡¯ve got what we need!¡±


    Adam frowned, and Jean took on a threatening stance, ready to pounce to protect their stash.


    ¡°What do you need?¡± asked P¡¯tit Pol¡¯ with curiosity.


    The four soldiers from the Navarre regiment had stars in their eyes.


    ¡°Yes! You see, we got our hands on some flour, salt, and cream! Just like that,¡± the man admitted while scratching his nose, ¡°it doesn¡¯t sound great, but if we add what you¡¯ve got, we have what we need to make a good dish from home! Naturally, we¡¯ll share. You¡¯ll love it! It¡¯s called a quiche! You¡¯re from the Picardy regiment, right? You must have something similar where you¡¯re from.¡±


    ¡°A quiche?¡±


    The six soldiers from the Picardy regiment looked at each other without really understanding.


    ¡°Yes! And we even have some wine!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to feast!¡±


    Later in the day, the group was comfortably seated at a long wooden table in an inn in the town of Hameln, their bellies full. They all wore the same satisfied expression. Adam had even forgotten that he wasn¡¯t in his own time and that he needed to find a way back home quickly.


    They had let the soldiers from the Navarre regiment take over the inn¡¯s kitchen and were not disappointed.


    ¡°Ah! That was really good!¡±


    ¡°For sure, I¡¯m not going to be able to close my vest!¡±


    ¡°More wine?¡±


    ¡°Why not! Hey, actually, this quiche is like our flamiches!¡±


    ¡°A flamiche?¡± one of them repeated as he emptied the remaining wine into his cup.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± another asked before letting out a loud burp.


    ¡°A sort of pie,¡± Charles replied, pushing away his empty plate. ¡°You can make it with leeks, cheese, and many other things. In fact, depending on where you live in Picardy, everyone makes it their own way.¡±


    ¡°I think eel would have been better instead of the bacon in this quiche,¡± sighed a third Navarre soldier regretfully.


    ¡°Eel?!¡±


    In the late afternoon or early evening, Fran?ois went to see Monsieur de Br¨¦hant, who was his superior as the commander of the Picardy regiment. He had been injured the day before and had his arm in a sling. He was an impressive man, in his forties, with a very dignified air. His attire was superb, of much higher quality than a common soldier¡¯s uniform.


    Unlike him, and to his relief, the officer wore a powdered wig as white as snow. Seeing it, he could roughly estimate the current year.


    They shouted ¡°Long live the king¡± when the town fell, and this guy is wearing a powdered wig. So it¡¯s before the French Revolution. But who¡¯s the king? Louis XIV? Which one was the one who got guillotined? Fuck, I should¡¯ve paid attention in class!


    ¡°Yes? Ah, hello, soldier! Fran?ois Boucher, is that right?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, sir! I¡¯m, uh¡­ honored that you remember my name.¡±


    Apparently satisfied with this response, which seemed very exaggerated to Adam, the officer gave a slight smile.


    ¡°I do my best to remember the names of those under my command. You were wounded in the shoulder and head, I believe? How are you feeling?¡±


    ¡°Better, sir, though it¡¯s still painful.¡±


    ¡°I see. Take care of yourself, then. It will pass with time.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Colonel,¡± Adam replied very politely, bowing¡ªsomething he had never done with anyone before arriving in this strange time.


    ¡°We¡¯ll likely stay in this town for a day or two. You¡¯ll have time to rest.¡±


    As the officer was about to leave, Adam suddenly thought of something.


    ¡°Uh, sir? If you allow it, I would like to use this time to continue the training that began before the war.¡±


    If I don¡¯t do this, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll get killed in the next battle! I have to find a way back to my time before then! What will happen to me if I die here?


    Adam didn¡¯t want to know the answer to that question, even though it wasn¡¯t impossible that dying might return him to his body and his own time.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, soldier,¡± Colonel de Br¨¦hant replied, quite satisfied with this young man¡¯s attitude, ¡°that¡¯s already planned. You won¡¯t be sent against the enemy without proper preparation. You may go.¡±


    ¡°Thank you very much!¡±

 Chapter 4: Moonlit Conversation

    Because the small town of Hameln had fallen under their control, Adam thought they wouldn¡¯t need to camp out in the wild anymore. With the stifling heat, all he wanted was to lie down in a bed in a cool room and not move. Unfortunately, due to the very large number of French soldiers in such a small town, which had only about three to four thousand inhabitants, they were largely forced to remain outside the walls.


    The marshal¡¯s army indeed consisted of nearly sixty thousand men, including ten thousand cavalrymen. Finding accommodation for all these people in such a small town was simply impossible.


    The inhabitants, however, were not spared. Starting with the officers, they were forced to host at least two French soldiers under their roofs. This, as Adam quickly learned, was a common practice, even in peacetime.


    The soldiers of Marshal d¡¯¨¦str¨¦e closely monitored the local population and ensured that order did not collapse. Above all, they made sure there were no conflicts during their stay in the town.


    What the marshal needed was time to reorganize his troops and take possession of everything the enemy had left behind in their flight. He couldn¡¯t afford any distractions.


    It¡¯s so quiet, Adam thought after moving away from the camp and the town.


    The Weser River flowed peacefully before him, faintly illuminated by an almost full moon and the stars. The water level was very low due to the heat of the past few days. The silt that usually covered the riverbed and was now exposed to the open air had become dry and cracked. As for the wetlands in the region, they weren¡¯t in great shape either.


    The heat is finally dropping. I can finally breathe!


    A feeling of loneliness suddenly overwhelmed the young man, who was sitting on a large, rounded rock. A tear began to roll down his cheek, and as soon as he noticed it, he hastily wiped it away, forcing himself to stop crying.


    I want to go home¡­


    Even though this body seemed older, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, inside, he was only sixteen. Despite putting on a brave face at school, he was aware that he was actually just a kid. He was far more fragile than he let on.


    Often, he felt like he was playing a role, deceiving those close to him, starting with his friends and family. He pretended to be confident, to be someone reliable and strong. Even on vacation, even in another country, he hadn¡¯t taken off this mask, because so far, this strategy had worked out well for him.


    Even though he often clashed with his teachers and parents, he had managed to make loyal friends and to be liked by girls.


    His appearance, in the latter case, certainly played a role, as he was rather good-looking, but that wasn¡¯t all the girls wanted. At least, that¡¯s what he had come to understand over time. To be popular, you had to know how to talk, be able to make quick decisions, and be a bit wild.


    When he had changed schools, he had created this persona, and he had been surprised by his own success. Since then, he hadn¡¯t taken off his mask even once.


    But that evening, it tore like a fragile sheet of paper.


    What should I do? What should I do to go home! I miss my home! I want to see my parents again!


    Adam broke down in tears, thinking about the life he had left behind. The worst part was that he hadn¡¯t had a choice. No one had warned him that he would travel through time, and no one had explained to him how to make the return trip. It was entirely possible that he would remain in this time period until his death!


    It was this terrible thought that finally caused him to crack.


    Despite everything that had happened, all the reprimands and even the arguments, he loved his parents deeply. More than anyone else, they worried about him. Like all good parents, they wanted what was best for him. They wanted his happiness and for him to become a good adult.


    But he had disappointed them.


    By wearing this mask for so long, he had come to forget who he really was. Bad grades at school, poor behavior toward teachers, acts of delinquency, lies. He had become someone despicable for a bit of popularity.


    To help him, his parents had paid for a vacation abroad, even though financially they weren¡¯t in the best situation. They wanted him to travel, see new landscapes, and meet new people.


    Not only had he not thanked them, but he hadn¡¯t called them even once since he left. He hadn¡¯t even kissed his parents goodbye when he left.


    I¡¯m such a piece of shit! Damn it!


    A noise behind him suddenly startled him. Someone was approaching.


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    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to surprise you.¡±


    It was Jules.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± he asked with concern, sensing that his friend was not well.


    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s nothing,¡± Adam replied, quickly stifling the sound of his sobs. ¡°I was just thinking.¡±


    Jules had a rather pleasant face with a straight nose and bright eyes. In one of the rare memories that had surfaced, Adam had seen him with his long blond hair down, framing his face like curtains. In that memory, they were sitting near a much narrower river than this one, trying to fish with rods improvised from simple branches. He seemed much younger than he was now. Maybe he was twelve or thirteen. They seemed to be having a lot of fun with Fran?ois.


    Seeing this image as if the event had been experienced by Adam was very unsettling.


    Since his awakening, he still didn¡¯t know how to interact with these people who thought of him as their friend. Adam felt guilty, even though he wasn¡¯t responsible for this situation. That was also why he had isolated himself. Every time they called him by that name that wasn¡¯t his, he felt like he was deceiving them. Like he was an imposter. And the more time passed, the worse he felt.


    I can¡¯t tell them how I feel. That I¡¯m not their friend. That he¡¯s dead, in a way.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Jules said in a very understanding tone. ¡°It¡¯s normal to not feel well. I completely understand.¡±


    No, you can¡¯t understand. No one can! Everyone I knew, all my friends, my parents; none of them were even born! I¡¯m alone, and I can¡¯t say anything to anyone!


    ¡°Miss home, huh? Leaving the village, staying in a barracks, and now marching in a foreign land... it¡¯s a lot to handle.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I miss home. I¡¯d like to go back, but I don¡¯t know when that¡¯ll be possible.¡±


    Adam deliberately kept his response vague, and it seemed to work.


    ¡°No one knows. The others aren¡¯t in great shape either, you know? Everyone¡¯s wondering how long this campaign will last. All we can do is follow orders as best we can and look out for each other, like we promised on the day we enlisted.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I guess you¡¯re right. I shouldn¡¯t worry about things I have no control over.¡±


    Jules looked at his friend with a hint of surprise. That statement was surprisingly wise. He settled down next to Adam and gazed with him at the river, which flowed south to north at this point until it emptied into the North Sea.


    ¡°Hey, Jules?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Can I ask you a strange question?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Ask me anything.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s today¡¯s date? The exact date?¡±


    Jules slightly turned his head and observed his friend¡¯s face, of which he could only make out the profile. Despite the darkness, he could distinguish the tight bandages wrapped around Fran?ois¡¯s head. If he had seen blood on them, he hadn¡¯t noticed any change that afternoon, meaning his friend wasn¡¯t bleeding anymore. But that didn¡¯t mean he was in the same condition as before his injury.


    ¡°It¡¯s July 28th. It¡¯s Thursday.¡±


    Adam bit his lower lip, regretting that his new friend hadn¡¯t mentioned the year, the one piece of information he really cared about.


    ¡°Wh-what year?¡±


    Jules looked at his friend with concern. Not knowing what day it was, that was understandable, but not knowing the current year, that was far more serious. His gaze filled with worry, he stared at Adam for a long time, not realizing that Adam was sweating profusely, imagining all sorts of scenarios in which he would be exposed.


    He feared, in the worst case, that they might torture him, thinking he was a spy, only to reveal that he had traveled through time and accidentally possessed Fran?ois¡¯s body like a demon, all to end up on a stake.


    ¡°1757,¡± Jules said, almost in a whisper.


    ¡°1757, right.¡±


    Jules let out a small sigh of relief, seeing his old friend¡¯s reaction.


    ¡°Are you sure it wasn¡¯t too early to leave the field hospital?¡± he felt compelled to ask nonetheless.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Jules. My thoughts might be a bit scattered, but I¡¯m not in as much pain. Others need a place in the hospital more than I do.¡±


    Jules gently nodded and said nothing more. They remained silent by the river for a while before going to bed.


    1757?! 1757?! It¡¯s 1757?! What important stuff happened in 1757?! I don¡¯t even know what war this is or how long it lasts! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I should¡¯ve paid attention in class instead of wasting time goofing off and chatting! The only wars I know are the First World War, the Second World War, and the Hundred Years¡¯ War! When did the Hundred Years¡¯ War end?! Wait, wasn¡¯t that in the Middle Ages?! Shit, I don¡¯t know anymore!


    While intensely processing this new information, Adam headed straight for the tent assigned to him in the camp. Since all the tents looked identical, he had to memorize its location.


    The camp, set up at the foot of the town of Hameln, at a reasonable distance from the river, covered a large area with its streets and guards. It was like a city made of white cloth. In some places, fires were burning, as they had needed to heat food.


    The smell was strong, like that of a poorly maintained stable. If you concentrated, you could still smell the scent of burnt powder, even though the cannons had stopped firing by mid-morning. They were all lined up like little soldiers outside the camp, closely guarded to prevent sabotage. Although Marshal d¡¯¨¦str¨¦e had sixty-eight of them, which was considerable, each piece was precious.


    Because the weather was dry, the king¡¯s soldiers didn¡¯t have to wade through mud or sleep wet. They could count themselves lucky to only have to complain about the heat and the insects. These were numerous in the region and didn¡¯t care about the soldiers¡¯ consent, invading the tents. Mosquitoes were the most cunning and annoying.


    Adam had been bitten in several places, particularly on his arms and legs. His limbs had turned red from scratching. The fact that he could close his tent, which he shared with other soldiers, hadn¡¯t stopped them from getting in.


    He removed his tricorn hat, placing it with his cartridge box and belt, to which a bayonet was attached. It was the long point that fixed to the end of a rifle. Barbaric to the eyes of a modern-minded person who had only known peace, it was actually a very common weapon at the time. During an infantry charge, it allowed soldiers to continue fighting. These long rifles could only fire one shot at a time. After each shot, the weapon had to be reloaded and regularly cleaned, which took time. A bayonet, however, didn¡¯t need reloading. It was just a long point designed to be driven into the enemy¡¯s body.


    The young soldier, too exhausted from the day, didn¡¯t dwell on it any further and carefully removed his white coat, being mindful of his shoulder wound, which was as sensitive as his head, and lay down on it. Between the dry grass and his coat, there was only a thin mattress, no different from the one he had woken up on in the field hospital. It was just a sack filled with straw. His coat offered an additional layer, but it was incomparable to the modern comfort Adam was used to.


    Oh God, my back! Please let me wake up in a real bed! Let this all just be a dream!

 Chapter 5: Change Of Command

    Monsieur de Br¨¦hant had not been mistaken when he said they would stay in Hameln for a day or two. Two days after capturing this small rural town, the French army resumed its march in pursuit of the Duke of Cumberland¡¯s forces. Adam used the first day to regain his strength and the second to familiarize himself with the archaic weapon that was the flintlock musket. He spent his time practicing how to handle it, reload it, clean it, and quickly fix a bayonet to it until his arms and hands ached.


    His seriousness surprised his friends, as well as the soldiers and a few officers who saw him in action.


    While most of the soldiers took advantage of this respite to loot nearby villages, Adam trained relentlessly. For those who knew Fran?ois, it was as if the blow he had taken to the head had turned him into a new man. When asked why he was training so hard, he simply replied that he had seen death up close and was willing to do anything to increase his chances of survival.


    The march was long and exhausting, yet the officers seemed unwilling to slow the pace. The Duke of Cumberland kept moving, heading straight north. As the men began to show signs of fatigue, the temperatures began to drop slightly, making the air a bit more breathable. The immense army on the move kicked up an impressive ochre cloud of dust around them. July gave way to August, and on the third of the month, something unexpected happened.


    Adam and a small group from his regiment had gone to nearby villages to gather food, and while they were requisitioning grain and some poultry despite the strong protests of a farmer and his wife, they encountered a small number of soldiers from the Landgraviate of Hesse-Kassel, also searching for food. Adam, who was getting more accustomed to being called Fran?ois, was the first to spot the enemy soldiers.


    In reality, he only saw one, but fearing there might be more, he decided to run in the opposite direction to alert his companions. The enemy soldier, barely an adult, did the same.


    "Watch out! There are enemies! Enemies!"


    Adam¡¯s panicked shouts caught the attention of everyone in the area. Jean, Charles, Jules, P¡¯tit Pol, and Louis quickly arrived and positioned themselves alongside their friend, who had taken cover behind a barn.


    "Where are they? And how many?" asked P¡¯tit Pol nervously, clutching his musket tightly.


    "I only saw one, but there must be more. He ran toward those trees!"


    Jean risked a glance in the indicated direction but saw nothing. The trees, on the other side of the field that had already been harvested, were very close. At this distance, they could be hit, and with no obstacles between them, stepping out was very risky.


    Then, a gunshot rang out in the quiet countryside. The tall fellow quickly ducked back into cover, and when he looked again, he couldn¡¯t miss the white cloud of smoke caused by the shot.


    "They¡¯re on the left," he said in a deep voice, "behind the trees."


    "What do we do?" asked Adam, terrified at the thought of having to fight and possibly kill someone.


    "We can¡¯t stay like this forever," Jules said, imagining what he would do if he were in the enemy¡¯s position. "If they have enough men, they could send soldiers to surround and trap us. We could split into two groups. While one stays here and draws those bastards'' attention, the other circles around to flank or ambush them."


    "I agree with Jules¡¯ idea," Jean nodded, almost happy to have an enemy to face. "Three stay here, and three attack?"


    "Works for me! I don¡¯t mind staying here."


    "How surprising, P¡¯tit Pol."


    The redhead stuck his tongue out at Jean, who was teasing him.


    "Louis?"


    "Very well. I¡¯ll stay."


    "Anyone else to cover us?" Jules asked, looking alternately at Adam and Charles.


    "I¡¯m good," Charles said, raising a hand. "You can go. We¡¯ll cover you."


    "It¡¯s settled. Fran?ois, Jules, let¡¯s go."


    Adam swallowed hard because this time it wasn¡¯t training or a video game. He was going to have to shoot at real, flesh-and-blood people, not mannequins or inanimate objects. A part of him was relieved that he had trained so much in Hameln.


    The trio moved to the right, skirting the barn, and then, from cover to cover, advanced toward the woods surrounding the empty fields. Meanwhile, Charles, P¡¯tit Pol, and Louis took turns firing from the opposite side of the old-looking building to keep the enemies¡¯ attention on them.


    The firefight seemed intense, and it was clear that the enemy was returning fire. The detonations cracked and echoed through the air until they dissipated. Adam and his friends tried to estimate the number of enemies. What was certain was that there were many, perhaps as many as them.


    Finally, they reached the first trees. No bullet had whizzed in their direction, which was very encouraging. The three soldiers breathed small sighs of relief, as from this point, it would be much harder for their enemies to reach them.


    However, they weren¡¯t very discreet in their snow-white uniforms. Adam inwardly regretted not wearing modern military gear, at least camouflage pants and a jacket designed to blend into landscapes like this.


    Unlike the uniforms worn by 21st-century soldiers, the purpose of these uniforms wasn¡¯t to help soldiers blend into the landscape, but to make them visible to officers commanding battles from a distance.


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    Perhaps more importantly, the goal was to look good to attract new recruits, as they couldn¡¯t rely on the appeal of a good wage. In the case of the French army, white was the main color, but blue and red could also be found, reserved for officers, princes of the blood, and foreign regiments.


    Brightly colored uniforms were common across Europe and in the colonies. The English, for instance, were known for their red uniforms, hence their nickname "lobsters" by the French.


    Luckily for the three men weaving through the trees, this rule applied to their enemy as well. The soldiers from the Landgraviate of Hesse-Kassel, one of the many states of the Holy Roman Empire, were as conspicuous as if they were advancing at night by lantern light and drumbeat. They wore uniforms similar in shape to those of the French army, except theirs were blue, yellow, and red.


    As silently as possible, the three Frenchmen sneaked toward the enemy, who was busy firing at the barn. Given the short range of their muskets, and the fact that accuracy was definitely not their strong point, they did everything they could to approach the enemy without being detected.


    Their movements eventually caught the enemy¡¯s attention. Immediately, a fierce exchange of gunfire erupted in the small wood. A thick screen of smoke formed in front of the men in white, and several of the enemy soldiers fell. At this distance, it was impossible to miss the target and emerge unscathed.


    The uniforms were not designed to stop bullets. Blood quickly began to spill onto the dry earth, wild grasses, and ferns.


    Despite the clear numerical advantage of the enemy, they were unable to respond effectively, especially since many of them were busy reloading their muskets. Reloading a musket like theirs involved many steps for a single shot.


    Adam had considered taking cover behind one of the large trees to reload, as he would have done in a video game, but he quickly changed his mind. He estimated that the distance was too short to reload his musket and fire again. The enemy would have had time to regroup, or even counterattack.


    The three friends charged at the panicked soldiers with their bayonets, which had been fixed before the confrontation began. A hand-to-hand battle ensued since it would have taken too long and been too dangerous to reload their weapons at that moment.


    As terrified as the men he didn¡¯t know and didn¡¯t hate, Adam ran, shouting, toward the nearest man. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, and he was barely aware of the horror he was about to commit.


    He locked eyes with the man he was charging. He could see all the emotions the man was experiencing, with fear dominating as he had no time to react or protect himself from the attack.


    Holding his musket against his chest, the man opened his mouth and said a few words in his language. Adam didn¡¯t understand and didn¡¯t try to. All sounds seemed muffled, as if his head had been plunged underwater.


    The tip of his bayonet finally reached its target. With his momentum, nothing could stop it from penetrating deeply into the man¡¯s flesh. In slow motion, he watched it disappear further and further into the tall, slender body. There was some resistance, but not enough to stop the blade from going deeper.


    It scraped against something hard. A bone. Then it pierced an organ.


    The enemy soldier¡¯s eyes widened, almost surprised by the force of the impact, before he fell backward. The blade was still embedded in the man¡¯s belly, who had turned even whiter than Adam¡¯s uniform. Blood began to pour from the wound as he started to withdraw his weapon, and also from the man¡¯s mouth.


    If he hadn¡¯t died instantly, there was no doubt that he would die quickly.


    I did it. I killed someone.


    Across the field, Louis, P¡¯tit Pol, and Charles noticed the change in the situation. Immediately, they began running at full speed toward the enemies. They quickly located the enemy and opened fire on those who seemed to pose the greatest threat.


    Thanks to this quick and effective response, just a few minutes after the engagement began, the enemy was defeated.


    The toll was ten dead, none on the French side. The tension took time to dissipate, as despite the short duration of the skirmish, it had been intense. Adam was overcome with a violent nausea and began vomiting at the base of a young oak tree.


    In an instant, he had become a murderer.


    What have I done?! I¡¯m a monster! A killer! I... How could I have done something like this?!


    The gaze of the second man he had killed had particularly marked him. Until his last breath, the man had looked at him as if to never forget his face and one day welcome him to hell.


    "Are you okay, Fran?ois?"


    "It¡¯ll pass... Ugh!"


    Jules placed a sympathetic hand on Adam¡¯s shoulder as he bent over the tree¡¯s soiled roots. Training was one thing; applying what he had learned was another.


    Looking at his friend, he could see that he, too, was shaken. Yet, he seemed to be in much better shape than Adam. He had killed three men, and his once-pristine white uniform was stained in places with drops of blood. Like Adam, he must have done something horrible to avoid being killed.


    When he turned to check if his other friends were alright, he saw that his companions, though shocked, were already searching the bodies, stripping them of anything valuable as well as their equipment.


    He had understood in Hameln that this type of behavior was the norm in wartime during this period. Certainly, it was something that happened a lot in his original time as well. Although it was not a glorious task, he let them continue.


    There¡¯s no way I¡¯m lowering myself to do that. I... I¡¯m not a grave robber!


    As soon as they finished, they returned to camp with their loot.


    Night had fallen about an hour earlier when they finally arrived, yet there was a certain commotion at the camp. No one seemed to have gone to their tents to sleep.


    They soon understood the reason. It centered around a tall man with a slightly gaunt face, not very thick, in his sixties, and very richly dressed. He wore a dark cuirass over his fine, colorful clothes and a large, complex powdered wig, known as a ¡°knotted¡± wig.


    Curious, the new arrivals approached a man proudly wearing a grenadier¡¯s uniform. He seemed as excited as the others, if not more so.


    "Don¡¯t you know who that is? It¡¯s the Duke of Richelieu!"


    Richelieu? Like Cardinal Richelieu?


    It was one of the few historical names Adam had remembered, but in this case, it was because the Duke was a main character in a series he had watched just weeks before being sent back in time.


    "The Duke of Richelieu?" he said pensively. "Like Cardinal Richelieu?"


    "Exactly!" exclaimed the grenadier cheerfully. "He is none other than the great-grandnephew of the Cardinal who served as minister to the late King Louis, the thirteenth. He¡¯s also the one who took the island of Minorca from the English last year! They call him Monsieur le Minorquin! During the last war, he held a command in Brunswick and Hanover, but because of numerous pillages, he was recalled to the Court. He just arrived at the camp, and guess why?"


    "We don¡¯t know, tell us!" said Jean and the others eagerly.


    "He¡¯s here to replace the Marshal by order of the Court!"


    "What?!"


    "I know, right? Why replace the Marshal when we¡¯ve won two great victories under him at Hastenbeck and Hameln? If you ask me, it¡¯s all because of the vipers at Court who surround and poorly advise His Majesty! I¡¯m certain that soon enough, they¡¯ll learn what¡¯s happened here these past weeks and deeply regret this decision! Monsieur the Duke of Richelieu is certainly a good leader of men, but the Marshal is far better! In a month or two, he¡¯ll be back with us and lead us to victory!"


    The grenadier seemed so confident and joyful when speaking of the old Marshal d¡¯¨¦str¨¦es that the six soldiers from the Picardy regiment didn¡¯t dare contradict him. Moreover, it wasn¡¯t wrong to say that the Marshal was highly appreciated and respected by this army.

 Chapter 6: The Watch

    The French army was immobilized in Oldendorff, a peaceful town dependent on Hameln and two to three times smaller than the latter. There wasn''t even a wall to protect the meager local population. The Hessians had no choice but to let this overwhelming army settle on their land.


    Like in Hameln, Adam noticed that the layout of the town and the appearance of the buildings strongly resembled the medieval image he had in mind. Everywhere he looked, it seemed like there was mud and filth. It was as if time had frozen in this place. He found it hard to imagine that at the same moment, in Versailles, nobles were probably indulging in parties and grand feasts, surrounded by gold, silver, and crystal, all to the sound of classical music.


    They had only been there for two days, and already there was nothing left to pillage. All the pigs and poultry had been cooked to feed the king''s armies. By the way, he still didn''t know which king he was serving. He had considered asking his new friends but, to avoid a situation like when he asked Jules what year it was, he decided to keep quiet and wait for the information to reveal itself.


    This strategy had served him well in his original time, and it worked nine times out of ten. Usually, it was to find out someone''s name. He had never had a good memory, and names were his weak point. The longer he waited, the more awkward it became to ask someone to repeat their name. So, he would wait for someone else to say it.


    A simple and effective strategy, used by boys and adults alike. Naturally, he hoped the same would happen here and now, though he wasn''t in a hurry. It wasn''t like he risked running into the king and having to talk to him.


    In the meantime, between forays into the surrounding areas to bring back some food to the camp, Adam learned a few interesting things about the context of this war.


    It had been going on for a year already, and there had been some major battles. It followed a war over a succession in Austria, a war in which all the officers of this army and Charles'' father had participated. The latter had served for many years in the service of the King of France under the Duke of Broglie (pronounced "Breuille"), the father of the current duke who was, in fact, in this glorious army.


    Austria was then allied with Great Britain, France''s eternal enemy. France, on the other hand, was allied with Prussia. It should have been the same in this conflict, which began on European soil with Prussia''s attack on Saxony, but because Great Britain sided with Prussia, the King of France had no choice but to join the Austrians.


    This situation might have seemed comical to Adam if he hadn''t found himself caught up in it.


    The rest of the information he managed to gather were only rumors for now: the British, true to their sad reputation, supposedly triggered hostilities long before the war began by attacking French fishermen. Naturally, it wasn''t to steal their fish, but to deprive His Majesty of experienced sailors he could have placed on his mighty warships. But that wasn''t the worst of it! In America, they allegedly assassinated a French diplomat, a noble!


    The news of a new war had surprised no one, especially since they lived in an era where periods of peace were used to rebuild strength for the next war.


    Adam was beginning to vaguely understand that the leaders of this time were like gamblers addicted to betting, thinking that this time they would win and recover all their losses.


    He had the impression, and it was quite reassuring, that the beginning of this war was in their favor since they had won some notable victories. Minorca, a strategic island in the Mediterranean Sea that could serve as a base for the British navy to attack French ships and ports, had fallen; and at Kol¨ªn, their Austrian allies had reportedly won a great victory, killing and wounding half of the Prussian troops. The enemy general, the brother of the King of Prussia, had been forced to flee with his tail between his legs like a frightened dog, which had forced the king to abandon Bohemia.


    "Hey, guys... I mean, friends, do you think we''ll be staying here much longer?"


    Adam was making great efforts to fit into this strange era. This involved adjusting his language. Sometimes he felt like he was acting in a movie or a play where everything was exaggerated. What surprised him the most, even though he sometimes made mistakes, was that there were moments when he found himself speaking just like them.


    "Who knows? They must have a lot to discuss."


    "I hope we leave soon. There''s nothing left to eat here."


    Adam looked toward the camp where they were starting to prepare the pots for the meal.


    "Fran?ois?"


    "Yes?" Adam instinctively responded.


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    "What time is it?"


    "Huh?"


    "What time is it?" Louis repeated, who had been cleaning his rifle for a few minutes.


    "I don''t know," Adam said nonchalantly, also cleaning his weapon.


    "Well? Don''t you have your watch?"


    "My watch?"


    Suddenly, two images overlapped. One was an old pocket watch with a worn gold dial, partially covered in moss and dirt. The other was the same watch, but shiny and perfectly maintained.


    The watch!


    "My watch!"


    Adam froze as he realized what he had just said.


    Was that me who... No, it was Fran?ois! Was it him who spoke?!


    "Is something wrong?" all his friends asked in unison, concern in their voices.


    "The watch! Where is it?!"


    Panic-stricken, Adam rummaged through his belongings, hoping to find it, but a part of him knew it wouldn''t be there. He had searched countless times through his things and couldn''t remember retrieving a watch when he left the military hospital.


    "You lost your watch?" Jules asked gently, aware of what it meant to his friend.


    "Oh, no..."


    Adam buried his head in his hands, as devastated as the day he had killed someone for the first time (and the only time, as he hadn''t fought anyone since).


    The watch! It''s the watch I found before I traveled back in time!


    It was the only clue he had to potentially return to his time.


    I must have... Fran?ois must have lost it when he fell!


    "I have to go back to Hameln!"


    Seeing their friend rise so abruptly, Jules and the others jumped to their feet and surrounded Adam to prevent him from doing something reckless.


    "Calm down, Fran?ois! Calm down! You... You can''t just leave like that; it would be desertion!"


    The word triggered an alarm in the minds of all the soldiers because desertion was a crime tolerated in no army. It would open a dangerous door that could not be closed again. This was why, in many countries and many eras, this crime was punishable by death.


    Adam''s hands shook like leaves. However, he wasn''t sure what was causing the trembling.


    I have to go! Maybe I can find it where I fell, near that big rock! And then, maybe I can be sent back to my time!


    "Listen, Fran?ois, we can''t just leave like this, but maybe with permission, it could be possible!"


    Adam looked at Louis, tears in his eyes. Finally, he nodded gently.


    Everyone breathed a small sigh of relief as they saw their friend calm down.


    Some time later, they were able to meet their officer, Monsieur de Chevert.


    He was a slightly corpulent man with a round, kindly face, dressed very richly as befitted a man of his rank. In his early fifties, he had begun his military career as a simple soldier at the age of eleven. One by one, he had climbed the ranks to reach his current position.


    Like Colonel de Br¨¦hant, Lieutenant General de Chevert was highly regarded and respected by his men. If there was one man who could grant Adam/Fran?ois permission to temporarily leave the army, it was him!


    "Forgive us, Lieutenant General, but our friend needs special permission to temporarily leave the camp."


    "Oh? And what is the reason?" asked the man, fixing his gaze on Adam, who felt intimidated by the officer''s imposing presence.


    "Sir, during the Battle of Hastenbeck, I was seriously injured and brought unconscious to the field hospital. But during my injury, I fell and lost a valuable object¡ªa watch."


    "A watch? You wish for special permission for a watch?"


    Seeing the officer''s face harden, Jules thought it best to intervene.


    "Sir, it''s not just any watch. It''s an object to which our friend is deeply attached. It was passed down to him by his grandfather, who himself received it for his baptism from his father. It is very precious."


    Adam looked at his friend in surprise, unaware of this story. A strange feeling began to grow within him.


    Was there something like that? Ah, that vaguely rings a bell. Yes! It''s true! He was very close to his grandfather! He was the one who told him all those incredible stories! Fran?ois was very sad when he died.


    "Even if it is a precious object for your friend, our army cannot afford to grant permissions so easily. Imagine if every soldier did the same as your friend? No, I''m sorry. Moreover, we are now far from Hameln. How long would it take him to get there, find it¡ªassuming he does¡ªand return?"


    "Please, sir," Adam pleaded, bowing deeply. "I beg you!"


    Adam had never felt so desperate. He didn''t know what he would do if this man refused to grant him permission.


    "I''m sorry, but you will have to be patient. Perhaps we will return to the area once we have caught up with and defeated the forces of the Duke of Cumberland. In the meantime, I order you to stay in the camp and continue your duties. We should be leaving Oldendorff soon, as soon as Marshal Duke de Richelieu and Marshal d''Estr¨¦es finish settling their matters."


    With the discussion over, the group could only step back. He was one of the most important men in this army. If he refused this request, they would need at least the commander-in-chief''s approval.


    But the chances were slim, assuming they could even speak to him about such a trivial matter, which would be poorly viewed by the lieutenant general. It would be like saying, "I don''t care about your opinion or authority."


    "I''m sorry, Fran?ois. We tried everything. As Monsieur de Chevert said, we''ll have to be patient. With luck, you''ll find it exactly where it fell."


    "It... It''s okay. Thank you, Jules. Thank you, friends."


    Everyone could see how miserable their friend was. However, they were as powerless as he was. They returned to the outer part of the camp and sat down to eat. Their small bowls were filled with a porridge of grains with tiny bits of meat added in.


    It wasn''t very nourishing, but it was enough to give each man the energy to carry out his duties. They exchanged almost no words throughout the meal and soon returned to their tasks.


    When night fell and the camp was gradually plunged into darkness, except for a few fires lit at regular intervals and the glow of lanterns held by the guards, Adam gave up on the idea of going to Hameln alone. He was far too afraid of being caught, not wanting to face a firing squad.


    He contented himself with staying in the tent he shared with three other soldiers from his company and spent long hours regretting not searching the forest surrounding the site where the French and Hanoverian armies had clashed during his stay in Hameln.


    Finally, after many attempts, he fell asleep and dreamed that he was killed in a massive battle, struck in the chest by a cannonball.

 Chapter 7: Negociations

    The French army remained in Olendorff for another two days, which was incredibly frustrating for Adam. He had thought a thousand times that he might be able to return to Hameln to retrieve Fran?ois'' watch. Meanwhile, Marshal Duke of Richelieu and Marshal d''¨¦str¨¦es did nothing but chat, discussing all the issues related to this expedition.


    On August 7th, four days after the arrival of the new commander, the elderly Marshal d''¨¦str¨¦es left Olendorff to go to the baths of Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle). These thermal spas had been renowned since ancient times but had seen a revival since the previous century. The use of these mineral-rich waters greatly interested physicians and sparked much enthusiasm, especially among the European nobility.


    That day, after a long and exhausting march northward¡ªthe temperatures having risen again due to a light and constant southern wind¡ªtwo men requested an audience with the commander of the powerful French army. The army had set up camp in Minden, a medium-sized town located upstream from Hameln on the Weser River, thirty-six kilometers to the northwest.


    These two men wore simple yet elegant clothes and quality powdered wigs. They came from Hanover and were there to negotiate the surrender of their city, though it was located fifty kilometers to the east. The duke received them with the utmost attention in the quarters he occupied in this fortified town, which had not dared to resist.


    "Gentlemen, do you speak French?" asked the duke, dressed as if he were about to join the battlefield.


    "A little, ja. Um... I am the deputy of Stalen, and this is the deputy of Ardenberg," began the first representative, dressed in a brown jacket and trousers, with a strong German accent. ''We have come, sir, on behalf of the inhabitants of Hanover."


    "Pleased to meet you," replied the duke coldly, his face expressionless. "I am the Duke of Richelieu, sent by His Majesty the King of France to command this army. The conflict between us is regrettable, but it is due to the principality¡¯s interference in this war. Hanover and the Kingdom of Prussia have been enemies of France since last May."


    The two men appeared worried and exchanged glances. Their faces were covered in sweat, and they were as pale as if they had lost a lot of blood.


    "What you say," stammered the second man in very broken French, "is both correct and incorrect, my lord. The people of Hanover bear no hostility towards the French people or His Majesty the King of France. This conflict between us stems solely from our elector, who is also the King of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Um, he is... he is your true enemy, not the people who simply suffer from the positions of His British Majesty."


    "Yes, yes!" the first representative firmly agreed, discreetly wiping his sweaty hands on his jacket. "His Majesty sent his son, the Duke of Cumberland, to wage a war we did not want, and now they are abandoning us! We are here with no malice, hoping for a peaceful resolution for Hanover and its inhabitants!"


    "Hmm..."


    The Duke of Richelieu remained silent for a moment, a moment that seemed to last an eternity for the two men facing him. The fate of thousands of people depended on the next words that would come out of his mouth.


    "What do you ask?" he finally inquired in a detached tone.


    "W-we want, nein, we implore you, my lord, to spare the city and its inhabitants!"


    "Hmm, granted. Anything else?"


    The two men suppressed a sigh of relief as they felt a glimmer of hope.


    "That His Majesty''s houses and gardens be spared by your troops!"


    "Even though we are at war with England, it is important to respect the status of one''s adversary. We are not English. On my honor, you have my word."


    "Thank you, my lord!"


    Noticing that the two men seemed reluctant to leave and announce the good news to their city, the Duke of Richelieu slightly frowned and asked, "Anything else?"


    "Um, it''s just that, um..."


    "We humbly request, my lord, the honors of war..."


    Mr. Stalen''s voice was so faint that the Duke thought he had misheard.


    "The honors of war? Certainly not," the Marshal-Duke of Richelieu decisively declared, his steely gaze cruelly piercing the two Hanoverians. "Your men," he continued coldly, "are not soldiers but militiamen and invalids; therefore, they are not entitled to such honors. To ensure that you do not go back on your word, your weapons will be seized. However, your militiamen may return home, provided they swear not to take up arms again in this conflict. The discussion is over. You may return to Hanover safely."


    "I... um, thank you, my lord!"


    The two men, trembling like terrified children, immediately left the town of Minden, now entirely under French control, and returned to their city.


    That day, the Duke also received a delegate from the town of Brunswick, located east of Hanover, who submitted to the domination of the King of France. As compensation for their participation in this conflict alongside France''s enemies, they had to surrender their artillery and pay a war indemnity. Additionally, the Duke was granted the right to retreat to Brunswick or Wolfenb¨¹ttel, two significant strongholds in this vast territory, if necessary.


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    However, no guarantees were made concerning the men who had accompanied the Duke of Cumberland in his retreat.


    Finally, the Duke of Richelieu made some adjustments to the organization of his army.


    In the evening, he received a message from his scouts informing him that the Duke of Cumberland was continuing his march northward and had left his camp in Nienburg, forty kilometers north of Minden, heading towards the Verden region, thirty kilometers further north.


    How far does he intend to go? What is he trying to achieve by acting this way?


    The following day, on the orders of the Duke of Richelieu, three regiments of dragoons under the command of the Duke of Chevreuse left Minden to take possession of Hanover. These were rather unique light cavalry units, as they fought both on foot and on horseback. These men were easily recognizable from afar by their green uniforms and golden helmets, designed to evoke those of the brave Roman soldiers of antiquity.


    The Duke¡¯s army did not linger in Minden, much to the displeasure of the troops who wanted to rest and plunder the enemy as much as possible. Eventually, they arrived in Hanover on August 11th.


    "We''ve arrived in Hanover!"


    "Finally! We can get some rest!"


    An uncontrollable wave of joy swept through Marshal Richelieu''s army, and without his giving the order, they began to quicken their pace. He didn¡¯t need to deploy his regiments to take this fortified city by the book since Hanover had been handed to him on a silver platter. A messenger had confirmed earlier that day that the city was under control and that the local authorities would do everything to prevent disorder.


    Pleased with the work of the Duke of Chevreuse, Richelieu refrained from letting him know that he had no intention of completely sparing the city. His army was too desperately short of supplies and equipment to pass up the opportunity.


    "Who told you to rest?! Get to work! The commander''s orders are to set up camp outside the city!"


    "What?! We''re not staying with the locals?!"


    "Silence, corporal! Those are the orders! The camp will be set up in Linden!"


    "What''s that, Linden? I bet it¡¯s some ridiculous rat hole! Well, at your orders, captain! It''s not like the men are exhausted or anything!"


    Linden was one of Hanover''s suburbs but had grown so large that some residents were calling for Hanover''s fortifications to be extended to include and protect it. Built to the west of the city¡¯s high walls, it had long since surpassed the stage where there were only a few houses along the road leading to the main city.


    Although many tents had to be pitched, part of the King''s army was indeed lodged with the locals. However, this treatment was reserved for the highest-ranking officers. As for the general staff, they had the privilege of taking quarters in a magnificent castle located in this suburb.


    Sprawling and composed of three independent sections, the complex was well-built, rivaling the residences of most of the lords serving under the Marshal-Duke. Naturally, this splendid castle was surrounded by gardens and orchards meticulously maintained to welcome His British Majesty if he ever wished to visit the land of his ancestors¡ªhis own, though he often seemed to forget it, according to local lords.


    Adam, exhausted from the forced march and illness¡ªlikely caused by the water he drank every day, which couldn¡¯t compare to filtered tap water or bottled water from a supermarket¡ªcollapsed onto his thin straw mattress. His backside struck the hard ground underneath, but he didn¡¯t flinch.


    Ah, I¡¯ve got a fever, that¡¯s for sure! Damn, I wish I had some medicine to get rid of this crap quickly!


    As time passed, he became more accustomed to living without modern comforts. That didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t miss them. He often thought about the softness of his bed, the satisfaction of choosing music to listen to, and watching a movie or series while devouring sugary snacks. He frequently thought about his phone, which would have been so useful for finding out how this war ended.


    In reality, even if he had managed to bring his phone with him, it wouldn¡¯t have helped him since he would have had no signal and no internet connection. Eventually, the battery would have run out, making it as useless as a rock in his pocket.


    He also worried about his browsing history, which he hadn¡¯t cleared before going on vacation. If his parents decided to take a look, it would certainly be extremely embarrassing when he returned to his own time.


    It¡¯s been two weeks now¡­ Without that stupid accident, I would¡¯ve been back home by now. I wonder what¡¯s happening there¡­ Do they think I¡¯m in a coma, or is Fran?ois in my body living my life like I¡¯m living his?


    Adam thought about this a lot and didn¡¯t know what was worse. Not knowing what had happened to his body haunted him all day, as he had plenty of time to think. All he did was walk, scavenge for food by pillaging nearby villages and farms, and sleep.


    Whenever the army stopped to set up camp, he was too exhausted to do anything. However, he tried to train with his weapon to become a bit more effective than the average soldier. What had happened on the day of the Marshal-Duke¡¯s arrival had made him realize that the difference between life and death was slim.


    To live longer, he had to be faster and more accurate than his enemy. It was as simple as that.


    "Are you okay?" asked Jean, poking his head inside his friend''s tent.


    "My stomach''s a mess, and my head feels like a watermelon."


    Jean didn¡¯t know this word or expression, so he just nodded to pretend he understood his friend. Many soldiers in this army had fallen ill and were in the same condition as Adam.


    It was easy to forget¡ªat least for Adam¡ªthat diseases caused more devastation during wars than the battles themselves. In this case, it was mainly dysentery.


    "Don''t worry, you''ll be able to rest. There are plenty of others like you. They''re vomiting and shitting everywhere. The officers will have to let us regain our strength."


    "Great. Hurgh..."


    I''m dying here... It hurts so much! Damn, I don''t want to die like this! What a shame!


    A small tear quietly slid down the pale young man''s cheek, a basin within reach.


    Fortunately, Jean was right. Neither the next day nor the day after did the French army leave Linden or Hanover. No doubt the old marshal would be criticized at court for his slowness, but what could they know of the realities on the ground from their townhouses, their manors, and their castles? He still took the time to write a detailed report to His Majesty, highlighting his merits and objectives. Perhaps then he wouldn''t be judged too harshly.

 Chapter 8: Nienbourg

    Despite the pleas for a few extra days to allow the men to rest, the Duke of Richelieu ordered the army to resume its march. The men, whose health was only just beginning to improve, did not understand this decision and showed signs of discontent, but what could they do? They were nothing. The ones who made the decisions were great lords, some of whose lineages dated back to the days when France was still being built, the glorious era of chivalry.


    What they didn¡¯t understand was that their commander was just as powerless as they were. The longer he remained inactive, the more the Court would rise against him. Eventually, His Majesty would strip him of his command, just as he had done with the Duke of Estr¨¦es.


    Although he had an unflattering reputation, the old marshal feared the tribunal of public opinion. At his age, after so many trials and sacrifices, he did not want to be remembered as a coward.


    Moreover, there were many disadvantages to staying in Hanover. It was important to remember that France was at war, and one of its enemies, commanded by a member of the British royal family, was slipping further away each day. The longer he remained inactive, the greater the distance between them would grow. The Duke of Cumberland would then have time to recruit local militiamen and mercenaries while fortifying his position.


    The Marshal Duke of Richelieu could not accept this, so not only did he decide to resume the march north, but he also ordered them to pick up the pace.


    In the long column formed by his regiments, there were sighs and groans. Everyone hoped that the enemy would stop fleeing and decide to confront them. Anything seemed better than continuing like this.


    As promised, the French army did not touch Linden Castle, the sublime Herrenhausen Palace, the King''s house, or the electoral castle.


    A week later, the French army arrived at Nienburg. It was a charming fortified town along the Weser River, partially protected by a significant wetland area. It was well-organized and relatively clean.


    Adam could not imagine that this town had a rich history. Over the centuries, it had faced numerous crises. It had been captured many times by enemy armies and almost entirely destroyed on a few occasions. After a long period of instability, it had finally tasted the intoxicating scent of peace.


    After the foreign army that had illegally occupied it finally decided to leave after the Thirty Years'' War (1618-1648), the town was equipped with new fortifications designed according to the most modern military architectural treatises, with bastions, half-moons, glacis, cavaliers, escarpments, and counter-escarpments, as well as an impressive stone bridge. On the other side of this bridge, a modest bastion was erected with the sole purpose of protecting its access.


    Because the Duke of Cumberland and his army were not present to defend the town as honor and duty would command, Nienburg decided to open its gates to Richelieu in hopes of fair treatment. This wise decision, as the marshal had planned to use all his firepower if necessary, pleased the old man and his officers.


    On this 18th of August, the Duke conducted a full review of his army. The decisive battle against the Duke of Cumberland that he and his men had been eagerly awaiting seemed near.


    We are almost there. Cumberland cannot flee forever! I have no choice: I must win a resounding victory.


    Adam and his friends were lined up behind their regiment''s banner, a white cross on a red background. It was held by the ensign, a man who seemed very experienced, with broad shoulders and short legs. He stood proudly alongside Monsieur the Marquis de Br¨¦hant. With fixed gazes, no one moved, as if they had been petrified by a spell.


    The Marshal Duke passed before them, observing their uniforms and posture.


    My men, the officer thought as he walked with a firm step, must be in top shape! Damn it! They look like nothing! They resemble militiamen!


    Clenching his jaw, he refrained from making this insulting comparison. Eavesdroppers were many, and he had no doubt that these words would be twisted and reported to His Majesty. By insulting the king''s soldiers, he risked insulting the king himself.


    Diable! Is this really my army?! They can barely stand!


    Indeed, although it had successively entered several enemy towns and gained more ground each day on the Duke of Cumberland, his army was a sorry sight. Disease was still rampant, and they were severely lacking in supplies. This problem had existed even under Estr¨¦es and was contributing to their sluggishness. But his biggest problem was currently invisible: there were significant internal conflicts. Factions had formed within his staff, each with its own opinion on what should be done.


    The fat Duke of Orl¨¦ans, belonging to a cadet branch of the royal family since he was a direct descendant of Philippe d''Orl¨¦ans, brother of Louis XIV, for example, threatened to simply leave. He had been very upset to learn at the last minute of Richelieu''s appointment as head of this army. According to him, the only one worthy of leading the troops to victory was himself. Despite his uninspiring appearance, he had actively participated in operations during the previous war and had even distinguished himself.


    To show everyone that he was as much a soldier as a prince of the blood, he always wore a cuirass under his long scarlet coat trimmed with gold.


    According to him, and in this, he agreed with the old marshal, what this army lacked most, in addition to discipline and supplies, was unity.


    The more time Marshal Richelieu spent with this army and these officers, who seemed to be waiting for any excuse to return to France, the more he believed that a decisive victory over the Hanoverians would be a matter of luck, which was not good at all.


    After taking Nienburg, the officers commanding the French army slowed its pace. It was as if they suddenly realized that they were not tireless machines.


    Adam rejoiced, although at the same time, he hoped for a quick resolution so he could return to Hameln.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Indeed, he had not given up on the idea of returning there and perhaps returning to his own time. Meanwhile, he did not neglect his duties as Fran?ois and as a soldier. Every day he trained in handling his rifle and did other exercises. Mainly, he contented himself with running. He never tired of noticing how enduring this body was.


    The young man, in his original body, wouldn¡¯t have been able to endure half of what he was putting this one through. His friends let him continue, although they were curious about some of his movements. What he called "crunches" and "push-ups" were completely incomprehensible to them.


    He had also begun to learn the local language. In the Holy Roman Empire, there were many more or less autonomous states and at least as many different dialects. Thus, those in the north, near the North Sea, couldn¡¯t understand those in the south who spoke a kind of Italian. Here, it was a Germanic language somewhat similar to German. Fortunately, that was the option he had chosen in school. That was also why his parents had decided to send him on a trip to Germany so he could improve his language skills.


    Despite the years spent studying this language, he only knew the basics. He hadn¡¯t been any more diligent in this subject than in history, which he now deeply regretted.


    ¡°Ah, that was really good!¡± Jean said cheerfully, finishing his piece of cheese.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s been a long time since we¡¯ve eaten so well,¡± Jules agreed, licking the cream off his fingers.


    ¡°We won¡¯t get in trouble if we don¡¯t bring everything back to camp, will we?¡±


    ¡°What do you think? Everyone does it. You must have seen it, right?¡± Louis replied to Hippolyte, who was also finishing his meal.


    ¡°Yes, it was good,¡± Adam commented somewhat flatly, his meal only half-eaten despite his hunger.


    The group of friends was sitting peacefully in the middle of a vast, sunlit clearing, the tall grass so high it seemed to compete with the trees, which looked down on them with disdain as they reached for the sky. A gentle breeze made the leaves in the trees dance and swayed the wildflowers. Butterflies and bees flitted about in this scene worthy of a painting from the following century, blissfully unaware of everything happening in the world.


    In this summer landscape, the six soldiers seemed out of place. They too, influenced by these peaceful insects, might have been lulled into thinking they were safe from danger. As if here, in this clearing, the war couldn¡¯t reach them.


    The bodies lying in the dry grass proved otherwise.


    They wore Hanoverian army uniforms, riddled with holes in various places. These men varied in age and were in poor condition, apart from being dead for nearly an hour. They were dirty, unshaven, and clearly malnourished.


    While the likelihood that they were deserters from Cumberland¡¯s army was high, they could also have been scouts looking for food for their army.


    ¡°Come on, it¡¯s time to head back. We¡¯ve strayed too far from the camp,¡± Jules said, standing up and brushing off the blades of grass from his coat, which he had used as a cushion. When he saw that a few ants had ventured onto his, he quickly shook it out.


    Jean carried a bag filled with food, stolen from the Hanoverian soldiers, while the others carried the belongings of the fallen soldiers. They walked for a while through the grass, following the long trail they had made on their way there, and reached a narrow dirt road. It led to a larger road that connected to Nienburg. When walking on one of these roads, carved out by the regular passage of pedestrians and animal-drawn carts, he often expected to see a modern car. Sometimes he caught himself listening for the familiar sound of an engine.


    They passed by many villages and hamlets but didn¡¯t linger since the French army had already searched them.


    Suddenly, Adam felt the need to ask the question that had been burning in his mind since he woke up.


    ¡°Tell me, does any of you regret enlisting?¡±


    The five soldiers looked at their companion, not surprised by the question. It had been some time now since they crossed the kingdom¡¯s borders, and during all this time, except for the Battle of Hastenbeck, all they had done was march, train, pillage, and set up camps.


    ¡°Well,¡± Louis began after a brief reflection, ¡°I suppose it depends on what we were looking for when we decided to sign up. If it was to make a fortune, like P¡¯tit Pol, then clearly, it¡¯s a bust. Right?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t even mention it! The pay is worse than what I earned helping my parents.¡±


    ¡°If you wanted to see the sights, like Jules and I did, then I suppose there¡¯s nothing to regret. Do you agree with me?¡± Louis asked his friend, who had stopped to remove a pebble from his right shoe, which was a bit worn at the tip.


    ¡°Hmm, no, I don¡¯t really have any regrets. Although, it seems like all the landscapes in this region look the same. But it¡¯s certainly different from Corbie.¡±


    All the soldiers nodded in agreement, which made Adam tilt his head slightly. Not being from this time and not knowing the Corbie of this century, he couldn¡¯t give his opinion. The brief image he had seen in a dream of this village seemed, from his point of view, very similar to all the villages they had passed since his journey through time. All had that picturesque look, as if life hadn¡¯t changed in five centuries.


    ¡°As for Charles, well, his father wanted to see him become a soldier and a brave one at that. In a way, he¡¯s accomplished his mission, hasn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Yes! I¡¯m a great soldier now that I¡¯ve killed enemies, hehe! But my father won¡¯t be satisfied unless I return with at least the rank of corporal. I need to distinguish myself, but for that, there needs to be a battle!¡±


    ¡°And you, Jean?¡± Adam asked as he shifted his heavy rifle from one shoulder to the other.


    ¡°I have no regrets. I¡¯m with my friends. That¡¯s all that matters to me.¡±


    Everyone smiled at this simple and honest response. Finally, they asked their friend.


    ¡°And you, Fran?ois? Do you regret signing up?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I had my reasons, but¡­ I wonder if I needed to go this far.¡±


    Adam was referring to a memory that had surfaced during the night. That¡¯s how it usually happened, but sometimes it occurred when he heard a particular sound, smelled something, or saw something. Dreams being what they are, in many cases, he woke up without any memory of what he might have seen from Fran?ois¡¯ life. Here, that wasn¡¯t the case. The images he had seen were as clear and vivid as a movie. Thanks to this memory, he had gained some additional information about the circumstances of Fran?ois¡¯ enlistment.


    It had happened without his father¡¯s consent, Charles Boucher. He had seen him in that memory, which wasn¡¯t his own, furious with him. He had even gone to the barracks in Dunkirk to try to cancel his enlistment. This was just before their departure for Saint-Omer, about thirty kilometers to the south. In the end, he couldn¡¯t do anything, and Fran?ois left with his friends. He hadn¡¯t said goodbye to his father, only to his mother, a beautiful woman with long chestnut hair with auburn highlights and lovely blue eyes.


    This was shortly before the start of the war and the change in alliances. His regiment was there when the Marquis de Br¨¦hant received the order to prepare to leave for Germany, which he did in March.


    Fran?ois/Adam¡¯s friends fell silent for a long time, not knowing what to say. They knew everything, of course, about this sad story and the reasons that had driven him to disobey his father in this way. What they hadn¡¯t told him was that Charles Boucher had secretly met with them in Dunkirk and asked them to look after his son until the end of his contract.


    At least he remembers his last conversation with his parents. I don¡¯t even remember what I last said to Dad¡­ I-I want so much to hug him!


    The more days passed, the more the hope of returning naturally, without the help of the watch, to his own time was fraying, like a rope worn by years of exposure to the elements. He feared he would never see his friends and family, the walls of his house and his room, or hear the sounds he had grown accustomed to.


    If I get back¡­ No, when I get back home, the first thing I¡¯ll do is hug my parents and apologize. For everything I¡¯ve said and everything I¡¯ve done.

 Chapter 9: The Great Retreat

    This August 23rd had been damp long before dawn. While the vegetation might have welcomed this change in the weather, it was far less pleasant for the French officers. The rain turned the dirt roads into quagmires, slowing down the armies.


    Fortunately, neither army had been moving much for some time. It was as if two dogs were facing off, each waiting for the other to make a wrong move before lunging forward.


    The decisive battle everyone was eagerly anticipating had yet to occur, and because the Duke of Richelieu didn¡¯t want to face it at Nienburg¡ªfearing that the town''s inhabitants might attack them from behind, which was entirely plausible while they were busy repelling an enemy assault¡ªhe decided to set up his headquarters in Mariensee.


    This insignificant village was located not far from Nienburg, only about twenty kilometers away. It consisted of just a few houses, surrounded by empty fields and pastures, and was crossed by a stream that flowed into a small river peacefully running east of the village, about thirty meters wide at that point.


    Accessible only from the north, south, and west, this position seemed easily defensible to him.


    But what is he waiting for? the marshal grumbled inwardly, tired of this ridiculous game. The Duke of Cumberland should have gone on the offensive by now! He¡¯s missed so many opportunities! Instead, he¡¯s done nothing but retreat!


    The old man leaned over his maps and the reports he had received from his scouts once more. Every minor skirmish was marked on his map, along with the slightest enemy movement.


    According to the reports, a strong enemy detachment is stationed at Rethen¡­ That¡¯s only six or seven leagues from here¡­


    With his fingertip, he tapped the spot on the map where the village of Rethen was located.


    Hmm, according to this report, there¡¯s a sturdy bridge there that spans the Aller River. This bridge is important; it will allow me to move north without having to make a detour. There are no other bridges along the way. That¡¯s unfortunate¡­


    The marshal let out a deep sigh before making his decision.


    He decided to send part of his men to Rethen. It couldn¡¯t be a weak force, as the enemy might corner and eliminate them. He chose from his army units that were both mobile and powerful, and from his staff, very competent men to lead them.


    Adam/Fran?ois, like the rest of his regiment, was not allowed to leave the camp. The possibility that the much-anticipated battle might occur soon was now too great for them to disperse in search of food.


    There was a certain tension around the tents and fires. The air had grown heavy, exacerbating frustrations. The slightest tension could turn into conflict.


    In fact, discipline had to be enforced several times. Fortunately, the fights quickly ended without crossing the line. A few young soldiers, for displaying unacceptable behavior in the camp¡ªshouting and swearing, and expressing their desire to go back home¡ªhad been sentenced to wear women¡¯s clothing.


    Covered in shame, they had come to understand their duties as men and as soldiers of His Majesty.


    Around noon, the sky cleared, which slightly improved the men''s spirits. However, the air around Mariensee hadn¡¯t become any lighter. On the contrary, the morning¡¯s humidity combined with the heat of the sun made the air almost unbearable.


    "I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be a storm tonight," Adam said to Charles, who was behind him in the queue.


    "Maybe. If it could relieve this pressure, I wouldn¡¯t mind," Charles replied.


    Charles hadn¡¯t shaved that morning or the day before. A dark shadow was beginning to appear on his pale face, which was drawn from fatigue. Large bags had also formed under his dark eyes.


    In front of them, the line was still long, but it was much worse behind them. Their other friends were ahead, having arrived a few minutes earlier. Each held a small container, just big enough to receive a portion of food.


    The menu was no mystery, as the delicious smell could be detected from afar.


    A fat adult pig had been slaughtered that morning and placed on a long spit before being set over a fire large enough to cook the whole beast. It had been roasting since early morning, making everyone¡¯s mouth water.


    There wasn¡¯t much left of the pig, as it had been thoroughly carved up for serving. The meat had been mixed with a thick, sticky cereal porridge to give it flavor. Without that, it would have been just a tasteless, formless mass meant solely to fill the soldiers¡¯ stomachs. Of course, the officers weren¡¯t eating the same thing. They were treated to good food, prepared by a team of women in one of the stone houses. They even got good wine!


    Ah, if only I were noble¡­ I¡¯d be eating good food too! And because we couldn¡¯t go out this morning, we didn¡¯t get our hands on any fresh produce!


    When he finally reached the steaming pots, the porridge was ladled into his bowl without a word, and he was motioned to move aside to make way for the next soldier.


    Since his journey through time, he had grown used to this scene. No complaints were tolerated, and no requests for extra helpings were granted. Every soldier was treated the same way by the cooks.


    What had surprised him more, however, were the women. In the armies of this time, they were called ''suiveuses'' (camp followers), but this term encompassed different categories of women, some fulfilling more than one role.


    There were a few in the old duke¡¯s army, mostly wives and lovers of soldiers. Although this was apparently heavily criticized by the officers, some of them hadn¡¯t hesitated to bring their own. These women didn¡¯t go unnoticed, as they were often much better dressed, sometimes like princesses, and held practically official positions in the army with responsibilities.


    There were those who cooked or helped with the cooking, those who traded with the locals, the prostitutes, and the laundresses.


    Adam had gone to see one of them that morning, a woman in her late thirties named Anne-Marie Louvain. She was accompanying her husband, unable to afford to stay at home waiting for his pay to arrive. Naturally, she had come here with her two children, aged eight and twelve. Even they were not idle, contributing to camp life despite their young age in exchange for a few coins.


    He had entrusted his dirty laundry right after finishing his workout. Unlike the day before, this time he hadn¡¯t been joined by his friends and had run alone for nearly two hours around the camp.


    The laundresses, along with the vivandi¨¨res who were in charge of provisions, were among the most important members of any army because, despite all the criticism officers might express in their memoirs, they wanted their soldiers to be presentable. This meant clean uniforms, as they reflected the image of the commander and those accompanying him in operations and decision-making.


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    No officer wanted to command an army of filthy men covered in mud and excrement, stinking for miles around. It would be a disgrace!


    Soldiers mostly entrusted their shirts, each having about a dozen in total. Generally, only the items in contact with the skin were washed, as if the rest were protected from stench. This had shocked Adam, who was used to having clean, laundered, and ironed clothes every day. He went above and beyond, even though it was costly.


    He even roughly shaved every morning, rinsed with water from nearby rivers, and shaved regularly.


    Unlike his original body, this one was about twenty years old. If he did nothing, a beard would start to grow within a few days, which was not well-regarded at that time. The fashion was for a clean-shaven face, and there were rules regarding this for soldiers.


    Because here he was no longer Adam but Fran?ois, he had to make some sacrifices regarding hygiene. But even by washing occasionally and doing laundry as often as possible, he could be considered among the most meticulous about hygiene within his troop.


    Fuck, Adam grumbled inwardly as he smelled a powerful odor coming from his own body, I stink! I so badly want a good shower! I want to wash properly; this is horrible!


    A subtle mix of sweat, stable, smoke, and roasted pig odors emanated from him. Despite all the time spent in this army, he couldn¡¯t get used to this smell.


    Not having a cell phone, I can handle; not being able to listen to music as I want, I can handle; but I need a shower! My God, what do I need to do to get home faster?!


    He settled down with Charles near his friends, who had already started eating, and let out a deep sigh as he looked at his food. Although better than on other days, it didn¡¯t seem particularly good. From his perspective, it could barely be considered a meal.


    It was another of his great regrets in his situation, being used to eating whatever he wanted, including burgers, kebabs, and pizzas.


    If I get the chance, I¡¯ll introduce them to modern food! It¡¯s not hard to make, either!


    ¡°Hmm? It looks like something¡¯s happening,¡± P¡¯tit Pol remarked, his mouth full, giving him a little hamster or squirrel look.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Are we being attacked? Are we attacking?¡±


    ¡°The men are finishing their bowls quickly. We should do the same,¡± Jules advised, putting a large amount of pork-flavored cereal porridge in his mouth.


    A few minutes later, orders thundered throughout the camp, and preparations began to pack up.


    A messenger had come to inform the marshal about the situation at Rethem, and it was not good. When the enemy holding the village and the bridge over the Aller River saw forty companies of grenadiers, the Marine and Dauphin brigades, as well as six hundred cavalry under the command of Monsieur de Broglie, they decided to abandon their position and burn the bridge.


    With Messieurs de Maupeou and de S¨¦gur, his mar¨¦chaux de camp, they had tried to prevent this, but in vain. There had been some exchanges of fire with very few losses. Now it was essential to act quickly to prevent the enemy army from creating distance between itself and the marshal-duc¡¯s forces.


    ¡°Why?! It¡¯s so frustrating! For almost a month, we¡¯ve been promised a great battle! But all we¡¯re doing is marching!¡±


    This outburst from Jean echoed what many French soldiers in this army were feeling. Even Adam had experienced anger and disappointment, as if he shared the same ambitions as Fran?ois.


    Cumberland¡¯s retreat was incomprehensible to them, since the forces were roughly equal, with only a few thousand men making the difference. In reality, it was the artillery that the enemy commander lacked. The French had more than twice as many cannons, not to mention the pieces captured from the enemy cities they had passed through.


    Throughout this long month, Duke Cumberland had only retreated without ever seeking battle, he, the son of King George II known for crushing the Jacobite rebellion in Scotland with no hesitation or mercy!


    He was always moving further north towards the North Sea and the neutral kingdom of Denmark-Norway in this conflict. However, this little game seemed to be coming to an end, as it appeared that the duke had finally decided to confront the French at Rottembourg, or Rotenburg.


    According to his scouts, Cumberland and his army had taken a very good position there. This long retreat could mean three things: the first, the least likely of these options, was that Duke Cumberland was a coward who did not want to fight; the second was that he intended to fight, but only where he chose; and the third option was that he was seeking to get closer to the North Sea to receive reinforcements from his father, the King of Great Britain.


    The Duke de Richelieu knew from a note coming from Paris that a fleet assembled in Chatham, a highly strategic arsenal in England, with nearly nine thousand men, was ready to depart, though no one knew its destination. Reinforcement in this part of Europe would greatly change the situation for Cumberland¡¯s army. However, it was possible that his goal was elsewhere.


    At the same time he was retreating, Duke Cumberland was also seeking a way out through diplomacy. Duke Richelieu received late in the day, as his army finished packing up the tents, a letter from Cumberland dated the 21st, proposing a truce.


    This letter renewed the duke¡¯s confidence. If the enemy commander was seeking to negotiate, it could mean he was not certain of his victory and thus there was no reason to fear an English landing at Stade.


    Cumberland is therefore alone and outnumbered, the old marshal rejoiced.


    Richelieu then took a pen and, in just a few lines, replied that there would be no truce.


    The duke also received a man from Hanover named Hardenberg. He sought to obtain a pass to go to Duke Cumberland¡¯s camp. It was a great disappointment for the private advisor. Duke Richelieu showed him the ridiculous letter from the enemy commander and openly mocked him, saying that he had been practically insulted by this peace attempt. He added that such attempts would not succeed in sowing doubt and confusion between France and its allies.


    He will not escape me! His army will be defeated, and I will capture him before he can flee back to his damned island!


    The French army arrived near Bremen in a seemingly endless column of men, practically marching at forced pace. Nerves were on edge, and some were so exhausted that they collapsed during their march. Such was the fate of poor P¡¯tit Pol, who had been unable to keep up for the last two days. The nights offered no respite, making it impossible for the men to rest enough to continue their march.


    They all resembled soldiers in retreat after a military disaster. They were filthy, their coats had lost all their sheen, and their shoes seemed to have endured all kinds of torture. Morale was at its lowest, and no promise seemed capable of raising it.


    The worst was certainly the marshes: each step Adam/Fran?ois and his companions took was a torment. The heat had given way to showers, which did nothing to improve the situation. It was under these circumstances that Adam silently and alone marked his first month in this century.


    Meanwhile, a sizable force was sent to Br¨ºme (Bremen for the locals), a fairly significant and fortified city, to capture it. More than the city itself, what interested Marshal Richelieu were its stores, known for their substantial size. For their army, which was lacking everything, it would be like giving water to a wretched soul lost in a desert.


    Duke Cumberland was so close that everyone was forbidden from sleeping in anything other than combat gear. Indeed, his army was positioned at Ottersberg and Rotenbourg, just about twenty kilometers away. This distance could be covered very quickly.


    On August 31, the army set up camp practically in a swamp. A foul odor, inescapable and clinging like a vengeful spirit, pervaded everything around them. However, the headquarters had the privilege of taking residence in a tiny hamlet consisting of a dozen thatched-roof houses. That day, there had been a small skirmish in which Adam did not participate, much to his disappointment.


    The next day, he learned that the enemy had once again retreated to Giheim, a miserable hamlet lost in the marshes, accessible only via a narrow causeway severely damaged by the Hanoverians.


    Despite the terrain, the climate, indiscipline, lack of equipment, disease, low wages turning soldiers into bandits, and exhaustion, the French army had managed to corner Duke Cumberland at the mouth of the Elbe River, with Stade being his only weakly fortified stronghold.


    Duke Cumberland, having been granted full powers in this war in Hanover by his father, was able to negotiate with the French and was encouraged in this by the kingdom of Denmark-Norway.


    Negotiations began on September 5 through this kingdom, and as a good strategist, Duke Richelieu refused any arrangement that did not clearly stipulate the withdrawal of the Hanoverians beyond the Elbe River and the handing over of Stade to a Danish garrison. A fierce showdown then ensued between the two dukes, each representing very powerful kings in Europe and the world.


    Meanwhile, Adam had no other mission than to be in his place like the fifty thousand men composing the army. Their sole role at the moment was to impress the opponent and persuade him to sign whatever terms were dictated. If they refused, they would have no choice but to take up arms and risk everything.


    It seemed to Adam that the eyes of the world were fixed on this marshy piece of land, this monastery, and these few houses known as Closter Seven or Kloster Zeven.

 Chapter 10: Brunhilde

    Adam woke up, completely naked, in a comfortable bed, though a bit firmer than he would have liked, without knowing where he was. He also had no idea what day it was or what time it was. It was daylight, that much he was certain of.


    A strong ray of sunlight passed through a small window, blinding him to the point that he wanted to hide under the covers.


    However, he couldn¡¯t move, as a rather beautiful woman with long, slightly wavy blonde hair and skin as white as milk was curled up against his body. Although he couldn¡¯t see her face in this position, he could admire her perfect back down to the small of her back.


    The young soldier then remembered what he had seen and done the previous day in this modest room. A less-than-innocent smile formed on his face, radiating satisfaction.


    Wow! That was really something!


    He struggled to realize what he had accomplished but didn¡¯t forget how he had achieved that result. That thought somewhat dampened the young man¡¯s spirits.


    This young woman, who must have been between twenty and twenty-five years old, was about the same age as Fran?ois, but ten years older than his real self. He had initially felt embarrassed when he showed up at her door the previous evening, but she had managed to calm him down.


    She had guided him into her house, led him to her bedroom, and then began to remove his uniform. Slowly, she started undressing in front of him, making him forget even his own name. What she did next, with great skill, had shaken him so much that he stopped thinking about returning to his own time for a while. All his worries seemed to have disappeared.


    In return, he did things to her that no one else had ever done. Despite his real age, he had a lot of theoretical experience from browsing certain pages on the internet. Whether with his mouth or his fingers, he was very gentle and precise, as if he had done it thousands of times.


    Brunhilde was first surprised, then shocked. Of all the soldiers who had passed through in the last two days, he was the one who had paid her the most attention by not just focusing on his own pleasure, and who had given her the most pleasure.


    Adam, despite the considerable pressure on his inexperienced body, took his time to ensure the young woman was comfortable. She let him proceed and ended up in a similar state¡ªvery satisfied, though exhausted.


    Brunhilde, awakened by a slight movement in the disheveled bed, lifted her head. A heavy, thick lock of hair fell in front of her eyes, and a seductive smile formed on her pink lips.


    "Good morning," she said in her language.


    "Good morning," he replied in the same language. "To sleep well?"


    The young woman laughed softly at hearing the young man attempt to speak Westphalian.


    "You say: did you sleep well," she corrected him before kissing him on the collarbone, on the opposite side of the scar left by the bullet he had received at Hastenbeck.


    "Did you sleep well," he repeated thoughtfully, trying to memorize the phrase in that strange language.


    "That''s right. Yes, I slept very well. Thanks to you¡­ and your hands."


    Adam only partially understood what Brunhilde had just said. He was just beginning to learn the local language, which was different from that of the Hanoverians and even more different from the German language as he knew it. For now, he could only introduce himself, say "hello," "goodbye," and a few other small things. It was far from enough to hold a conversation, but he had noticed that he was quite good at memorizing words.


    It was a very strange feeling, as if, by laying out all the pieces of a puzzle on a large table, he roughly knew where each piece went. Or rather, it was as if he had a fairly accurate vision of the final image of the puzzle and thus knew where each piece should go. Before, he had much more difficulty, as if he didn''t have the box lid to guide him.


    Maybe it was thanks to Fran?ois? Maybe he had a talent for languages?


    Adam felt a little guilty, thinking that in some way he was stealing Fran?ois'' talent, the man he felt increasingly close to. A light touch of a finger once again chased away his dark thoughts.


    While looking him straight in the eye with a strange mischievousness, Brunhilde let her hand wander over his slim, muscular body until it disappeared under the sheets. This hand, slender and still quite soft despite the difficult past few years, stopped when it encountered something warm.


    Adam¡¯s hand gently rested on the young woman¡¯s wrist, raising a silent question.


    "I¡­ um, no money."


    Brunhilde froze for a second before leaning towards his ear, a seductive smile on her lips, and whispered softly some words he didn¡¯t understand: "It¡¯s a gift."


    It was Adam¡¯s turn to let himself go.


    When he returned to the camp, his head in the clouds, he was immediately surrounded by his friends, who seemed to have been waiting for him.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "You took your time!"


    "So?! How was it?!"


    Without needing to say anything, his friends'' faces turned red with excitement. Just seeing his goofy smile was enough to know he had enjoyed it.


    That young widow had been recommended to him by his tentmates, and of course, he had told his friends about it, who were now eagerly awaiting his return. While she had accepted his money, as she needed it to survive in these particular circumstances, she had given him a particularly generous rate.


    Jean was drawn by lot and was the second in the group to head towards the small stone house with a moss-covered tiled roof. He quickly disappeared, and the small group of friends settled near a fire.


    P''tit Pol was holding one of his poor shoes, whose tip no longer resembled anything, except perhaps the gaping mouth of a child-eating giant. The days spent marching briskly on the roads of the Holy Roman Empire had taken a toll on his shoes, as well as those of many other soldiers. Like P''tit Pol, they had no choice but to wait for halts to try to fix the situation.


    Adam also had a repair to make, but in his case, it was a hole in one of his shirts under the armpit. Fortunately, the hole wasn¡¯t too big and could easily be sewn up. The problem was that he had never used a needle, neither in this life nor in the other.


    Every time Adam had needed to do some sewing, it had been his mother who took care of it. But more often than not, when one of his clothes had a tear¡ªusually his jeans at the crotch¡ªhe would simply throw it away and buy a new one.


    But in this era, from what he had understood, that wasn¡¯t the norm. Everything that could be repaired was fixed until there was nothing more to do. Every bit of savings was important since wages weren¡¯t extraordinary unless one had highly sought-after skills. That was why some clothes were passed down from generation to generation.


    The image he had of his father, or rather Fran?ois¡¯ father, was of a fairly austere man dressed modestly. His jacket, like his breeches¡ªa type of short pants that tightened at the knee like what he and all the men he had seen since waking up were wearing¡ªseemed to have gone through all sorts of trials and been mended dozens of times. However, it was far from the kind of sewing job Adam was capable of. On his father, it was neat and well-done, probably the work of his wife, Fran?ois'' mother.


    He had a few memories of her, but they were always very touching. She was clearly a loving and caring woman. Despite the weight of the years, she still appeared young. Her eyes seemed full of laughter and compassion.


    In one of these memories, which blurred with his own, she was sitting at the edge of his bed, telling him a story to help him fall asleep more easily. Fran?ois seemed to love stories during his childhood. His maternal grandfather, who told him many stories, had left a great void in his early years. His mother, whose name he still didn¡¯t know, had successfully tried to fill that void by telling him stories of travel, extraordinary adventures at the other end of the world, and terrifying monsters.


    As he thought about these things while sewing his shirt, a few names came to mind. There was "ech-Mau," the equivalent of the Devil; "la blanq jument," a white horse that appeared at night to tempt both adults and children to ride on its back, only to throw them into traps or drown them; or "le grand-p¨¨re loripette," an equivalent of the bogeyman, who kidnapped children who misbehaved, stuffing them into his big sack.


    An enigmatic smile formed on Adam¡¯s face as he thought about all these stories.


    ¡°Hey,¡± said Charles, as he finished cleaning his rifle because his father had advised him to do so whenever he had the chance, ¡°Do you think we¡¯re going to fight?¡±


    P¡¯tit Pol shuddered slightly at the question but said nothing. Everyone here knew how scared he was. He was one of the few in this army who had been happy to see the Duke of Cumberland¡¯s army retreating again and again without trying to fight a proper battle. Even though he had collapsed from exhaustion near Bremen, he preferred that to falling under enemy fire.


    ¡°Hmm, honestly, don¡¯t know,¡± Adam said truthfully. ¡°It¡¯s freaky to retreat all the way here to fight when they could have done it in Hanover, Nienburg, or Bremen.¡±


    ¡°Freaky?¡± Louis asked curiously, not understanding the word, which sometimes happened since his friend had hit his head.


    ¡°Oh, I mean I don¡¯t get it. It¡¯s very strange. Plus, their army is quite large.¡±


    ¡°Fine, but their army doesn¡¯t look too great,¡± Jules countered, ¡°worse than ours. Especially the Hanoverians, they look like militia. I think the only thing they can really rely on is their position and the redcoats accompanying them.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s true! They all look sick!¡± P¡¯tit Pol said hopefully.


    ¡°If the difference is too great,¡± Adam thought out loud, ¡°our commander will reject all proposals and try to annihilate the enemy, right?¡±


    P¡¯tit Pol, who had started to perk up, slumped down again upon hearing Adam/Fran?ois¡¯ words.


    Damn it! If only I had known! I would have done some research to find out what¡¯s going to happen! Do we even win this war?!


    Full of regret, Adam didn¡¯t say anything more, and a heavy silence fell over the small group. From an outsider¡¯s perspective, one might easily have thought they were in mourning.


    Jean was surprised to find them like this a few minutes later. The atmosphere was the opposite of what it had been when he left to visit Brunhilde. However, they soon perked up when they saw the tall guy, a bit cramped in his more-or-less white uniform.


    ¡°So?! asked all the soldiers except Adam/Fran?ois.


    ¡°It was incredible! I think I did pretty well,¡± he declared proudly.


    ¡°Are you sure you didn¡¯t miss the mark, hahaha!¡±


    ¡°How could I miss the mark?!¡± he exclaimed, blushing, certainly imagining the situation and the embarrassment that would follow.


    This almost cute reaction made the group laugh even more, including Adam and P¡¯tit Pol.


    ¡°By the way, we didn¡¯t ask about the price! How much did she ask for?¡±


    ¡°Um, she asked for thirty sols.¡±


    ¡°Thirty?! That¡¯s three days¡¯ pay! I hope she¡¯s worth it!¡±


    ¡°Well, she¡¯s very beautiful, so I guess? Why, how much is it normally?¡±


    Immediately, everyone fell silent, as they themselves didn¡¯t have the answer. Although it was allowed, the business of flesh was highly immoral. Whether it was Jean, Jules, Louis, P¡¯tit Pol, Fran?ois, or Charles, they all would have received severe beatings with sticks or belts if their respective fathers had found out they had been with one of these women.


    Thirty? I paid ten sols! Better not say anything, it¡¯s for the best.


    ¡°I, um, I¡¯ll pass,¡± Jules said, his cheeks red and tears in his eyes.


    ¡°Me too,¡± followed Charles.


    ¡°Same here,¡± murmured Louis with disappointment, though with such a handsome face, he could have gotten a much better price.


    ¡°I-I¡¯ll go,¡± P¡¯tit Pol said in a trembling voice, his face as red as his hair.


    Everyone suddenly turned, surprised, toward P¡¯tit Pol, who was already standing up despite his shaky legs.


    I wouldn¡¯t have bet on him, that¡¯s for sure! What a surprise! The little redhead was hiding something after all!

 Chapter 11: The Convention Of Kloster Zeven

    While learning Westphalian from the local population, not just from Brunhilde, Adam had intensified his workout sessions. This mainly consisted of running around the camp with all his gear.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d been seen doing this, but it was true that, with the particularly intense last few days, he hadn¡¯t had the energy to maintain this pace. No one was really surprised to see him passing by as if he had forgotten something. Most laughed without bothering to hide it, but others looked at him with a hint of respect.


    After a month of marching under the sun and rain, through dust and marshes, all they wanted to do was rest. If they had to exercise, it certainly wasn¡¯t with this intensity.


    ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡± he sometimes overheard.


    ¡°He¡¯s running.¡±


    ¡°I can see that he¡¯s running,¡± another replied with exasperation, ¡°but why is he doing it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, why don¡¯t you ask him!¡±


    The reactions were often the same, but that day was slightly different. At some point, he was joined by his friends, and together they began running around the French camp. Their strides quickly synchronized. Fortunately, the pace wasn¡¯t too fast.


    Encouraged by each other¡¯s presence, none of them slowed down. Soon, they were joined by a few other soldiers from Picardy as well as other regiments. There were even grenadiers!


    Adam had once heard a friend say that they were the elite of the French army. Their number was limited, and each one was carefully selected. They were the best troops of His Majesty, which is why they were sent into battle whenever a situation needed to be turned around. They had been used at Hastenbeck and at Rethen, though in the latter case, they hadn¡¯t been much use since the enemy had fled, burning the bridge they were guarding to slow down the French army.


    Their uniform was quite distinctive, as they wore a blue and red coat while the regular infantry wore white. One might mistake them for foreign troops in the service of Louis XV, but then there was their amusing hat made of brown bear fur, which they called "ourson" or simply "bonnet ¨¤ poil."


    The first time Adam saw one, he nearly burst out laughing. He thought to himself how glad he was to wear a tricorne.


    No matter how you look at it, it really does seem like they have an animal on their head, haha! They look so much like the Buckingham guards! Except someone shaved the back, hahaha!


    They could mock them internally, but doing so in front of one of these men would have been a bad idea. Fortunately, Adam was aware of this, as it had been made clear to him. They held a prestige equivalent to, if not greater than, those from the kingdom''s oldest regiments. Being part of this unit was an honor.


    Paid better than the rest of the troops, these formidable soldiers¡ªwho had counterparts in other European kingdoms¡ªno longer used grenades as they once did. However, they had retained the symbol on their cartridge belts and banners.


    All of them were experienced men who had already known war, as the War of Austrian Succession had ended only ten years earlier. They came from different regiments and had been gathered under a single corps and a single banner after that terrible war, which had cost France a great deal of money.


    Because this infantry corps was very rigid, led with an iron fist by the Marquis de Saint-Pern, if a soldier decided to join them, it could only mean that they had received official approval to do so.


    Soon, more than a thousand of them were running around the camp, equipped as if they were about to enter battle, under the curious eyes of soldiers, officers, and their subordinates.


    When their own men asked to join, they did not object, as they were doing nothing wrong, and it was certainly better than wandering aimlessly and pillaging nearby villages.


    The sight was so unusual that it reached the ears of the Duke of Richelieu, who was in the midst of negotiations. He merely raised an eyebrow but said nothing.


    It also did not escape the attention of the Danish diplomats who served as intermediaries between the Duke of Cumberland and the Duke of Richelieu. They were very impressed. Seeing them run together, at the same pace and almost in formation, they mistakenly believed that they had trained extensively together to act as one on the battlefield. The effect was even more significant than seeing the size and composition of this powerful army, reputed to be the best in the world on land.


    They then urged the Duke of Cumberland not to drag out the discussions for fear that the negotiations might break down and end in a bloodbath.


    This was very important for the Danes as well as for the Hanoverians. For the latter, first and foremost, because their lives were at stake; and for the proud Danes, because they had positioned themselves as arbiters between two of Europe¡¯s great powers. This negotiation could not and should not fail!


    As for the Duke of Cumberland, he feared, in addition to total annihilation by the enemy army, that their Prussian ally would sign a separate peace treaty with Versailles. If, by misfortune, that happened, as it had during the last war, Great Britain and Hanover would find themselves alone against a multitude of enemies. In that case, nothing could prevent them from devouring the states of his father, King George II.


    After a period of deadlock, a treaty was finally signed on September 8, 1757, significantly in favor of the French.


    The Duke of Richelieu was very proud of himself, but he had made a mistake by not seeking his king¡¯s approval. He was indeed convinced that he had fulfilled his will. First, he had obtained an end to hostilities within twenty-four hours, which was the minimum.


    Secondly, he had secured the return of the Duke of Cumberland¡¯s auxiliary troops to their homes, where they would be placed and dispersed. He had deliberately left some room for interpretation in this article, thinking it was the best choice to later disarm them once they were home, something the Duke of Cumberland, of course, did not want.


    Finally, he had secured the dispersal of the Hanoverians, some of whom would go beyond the Elbe, unable to cross it again to take up arms against France, while the rest¡ªbetween four and six thousand men¡ªwould be stationed in Stade under Danish supervision.


    In addition, the French would occupy the Duchy of Br¨ºme (Bremen) and Verden, except for Stade, until the end of the war. Finally, this treaty set boundaries not to be crossed, though they were vaguely defined.


    On September 10th, at the request of the Duke of Cumberland, three additional articles were added to clarify the treaty. Through these new articles, he requested that his allies not be treated as prisoners of war, specified the number of battalions and squadrons to be sent beyond the Elbe and those to remain at Stade, and asked to expand the previously established boundaries. Finally, an extension was granted to dismantle the defeated army.


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    To ensure compliance with these articles, everything would be supervised by Hanoverian Lieutenant General von Sp?rcken and the French army¡¯s First Lieutenant General, the Marquis de Vellemeur.


    On the 12th, Danish diplomats returned to the Duke of Richelieu¡¯s camp to request a few minor changes, which the old Marshal Duke, eager to be done with this matter and move on to the next, accepted. In return, he asked for a few small favors.


    In these times of progress and the spread of ideas, it didn¡¯t take long for the news of the Duke of Cumberland¡¯s surrender to reach London. By September 19th, 1757, it had spread through the British capital like wildfire. As the hours passed, the rumors grew and became increasingly wild, with each person adding their own details.


    ¡°Have you heard the latest news?¡± someone asked in one of the most elegant and popular salons in London.


    ¡°Are you referring to Hanover and His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland? Ah, don¡¯t mention it; what a disgrace!¡± replied another, furrowing his brows so deeply that they seemed to form a single thick line.


    ¡°What news are you talking about? Did His Majesty¡¯s son lose a battle? Is he injured?¡±


    ¡°Worse, madam! He negotiated a shameful peace with the French! Ah! He agreed to hand Hanover over to the Duke of Richelieu and accepted the dispersal of his army!¡± he answered in a scandalized tone, striking the floor with his gold-topped cane. ¡°Everyone has been talking about it for two days now!¡±


    ¡°What?! A woman, plump and impeccably dressed, exclaimed, bringing a hand to her face to hide her emotions.


    ¡°They say,¡± he continued, as if revealing a state secret, ¡°that he was bought off by the French for a small fortune in exchange for this treaty! From what I¡¯ve gathered after seeing Mr. Newcastle, His Majesty flew into a rage against his son, forcefully rejecting the treaty, but that is said to be just a fa?ade. There¡¯s a rumor circulating in Parliament that His Majesty is actually pleased and that his son was merely carrying out his wishes.¡±


    ¡°How could he be pleased?!¡± exclaimed the first man, visibly discovering this new information. ¡°The total dispersal of the Hanoverian army and its allies! How can we assist our Prussian ally under these conditions?!¡±


    An older man, more accustomed to such twists and turns, approached in the most noble and natural manner.


    ¡°It is indeed a tragedy. If only Parliament had sent that fleet to Stade,¡± he lamented, in a tone that clearly implied the blame lay with the current ruling party. ¡°With those reinforcements, His Highness could have done something and even driven back the Duke of Richelieu!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a possibility,¡± said the first man, hesitating to defend the Whig party of the Duke of Newcastle, who had just regained his position as Prime Minister. ¡°The fleet will likely sail to another port, probably in France, to relieve His Majesty, the King of Prussia.¡±


    ¡°Do you think the treaty will be broken?¡± asked the lady, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of heat.


    ¡°Certainly!¡± the first man replied confidently, as if it were obvious. ¡°After all, His Majesty hasn¡¯t signed anything, nor has the King of France. Or, knowing the French and their arrogance, they¡¯ll break it themselves by committing all sorts of crimes in the German states. Isn¡¯t the Duke of Richelieu nicknamed ¡®Monsieur Marauder¡¯? They¡¯re nothing but bandits dressed as soldiers, if you ask me! They¡¯ll make a mistake soon enough,¡± the man insisted, his voice growing increasingly grave, ¡°and then His Majesty can declare that the treaty was broken by the French.¡±


    It had taken just as long for the news to reach Versailles and its splendid chateau. On this 20th of September, 1757, the sky was uniformly gray, and the temperatures had begun to drop. While there was moisture in the air, at least it wasn¡¯t raining.


    Conversations had been particularly lively at Court for a week, to the point that even the lowest of servants knew what had happened in the Holy Roman Empire. Everyone also knew how His Majesty had reacted upon hearing the news.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said a stout man proudly sporting his clerical collar as he entered the room where Louis XV was, ¡°forgive this intrusion, but I have received a letter from His Grace, the Duke of Richelieu, regarding the Treaty of Kloster Zeven.¡±


    Before him, a man approaching sixty, dressed in the finest garments, froze.


    As soon as he heard the names ¡°Richelieu¡± and ¡°Kloster Zeven,¡± his face darkened. Slowly, he fixed his gaze on his Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs as if he intended to crush him. Although he was generally of a calm temperament, those who knew him well were aware of how much he could change when angered.


    And indeed, he was furious to learn the contents of the treaty signed by his general and the enemy general without his approval. The Duke of Richelieu, everyone at Versailles understood, had made a grave mistake by overriding his opinion. But it might have been overlooked had the treaty been perfect, which was far from the case.


    There were so many gray areas open to the most fanciful interpretations that it would inevitably be a source of future tension. There was nothing about the total disarmament of the enemy, nothing that said those sent beyond the Elbe could not be dispatched by the old King George to assist their Prussian ally, who was in dire need of help, or about the duration of this peace.


    ¡°What does he say?¡± the king finally asked the abbot, whose forehead was covered in sweat.


    His tone was so dry and cold that his annoyance was easily perceptible. Monsieur de Bernis, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs for only a few months, pulled out an opened letter and handed it to his king before stepping back two paces. He wiped his forehead with a small white handkerchief and waited for the response of Louis XV, who had been nicknamed the Beloved at the beginning of his reign but was no longer as adored after so many failures and acts of depravity.


    After a long silence, the king nodded.


    ¡°Very well. We are satisfied with these new articles. They greatly correct the poor wording and expressions of the peace treaty. We are reassured. Monsieur de Bernis, make it known that we approve these separate articles and that we renew our confidence in Monsieur de Richelieu to ensure that the Hanoverians and their allies do not seek to harm us or to aid the King of Prussia.¡±


    "Yes, certainly, Your Majesty!"


    "Hmm, he will need to ensure this with the provisions of the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway. The enemy is deceitful and knows no honor. If England can strike at us without even bothering to declare war, it can also bypass and unilaterally break a peace treaty that they themselves requested. Congratulate him on our behalf, but also tell him that the next time he is required to negotiate, he should send us the terms so that we can provide our input. That will be all."


    "Very well, Your Majesty! I shall write to him immediately!"


    "Ah, one more thing. Warn him about those lingering ambiguities regarding the duration of the peace treaty, the disarmament of His Highness the Duke of Cumberland¡¯s allies, and the matter of the Hanoverian troops sent beyond the Elbe."


    "It will be done, Your Majesty!"


    The stout man left the office of the most important person in France and hurried to write a laudatory letter, in stark contrast to what had been said in that very office after the king was informed of the content of the treaty of September 8th. Meanwhile, the King of France was once again approached.


    "Your Majesty, we can no longer postpone this conversation. We must talk about the parliaments. They¡ª"


    "Ah! They tire us! We will deal with that later! Our mind is exhausted with these matters in Westphalia. To rest, we shall go hunting, and afterwards, we will see Madame de Pompadour."


    "As you wish, Your Majesty."


    Far from there, the noose seemed to be tightening around the King of Prussia.


    The Austrians on one side, the Russians on another, the Swedes elsewhere, and finally, the French... They are all like hungry wolves drawn by the scent of a delicious piece of meat. The lack of coordination between these states, or at least at a very low level, is my only asset, thought Frederick II, King of Prussia.


    Despite his frail stature and his back bent by the weight of the years¡ªthough he was only forty-five¡ªhis mind remained sharp.


    His idea was the simplest possible, but having studied strategy with Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great, to name just a few examples, he knew it was the best one to employ: to defeat his enemies one by one to be victorious everywhere. His army might be smaller and its morale not at its peak, but it remained excellent and formidable. In his view, thanks to his reign, it no longer had anything to envy of the British and French troops.


    All he needed now was a resounding victory, a victory so great that it would make the world tremble and sovereigns in their castles quake.


    After a brief hesitation, his eagle eyes focused on the large military map on which the Franco-Austrian army was represented. Since July 20th, it had been marching toward his kingdom, and while it seemed impressive at first glance, it was much less so when analyzed by a trained eye.


    The Duke of Soubise, commanding the French, didn¡¯t seem to quite know his exact place in the hierarchy of this army, if there was an overall one, and the soldiers were of such poor quality that they could easily be mistaken for mere militiamen. This was particularly true if one observed the troops sent by the Holy Roman Empire: it was just a large number of straw soldiers who recognized only their superior without giving the slightest credit to the other officers. Some were even closer to the Prussians than to their allies!


    If all my reports are true, there is definitely an opportunity here. Yes, we can win, even at odds of two to one! It will be here!

 Chapter 12: Skirmish

    Even though a treaty had been signed between the Duke of Cumberland and the Duke of Richelieu, peace was far from returning to the region. France had many enemies in the area, and nothing was stopping Great Britain from sending new troops.


    The one the old marshal feared most was certainly the eternal rival, the old enemy¡ªGreat Britain. Their soldiers were in no way inferior to those of the King of France. They were known for their iron discipline, whereas the King¡¯s armies relied more on sheer numbers. With a single stroke of the pen, His Majesty Louis XV could raise between two hundred thousand and three hundred thousand men! In contrast, the old King George could barely muster, if his Parliament so wished, sixty thousand men at best!


    What the duke feared more than His Majesty''s British soldiers were their warships. It seemed to him that they had always been obsessed with controlling the seas and oceans. The title of champion in that field had long been contested, especially with the Dutch, but unfortunately, it was the old enemies of France who had taken the lead. This had played a decisive role in previous wars, even under the glorious reign of Louis XIV.


    Although significant investments had been made under his successor, nothing seemed able to bridge the gap that separated the two rivals. During the War of Austrian Succession, they had lost many ships, either sunk or captured, to the point that ten years later, there was hesitation to send these costly floating fortresses out to sea.


    The Crown, however, had no choice, for by choosing to keep its proud ships, many of which had been launched in the final years of the previous conflict, sheltered in a port, it risked seeing them simply rot in place.


    Despite all this, it was not them who were currently giving Marshal de Richelieu a hard time.


    The enemy was so small, so little-known that most French officers struggled to locate it on a blank map. This enemy was called Brunswick-L¨¹neburg, or more simply, Hanover. Despite the Treaty of Kloster Zeven, the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg continued fighting and harassed the French troops wherever they were found.


    And currently, it was in the city of Brunswick that he was stationed, practically at the gates of Hanover, as if to keep watch and pounce at the first misstep. The Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg was a fairly young man from what he had heard, not even forty years old. Perhaps this influenced his way of waging war?


    What was certain was that he was very annoying. He had started attacking his units on September 12, but every time he sent a troop to eliminate him, he vanished. In a way, he resembled him since he himself had used this dishonorable but very effective strategy.


    Ah, this man exhausts me! lamented the officer in his splendid office in Brunswick, at Brunswick Castle, overlooking a rectangular, cobblestone square. If I could catch him, I would be much more at ease!


    The duke''s dark eyes fell on a multitude of reports and maps. Like a hunter tracking his prey, he followed his every movement, hoping to find the next target before he acted and thus cut off any retreat.


    This slippery eel¡­ He strikes everywhere. He has clearly divided his forces to cover a wide area. Can¡¯t he fight like a real man?!


    From what he knew, His British Majesty supported him and had entrusted him with the command of the British and Hanoverian troops. He would not, therefore, cross paths with the Duke of Cumberland again anytime soon, a man covered in shame and disgrace.


    The Duke of Cumberland, at least he would have faced me head-on!


    KNOCK KNOCK


    Someone knocked on the office door, causing the duke to abruptly lift his head.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, my lord, a report has just arrived. A troop movement has been spotted. It¡¯s quite significant.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see it. Oh? Do we know who the commander is?¡±


    ¡°No, sir,¡± replied an officer respectfully, dressed very elegantly as if he were at Versailles. ¡°Only their numbers and position are known for now.¡±


    ¡°I see. Send a battalion there with some cavalry. I want them to move out immediately.¡±


    ¡°At your command!¡±


    ***


    Adam walked rather calmly among his comrades, taking a dirt road like so many he had seen since arriving in this era. Occasionally, his foot would hit a stone sticking out of the ground, causing him pain. His shoes, though recently repaired, were once again showing signs of wear.


    For Little Pol, it was worse. Both his shoes were wide open at the front, giving him a perfectly ridiculous appearance.


    On their captain¡¯s orders, they were marching briskly eastward, where enemies had been spotted.


    The reason he wasn¡¯t worried was that so far, if there had been skirmishes, they never lasted very long. Often, the enemy would flee upon seeing them arrive. More than causing them casualties, these enemies, whether Hanoverians, Hessians, or Prussians, were wearing them out and wasting their time.


    It will be like the other times. They¡¯ll flee as soon as they realize we¡¯re numerous.


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    Indeed, this time their number was not limited to a few dozen people. There was an entire battalion, over six hundred soldiers, six hundred and forty to be precise. This unit consisted of sixteen companies, each with forty men.


    Each soldier had a number. It was a ranking by seniority. Numbers 1 and 2 were sergeants, numbers 3 and 4 were corporals, numbers 5 and 6 were anspessades. The rest were simple soldiers. Adam was part of this category; however, despite his young age, he was not at the bottom of this ranking. In fact, he had signed his six-year contract in 1756, over a year ago. He was somewhere in the middle.


    However, his situation had changed a bit a few days after the signing of the peace treaty at Kloster Zeven. His efforts had been noticed by the officers, and he had managed to advance significantly in the ranking. He was now number 8, very close to being promoted to anspessade! All he needed was to accumulate more merit or wait for those ahead of him to move up. Indeed, if number 2, for example, left for another unit or was promoted, then number 3 would become the new number 2 and thus be promoted to sergeant.


    This change, though minor, had been the last action of Monsieur de Chevert as commander, as he had encouraged the men to train more and thereby reduced disorder in the camp while peace was being negotiated under the watchful eyes of foreign dignitaries. Monsieur de Chevert had left the army shortly thereafter to return to France, having fallen ill to the point where he could no longer fulfill his duties properly.


    Adam sincerely hoped that he would recover quickly, for having seen him speak with his men, he could say that he was a good officer and a good person.


    Even if there¡¯s little chance, I hope I can catch the officers¡¯ attention!


    This desire was so strong that he almost felt as if he could hear Fran?ois encouraging him from somewhere within. As excited as a flea, he marched briskly towards a peaceful hamlet surrounded by bare fields conforming to the shape of the terrain and wooded areas. The place was silent.


    Suddenly, a troop appeared in the distance. Quickly, they gained a height not far from the first houses.


    "The enemy is there! Forward!"


    On the order of the captain, who was also the commander of one of the companies, the troop began to advance in a column straight toward the enemy, without trying to deploy beforehand. At this distance¡ªabout four hundred meters¡ªthey were not at risk of being shot. The maximum range of the rifles of that era was around two hundred and fifty meters, and they had to get within one hundred to one hundred and fifty meters to cause real damage.


    Adam saw the enemy take position and spread out over a fairly impressive length. A knot began to form in his stomach as the battalion he was part of continued to advance.


    The enemy took up firing positions.


    They moved! They¡¯re going to shoot at us!


    A long white cloud, followed closely by a distant detonation, not much different from an innocent firecracker, appeared in front of the rifles. Adam closed his eyes and, for the first time in his life, sincerely prayed to be spared.


    When he reopened his eyes, nothing had changed. No one had fallen around him, and he himself was unharmed.


    His hands suddenly became clammy on his heavy rifle, which he held vertically, and his heart pounded like a war drum. Even though he felt his body lose all strength and start trembling violently, he didn¡¯t stop walking.


    Without realizing it, he was following the orders of his captain, a man with a stern face and a drooping nose, who unlike him, did not have a rifle but a magnificent saber with a golden hilt.


    Slowly and in good order, without saying a word, naturally, the soldiers formed three lines facing the enemy, who had understood that it was useless to fire now despite their advantageous position.


    Oh my God! Is¡­ Is this what a real battle is like?!


    Around him, everyone behaved differently. Some were as calm as Tibetan monks, while others regretted the day they had signed up, knowing they might end up with holes in their skin.


    Thanks to frequent drills, the sixteen companies present were in position.


    ¡°Forward, march!¡± thundered the captain in charge of leading the entire troop by virtue of his seniority.


    Like a robot, Adam began to move forward at a steady pace through the empty fields, where a few stalks of wheat remained after the July and August harvests. His shoes sank slightly into the loose soil, as if the earth itself was trying to hold him back.


    To prevent his neighbors, including Louis, who was on his right, from hearing his teeth chattering, he clenched them tightly. His breathing had quickened as if he had performed an insurmountable feat.


    Clinging to his rifle like a sacred relic, he continued to advance, knowing that the closer he got, the more danger he was in.


    A new series of detonations cracked in front, accompanied by a large white plume. A light north wind was blowing at that moment. The smoke, heavy with the smell of gunpowder, was soon carried off towards the tall trees, black as ink.


    The captain gave his orders, and the French troops halted before quickly taking up their positions.


    Adam, who was in the second line on the right flank, felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he dared to hope that the man in front of him would make a good human shield.


    The order to fire was given, and an infernal noise exploded in his ears. A thick fog reeking of burnt powder suddenly formed in front of him, completely obscuring his view of what was happening ahead.


    Did I¡­ Did I hit someone?!


    No one but God could answer that question, for they were not aiming to be precise. Acting as one and firing together, a large number of lead balls had crossed the field at great speed. Who could say with certainty that his shot had done better than the one fired by the man next to him?


    On the officer¡¯s command, he lowered his rifle and reloaded his weapon as he had done so many times before. These movements, he knew by heart. His efforts paid off, as he finished before many of the other soldiers. But in the meantime, the enemy had had time to reload.


    They fired again, and without him realizing it, death brushed past him. He noticed nothing except a faint whistling sound. Instinctively, he reached for his ear, but noticed nothing unusual. Out of the corner of his eye, not daring to move, he looked around. Some in the first line had been hit. This was not the case for the man in front of him, who was likely as happy as everyone else to still be alive.


    Compared to the number of shots fired, the losses were very few. Most of the projectiles ended up in the ground as they quickly lost speed after leaving the barrel.


    There were several such exchanges of fire, sometimes interrupted by an order to advance and thus shorten the distance between the two troops. Then the order was given to fix bayonets to the rifles.


    His hands trembled, but with a small effort, he managed to do it. He then recalled the sensation of killing another man with that terrifying weapon¡ªthe resistance of muscles, fat, and bones. The sight of blood running down the blade. The sound of agony. The smell of death.


    ¡°Charge!¡±


    He began running towards the enemy, the point of his weapon aimed forward, hoping and praying that it would all be over quickly. Halfway there, he saw a small number of cavalrymen pass them and strike at an enemy already breaking formation to abandon their position.


    The clash occurred shortly before he reached the top of the small hill, where a few dozen bodies lay, some merely wounded.


    ¡°We¡­ we won!¡±


    That¡¯s what came out of his mouth, but inwardly, he was crying like the child he still was, begging fate to grant him the right to return to his own time.

 Chapter 13: Halberstadt

    What had happened near that small village with no strategic importance was occurring everywhere the French were stationed, mainly around Hanover and Brunswick, though most of the time the skirmishes involved only a few men.


    The insecurity in the region kept both civilians and soldiers in a constant state of alert. An attack could come from anywhere and at any time.


    Ignoring the suffering inflicted by his men, the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg intensified his attacks. The Duke of Richelieu, having been forced to divide his army to achieve the objective assigned to him¡ªnamely the conquest of Hanover¡ªfound himself weakened in many places.


    The month of September passed in a blur, each day resembling the last for his exhausted troops, whose morale was melting away like snow in the sun. This period was marked by intense movements between the towns of Germany, from Br¨ºme (Bremen) to Halberstadt, a small town fifty kilometers southeast of Brunswick.


    However, to Adam''s great despair, the troops led by Richelieu that he followed never approached Hameln during this time.


    On September 15, the marshal-duke''s army, numbering forty thousand men, set off for Rethem, a small town south of Hanover. However, he took care to leave a small force in Halberstadt to quickly intervene in case of enemy action in the region during his absence. Their progress, slowed by accidents, the number of soldiers, carts, and artillery pieces, as well as by the rains, was difficult and exhausting. They made only a brief stop for the night and set out again at the first light of dawn. That day was as wet and depressing as the previous one.


    The brave soldiers of Louis XV could have been mistaken for beggars when they arrived in Zelle (Celle).


    Due to severe unrest in the south, around Brunswick, the old duke was forced to put his army on the move again, this time for three days. They reached the seemingly peaceful and uneventful village of Wolfenb¨¹ttel on September 19.


    Showers followed one after another at such a pace that the comforting rays of the sun were visible only for a few minutes each day. The men found it increasingly difficult to hide their fatigue and weariness.


    More often than not, they took out their frustrations on the local civilians, who naturally supported the Hanoverians and the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg. These acts of violence, which he only half-heartedly condemned since these people were not his own, resulted in many casualties. Sometimes, it ended in bloodshed.


    All of this dragged the reputation of the French army, commanded but barely controlled by the duke who increasingly earned his nickname of ¡°Marauder,¡± into the mud.


    Adam, although not proud of it, had participated in these acts out of desperation, but he had never resorted to violence beyond what was necessary. His friends hadn¡¯t either. They may have stolen food from the locals, but he was certainly not a ruthless killer or a rapist like some of his comrades in the Picardie regiment.


    The troops stayed for two days in Wolfenb¨¹ttel, which was much appreciated, though insufficient to regain their strength. There, the duke received some good news, the first in a long time: the King of Denmark had accepted and ratified the Convention of Kloster Zeven. This news made him breathe a deep sigh of relief, as it slightly freed up his movements against an enemy that remained as troublesome as ever.


    They also began to implement the articles of the convention, particularly those concerning the Hanoverian and Hessian troops trapped in Stade with the Duke of Cumberland, who had not yet been able to return to Great Britain to face the wrath of his people.


    They then marched south, only to turn back north, heading towards Bremen. They covered nearly one hundred and forty kilometers, mostly under the rain, trudging through mud, in just four days! All the energy they had painfully regained in Wolfenb¨¹ttel was thus spent.


    As time went on, the men increasingly believed that this region would never be pacified.


    Unfortunately, it was only to learn that they would have to turn around and march even faster!


    ¡°What do you mean, we''re moving out again?!¡± shouted Jean, red with fury, at an anspessade who had done nothing to provoke him. ¡°We just got here! At least let us rest, for Christ''s sake!"


    "Calm down, Jean! There''s no use shouting like that!¡± sharply reprimanded Jules, the voice of reason in the group of friends.


    "Jules is right! Everyone¡¯s staring at you,¡± added Adam, though inwardly, he was seething just like his friend.


    "Fichtre, I don''t care! There''s no way I''m going! I''m not moving! I need to sleep, stay dry, wash up, and, corbleu, have a proper hot meal!¡±


    It was the first time Adam had seen Jean lose his temper like this. Although strange from the perspective of someone from the 21st century, the curses he had uttered seemed quite natural to him.


    The anspessade, who was only assisting his corporal in relaying the duke¡¯s orders, had gone pale seeing this giant, towering over him by more than a head, getting angry and yelling at him as if he were responsible for the change.


    Taking advantage of Jean stepping aside, accompanied by Jules to make sure he didn¡¯t do anything foolish, Adam asked the anspessade, a man who must have been in his thirties with dark circles under his eyes, the reason behind this new move.


    ¡°I only overheard a snippet of conversation between two officers. Apparently, the enemy, led by the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg himself, has taken possession of Halberstadt. They supposedly have at least eleven thousand men with them. The duke wants to outmaneuver and capture them.¡±


    Eleven thousand, Adam understood from listening to the epic tales of veterans of the War of Austrian Succession, was a fairly modest number compared to the greatest battles of the time, but that a single man could gather such a force under these circumstances was apparently quite remarkable.


    The duke must be afraid they¡¯ll cause damage while he¡¯s not there, Adam thought, trying to put himself in the commander¡¯s shoes. I wouldn¡¯t want to be in his place.


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    ¡°I also heard they might have more than that. The enemy general could count on the garrison from the fortress of Magdeburg and three thousand Prussians who are supposedly only two lieues away from Halberstadt.¡±


    Two lieues? How far is that in kilometers? From the sound of it, it must be very close. (Note: about 8 or 9 kilometers.)


    ¡°Well, regardless of their reinforcements,¡± the anspessade continued with unwavering faith in the duke, ¡°they won¡¯t stand a chance against the forces of His Grace, the Duke of Richelieu, even if several battalions have left our army to pacify the region.¡±


    Upon hearing that, the man left, as he had to deliver the bad news to the rest of the company.


    Looking around, Adam could truly grasp the pitiful state of the army. Every soldier had drawn features, disheveled hair, grimy uniforms that were turning more and more mouse gray, hollow cheeks, and their backs were bent under the weight of despair.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± asked Charles, as tired as all those poor souls.


    ¡°What do I think?¡± Adam replied weakly. ¡°Nothing at all. All we have to do is follow orders, right?¡±


    I''m stuck here, in this era, far from my family and friends for so long now. As a soldier, I just have to move when they tell me to move, sleep when they tell me to sleep, and kill¡­ If I''m lucky, I''ll still be alive when this damn contract is over. As soon as I''m free, I''ll head to Hameln and get out of here. In the meantime, I just have to survive!


    Charles looked at his friend before giving a faint smile.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s all we have to do. Come on, let¡¯s go see if Jean has calmed down.¡±


    Jean had distanced himself from the troop to curse in peace. It was better than destroying everything with his large fists. Apparently, this time alone had allowed him to release some of the tension that had built up recently. Although he showed it little, Jean had accumulated a lot of negative feelings since the start of this campaign.


    They had been promised, at the time of signing the contract, wealth and glory. They were poor and had empty stomachs. They had been promised to see the world, and they were wading through mud, enduring downpour after downpour. They had been promised wild adventures, but all they did was march around like headless chickens in this country they had grown to hate.


    His disappointment was immense.


    ¡°I want to go home,¡± he sighed, looking sadly at his old friends.


    ¡°Hang in there, Jean,¡± Jules said gently, placing a warm hand on the broad shoulder that was level with his face. ¡°It¡¯ll be okay. The contract will be over before you know it. Look, we¡¯re already in October!¡±


    Yes, we¡¯re already in October¡­ Time flies so fast¡­


    ***


    As the anspessade had told the small group of friends, the Duke of Richelieu¡¯s army soon turned around to reach the small town of Halberstadt as quickly as possible. Thanks to a considerable effort, they arrived there in just two days! To do so, they had to march at night, which was very unusual for the time. This showed just how seriously the officers were taking the situation.


    It was almost a relief to see that the enemy had fled like a frightened puppy upon hearing the news of their arrival. Although the opposing duke¡¯s army was estimated to be eleven thousand strong or more, in reality, it only numbered seven thousand men. Given the difference in strength, retreat was the wisest decision.


    For the Duke of Richelieu, however, this was not entirely a good thing, as it meant that this man still posed a threat.


    The officer entered a magnificent mansion in Halberstadt, just a stone''s throw from the cathedral, and isolated himself in a spacious room with tall windows. The sky was particularly overcast, making it barely bright enough to see clearly even though it was still very early in the afternoon.


    The decor was tasteful and well-maintained, although some of the furniture seemed outdated. The woodwork was exquisite, and the gilding had clearly been done with great care.


    One could get a sense of the history contained within these walls by observing the numerous paintings hanging here and there, some depicting men and women in refined or battle attire, and others showing landscapes worthy of a fairy tale.


    Richelieu crossed the room in silence, his steps echoing on the polished parquet floor. He pulled out a heavy, gold-trimmed chair and sat behind a large desk, where documents requiring his attention had been carefully arranged in advance, along with some blank sheets of paper, ink, and a quill.


    It¡¯s already October. It feels like just yesterday that I took command of this army. My God, I¡¯m exhausted.


    He ran a slender hand over his face, marked by the years, resting his now sensitive eyes in total and comforting darkness. A slight beard had begun to grow on his chin. Like his men, he had made some sacrifices to arrive here on time. Unfortunately, it hadn¡¯t been enough.


    That slippery eel has escaped me again...


    The oppressive silence in the vast room was only disturbed by the loud ticking of a tall clock, whose pendulum sounded deafening. The marshal could barely hear himself breathe, or his heart beating beneath his silk garments.


    When he placed his wrinkled hand on the cold, solid desk, his gaze, blurred from lack of sleep, wandered and settled on a large window overlooking a charming little square where some of his men were going about their business.


    Winter is approaching¡­ I need to find a safe place to wait until spring. But the Court¡­


    On his desk lay a letter he had already read three times. The message was clear enough: he was to establish his headquarters in this town, Halberstadt, since he had failed to take Magdeburg as the Court had suggested the previous month.


    The Duke of Richelieu certainly would have done so if he had the means, but with such a cunning enemy as the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg at his back, he would not have been at ease. Besides, he knew Magdeburg was a strong fortress. Besieging it would inevitably take time. He wholeheartedly agreed with the Court¡ªthis fortress would be an immense asset in this exhausting campaign, both for its strategic position and for all the supplies and equipment stored there. However, the second part of the letter angered him somewhat.


    Establish my headquarters here, in Halberstadt? Didn¡¯t they understand what I wrote in my previous letter? This place cannot be defended and is too small for my army. We¡¯re already cramped, and tomorrow or the day after, the troops commanded by Monsieur de Contades will arrive! My men are so exhausted, and I¡¯m surrounded by enemies. I really don¡¯t know where I should spend the winter...


    The duke once again took up his quill and wrote a clear and precise response to explain the situation in this town.


    No sooner had he set down his quill than there was a knock at his door.


    KNOCK KNOCK


    ¡°Forgive me, my lord. A letter has just arrived from His Highness the Prince of Soubise.¡±


    What does that child want now?


    ¡°Oh? Thank you. You may go.¡±


    I have a hunch about what he¡¯s written, but let¡¯s see... It¡¯s a bit dated. Hmm, complaints, complaints, more complaints. Does Pompadour¡¯s lapdog know how to do anything other than complain? Ah, and he¡¯s asking for reinforcements! The nerve! Isn¡¯t his army, combined with the Emperor¡¯s, large enough? Doesn¡¯t he know that I, too, have my own objectives and enemies? He¡¯s already made this request to the Court¡ªasking me again is pointless!


    The old duke frowned and set the letter back down on his desk.


    Because he has Pompadour¡¯s support, he has the support of His Majesty. Surely the Court will grant his request, and it will be me who has to provide the men he demands. I only hope they have the sense not to take my best soldiers! That mediocre man has no talent! What a waste!

 Chapter 14: The Prince De Soubise

    What the Duke of Richelieu feared happened on October 7th: he received a letter directly from Versailles ordering him to allow Lieutenant-General de Broglie to depart with a substantial force, about ten thousand men, to assist Prince de Soubise in his operations further south, in a region called Thuringia.


    Naturally, the duke was very angry, as he was left with only forty-two thousand men to accomplish his mission.


    Victor-Fran?ois de Broglie, of course, obeyed the orders and set off. However, it was not with a light heart, for like the duke, he was exhausted from constantly chasing an elusive enemy sent against them by the King of Prussia to make their lives impossible.


    The soldiers accompanying him looked like lost souls who had been stripped of any hope of ever resting in peace. They trudged wearily in a long column along an endless road turned into a quagmire by the rains, their faces gloomy and their heads bowed as if they had suffered a crushing defeat.


    All they wanted was to rest and dry off.


    A powerful smell of wet dog emanated from each of them, a smell that seemed as sticky as the coal-black mud.


    That rest, they would certainly not taste it for another month, as they were to assist Prince de Soubise and the Reichsarmee commanded by Prince Joseph Frederick of Saxe-Hildburghausen in defeating the troops of Frederick II of Prussia.


    The first day could be compared to a walk in the park compared to the following ones. Indeed, between Halberstadt and Heimburg, where they spent the night, the terrain was quite flat. Beyond that point, however, there were low but challenging mountains.


    Following a long path winding between the weather-worn hills, flanked by trees so tall and straight they seemed as if they could be used as masts for first-rate warships without any work, they arrived after a day¡¯s march at Benneckenstein. By following this winding road, they had covered less than thirty kilometers.


    If the place was certainly charming in the middle of summer, in this month of October it seemed dreary and unremarkable. Only a part of his troop had arrived, as due to the difficult terrain he had had to leave his baggage behind.


    They set off again the next morning at dawn along the muddy road, as it had rained heavily during the night, to Elrich, on the other side of the Harz mountains. The terrain there was so difficult that they only made ten kilometers of progress! Without the help of scouts, they would certainly have gotten lost following paths leading nowhere.


    The next day, October 10th, they arrived without incident in Nordhausen, southeast of Elrich. It was almost a relief and a pleasure to walk on muddy roads here, as at least the terrain was relatively flat. The distance between these two stages was only fourteen kilometers. Had they not been forced to adapt to the pace of the baggage, they might have already reached M¨¹hlhausen, thirty kilometers further southwest.


    In that city, an allied troop led by Count d¡¯Orlick was just entering, with only a small force under his command.


    To facilitate his movements in this unfamiliar territory, the Duke of Broglie divided his troops and marched further south, knowing that Prince de Soubise was moving in his direction to receive his valuable reinforcements as soon as possible. He had left Gotha, west of Erfurt, the city that had been the center of attention the previous month, leaving the commander of the Franco-Imperial army behind.


    His first troop immediately set off for Bleicherode, about twenty kilometers from Nordhausen, and pushed on the next day, October 15th, to Keula, a tiny village located on the other side of a small but troublesome mountain covered in trees that seemed lost among the fields. Meanwhile, his second troop quietly left Nordhausen following the same path as the first group.


    He finally arrived on October 16th in M¨¹hlhausen, after nine days of marching in mostly dreadful weather. There, he was warmly welcomed by Prince de Soubise.


    ¡°Welcome, Duke! It is a joy to finally have you with us!¡±


    The Duke of Broglie bowed to the commander of the French army in Saxony with respect, more for the rank than for the man.


    ¡°Your Highness, we came as quickly as possible. You presented the situation in such a way in your letters that we feared it might be so grave as to be irreversible.¡±


    The officer indeed seemed to have gone through hell to get here. Despite his fine clothes, he was covered in mud and reeked from afar. His features, which a year earlier would have made him quite agreeable, were now so drawn that he seemed to have aged several years. Unlike what some might have done in the same situation, while the Duke of Richelieu''s army chased the enemies of the King of France and his allies, he had not hesitated to deprive himself to ensure his men had food. As a result, he had lost a great deal of weight, evident in his neck and cheeks.


    Prince de Soubise, on the other hand, seemed to be in rather good spirits. He wore a splendid scarlet woolen coat richly adorned with gold, so much so that it was difficult to say what the dominant color was: was it a scarlet coat trimmed with gold, or a gold coat trimmed with scarlet elements? This coat matched perfectly with the rest of the prince''s attire and contrasted with the steel breastplate covering his chest.


    ¡°The situation has evolved significantly in the meantime, sir,¡± replied the commander, somewhat embarrassed, only three years older than the Duke of Broglie.


    ¡°Could you summarize the situation for me? I am unfamiliar with the terrain and the forces involved.¡±


    ¡°It would be simpler, I think, to show you on a map of the region. Meanwhile, your men can rest. Is this your entire troop?¡±


    The duke sensed a hint of disappointment barely concealed behind the question.


    ¡°No, Your Highness. I divided my troops to join you more quickly. My second division should arrive tomorrow during the day.¡±


    ¡°Very well, very well. Although the situation has significantly improved since last month, the enemy remains powerful. This way, please.¡±


    The Duke of Broglie gave his orders to the officers assisting and accompanying him to ensure that his men lacked nothing. Then, he followed the prince into a house he had requisitioned for his needs in the town. They went up to the first floor, where, in the center of the room, there was a large, simple, solid wood table with an equally large map spread across it. Lead weights had been placed at the four corners to keep it from shifting, and colored wooden blocks were positioned all over.


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    The map seems quite detailed. Was it provided by the Empire?


    "Before we begin, Your Highness, here is a letter from the Duke of Richelieu."


    "Ah, thank you. He confirms that you are now under my command and details your forces. Excellent! They will be most useful!"


    "They will be even more so," the Duke of Broglie added, "once they¡¯ve had some rest. The Duke of Richelieu hasn''t spared them these past few days. The Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg is causing us a lot of trouble further north."


    "I understand. That''s perfectly understandable. Your men will be able to rest, but unfortunately, I''m afraid time is not on our side. Roughly speaking, our forces gradually gathered in Erfurt last summer, and we managed to seize a substantial amount of grain and supplies. However, our army was so large that it was like a swarm of locusts."


    The prince glanced around as if he feared being overheard and whispered:


    "To be completely honest, the food shortage was due to the lack of discipline within the Imperial army. You''ll see for yourself, they are barely better than militia. Some aren¡¯t even properly equipped."


    He doesn''t seem to view his allies as reliable... Are they really so poorly maintained and trained? Discipline is fundamental!


    "In any case," he continued, presenting the wooden pieces one by one, "we took possession of Erfurt as planned, along with the nearby towns. The Imperial General, who is supposed to command us, Hildburghausen, arrived later."


    The Duke of Broglie nodded slightly, trying to remember the difficult-to-pronounce name. As he leaned on the heavy table to relieve his tired legs, his attention shifted to another piece nearly on the other side of the map.


    "In the meantime, Major General Loudon, sent by our Austrian allies, took control of this region near Leipzig. Unfortunately, he couldn''t hold it, as his forces weren''t sufficient to withstand His Majesty the King of Prussia, who was marching toward him from Dresden. He did everything he could to delay them and give us time to reorganize, as our forces had scattered to control the region where our armies were located."


    "I understand. Was this when you began sending letters to the marshal and the Court?"


    "A bit later, actually, when the situation had become much more alarming. When I learned that Frederick II himself was marching in our direction, I hesitated on the best course of action. I thought it better to retreat west of Erfurt, here in Eisenach. But seeing how difficult it would be to act alongside General Hildburghausen and his army, and considering the massive amount of material and supplies that would need to be moved, I decided it was better to stay and fortify our positions. I also didn''t forget to send scouts ahead to monitor the King of Prussia¡¯s progress, and that¡¯s how I learned that he had left the Leipzig region undefended! Naturally, I sent a force there to seize their supplies, and if that wasn¡¯t possible, to destroy them."


    The Duke of Broglie held back from making a comment, seeing how proud this man seemed for thinking of something so basic, and chose to remain silent. The prince continued, reflecting on those difficult and stressful days.


    "The enemy kept advancing, pursuing Loudon, who continued to destroy the bridges allowing the crossing of the various rivers on the King of Prussia''s path, but he only managed to buy a few days. Somehow, Frederick quickly found ways to cross. On September 10th, he was in Naumburg, here," he said, pointing to a town about sixty kilometers northeast of Erfurt. "It was at that moment that Frederick II unleashed the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg upon Hanover. Meanwhile, we were slowly retreating to buy time to form a single body. Truth be told, sir, it''s easier to make a donkey move. These Imperials are truly mediocre! They don¡¯t cooperate unless they receive orders from their superior, and they don''t all speak the same language!"


    De Broglie could hear all the prince¡¯s frustration, having suffered greatly since the beginning of this campaign just from dealing with this hollow force.


    "Ah," he sighed deeply, "on September 13th, Frederick II entered Erfurt without a fight. He then had twelve or thirteen infantry battalions and twenty-four cavalry units."


    "So few? And you couldn¡¯t defeat him?" the Duke of Broglie asked, surprised.


    "We could have, but we didn''t know the extent of his forces at the time. Our informants deceived us, or perhaps it was an enemy trap. He changed the names and locations of garrisons so that we believed there were many more of them!"


    Soubise''s face turned red with shame and regret, especially knowing what happened next.


    "We continued to retreat cautiously eastward, which prompted the enemy to advance on Gotha. Two days later, we began marching on Gotha to retake it. With the Imperial soldiers, we had 30 infantry battalions and fourteen cavalry units. Additionally, we had part of Loudon''s troops with us, grenadiers and thirteen artillery pieces. We were just under ten thousand strong. We attacked on the 19th, and because the enemy had withdrawn, General Hildburghausen and I retreated to Gotha Castle to share a meal. We were confident and let our guard down," the officer admitted in a whisper. "The enemy, very mobile, who had withdrawn, returned and attacked us with such force and precision that we couldn¡¯t do anything. From the castle windows, we could see them killing and wounding our men."


    Again, the prince lowered his voice for fear of being overheard. He leaned slightly over the table, emphasizing that he wanted only his interlocutor to hear him.


    "Between us, I mostly saw Hildburghausen''s men flee like cowards, abandoning their weapons and comrades."


    "And then? What happened?" the lieutenant-general pressed, as if the prince''s contemptuous criticism were of no importance.


    "Ah, yes. The grenadiers did their duty. They formed up and repelled the enemy cavalry charges. We had many wounded, but the most significant loss was that we lost almost all our baggage in that single action. They also managed to capture many prisoners, among them many valets, servants, and hairdressers. What a loss!"


    A small tear rolled down the prince''s cheek, leaving the Duke of Broglie speechless. His jaw clenched so tightly that he trembled with tension at hearing such nonsense.


    This fool cares more about his hairdresser than his soldiers?! Is he mad or just an idiot?!


    "After that tragic incident, we once again tried to regroup our forces. Supplies were sorely lacking; we had to go without, tighten our belts."


    Unintentionally, the Duke of Broglie¡¯s gaze drifted to the prince¡¯s belly, which didn¡¯t seem to have suffered much hardship.


    I can see that, the duke thought with irony. I¡¯m sure it fills out his cuirass perfectly!


    "We then began advancing toward Erfurt with the intention of retaking it. General Hildburghausen and I argued a lot over the best course of action, but the Court seemed to want to entrust this foreigner with the overall command of our army. So I let him proceed, advising him as best I could. Thanks to our efforts, we forced His Majesty the King of Prussia to retreat, and eventually, our forces entered the city. Monsieur Saint-Germain occupied it as early as October 1st. The enemy, though frequently attacking us, has since only retreated. Frederick¡¯s army was, until October 10th, in Buttelst?dt, here, halfway between Erfurt and Naumburg (31 kilometers). As for me, I entered Erfurt on the 5th."


    The man paused and fixed his gaze on the Duke of Broglie, dark eyes burning with ambition.


    "Now, the most important information: it seems that an allied force is currently marching on Berlin. According to our information, the King of Prussia is marching east to try to save his city. Almost his entire army is leaving! This is an opportunity!"


    "It¡¯s an opportunity not to be missed, indeed," the lieutenant-general conceded, glancing one last time at the large map. "If we manage to hold off the enemy king and Berlin falls, his morale will be shattered, and he will be easy to defeat. We can also better predict his route and delay him long enough to strike with force and destroy his army. Once this enemy is eliminated, we can focus on Great Britain."


    "Yes! I hope," the prince said with a broad smile that he intended to seem benevolent, "that I can count on you to support me whenever necessary, especially when it comes to convincing this Imperial general of the best strategy to adopt!"

 Chapter 15: General Hildburghausen

    Although the Duke of Broglie and his men had just arrived at this new theater of operations, they could not rest for more than a few hours. Time was of the essence, and every hour counted. While Prince de Soubise and the Duke of Broglie were speaking, all of General Hildburghausen¡¯s forces were on the move, passing from village to village toward the east. King Frederick and his armies, as divided as their own, continued to retreat. The prince had received a message from the Imperial General ordering him to do the same with his own troops.


    Charles de Rohan-Soubise did not appreciate the tone of this message, but since the Court seemed to have changed its mind and wanted him to place himself under the general''s authority, he had no choice but to obey. This happened six days before the Duke of Broglie arrived in M¨¹hlhausen with his valuable reinforcements, while he waited at Lagensalza, a little further south.


    The Duke of Broglie left the small house, temporarily transformed into the prince¡¯s headquarters, with the prince and ordered his men to prepare to depart for Erfurt. Though still exhausted from their long march, the men obeyed dutifully despite their pitiful state, as the duke painfully mounted his horse.


    Prince de Soubise, his new commander, was already waiting for him at the entrance of the small German town, proudly seated on his magnificent white horse like a Marshal of France. It was a powerful animal with a shiny, clean coat, bright eyes, and full of energy. The prince''s saddle and all the horse''s equipment were as resplendent as the prince''s own attire, with many golden elements. In comparison, Broglie¡¯s horse seemed quite ordinary.


    "Forward!"


    The cavalry and infantry soldiers accompanying the prince began to march, followed by those of Broglie.


    Soon enough, the town of M¨¹hlhausen disappeared completely from view, hidden by the tall trees of the region. Only the prince¡¯s division remained on a poor road surrounded by empty fields, dark forests, shriveled hills, and a few villages that seemed to have been placed there at random.


    "Soon," said the prince, riding slowly beside him to match the pace of the foot soldiers, though they were not walking all that slowly, "we will reach Erfurt, where most of the Reichsarmee is stationed. From there, we will go to Weimar, then Dornburg to cross the Saale River. It is one of the many tributaries of the Elbe River. There are not many bridges in the region, and many of them have been destroyed by us or the enemy since the beginning of this campaign. Most of our troops are or will be passing through there to join Naumburg and Wei?enfels (note: pronounced ''Veissenfels''). The Count of Saint-Germain is likely at Dornburg."


    "Saint-Germain? Who is this? The name is unfamiliar to me."


    "Who could blame you? He spent most of his military career abroad, serving other states. However, His Majesty deemed it wise to give him a command ten years ago, shortly after his return to France. He now holds the rank of lieutenant general."


    "Well, if His Majesty has decided so, he must be competent," commented the Duke of Broglie in a flat tone devoid of any emotion, certainly not jealousy.


    "Competent? Perhaps. I heard that he distinguished himself during the last war while serving the Electorate of Bavaria. Did you know? He also served the King of Prussia! Briefly, though, and well before this war. The man resembles a mercenary, kuku!"


    The Duke of Broglie glanced sideways at his officer but refrained from making any comment.


    Does he think he¡¯s at Versailles? Why does he speak like that? The more I see him, the less I feel like I¡¯m following a soldier, and more a courtier, good only for pleasing His Majesty.


    "Sir," he finally said, "you should not speak that way about your allies and comrades. It would only create tension. Let¡¯s focus, please, on the task at hand."


    "You¡¯re right, yes. Hmm. What were we talking about? Ah, yes! Our forces! General Hildburghausen should currently be at the same point as Monsieur de Saint-Germain. We will certainly meet him at Naumburg. At this pace, it will take us six or seven days to get there, between October 22 and 23."


    "So late... It is very unusual to still be fighting at this time of year," remarked the duke.


    "I know well," sighed the prince helplessly, "but it¡¯s war. We must adapt to the situation. Our men are exhausted, but they can rest as long as necessary once the King of Prussia is in our hands or his army is destroyed."


    "Speaking of which, do we know where he is currently?"


    "The latest news is that he has retreated to Leipzig. Curiously, he stayed there for a few days as if he were trying to cover the retreat of his troops. Amusing, isn¡¯t it? In this situation, it should be his army that stays behind to cover their monarch. What a strange man."


    He is brave. As one might expect from a man of his stature. A warrior king like no other in our time. Certainly, there won¡¯t be any more like him. Sure, it¡¯s courageous, but it¡¯s dangerous. If the king falls, the kingdom suffers. That¡¯s what history has taught us...


    The duke stopped talking, not wanting to engage further with this man, and focused on the steady movements of his horse.


    I hope all this will be over soon. We need to take our winter quarters quickly.


    Despite his behavior, Prince de Soubise was not incompetent. As he had predicted, they arrived near Naumburg on October 23, a week after their meeting, and the next day they were in Wei?enfels.


    "Here we are in Weissenfels," said Prince de Soubise with some relief, mispronouncing the name of the town. "Let our men rest; we will certainly stay in this town for some time before marching on Leipzig."


    "At your orders!" replied a few officers, their uniforms still well-kept despite the exhausting journey.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    They had been lucky, as it had hardly rained during this period. In the group they formed, only those on horseback and the formidable French grenadiers seemed in decent condition. The rest of the troops, on the other hand, were in a sorry state. It was too generous to call them troops; it would be more accurate to describe them as a herd in uniform.


    The prince vigorously brushed his uniform as if trying to clean it and removed his black leather gloves. He was quickly informed that the Imperial General Hildburghausen was in town but did not intend to stay. He decided to join him and at least exchange a few words. Broglie followed him, and together they presented themselves at Wei?enfels Castle.


    The castle was located to the west of the small town, marked by centuries of existence, perched on a hill that made it appear more imposing than it actually was. The structure was fairly simple but not without charm. Upon closer inspection, one could easily notice ancient elements, some dating back to the 15th century.


    Shaped like a U, access was through the central building. Opposite, on the other side of a small cobblestone square simply called "the castle square," or "Schloss-Platz" by the locals, was a one-story gallery somewhat similar to that of the Luxembourg Palace.


    The three wings were pierced with medium-sized rectangular windows on three levels, except in the center of the main wing and the north wing, where two small towers stood. There, three additional levels were added. A very pretty clock indicated the time above the last windows of the central tower, topped by a carillon.


    A rather young Imperial officer guided them upstairs and knocked on a door very similar to all the others.


    KNOCK KNOCK


    ¡°Ja?¡± said a deep voice, almost aggressively, in a kind of German behind the door.


    The officer gently opened the door and briefly spoke in the same language to the occupant. To the delicate ears of the two Frenchmen, these strange sounds resembled curses and maledictions. Although both had received a good education, learning this language was not automatic, even though the Holy Roman Empire was not a small power. It was generally preferred to teach the elites of the kingdom English, Latin, Italian, Spanish, and Ancient Greek. For other nations, the French language was almost mandatory, as it was considered a noble language and the language of diplomacy par excellence.


    Finally, the duke and the prince were allowed into the room, which lay beyond a vast, empty banquet hall. The decor was very beautiful, even if one could sense that the best years of this place were long gone. There was even a musty smell, and the decorations had lost their luster.


    What a pity, this place isn''t bad. The moldings are pretty, and the ceiling is remarkable! This castle must have belonged to someone important.


    ¡°Ah,¡± said the general sent by the Emperor and the Imperial Diet, ¡°Your Highness, Prince de Soubise, you¡¯re finally here!¡±


    The prince did not react to the reproachful tone of this tall, thin man. He wore very sober clothes, the opposite of those worn by the prince, and had a naturally austere face. The Duke of Broglie, meeting him for the first time, estimated that he must be in his sixties. His nose was long and thin; his eyes dark and narrow; his complexion pale and sickly; and his eyebrows thick but well-groomed.


    He immediately found in this man a martial aura similar to that of Marshal d¡¯Estr¨¦es or Richelieu.


    ¡°And you must be Monsieur le Duc de Broglie, correct?¡± the general asked in flawless French, though with a slight German accent.


    ¡°Indeed, Your Excellency. It is an honor to meet you. I have heard much about you. I have also studied the battles in which you participated. Your career is most impressive.¡±


    ¡°You flatter me, sir,¡± replied the commander with undisguised pleasure. ¡°When you reach my age, I have no doubt your experience will be as rich as mine.¡±


    The Imperial general ignored the prince¡¯s annoyed expression and invited the two French officers to sit across from him. He fetched a fine bottle of wine and poured the wonderful purple, aromatic liquid into glasses of rare elegance. They were his own glasses and his own wine.


    As soon as the Duke of Broglie brought it to his lips, a deep flavor exploded in his mouth like fireworks and slid down his throat with great ease, warming him.


    What a delicious wine! It must be French! Burgundy, most certainly!


    ¡°Gentlemen, I do not intend to linger in this town, so I will be direct. We can take Leipzig with our current forces. His Majesty the King of Prussia¡¯s troops are retreating further and further. We are not entirely sure of the number of soldiers still in the city, but there is no doubt it will not be enough to stop us.¡±


    ¡°Do we know who commands the garrison?¡± the prince asked seriously.


    ¡°Yes. It is the old Marshal Keith.¡±


    ¡°That old bear? That¡¯s troublesome,¡± Soubise grumbled, running his fingers over his freshly shaved chin. ¡°He is very competent and very stubborn, from what I¡¯ve heard.¡±


    ¡°A Scotsman,¡± confirmed Hildburghausen as if that explained the temperament. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll give up the city as long as he has a single soldier and a bit of powder left.¡±


    The three men fell into a deep silence.


    Like many European officers, Marshal Keith had spent most of his life on the battlefield. Born in Scotland, he fought on the Jacobite side (supporters of the Stuart dynasty) in 1715, then served under the banner of the King of France in 1719 before moving under the King of Spain¡¯s command. He then served the Tsars of Russia in 1728, fighting the Ottomans and then the Swedes in two wars! To escape court intrigues, he once again changed masters and came under the banner of Frederick II of Prussia.


    If the Count of Saint-Germain was a mercenary, then Keith was their king!


    ¡°He is certainly competent, but there are limits to what a man can do. Leipzig cannot be defended, and he surely knows that. He has but few options: either surrender the city or die defending it.¡±


    ¡°Well said, Monsieur de Broglie!¡± General Hildburghausen replied with satisfaction. ¡°That¡¯s why we must gather our forces and show him our determination to take the city. I¡¯m leaving for Pegau shortly.¡±


    ¡°Pegau?¡± both French officers said in unison.


    ¡°A small town, or rather a village, southwest of Leipzig (19 km away). Monsieur le Comte de Saint-Germain was there yesterday, but he should have already moved on. I ordered him to advance to Markkleeberg, a bit further north (13 km from Pegau and 6 km from Leipzig).¡±


    ¡°And your army, Your Excellency?¡± asked the Duke of Broglie, mentally placing each town.


    ¡°The main body of the Reichsarmee should arrive in Naumburg soon. I¡¯ve ordered it to march on Markkleeberg at dawn tomorrow. Thus, Marshal Keith will have no choice but to realize he stands no chance.¡±


    The general downed his glass of wine in one gulp, a gesture that was quite unrefined, before pouring himself another.


    "And King Frederick?" Broglie asked as he savored his glass, which he also finished rather quickly.


    "He''s still in Grochwitz," the Prince de Soubise quickly interjected, getting ahead of the Imperial officer who was about to respond. "He¡¯s been there since the 21st, according to our reports."


    "He hasn''t moved?" Lieutenant General Broglie said in surprise, setting his empty glass on the table in front of him. "Isn''t he worried about his capital?"


    "I suppose he believes he can''t change the situation. Who knows?" the prince replied with a shrug. "It¡¯s good for us, and that''s all that matters."


    "He has sent several of his officers in that direction. But it¡¯s true, there¡¯s nothing he can do to prevent the Austrians from attacking Berlin. Still, I¡¯m wary. He¡¯s usually a decisive man. If Keith is trapped in Leipzig, he might gather his forces and attack us while we¡¯re not prepared to defend ourselves."


    A few hours later, the general set off for Pegau. The siege of Leipzig seemed inevitable.

 Chapter 16: Lost

    As tension mounted around Leipzig, the situation remained very calm to the north, around Halberstadt. Everything indicated that nothing significant would happen until April 1758, the usual time when military operations resumed.


    While the old Imperial General Hildburghausen was marching towards Pegau, far from there, twelve anonymous soldiers were heading northeast, escorting a large cart pulled by a powerful ox. It was only a quarter full, mostly with their tents, straw mattresses, and cooking utensils.


    Everything here looked the same. Fields, paths, trees, rocks, hills, and rivers stretched endlessly. Even the villages they avoided like the plague only added to this sense of monotony. No matter where Adam looked, it was all the same.


    When they weren''t talking among themselves, a deathly silence fell upon them, broken only by the steady sound of the ox''s hooves hitting the muddy ground.


    I''m bored... This sucks, Adam thought as he walked in step with the others, avoiding the dirtiest spots.


    All he had done since that morning was walk. Sometimes they stopped in a hamlet or isolated farm, hoping to find some food to bring back to their headquarters in Halberstadt, but more often than not, they found nothing.


    That''s why they had to keep walking.


    The Duke of Richelieu''s army consumed a staggering amount of food every day. There were the men, of course, but they also had to feed all those who accompanied them and the animals, especially the horses of the various cavalry units.


    The area around Halberstadt had been stripped bare very quickly. It was like a bottomless pit, swallowing everything that could be eaten. So, the Duke made the only possible decision: to send his men farther and farther out. But there came a point when a day was no longer enough to go out and come back. That point had long since been passed.


    So, the soldiers deployed by the Duke had to spend the night away from headquarters and return only when their cart was full. Of course, this was not without risks. They could encounter bandits, deserters from the Cumberland or Brunswick-L¨¹neburg armies, or an enemy patrol.


    That''s why there were so many of them around this wooden cart, which was normally used to transport crops. It had been seized from a farm twenty kilometers from Halberstadt, near a village called Oschersleben. Convincing the owners hadn''t been difficult: a bit of a threatening tone, and the army''s grim reputation did the rest.


    Adam''s (or Fran?ois'') ability to quickly learn languages¡ªunless it was limited to Germanic ones¡ªhad allowed him to communicate with the locals every time they stopped somewhere. He spoke on behalf of the group, asking for anything edible and easy to transport: eggs, vegetables, fruit, dried and salted meat, chickens, etc.


    The sergeant commanding this squad, ¨¦tienne Dupuy, was very satisfied with his work and didn''t hide it. Adam then felt useful, which made him want to do more for this group, representing a third of the company.


    Among them were his three tent mates: privates Guillaume Corbier and Jacques-Marie Lebrun, and the anspessade Jean Collet. The latter was the man who had almost been struck by Jean when they learned they had to march on Halberstadt, which was threatened by the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg. There were also his friends, a corporal named Martin Costier and a private named Ren¨¦ Gabin.


    Adam didn''t like the latter much and avoided interacting with him whenever possible. He found him strange and as dumb as a rock, not to mention violent. In a way, it showed on his face. He had the look of someone who couldn''t be trusted.


    I''m sure this guy would have had a rap sheet a mile long if he had lived in my time, Adam thought, eyeing him sideways.


    He walked at the back of the group, to the left of the creaking cart, jolted by the uneven road, and talked animatedly about what he had done in the various towns they had passed through since the start of the campaign. The worst part, probably, was that he was proud of his deeds, unfortunately very common in wartime.


    According to rumors, before joining the king''s armies, he had done time in prison for theft, insult, and brawling. Unemployed and penniless, the army seemed like a good option to avoid dying like a dog in some random street.


    "It''s getting late," Sergeant Dupuy said to the group after looking at the sky. "We''ll stop here for the night. Corporal Costier, Private Corbier, find us a safe spot a little off the road to set up the tents."


    The man, who must have been around thirty, didn''t need to say more. After so much time operating this way, they all knew what a good spot looked like. They mainly tried to avoid damp areas because no one wanted to sleep in a place that turned into a swamp at the first rain. Elevated spots were therefore preferred.


    The sergeant gave a few more orders, and everyone got to work.


    In an instant, three white tents were set up in the middle of a small clearing. It seemed safe and was surrounded by bare or nearly bare trees. Their branches looked like claws stretching toward the sky as if trying to grasp the low, moisture-laden clouds.


    It was impossible to find dry kindling, so they had to rely on blankets to keep warm. The one Adam wrapped around his shoulders was heavy and thick, handmade with good quality wool. It was very useful at night to keep from falling ill. Unfortunately, he couldn''t use it when it rained, and he had to stand guard. It would turn into a sponge, and he wouldn''t be able to use it again until it was dry. He had made that mistake once and regretted it bitterly for three days.


    The group ate a cold, meager meal together while the sergeant studied his map of the region, which fit on a small piece of paper. His brows were so furrowed it looked like he was angry. Sometimes he mumbled incomprehensible words to himself while turning the sheet in his hands.


    Finally, it was time for everyone to retire to their tents. Naturally, they couldn''t all go to sleep. At least one sentry had to stand watch to sound the alarm in case of danger.


    Adam was lucky, as he got the first watch. The worst part, in his opinion, was being woken up in the middle of the night for a few hours and then trying to go back to sleep. He had a hard time falling back asleep once he was awake. Sometimes, he simply couldn''t. He didn''t have this problem before when he was still in his original body. He had concluded that it was due to Fran?ois'' body.


    "Good night, Fran?ois, see you tomorrow!" Louis said as he disappeared into his tent.


    "Good luck!" Jules called out behind him as he too entered the small canvas tent.


    "See you later," announced Charles, who was scheduled to take over after Adam''s watch.


    Soon, only the anspessade, Jean Collet, who was also on guard duty, and Adam remained. They settled down around the lanterns that had just been lit and began to chat quietly to keep boredom at bay.


    "Hey, I''ve been wondering," said Jean Collet at one point, subtly illuminated by the warm light of the lantern and the cold light of a crescent moon, "how is it that you speak their language so well? Are you from a region close to the Empire?"


    "Not at all, no," Adam answered honestly. "I just learned."


    "You learned? That''s impressive! How long did it take you?"


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Hmm, it must have been... three months, I think?"


    "Three months?! Isn''t that a bit too fast? I mean, it''s unusual, right? How do you do it?"


    Adam thought for a moment, searching for the right words. He himself had trouble explaining it.


    "I''m not really sure, to be honest. It''s like it just makes sense. Like it''s a children''s game with little wooden blocks that you have to put in the right place. At first, it was complicated, but the more time goes by, the more it seems logical. You learn one word, you know how to turn it into a verb, that kind of thing."


    Seeing the doubtful expression on his colleague''s face, he let out a small laugh and scratched his head near his scar.


    "Sorry, I''m not being very clear."


    "No problem. I was just curious."


    Three months... Already! And just as long since I''ve been here. Damn, sometimes it feels like I''ve always been here, or at least for years! How can I be getting used to all this?!


    Eventually, his watch passed quickly and without incident. Charles and Jacques-Marie replaced them, allowing Adam to go to sleep. Soft snores could be heard at regular intervals from both sides of the tent, plunged into darkness.


    He removed his coat and lay down on his thin straw mattress before covering himself with his coat and blanket. After a few adjustments, he found a comfortable position and fell into a deep sleep.


    The next morning, at dawn, they packed up the tents, loaded them onto the cart, fed the ox, and set off again without a clear destination. They were simply to move farther away from headquarters and find a target that hadn''t already been visited.


    Hours passed, and slowly their cart began to fill up. Often, there was almost nothing to take, even after roughing up the farmers. They followed a road, guided by the sergeant who frequently consulted his map, and when they reached a fork, they let fate decide their path.


    But in the middle of the afternoon, he began to show signs of agitation.


    "What''s wrong, Sergeant?" asked Jules, who had noticed it too.


    "Well, there should be a turn here on the right and a fork, but there''s nothing."


    "Where are we?" Jean asked curiously, moving closer to the sergeant, who was intently focused on his map. "Huh? What are these lines?"


    "Roads. We should be here, roughly."


    "Oh? And Halberstadt? Is that there?"


    "No, here," the sergeant said, pointing with his finger at a large triangle opposite the area Jean had indicated.


    "We just need to follow the road. Maybe the turn is a bit further ahead?"


    The other soldiers nodded, though they were not confident, hearing Adam''s suggestion, who knew the region no better than they did.


    The cart started moving again, pulled by the massive ox, which seemed completely unconcerned by this unexpected situation. The terrain here was relatively flat, which made the cart''s movement easier. However, it would have moved much faster if the road hadn''t been so poor.


    The group''s main fear was breaking a wheel because, in that case, they would have no choice but to abandon the cart with much of their loot or explore the surroundings in hopes of finding a replacement.


    "Huh?"


    "That''s not a turn."


    "What is this river? Sergeant? Where are we?"


    "I...," he stammered, staring intensely at his little map, which was as accurate as a child''s drawing. "I think... No, that''s not right. A river... I think we''re off the map."


    "Oh, great...," said Ren¨¦ Gabin sarcastically, his beady eyes glaring at the sergeant. "We''re lost! That''s just perfect!"


    All their faces turned pale and tense. Getting lost in enemy territory could only be a bad thing. Those who usually found themselves in this situation became bandits to some and deserters to others. In any case, the noose awaited them.


    "W-wait! There''s a farm over there!" P''tit Pol said joyfully, pointing to a small cluster of buildings surrounded by modest fields and wild-looking wooded areas.


    "Well, it is quite isolated... We could try," the sergeant said. "Soldier Fran?ois? We''re counting on you to ask them for directions to get back."


    "Yes!" Adam replied energetically, not wanting to disappoint his friends and comrades.


    It took them an hour to reach the edge of the fields of this stone farm, weathered by time, against which still-flowering shrubs grew despite the season. The flowers, however, seemed on the verge of wilting, having begun to lose their suppleness and color.


    There, on the muddy path, they encountered a little girl playing alone with a small rag doll. She was very cute with her two small blonde pigtails. Her round, rosy cheeks immediately made Adam want to gently pinch them. The child wore a simple red and white dress, inexpensive but of good quality.


    Soon, the little girl noticed the group of soldiers, and instead of running in the opposite direction, she began to approach them cheerfully, a huge smile on her face.


    Adam asked his comrades to stay back and remain silent so as not to alarm the child.


    "Hello, Mr. Soldier!" she said, clutching her little doll tightly. "Are you alright?"


    "Hello, little miss! I''m fine, thank you very much! What''s your name?" Adam asked in the gentlest voice he could muster.


    "Hehe, it''s funny how you talk, mister! My name is Ida, and this," she said, presenting her doll, "is Lottie!"


    "Hello, Ida, hello Lottie. My name is... Adam. Is it really funny when I talk?"


    "Yes!" the little girl answered honestly, nodding her head vigorously with exaggeration.


    "Maybe it''s because I''m from far away?"


    Ida tilted her head to the side with curiosity and looked at the other soldiers who were waiting near the cart.


    "Are they from far away too?"


    "Um, yes. They are too. And we''re very tired. We''d really like to go home."


    "Really? My daddy is a soldier too. But he left," the little girl said sadly, hugging her doll tightly. "I didn''t get to say goodbye."


    "Really? Your daddy is a soldier?"


    "Mm-hmm, yes!" Ida replied with a certain pride. "He''s a great soldier! The greatest! And he''s going to kill the bad guys with all his friends! But why are your clothes different?"


    A slight feeling of fear crept into the young soldier''s heart. Instantly, an excuse came to mind.


    "That''s because I''m also a great soldier. My leader said that when you''re good, you get to wear white clothes."


    "Really?!"


    She''s so innocent! I want to hug her!


    Adam resisted the temptation and asked another question, perhaps with a tone that was a bit too serious.


    "Ida? You said your daddy left with all his friends. When and where did they go?"


    The young girl seemed to struggle and stopped talking.


    "Ida, please? I need to quickly join your daddy... to help him."


    I''m a monster.


    But just as the little girl was about to respond, a woman who appeared to be in her thirties emerged from the house. As soon as she saw Adam, her face turned pale, and she sprang forward. She grabbed a pitchfork and charged at the young man like a furious demon.


    Adam''s comrades rushed in as well, and not wanting to harm the woman who, deep down, was only trying to protect her child, they merely surrounded her. Threatened from all sides, she waved her pitchfork wildly, keeping a good distance between herself and the hesitant soldiers.


    A mechanical sound suddenly broke the tense standoff, and everyone froze. Adam, like the others, recognized the sound of a musket being cocked. It was Ren¨¦ Gabin, and he was pointing his weapon directly at the child.


    "Fuck!"


    "Ren¨¦! Lower your weapon! Now!"


    Ren¨¦ didn''t move, his gaze fixed on the mother, who was now as pale as a corpse. Even her lips seemed to have turned white. Her trembling hands were gripping her pitchfork so tightly that Adam thought he could hear the wood of the handle creak.


    "Fran?ois," Ren¨¦ said slowly and calmly, "tell this bitch to drop her weapon."


    "Ren¨¦..." Adam murmured in a grave voice, his eyes locked on the barrel of the gun, dreading the sound of a gunshot at any moment.


    "Tell her, or I''ll shoot her kid."


    Adam, trembling all over, turned to the woman, who was shaking as much as he was, and translated the threat. As he did so, he hesitated, contemplating whether he should draw his own weapon and aim it at Ren¨¦. He certainly didn''t want to kill him, but Ren¨¦ had clearly crossed a line.


    He imagined himself drawing his weapon, pointing it at Ren¨¦''s head, and pulling the trigger. He pictured a great white plume of smoke obscuring the body of the soldier as he fell backward, brain matter splattering into the air. His hands itched, and his body urged him to do it.


    Should... Should I do it? What if he kills me first? What should I do?!


    A small pellet of ice struck Adam''s forehead, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was tiny and didn''t hurt, but it was soon followed by many others. They bounced off the roofs, the people, Ren¨¦''s weapon, and the ground, which was too warm for the hail to last more than a few minutes. Depending on where they landed, they made different sounds.


    Finally, the mother obeyed and dropped her pitchfork, which fell heavily at her feet. She immediately wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter and hurried her inside the small farmhouse to safety.


    Ren¨¦ finally lowered his weapon before slinging his musket over his shoulder as if nothing had happened.


    "Now, we can talk. Ask her how we get back to Halberstadt... and where the food is."

 Chapter 17: Magdeburg

    The tension in the air was palpable, and Adam could feel his heart pounding even though Ren¨¦ had put away his weapon. But he couldn''t afford to stay in this state. This wasn''t the time for that.


    Ida¡¯s mother, trembling, was led inside the small stone house and forced to sit at a simple, time-worn table. Faced with such a disparity in strength, she could only obey and pray that these soldiers, whom she assumed to be deserters from the enemy army, would leave.


    Adam slowly stepped forward and began speaking in German, mixing modern German with the various dialects he had encountered in the region.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± he began, ¡°we don¡¯t mean you or your daughter any harm. We got lost and want to return to our headquarters in Halberstadt. If you help us, we¡¯ll leave immediately.¡±


    The woman, who could be described as very beautiful, exuding a mature charm, listened intently to this young man with chestnut hair tinged with red and striking icy blue eyes, but she couldn¡¯t help but harbor doubts, which was entirely natural.


    The reputation that the French army had built had apparently traveled far and wide, well beyond the front lines. She knew just how brutal and needlessly violent these people could be. What had just happened confirmed to her that the French army was composed of nothing but animals driven by predatory instincts.


    She coldly glanced at Ren¨¦, who was sporting a falsely innocent smile, revealing a few crooked, brown, and sometimes broken teeth, before responding to Adam.


    ¡°By retracing your steps,¡± she said quietly, ¡°and following the road, you¡¯ll reach the village of Gnadau. There¡¯s a fork in the road at the exit, where you should take a right. Keep going straight, and you¡¯ll arrive in Halberstadt.¡±


    ¡°Is it a well-traveled road?¡± Adam asked after translating the directions to the sergeant.


    ¡°Not really. At least not until you reach Gnadau.¡±


    Sergeant Dupuy carefully noted the directions on his small map and asked Adam if Gnadau had many inhabitants, as the group couldn¡¯t afford to antagonize a large population.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s very small. Everyone there knows each other. Please, don¡¯t harm them!¡±


    Adam partially translated the farmer¡¯s response.


    ¡°And where are we right now? Are we far from Gnadau?¡±


    ¡°South of Magdeburg,¡± the woman replied, ¡°near the Elbe. Gnadau is about half an hour from my farm.¡±


    At the mention of Magdeburg, everyone tensed. That was the enemy¡¯s headquarters.


    We¡¯re near Magdeburg?! This is dangerous! We can¡¯t stay here too long, or we¡¯ll be in big trouble!


    Sergeant Dupuy, though tense, was very relieved to have a direction. He asked Adam to thank the woman on his behalf. She turned her gaze to a small square window.


    Ren¨¦¡¯s grating voice then broke the silence in the small room, faintly lit by a timid ray of sunlight that had managed to break through the thick clouds.


    ¡°And what about food? There must be something here, right?¡±


    Everyone looked at the bony-faced soldier, uncertain of how to respond. Because the sergeant nodded, Adam translated.


    The woman stiffened in her wooden chair. Adam knew they needed provisions, but he felt that pushing this woman further might have disastrous consequences. He took a deep breath and asked the question to the woman, who was nervously playing with her work-worn hands.


    ¡°We also need food. Do you have anything you can give us?¡±


    The farmer weakly nodded, resigned, and pointed to a building separate from the house, visible through the small window.


    ¡°There¡¯s some grain, a few fruits, and a few vegetables in the barn. You can take some, but please not all of it. I also need it to feed myself and my daughter.¡±


    Adam felt shame and guilt wash over him, growing into a heavy, oppressive knot in his stomach and throat. With a sad look, he faithfully translated her response, adding a few details to ensure his comrades wouldn¡¯t be too greedy when loading their cart.


    Immediately, part of the squad left the house to head toward the barn, leaving Adam, the sergeant, Louis, and Charles behind. Time seemed to slow down suddenly. The silence was oppressive. The only sound was the hail that had begun falling again on the area.


    I feel so bad¡­ I¡¯ve done this several times, but this time¡­


    He put himself in the shoes of this woman and her daughter, who might not have enough to eat this winter and could, perhaps, starve because of them.


    Adam suddenly remembered something little Ida had said before her mother¡¯s intervention.


    ¡°Excuse me, ma¡¯am, but where is your husband currently?¡±


    ¡°My husband? He¡­ he¡¯s on a business trip. He¡¯s a merchant. He shouldn¡¯t be much longer.¡±


    She¡¯s lying. It¡¯s obvious. And the little girl said he was a soldier and left without saying goodbye.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t your husband a soldier? He must serve the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg, am I wrong?¡±


    The woman trembled and avoided Adam¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°I-I¡­ No, you¡¯re wrong!¡±


    She really doesn¡¯t know how to lie, Adam concluded as he watched her lose her composure and panic.


    ¡°Your husband went on a mission, didn¡¯t he? With all his comrades?¡± he added, carefully staying vague, relying solely on the little the girl had revealed to him earlier.


    ¡°Ah¡­¡±


    It was almost a moan of pain that crawled out of her mouth. Losing control of her emotions, she didn¡¯t even realize that she was revealing all her thoughts to her interlocutor.


    ¡°There¡¯s no problem. Everything¡¯s fine,¡± Adam reassured, moving closer to the farmer, who was watched with curiosity by the sergeant, unable to understand a word of what was being said in front of him. ¡°Just tell me where they went.¡±


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    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± she finally admitted. ¡°He didn¡¯t tell me anything. He just went to Magdeburg and left with the Duke¡¯s army. That¡¯s all I know, I swear!¡±


    She¡¯s telling the truth this time. Wait, what?!


    ¡°The Duke¡¯s army left? His entire army?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know! He must have left a small part of his army to protect the city, but that¡¯s all! Please, leave me alone! I really don¡¯t know any more!¡±


    Adam took two steps back, allowing the farmer to breathe a little easier. He then turned to his sergeant and explained the situation.


    ¡°This¡­ This is very important! We need to return to the camp immediately. Soldier Charles, go and tell the others to stop everything! We¡¯re leaving!¡±


    ¡°Understood!¡±


    Ren¨¦ wasn¡¯t pleased with this decision, but he had no choice but to comply with his superior¡¯s order. Before leaving, he cast one last look at the farmer, who was watching them from her doorway. His gaze betrayed his frustration, regret, and malice. Surely, he would have liked to steal something more valuable than food from her!


    Adam, on the other hand, bowed to the woman and offered his sincerest apologies before leaving as well.


    I¡¯m so ashamed of myself, I feel like throwing up.


    Despite the sergeant¡¯s encouraging words, Adam didn¡¯t feel any better. He knew that nothing could excuse what they had just done. More than ever, he realized that this war was changing him, distorting the once-clear line between right and wrong.


    I really need to go home¡­ before it¡¯s too late!


    ***


    On this 30th of October, the Duke of Richelieu¡¯s imposing army was deploying around Magdeburg, a large and well-fortified city. It occupied the west bank of the Elbe and had a star-shaped citadel on an island in the middle of the powerful river. The two were connected by a stone bridge, with another bridge leading to the opposite bank, where another fort had been built.


    Most of his army was positioned to the west, on the city¡¯s side, but he had sent a small group with artillery¡ªof which he had a considerable amount¡ªto the other side of the river to threaten the city from its more vulnerable side.


    He had made this decision quite quickly a few days earlier when he learned that one of his supply teams had inadvertently approached the fortified place and discovered that the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg had left, presumably to support King Frederick II of Prussia in Leipzig.


    As he rode at the head of his army¡ªnearly thirty thousand men, since he had to leave a force in the region to chase away the enemies of the King of France fighting on behalf of Hanover, Brunswick, Hesse-Cassel, and all the regions occupied by France¡ªit had taken them two days to reach this point, but they had taken their time. Despite this, the enemy was caught off guard. The enemy commander, none other than the Duke¡¯s nephew, hadn¡¯t expected the Duke of Richelieu, who had been so calm and immobile since his arrival in Halberstadt, to decide to attack. He and his uncle had no doubt that Richelieu was waiting for winter to pass.


    They had made a mistake.


    Around 11 a.m., the artillery was positioned, perched on high artificial mounds to give the attackers a terrain advantage. Richelieu decided to advance with two officers under the protection of a white flag. He stopped in the middle of the road leading to the city, facing the Minen Bastion and the Ulrich Gate.


    His polished armor gleamed as if made of gold, making him visible from a great distance. He rode a magnificent white horse, slightly nervous judging by its movements.


    The horse had every reason to be, as at this distance, a cannonball could easily take off its rider¡¯s head.


    ¡°Frenchman,¡± came a deep and powerful voice from the bastion, amplified by a metal loudspeaker, ¡°you are not welcome here! Leave immediately, or you will regret it!¡±


    The Duke gave a slight smile but did not immediately respond.


    The Prussian officer felt a wave of nervousness wash over him. His garrison was significantly smaller in number than this army. He was also well aware of the reputation of this man, whose identity he could easily guess. Around Charles-William-Ferdinand of Brunswick-Wolfenb¨¹ttel, the soldiers appeared as nervous as he was. They all knew what these monsters were capable of. Some had even seen them in action. These soldiers were bloodthirsty brutes, so how cruel must their general be?


    A voice then resonated from the ground, naturally carrying up to them:


    ¡°I am General du Plessis de Richelieu, commander of this army in the name of Louis the Fifteenth, King of France and Navarre! I fully intend to take this city. Any resistance is futile. Open the gates, and I swear no harm will come to you! If you choose to resist, may God have mercy on you, for with each day of resistance, I will allow my army to pillage your city for an additional day! You have one hour to decide!¡±


    The entrenched soldiers trembled. They had heard and understood everything, for this man had spoken in German.


    Despite all the efforts of the fortress commander, the news spread rapidly within the city. It moved faster than a disease or a fire. The population began to stir even before the bombardment started.


    The psychological attack was far more effective than the Marshal Duke could have expected, as the people of this city had been traumatized by a tragic event that had occurred more than a century earlier.


    During the Thirty Years¡¯ War, a horrific war that had ravaged the region, the city of Magdeburg had been besieged by an imperial army and the Catholic League. The siege had been long, but what was most remembered was its end and the horrors that followed. The besieging army had finally managed to enter the city and began massacring the population. At the time, the population numbered thirty thousand, which was very respectable for that era and region. After three days of massacres, only five thousand inhabitants remained, those who had been fortunate enough to take refuge in the cathedral.


    Despite the years, the painful memory of that terrible time remained intact. The name of the city alone was enough to evoke the horrors of war. It even gave rise to a verb that could be translated as "to Magdeburgize."


    At noon, all around the city, the sound of cannon fire echoed, as the city gates remained closed. Most of the projectiles struck the solid walls of Magdeburg, but some, fired by mortars, passed over them and fell on the houses, spreading death and destruction.


    The inhabitants and soldiers immediately organized human chains to bring buckets of water from the river to extinguish the fires. But throughout the city, people protested and demanded that the gates be opened, hoping for decent treatment.


    The crown prince of the House of Brunswick-Wolfenb¨¹ttel, of course, could not allow this. His uncle had entrusted him with the city to hold it until his return, and his other uncle, the King of Prussia, needed to keep this enemy tied up in the north.


    So, he sent soldiers into the city to suppress these intolerable movements. This was misinterpreted. Gradually, they were overwhelmed, as they had to keep men on the ramparts to man the cannons, and Magdeburg spiraled out of control.


    At four in the afternoon, the gates opened, and the French forces entered the city.


    Unfortunately for the inhabitants, the Duke considered this day a day of resistance since they had not agreed to open the gates when he had requested earlier that day. The soldiers thus began to plunder Magdeburg.


    While his soldiers behaved like the worst scoundrels in the world, Marshal Richelieu visited the warehouses filled with food and supplies, ignoring the cries and pleas for help.


    So much gunpowder, tents, and cannonballs! the Duke exclaimed inwardly with relief. I can spend the winter in peace now!


    He had captured the city so easily that he was surprised himself. He assumed, upon hearing the reports, that his reputation had greatly contributed to this stunning victory. In addition to the city''s cannons, they had taken many prisoners.


    It wasn¡¯t difficult to learn more about the movements of the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg. On October 24, he had quietly left for M?cken, a village twenty kilometers to the east. Then, he had gone south to Halle. Strangely, he hadn¡¯t stayed there to face Lieutenant General de Broglie but had moved east to join Frederick II in Leipzig.


    "If their forces are combined, as they surely must be by now, they pose a serious threat. According to Prince de Soubise, their army is very divided. Facing a united enemy, even with a clear numerical advantage, they could lose or allow the king to escape¡­"


    The Duke looked up at the sky. The sun was very low, tinting the buildings and river with a soft orange light. A few stars were already visible.


    "Gentlemen Br¨¦hant, Chatelet, Saint-Pern, Chevreuse, and Contades, we will leave for Leipzig in two days. Monsieur Randan will hold this city in our absence. Let our men enjoy themselves as they please tonight until the same time tomorrow. Then, let them rest. We will most certainly have to fight well-trained regiments."


    "At your orders!"


    And if I can steal their victory, it will be perfect!

 Chapter 18: The Anger Of The Prince de Soubise

    How did it come to this?! How could the situation change so drastically and in such a short time?!


    Charles de Rohan, Prince of Soubise, was seething with anger. In fact, it only grew as more bad news arrived.


    Damned Austrians! It¡¯s all their fault!


    The Prince of Soubise had good reasons to be angry. The reason the brave Frederick II had hastily retreated after advancing so well was the news that his capital, Berlin, was under attack. Gradually, all his armies were retreating, with his bravest soldiers covering the rear. But while this raid had been a success, the Austrians, led by a man named Hadik, had agreed to withdraw in exchange for a ransom that was said to be considerable.


    Fools! The pursuit of immediate profit may cost us the victory!


    The second piece of bad news was that Frederick II had received reinforcements, notably from the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg. He had left Magdeburg on October 24th and arrived in Leipzig four days later.


    And fool de Broglie! Incompetent! All he had to do was intercept that army before it reinforced Frederick II! He just needed to march a little faster! Just a little! Damn it! One day sooner, and it would have been enough!


    Lieutenant General de Broglie had indeed narrowly missed the army of Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg at Halle. In the meantime, Ferdinand had moved on and reached Schkeuditz, twenty kilometers southeast of there. From there, he had gone to Leipzig, where the bulk of Frederick II¡¯s army was located.


    His precious General Keith had also been saved from certain death, as the Franco-Imperial army had learned of the Prussian king¡¯s return and had decided to retreat to better defend themselves.


    We had the advantage! Leipzig was within our grasp! And because we were scattered to encircle the city, we had no choice but to retreat to Wei?enfels! Those imperial fools! Not only did they scatter their regiments to the four winds, but they also allowed several units to be caught by surprise! It¡¯s not that difficult to inform your allies that the enemy is approaching!


    For the prince, nothing seemed to be going right, even though things had been looking good just a few days earlier!


    Incompetents! I¡¯m surrounded by incompetents! If these fools had listened to me, we wouldn¡¯t be in this situation! That old man, Hildburghausen, wanted command, he got it! And here¡¯s the result! I wouldn¡¯t have made all these mistakes! I would have captured Leipzig and forced that fox to retreat to Berlin! We would have spent the winter in Leipzig and besieged his city in the spring! But no! The commander-in-chief wants to take full responsibility! He should have his command stripped away!


    Much of the prince¡¯s anger was directed at the Imperial general, his army, and the Austrian troops. They lacked order and discipline. In his view, it was unfair to refer to this shapeless mass of men in uniform as an army, as that would equate them with the French soldiers.


    They didn¡¯t speak the same language, only followed orders if they felt like it or if they came from their own officers, behaved like bandits, and fled at the first sign of danger.


    The Franco-Imperial army, being largely composed of such soldiers¡ªcomparable to militiamen at best¡ªhad led him to seriously doubt their ability to defeat the Prussian army.


    When he asked General Hildburghausen to retreat and regroup, it was certainly not out of pleasure.


    United, they could act more effectively together. The problem was that since these two armies had joined forces to capture Saxony, his own army had declined in quality. He had come to doubt it, even though it was presented at Court as the best in the world!


    Damn it! What a disgrace! Is this the formidable French army? They¡¯ve become lazy, undisciplined, and careless!


    Indeed, his troops were a pitiful sight. They were tired, but more importantly, they increasingly resembled the soldiers of the Empire. It was as if their bad habits had rubbed off on them. Of course, this was an exaggeration. French soldiers had never, except in rare cases, been pure-hearted elite soldiers.


    What was certain was that he now seriously feared facing the King of Prussia.


    If they don¡¯t regain their senses quickly, we¡¯re headed for disaster!


    Feeling in great danger, Soubise had maintained extensive correspondence with the Duke of Richelieu and the Court so that no one would be unaware of the critical situation he was in, and if necessary, to exonerate himself if he were defeated. He was especially reporting to Madame de Pompadour, the King¡¯s favorite, without whom he would not have obtained this command.


    Unfortunately, the response he received was not to his liking.


    The Court merely encouraged him and reminded him that he should place himself under Hildburghausen¡¯s authority, while the Duke of Richelieu did as he pleased in the north. He had learned the day before that this man¡ªa depraved bandit, in his view¡ªhad captured Magdeburg, an important city in the region containing a significant amount of supplies and equipment.


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    But what he needed were reliable troops!


    In his letter, the Marshal Duke had informed him that he would march on Leipzig from Magdeburg but wouldn¡¯t leave until the early hours of November 1st.


    It¡¯s the 3rd, and I¡¯ve heard nothing! the prince thought as he left his seat and approached a small window overlooking his encampment.


    The prince had come to accept that he would have to manage with his current army and allies.


    Fortunately, he thought, looking at the multitude of tents softly illuminated by patrol lanterns and campfires, this army is not small.


    A slight smile formed on his face at this pleasant and calming sight. With the Reichsarmee, they formed a group of over forty thousand men. This was twice the size of what the King of Prussia had been able to gather.


    Maneuvering such a large army, yet so mediocre in quality, was a challenge. By the end of the day, they had adjusted their formation so that their army was anchored in the north at the village of M¨¹cheln, where he was currently located, to a small dense wood near the village of Branderoda.


    This alone had cost them many hours, which, in his view, could have been used to weaken the enemy before the real battle.


    That evening, after a long conversation that was as boring as it was frustrating, he had agreed to move their headquarters and change the layout of his camps.


    Hildburghausen had just left the room and had already departed with his army to set up camp south of Branderoda, where there was a height that would give him a defensive advantage in case of an attack. His infantry was also to move, but later. As for his cavalry, it had already left to establish a camp northeast of Branderoda.


    It was as if they enjoyed moving their camps over and over again. Our soldiers need to rest for the battle!


    Finally, he turned to the few men still in the room. Despite the late hour, they had not removed their uniforms. After witnessing the discussion, they had already understood that they wouldn''t be able to rest for several more hours.


    ¡°Monsieur de Saint-Germain?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness?¡± responded the man who seemed to have aged several years in just a few days.


    ¡°Have our men get to work. The infantry will camp in two lines, as you¡¯ve heard. Monsieur de Mailly? Our cavalry will be placed slightly behind, ready to mount quickly and counterattack if necessary. They will also be in two lines.


    "Yes, General!"


    "Monsieur de Broglie?¡±


    ¡°Yes, General?¡± replied the man who had been as still and silent as a statue until now.


    ¡°Position our reserve between the infantry and our cavalry. Make sure all the men keep their uniforms on and their weapons within reach.¡±


    ¡°At your orders,¡± the two men responded in unison.


    We must be prepared for anything with this enemy. They¡¯re no better than those damned English. If they can stab us in the back, they¡¯ll do it without hesitation.


    Satisfied with this response, he turned once more toward the window. The sky was overcast, and the moon was barely visible through the clouds. It was impossible to see even a single star.


    Without warning, a violent downpour suddenly swept over the region, catching everyone who wasn¡¯t under shelter by surprise. Quickly, a curtain of water formed on the other side of the small window.


    ¡°What weather¡­¡± the prince sighed wearily. ¡°If this keeps up, we won¡¯t be able to fight tomorrow¡­¡±


    With that, the officer bent over his maps again, analyzing the terrain as it was represented there, searching for weaknesses in the enemy¡¯s formation. Together with General Hildburghausen, they had already settled on a plan¡ªsimple and effective¡ªto end this fight quickly and with as little bloodshed as possible, at least not their own.


    Then, exhausted, he removed his coat and powdered wig. Keeping his clothes on as he had ordered his soldiers, he went to bed, lulled by the gentle sound of the rain hitting his window and the roof above his head.


    By early morning, the rain had stopped, but the ground had received so much water in recent days that it struggled to absorb it. It was heavy and sticky where the armies had passed. A smell of wet earth hung in the air. As for the sky, it was uniformly gray, as if it were one single, immense cloud. Everyone expected it to start raining again at any moment.


    Despite the difficult terrain, the army set out to strike the Prussian enemy, who had not been idle during the night. Some light cavalry had indeed approached the fortified French camp and managed to capture about forty of them!


    Shame and anger burned in everyone¡¯s eyes, each eager to repay these despicable Prussians in kind.


    It was also noticed that the King of Prussia had rearranged the disposition of his army and established his headquarters in a small village called Rossbach, only seven kilometers from M¨¹cheln.


    This day should have been a day of battle, but the German prince¡¯s plans were delayed by the slow coordination and formation of the armies. Just leaving the various camps took hours!


    The French and Imperial officers thought they were going mad.


    ¡°Thank goodness we¡¯re at war,¡± commented the Count of Saint-Germain, adjusting the collar of his coat, which felt too tight, ¡°otherwise it would take them an entire day just to put on their uniforms!¡±


    Soubise said nothing, but he felt the same. He merely pursed his lips, making them so thin they formed only a narrow line under his nose.


    It was a great shame. The fact that the French army was doing slightly better than the Imperial army didn¡¯t ease his discomfort or his growing desire to send all these good-for-nothings back to their barracks to start their training from scratch.


    Alas, things got even worse when they were asked to turn left. This maneuver was finally completed around one in the afternoon, when according to the initial plans, they should have already been setting up their new camp.


    ¡°What are they doing?! (French)


    ¡°Why are they so slow?!¡± (Northern Bavarian)


    ¡°Move forward!¡± (Austrian)


    ¡°All right! No need to shout in your language!¡± (Low Saxon)


    ¡°What¡¯s he saying?! We can¡¯t understand anything! Does anyone speak that idiot¡¯s language?!¡± (Dutch)


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me orders! I¡¯m from M¨¹nster, and I won¡¯t obey an officer who isn¡¯t from my homeland!¡± (Westphalian)


    ¡°When do we eat? We¡¯ll have meat, right?¡± (Lower Rhenish)


    ¡°I lost my shoe in the mud! Hey! Don¡¯t push from behind!¡± (Southern Bavarian)


    ¡°Who¡¯s in command here?!¡± (Palatine)


    The officers watched helplessly as this mass of men tried to maneuver together and failed miserably.


    Eventually, they managed to reorient their army, but it was far too late. That day, too, there was no battle. They simply adjusted the camps to prepare for battle under better conditions, possibly the next day. However, they remained on alert until late afternoon, which came early in this season.

 Chapter 19: The Battle Of Rossbach

    The following day, November 5th, was rain-free, but that didn¡¯t mean the sky was clear. The absence of precipitation hadn¡¯t made the ground much more passable. The grass was still wet, particularly at its base.


    Tensions remained high within the Franco-Imperial troops, both among the soldiers and the officers. Some sought the honor of initiating the battle, while others wanted to abandon the original plan entirely in favor of a new one, which they believed would be simpler to execute. What they had seen the previous day had been like a revelation.


    At eleven o¡¯clock, despite all warnings, including those from Soubise, who just two days earlier had favored an attack, the Franco-Imperial army began to advance in three groups.


    The cavalry, coming from the M¨¹cheln camp and the central camp, was the first to engage. The two groups went far ahead of the infantry, with the French cavalry skillfully commanded by Lieutenant General de Mailly.


    They headed east as if aiming to reach the nearby Wei?enfels. The two cavalry groups met along the way, passing the village of Branderoda and, without slowing their pace, suddenly changed direction near another village to the south, called Zeuchfeld.


    ***


    At the same time, several kilometers away, Prussian officers were in a flurry of activity.


    ¡°Your Majesty! They... The enemy isn¡¯t retreating! They¡¯re trying to outflank us!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s dangerous!¡± cried the King, observing the distant scene through his spyglass. ¡°Send General von Seydlitz and all the cavalry to the east! The enemy must not break through!¡±


    General Seydlitz, who had approached without anyone noticing, had already anticipated this order and was ready to depart.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Your Majesty. They won¡¯t get through. Your soldiers¡¯ backs are safe with my brave men. Forward!¡± said the man, his face filled with determination, to his king, knowing what he wanted to hear.


    He knew that this king, more than any other in Europe, if not the world, cared more for his people than for himself.


    Frederick II nodded with confidence and watched the great general, who wasn¡¯t yet forty, depart at the head of his cavalry. As dignified as Caesar and as courageous as Alexander, he knew Seydlitz would be as ruthless with his enemies as Attila.


    Then, he ordered his infantry to move and reposition to face the enemy¡¯s attack.


    ***


    These troop movements, clearly visible even from afar, didn¡¯t escape the notice of the Franco-Imperial army''s scouts, but they misinterpreted them.


    ¡°General, the Prussians are on the move! They¡¯re retreating!¡±


    ¡°What? They¡¯re fleeing the battle before it even begins?!¡± exclaimed Prince de Soubise.


    ¡°Kukuku! They must be afraid of our army!¡± arrogantly remarked an Imperial officer in his own language, with a smug smile. ¡°As one would expect from such an enemy! How undignified! We overestimated them!¡±


    ¡°Then we must pursue them before they escape!¡± affirmed another Imperial officer, whose right eye was covered by a large black patch. ¡°Let¡¯s put an end to this farce and forget the name of Frederick and his kingdom!¡±


    ***


    The Franco-Imperial cavalry, which had set out at eleven o¡¯clock, sped ahead, thinking the path was clear. But at three in the afternoon, as the sun finally began to peek out, several artillery volleys surprised them from the left.


    Positioned on a relatively flat hilltop, Frederick II¡¯s cannons fired numerous shots, killing and wounding some of the cavalrymen. Undeterred by the fear of being struck by one of these terrible projectiles, the dense smoke, and the debris scattered by the impacts around them, the cavalry sped up to catch the supposedly fleeing enemy army.


    They then collided with the formidable Prussian cavalry led by von Seydlitz, a mix of hussars, dragoons, and cuirassiers.


    It was the Imperial cavalry that first bore the brunt of the charge, with the French, positioned on the right, arriving slightly later."


    The clash between the two forces was so fierce that horses were seen dying upon impact and men were sent flying. The deafening noise, which could not be drowned out even by the Prussian artillery commanded by Colonel Moller, was overwhelming. The incessant clashing of sabers, high-pitched, resounded like thousands of bells, while the pounding of the horses'' hooves, lost in this furious mass, churned the ground until it became soft and slippery.


    But just as the Imperial and French cavalry were about to gain the upper hand, the enemy was reinforced by their reserves. With sabers and muskets, the latter being shorter than those used by the infantry, they managed to stabilize the situation.


    "Clear a path!" de Mailly furiously shouted to all his men, his face as red as the saber with which he had just severely wounded an enemy. "Kill these dogs!"


    French and Austrian cavalrymen fell from their mounts like raindrops, often wounded in their arms and legs. Nonetheless, some didn¡¯t hesitate to continue the fight on foot. Others, however, took to their heels, deeming the battle over for them.


    ¡°Enemy infantry approaching!¡± someone shouted with all their might.


    The Austrian, French, and Imperial cavalrymen looked beyond the fiercely held enemy line and noticed that the King of Prussia had indeed sent his entire army after his cavalry.


    Oh no! de Mailly immediately thought, realizing that the King of Prussia had no intention of retreating.


    ¡°Quick!¡± de Mailly yelled at the top of his lungs, aware that the situation was becoming critical. ¡°We need to eliminate these damned cavalrymen!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not breaking through anywhere!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re taking heavy losses on the left flank!¡±


    ¡°On the right flank too!¡±


    ¡°Ah! Lieutenant General de Mailly has fallen! He¡¯s wounded in the head and isn¡¯t moving!¡±


    ¡°Look! Our infantry is arriving! Hold on!¡±


    ***


    From his position, Prince de Soubise observed everything. His cavalry was in the thick of the melee, and it was difficult to determine who was winning, especially while under such heavy fire from the neighboring hill.


    The Prussian King¡¯s artillery is changing targets and starting to fire on the approaching infantry! he noted, using his spyglass held to his right eye.


    From the heights of Mount Janus, they had a clear field of fire. Much slower than the cavalry earlier, the prince could see that the Reichsarmee and his own troops were easy targets for the Prussian gunners.


    Under a relentless barrage of fire, the infantry columns marched at a steady pace to the beat of the drums, maintaining their formations in good order.


    Can¡¯t they move any faster?! Meanwhile, our cavalry is suffering!


    The number of dead, wounded, and deserters drastically increased with the arrival of the Prussian infantry, who came to support their already engaged cavalry. Quickly, the highly disciplined Prussian infantry formed up in three ranks, while the opposing forces remained in marching columns. In this position, only the soldiers at the front could return fire.


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    ¡°What are they doing!¡± raged Soubise from his position, restraining himself from throwing his spyglass with all his might. ¡°Form up! For God¡¯s sake! Form the ranks! Why aren¡¯t they doing anything?!¡±


    His body trembled with a mix of anger and fear as he watched his troops being decimated by Prussian artillery, unable to do anything but march and hope for the carnage to end. From where he stood, he could clearly see bodies flying, limbs being torn off, the ground being churned up, and smoke rising. He could even hear the cries of agony despite the distance separating him from the horror.


    My God, what a slaughter!


    He could also see acts of both courage and cowardice.


    ¡°The cowards! They¡¯re abandoning their weapons! Even our own! All of them, cowards!¡±


    Though the battle had barely begun, it already seemed over. It was half-past four.


    ***


    The Franco-Imperial cavalry, under considerable pressure, could no longer hold. Men were falling or fleeing one after another. The situation was becoming increasingly untenable, and it was only a matter of minutes before the entire flank would collapse.


    Suddenly, to everyone¡¯s surprise, a great clamor arose from the rear of the Prussian troops, both behind the infantry and the cavalry. A fierce charge of French cavalry, appearing out of nowhere, struck the defenseless Prussians. No one had seen them coming, and therefore, no one could warn the officers on the spot of this immense danger.


    Chaos ensued.


    Caught between two enemies, the Prussians immediately felt a tremendous pressure bearing down on them like a hammer on an anvil. The formations were disrupted, and in the ensuing chaos, it became very difficult to hear orders.


    Von Seydlitz¡¯s cavalrymen, with no room to maneuver, could only brace themselves for the impact, gritting their teeth. The French cavalry, who had not yet fled, quickly understood the situation, even though the identity of this new force was unknown, and resumed their assault, despite none of them being unscathed or unexhausted. The Imperials and Austrians, nearly all of whom had already departed, did their best to further disrupt the enemy, who no longer knew where to turn.


    Like mad dogs, the Prussian horses became uncontrollable, spinning around in search of an escape.


    The Imperial General Hildburghausen, wounded in the arm by a musket ball, managed, after immense effort, to reorganize part of the infantry, still under heavy fire from the heights of Mount Janus, and put them into a firing position. A violent volley brought down a great number of Prussians in front, but for every shot they fired, the Prussians fired three.


    Finally, a breach appeared in the Prussian infantry lines, and the formation was split into two blocks.


    The French grenadiers, commanded and led by the Marquis de Saint-Pern himself, despite his respectable age, entered the fray and completed the destruction of these units.


    ***


    Meanwhile, atop Mount Janus, disaster was being observed with horror.


    As Frederick II brought a trembling hand to his face, hollowed by so many trials, his large eyes fell upon the owner of the broad hand that had rested on his shoulder. It, like the rest of his body, suddenly seemed very fragile to him.


    ¡°What? What are you saying?¡± he asked in a trembling voice, like that of an old man lost in his own home.


    ¡°Sire, I beg you! We must leave! This battle is lost!¡±


    Frederick looked at his brother, Prince Frederick Henry, with rare intensity. He could read all his concern.


    His gaze then returned to his men, who were being slaughtered just below. Their cries seemed horrifying to him, as if they were coming from hell.


    His gunners hesitated over which target to prioritize: should they aim at these new enemies or those of General Hildburghausen?


    Have we truly lost? Then everything is lost. Prussia is lost¡­ because of me. I have failed.


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± the prince insisted, trying to snap him out of his stupor by shaking him and seeking help from the generals surrounding them. ¡°My brother! We must leave! We can fight another day! We will rebuild an army! Bigger and stronger! But we must leave and return to Berlin!¡±


    This was our last chance, my brother, don¡¯t you understand? I have already asked so much of my people. They have made so many sacrifices for me, for Prussia! I can¡¯t ask for more. This is truly the end, this time. There is only one way out left for me...


    ¡°A large troop of infantry is climbing the mount! They are encircling us!¡±


    ¡°Quick! Get the king on his horse! Tie him on if you must!¡± the prince ordered in a panic.


    ¡°It¡¯s too late! They¡¯re here!¡±


    ¡°Already?!¡± the prince exclaimed, incredulous.


    ¡°They¡¯re running in formation, General, and they¡¯ve fixed their bayonets!¡±


    ¡°Get His Majesty and the prince out of here!¡± commanded an old general, drawing his saber like a brave knight of old.


    ***


    Adam was exhausted, just like all his comrades. They had marched a great deal, and that short break in the woods near Merseburg certainly hadn¡¯t made them forget it.


    From Magdeburg to Calbe, from Calbe to Gr?bzig, from Gr?bzig to Halle, and finally from Halle to Merseburg. The Duke of Richelieu¡¯s army, numbering twenty-eight thousand men, having left a garrison in Magdeburg to oversee the town and their many prisoners, had set off a day late, on the morning of November 2. In four days, they had covered nearly a hundred kilometers.


    The effort was very similar to what they had done earlier in the campaign when they had to urgently march from Brunswick to Halberstadt to drive out the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg. At that time, they had covered fifty kilometers in two days. Here, they had made the same effort over two additional days and had to endure atrocious weather on top of it!


    We made it just in time!


    Thanks to their efforts, they had been able to surprise the Prussian enemy while their entire attention was focused on the army of Prince de Soubise and Duke of Saxe-Hildburghausen.


    Quick! They¡¯ve started climbing that big hill! I don¡¯t want to miss the capture of the officers!


    They had formed a long line almost completely encircling Mount Janus to trap those at the summit.


    Adam and his company were on the west side of the mount, opposite the battlefield. Lagging behind the rest of the regiment, they were only just beginning the ascent.


    ***


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant, one of the first to reach the summit of Mount Janus, efficiently deployed his men and surrounded all the officers present. Immediately, the cannons fell silent, and a strange hush fell over the plain. The air suddenly became as heavy as lead. It was so dense that it could almost be grasped with one¡¯s hand.


    Slowly, the French officer stepped out of the ranks, which closed behind him. Curiously, despite the long march and the climb, they still seemed ready to fight.


    "Gentlemen, good day," he began in French with an extremely respectful tone. "I have the honor to announce that this battle is our victory, and that you are our prisoners. Who among you is His Majesty, the King of Prussia?"


    The officers, dignified in defeat, did not respond immediately. They did not glance at anyone either.


    Finally, one of them, probably in his early fifties, spoke in German.


    "It is indeed your victory. How will we be treated? We have not signed a cartel with the Kingdom of France."


    "Are you King Frederick of Prussia? I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I do not speak your language. Please speak in French."


    "Yes," the man replied, now in French. "I was saying it is indeed your victory, and I was asking how we will be treated. After all, we have not signed any cartel with your kingdom that regulates such matters."


    The colonel nodded and assured the man that they would all be treated with the honors due to their rank. As for the rest of the army, everything would be decided later by the Ministry of War and His Majesty.


    ***


    Meanwhile, Adam and his company continued their ascent of Mount Janus. The slope was quite steep and extremely slippery in places. The slightest mistake could result in a fall.


    Then they saw four riders in colorful outfits descending the hill and heading straight towards them.


    "Attention! Cavalrymen!"


    "Stop them! They¡¯re enemies!"


    Adam and his comrades formed a deadly wall with their muskets and took position, expecting to be charged. The formation was tight, and the bayonet blades were very threatening. Fortunately, there was no impact.


    "Halt! You will go no further!" shouted Sergeant Dupuy, threatening the most richly dressed man, who seemed to be around his age. "Dismount immediately, or we will use force!"


    The man threatened by the sergeant was about thirty years old, wearing a magnificent blue coat lined with fur spotted like a leopard at the cuffs, while his saddle appeared to be made of tiger skin. As for his powdered wig, it was as extravagant as the rest.


    He exchanged a glance with another man, more simply dressed and much older, and spoke to him in German: "Your Majesty, we will charge to buy you time. Flee while we create a diversion!"


    Adam immediately focused on the second man, dressed in a cream-colored coat under a cuirassier¡¯s armor and high cavalry boots. Before his superior could say or do anything, he pointed his weapon directly at Frederick II¡¯s head, under the surprised and frightened gaze of Prince Frederick Henry and the two generals who had agreed to accompany them as bodyguards.


    With a gaze as cold as a serial killer¡¯s, he spoke slowly in a threatening tone: "Sir, I recommend you reconsider that option. If you move, I will shoot your king."


    With that, the young soldier, barely out of adolescence, cocked his musket. He seemed so calm that it made all the men present tremble. The only exception was the king himself, who remained calm.


    "Fran?ois?!"


    "Forgive me, Sergeant, but this man is the King of Prussia. And this man," he said, pointing to the officer in the fur-lined blue coat, "just offered to help him escape."


    The sergeant and the other soldiers, joined by other companies, suddenly changed their demeanor. Slowly, Sergeant Dupuy turned to the man still threatened by Adam/Fran?ois, who remained perfectly still.


    "Is it true, Your Majesty?"


    Frederick II averted his gaze from the very young soldier and looked coldly at the sergeant.


    "I am indeed the King of Prussia," said the mature man in perfect, almost accentless French. "I surrender, along with my officers. There is no need for more bloodshed. Please ask your commander to end this."


    Shortly after, immense cheers of joy echoed across the region. The French soldiers threw their tricorns into the air, laughing and dancing among the thousands of dead and dying.


    "Victory! Long live His Majesty!"


    "Long live France!"


    "Long live the Duke of Richelieu!"

 Chapter 20: Rewards

    The French hussars only halted their pursuit when it became too dark to see anything. Tired and poorly equipped, they were forced to turn back while the Prussians crossed the Saale to regroup in Leipzig. There, they would grasp the full extent of their disaster.


    Of the twenty-two thousand men they had, half were dead, wounded, or prisoners. Many had fled to save their lives and would never return to continue the fight. Their generals had been captured, their precious artillery seized, along with their banners.


    Their defeat was complete.


    Fortunately for them, a handful of senior officers survived and managed to rally in Leipzig. On November 7th, it was the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg and General Keith; and on the 8th, it was the brave Seydlitz¡¯s turn. At least what was left of him. This great cavalryman had lost a hand in battle and had received several other injuries!


    As for the French, the Imperials, and the few Austrians who had survived Seydlitz¡¯s wrath, they spent the night in various villages around the battlefield before escorting the prisoners to Naumburg. By November 6th, the Franco-Imperial army had set off in pursuit of the remnants of the enemy army, who had taken care to burn the bridges after crossing. They had no choice but to build a new one strong enough to allow them to cross the wide and powerful river, swollen by recent rains.


    There were some exchanges of fire between the two groups that day, as the Prussians had forgotten some of their comrades in their rout. These were either eliminated or captured.


    Then, on the morning of the 9th, all the prisoners were sent under heavy guard to Erfurt to avoid any risk.


    The atmosphere in the Allied camps was excellent, and it remained so even when it was learned that the enemy had retreated to Leipzig. With so many men and artillery, this city could not hold out.


    ¡°What happened next?"


    "We chased them like terrified hares to the Saale River! Some were still on the bridge when they began setting it on fire! Those who didn¡¯t have time to cross looked at us, then at the flames, and chose to take their chances! Fools! Others tried to swim across, but the current was so strong they were quickly swept away!"


    "Did any of them try to fight?"


    "Very few! Most of those we caught had abandoned their muskets to run faster, haha! Others had no more powder or lead balls to reload their weapons. What could they do but surrender?"


    "We came across a small group on foot. There were, what, four or five of them? Anyway, they had taken refuge in a farmhouse to the north, somewhere between here and Merseburg. Well, believe it or not, they refused to surrender, even when we threatened to burn the farmhouse down with them inside! They shot at us for almost an hour! There were twenty of us, and we couldn¡¯t approach without risking getting shot, as there was no cover. They managed to take down two of our men before we got to them."


    "What did you do?"


    "We did what we said. We blocked the door and set the place on fire. When they started jumping out of the windows to escape the flames, we shot them like rabbits!"


    "Ahahah! Bravo! That¡¯s how it¡¯s done!¡±


    Adam passed by several groups having such cheerful conversations about what they had done and heard in recent days. It was the same throughout the Allied camp in Naumburg. It was vast and somewhat disorganized, though care was taken to make it easy to navigate. Much of the equipment there originally belonged to the Prussians, but they had no choice but to abandon it after their defeat.


    Laughter echoed everywhere, though their situation was far from perfect. A large army meant large needs. Here, the main problem was food. What they had found in Frederick II¡¯s camp and the nearby villages provided a welcome respite, but the issue remained unresolved.


    The best course of action was to divide the army to spread the pressure over the territory. If they hadn¡¯t done so yet, it was partly because the officers needed time to reorganize and partly because the risk of a Prussian counterattack hadn¡¯t yet been ruled out.


    Adam approached a group of soldiers chatting cheerfully near a brazier and was welcomed like a star.


    ¡°Ah! Here he is! The hero of our company!"


    "Of our regiment, even! Come sit next to me, Fran?ois! We were just telling these gentlemen from the Royal Lorraine regiment what we¡¯ve been up to since the start of this campaign, and we were just getting to the last battle, how you enabled the capture of the king and the prince! Come on, come on! We¡¯ve got wine!¡±


    Adam smiled faintly and settled between Jean and Louis, who had moved aside to make a little space for him.


    ¡°So, he¡¯s the one who captured the King of Prussia and his brother?¡± asked an ordinary-looking man except for his particularly large and protruding chin.


    "Yes! Well, he wasn¡¯t alone, you know! Jean said proudly, with a faux modest air. We were there too! The whole company formed a wall in front of the king and the prince, who were trying to flee! So it¡¯s thanks to us too!"


    "That¡¯s true, confirmed P¡¯tit Pol with a smile, but it was he who unmasked him. Without him, he might have managed to escape."


    "He unmasked him? How? What did he look like?"


    "Well, Jean replied proudly as if this success had only been possible thanks to him, let me tell you, our young friend here learned their language! Yes, gentlemen! And in just a few months! It¡¯s very impressive, you¡¯ll see! Hey, Fran?ois, go on! Say something in Prussian! Anything!¡±


    In Prussian? I don¡¯t even know if you can call it Prussian. I just tried to speak German.


    ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s see. Jean is a big lump of muscle with the intelligence of a ten-year-old child."


    "You see! You see! Impressive, right?"


    "Oh, the soldiers said, impressed. And what does that mean?"


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    "Ahem! I said that Jean is the strongest and bravest of them all."


    "Bwahaha, that¡¯s true!¡±


    Everyone smiled as the big fellow burst out laughing, striking an odd pose that highlighted his impressive musculature, even while wearing that large white-grey coat that had turned brown at the bottom. Jules, sharper than the others, subtly smiled, suspecting that his friend hadn¡¯t said exactly what he claimed.


    Adam noticed and gave him a wink, which was caught by Charles, Louis, and Hippolyte.


    At that moment, Sergeant Dupuy arrived, his face very serious.


    "Sergeant Dupuy? What¡¯s going on?" asked Charles, standing up.


    "Everything is fine, it¡¯s just that Colonel de Br¨¦hant wishes to see Fran?ois. Please follow me."


    Everyone had stopped joking due to the sergeant¡¯s seriousness. Fran?ois, or rather Adam, got up and closely followed his superior into the town of Naumburg. After all, it was normal for officers to have the right to reside in solid buildings.


    The streets, narrow but carefully paved for the residents¡¯ benefit, were dotted with puddles from a violent downpour that had struck them a few hours earlier. They were also particularly lively, as the presence of such a large army implied the presence of many officers, all from the French, Imperial, and Austrian nobility. It was also an opportunity for trade, because even though the population was hostile to most of these people, they had needs and wanted to profit from the situation.


    "It¡¯s here," said the sergeant finally, in front of a beautiful house that could even be called a manor.


    The building had three levels and was pierced with numerous tall windows behind which some furtive movements could be seen. The roof, particularly steep, had aged somewhat, with moss growing in some places. A few slates were missing, and bird nests could be spotted in certain areas, sheltered from the weather.


    KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK


    An officer from the Picardy regiment, with the rank of captain, appeared at the door, looking surly and sporting a bulldog-like face. After a brief introduction, the sergeant and the soldier following him entered the building. The captain, as broad as a wardrobe, led them to a parlor whose walls were covered with carefully organized and categorized books. In one corner, a globe caught the young soldier¡¯s attention.


    Huh? This globe is huge! It¡¯s really well made, it¡¯s incredible! Did they know what the continents looked like back then? Without Google?


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant was conversing with his major in the presence of his lieutenant colonel, while others whispered at the far end of the room. They all looked extremely serious.


    Since it was unthinkable to interrupt the colonel, they waited silently near the entrance until he finished. It only took a few minutes.


    "Colonel, here is the soldier you requested to see."


    "Ah, yes. Very well. Thank you, Sergeant. Follow me to the next room. We¡¯ll be more at ease to talk there."


    "At your orders!"


    The colonel ignored the rigid salutes and led them to a room accessed through a door in the corner of the previous room, just to the right of the globe. Adam gave it a quick glance but didn¡¯t notice that on this globe, Australia wasn¡¯t fully represented, only the west coast, nor was North America, as Alaska was missing.


    The adjacent room was styled similarly to the previous one and seemed designed for isolating oneself and reading in peace. A few plants occupied a significant part of the space, giving it some life and freshness. Near the windows, where there was a long, almost red wooden table, majestically stood some very beautiful flowers, though they were visibly in poor health.


    "Alright," said the colonel, picking up a sheet of paper. "Soldier Fran?ois Boucher, born April 28th, 1737, in Corbie. You enlisted last year, on May 26th, 1756, as a fusilier in my Picardy regiment, then based in Saint-Omer. Is that correct?"


    "O-yes, Colonel."


    I was born on April 28th? I mean, Fran?ois was born on April 28th! That¡¯s new! I have to remember that!


    "You departed with the entire regiment this March under my command and were gravely injured in the shoulder by a Hanoverian bullet and in the head by a fall at the Battle of Hastenbeck on July 26th, but did not stay in the hospital to continue serving in His Majesty¡¯s armies. You have shown immense dedication in your daily duties and have not neglected your training. You have also shown initiative and contributed to maintaining order in the regiment and other regiments in the army commanded by the Duke of Richelieu. These have resumed their training seriously and put in more effort to better serve the King¡¯s interests. This helped persuade the enemy commander to quickly sign a convention at Kloster-Zeven. For all this, you were rewarded by being advanced to the eighth rank within your company."


    Adam nodded softly, seeing the Marquis de Br¨¦hant raise his head to better observe the young man standing before him.


    "During this campaign, you have eliminated several enemies, but more importantly, obtained highly valuable information by approaching the enemy headquarters. This enabled His Grace the Duke to capture the fortress of Magdeburg, which the Court wanted to see fall, and to save the French and Imperial armies at Rossbach. For this, you will be promoted to the rank of anspessade."


    Oh my god! I¡¯m promoted! AHAHAH! I¡¯m promoted!


    "Thank you, Colonel!"


    Adam was genuinely overjoyed. It was as if this had been his deepest desire all along.


    "I¡¯m not finished," continued the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, his face serious and slightly irritated.


    "O-oh, I apologize."


    "Hmm, it has come to our attention that during the battle you once again distinguished yourself by identifying His Majesty Frederick of Prussia and his brother, Prince Henry, as they tried to flee the battlefield. Sergeant Dupuy, here present, stated in his report that without you, they might have escaped. For this, after discussion with His Grace the Duke, you will be promoted to the rank of corporal. A ransom demand will likely be made. You will receive a portion of the ransom for the king and the prince, but understand that no agreement has been signed yet. It is up to the War Ministry to handle this matter. You will be informed of the amount later, which may take several weeks, and will likely receive your share in the coming months."


    "I-I¡­ I don¡¯t know what to say, Colonel! I¡¯m so happy! Thank you so much!"


    "However, do not expect to receive a colossal fortune. The amount you will receive will only be a tiny fraction of the ransom the kingdom will obtain for the release of these noble prisoners. Naturally, His Majesty will receive the largest share, and His Grace the Duke of Richelieu the second-largest. Do you have any questions?"


    "Hmm, no," replied Adam hesitantly, his brain having ceased to function properly.


    "Hmm, forgive me, Colonel, but I have a question."


    "Speak freely, Sergeant."


    "Our company is at full strength. There¡¯s no available corporal position for Fran?ois."


    "That¡¯s correct. I forgot to explain this part. Mr. Boucher, a corporal in the fourth company commanded by Mr. Gilbert in the second battalion was killed during the Battle of Rossbach. His position has not yet been filled. You will go to that company to take on this role. Once again, congratulations!"


    I¡­ I¡¯m going to change companies?!


    It was like a cold shower. All his excitement seemed to evaporate.


    And¡­ and my friends?


    Even though he wasn¡¯t really Fran?ois, though sometimes he doubted it, he had grown very attached to these people and truly considered them his friends.


    "I-I really can¡¯t stay in my company?" Adam asked in a slightly trembling voice.


    "Young man," replied the colonel a bit sharply, "don¡¯t forget that you have only a little over a year of service. That you hold this rank is already a great achievement. Convincing the general was not easy, do you understand? From a soldier ranked eighth to a corporal, all at once? It¡¯s a remarkable rise that was only possible because we fought for you. So accept this promotion and be grateful."


    "I¡­ understand. Thank you, Colonel," said the young corporal, bowing respectfully.

 Chapter 21: Reactions

    Adam left the duke, his head filled with thoughts, and returned to his friends, who were eagerly waiting for him. They all had their own ideas and suspected it must be related to his role in capturing Frederick II of Prussia.


    Their excitement had caught the attention of many soldiers in the company. It was almost a wave of soldiers that surged forward and rushed towards him as Adam finally returned.


    "What did the colonel want?!"


    They were all speaking at once, but that was the gist of the question.


    "I¡¯ve been promoted to the rank of corporal!"


    "Wow! That¡¯s incredible! Congratulations!"


    "Thank you!" Adam replied with a huge smile he couldn¡¯t contain.


    "I¡¯m so jealous!" Jean groaned, tears welling up in his eyes. "We enlisted at the same time, and you¡¯re the only one getting promoted!"


    Charles placed a comforting hand on the big guy''s shoulder and said in a reassuring voice, "Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be promoted one day! After all, the war isn¡¯t over yet!"


    Jean lifted his head with hope and looked at his friend.


    "You really think so? I can still make a name for myself?"


    "Of course! The enemy is retreating, but I bet they¡¯ll keep fighting for a few more months. After all, several of their officers managed to escape with a good number of their soldiers."


    "T-that¡¯s true! You¡¯re right! Thanks, Charles! I¡¯m going to try harder, and I¡¯ll become an officer!"


    Charles didn¡¯t have the heart to tell him what he knew about how to become an officer, not wanting to crush his friend¡¯s dreams. While merit and seniority could help you rise through the ranks faster, there was a sort of glass ceiling that was very hard to break through. The nobility of the kingdom, like in any other, held on tightly to its privileges. Among those privileges was holding the most prestigious civil and military positions. That¡¯s why sixteen- or seventeen-year-olds found themselves in important command positions on land and sea, while highly qualified and experienced people were stuck at a certain level.


    While there were exceptions, they remained just that: exceptions.


    "But we already have three corporals in our company. Are there going to be more promotions?" one of the soldiers asked with a mix of curiosity and hope.


    "I¡­ Yes, I think so, but it¡¯s because I¡¯m being sent to another company to take the place of a corporal who was killed in the last battle."


    "Oh."


    The looks on his friends¡¯ faces changed instantly. Adam¡¯s heart tightened at the sight.


    "Don¡¯t worry, guys. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m changing regiments or armies."


    "Yeah, haha, sorry, Fran?ois. We were just caught off guard. So, which company are you moving to?"


    "Um, the colonel mentioned the fourth company in the second battalion of our regiment. It¡¯s commanded by a man named Gilbert, I think?"


    "Captain Gilbert?" Corporal Costier said in surprise. "Good luck with that."


    "You know him, Corporal?" Adam asked with anticipation and fear. "Why ¡®good luck¡¯?"


    "Well, he¡¯s got quite a reputation in the second regiment. Let¡¯s just say he¡¯s very strict. With him, there¡¯s only one way to do things, and that¡¯s his way because it¡¯s the right way. When it doesn¡¯t work, it¡¯s because his order was poorly executed. But he¡¯s competent and experienced. He fought throughout the previous war under the Marquis de Vass¨¦ and then under the Marquis d¡¯Antin. You¡¯ll learn a lot under his command."


    "I-I see."


    I¡¯m already stressing out! I hope I can measure up! Ah, if I mess up, can they take away my rank and send me back as a regular soldier?!


    ***


    On November 9th, the news of the complete defeat of the Prussian army at Rossbach and the capture of Frederick II, his officers, a large number of soldiers, and many cannons hit Berlin like a hurricane. A king had been captured, along with a prince of the blood, since his younger brother, Henry of Prussia, had been with him in this battle.


    Fortunately, the capital and the kingdom were not left to their fate, as there were two princes, ministers, and an army of advisors in the city.


    The remaining two princes were Augustus-William, thirty-five years old and disgraced for his humiliating defeat at Kolin on June 18th of that year against the formidable Austrians, and Augustus Ferdinand, twenty-five years old.


    The former had virtually vanished, while the latter was doing his best to manage the kingdom on behalf of his brother. Everyone agreed that he was putting in a great deal of effort and that, when God called the brave Frederick II to Him, this prince would make an excellent king.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the news of the Rossbach disaster to spread throughout the city and cause panic. After all, Berlin was not very far from Leipzig. Without an army to prevent them from advancing, it would take them less than ten days to lay siege to the capital. So, it was not surprising to see preparations being made for departure, even though the enemy was said to still be near Leipzig.


    In response to this crisis, an extraordinary assembly was declared at Berliner Schloss, the Berlin palace.


    More than just a royal residence, it was a huge symbol of the power of the royal family, the Hohenzollerns, and a tool of prestige. This complex of buildings, constructed with the help of the finest craftsmen and architects, indeed commanded a certain respect. It embodied what the Prussians valued: order, grandeur, beauty in simplicity and elegance, and modernity.


    One of its facades, like the British Parliament in London, faced directly onto the Spree River.


    As the most illustrious figures had sequestered themselves in one of the rooms of this palace, strong and rapid footsteps echoed on the polished floor of a corridor. As he passed, servants stepped aside and guards straightened up. But once he had gone by, everyone watched his back and murmured a few cruel words.


    Not wanting to pay attention to these insignificant matters, he continued his way, navigating unhesitatingly through the floors. Just as he ignored the murmurs, he didn¡¯t glance at the multitude of paintings, gilding, and moldings that adorned the palace¡¯s beauty. It was as if the corridors were empty to him and the walls were bare.


    Finally, he arrived at a large double door, white and gold, decorated with his family¡¯s emblem.


    Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the doors and entered a very spacious room bathed in a cold light coming from all the imposing windows offering a spectacular view of the Spree. There were already a hundred people inside, but none spoke. In this silence, Prince Augustus-William could clearly hear a few words directed at him.


    "Who allowed him to come here?"


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    "Does he have no shame showing his face here?"


    "Why now? Isn¡¯t it a bit... Wouldn¡¯t he be aiming for his brother¡¯s throne?"


    "Hmm, even though he is disgraced after the retreat from Kollin and the total destruction of Zittau, he remains the king¡¯s brother. He must be here at the invitation of His Highness Augustus Ferdinand."


    Prince William seemed to have aged several years in a few months. These months had been particularly grueling for him, especially due to the statements made by his brother the king after the events at Kolin.


    At that time, the army commanded by his brother, Frederick II, was besieging Prague with a significant force, but not enough to take the great city while defending against an Austrian army sent to relieve it. They had attempted to eliminate this second force to then concentrate on Prague, but the battle did not go well from the start.


    They failed to outflank their enemy because they had tried to move too quickly. After five hours of fighting, they were forced to retreat and abandon Prague. Without the help of the brave von Seydltitz, their losses would have been even greater. His cavalry had performed a small miracle by paying the price of blood, just to allow the remnants of their army to fall back.


    Out of the nearly thirty thousand men they had, almost fourteen thousand were lost, dead or wounded.


    Naturally, the Austrians had been reinforced by the troops in Prague and had pursued them. It was at Zittau that Prince Augustus-William had had to face them. Faced with so many enemies with high morale, he had no choice but to flee for his life.


    This had led to the loss of Bohemia, a vast and wealthy territory on the border of the Holy Roman Empire shared with the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.


    I know I made mistakes, but isn¡¯t this a bit harsh? Am I really the only one responsible?


    The prince tried to ignore the looks from these people just as he had with the paintings, but it was very difficult. There was so much disdain, outrage, and even anger!


    Now, he thought as he crossed the richly decorated room, I am barely recognized as a member of the royal family. If it weren¡¯t for my brother, I would have remained outside the political stage.


    His younger brother, Augustus-Ferdinand, was standing at the far end of the room, seated at one end of a long table, at which only a handful of individuals were allowed to sit.


    When Augustus-Ferdinand saw Guillaume¡¯s face in the crowd, he simply nodded and invited him to join him. He seemed neither delighted nor angry, perhaps due to the catastrophic situation in which the kingdom found itself.


    Before speaking, he uttered only a few words of thanks to Guillaume for coming. He understood how difficult his position was at this moment.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± began the prince, ¡°your attention, please.¡±


    Immediately, the last murmurs ceased and all eyes turned to the young man with such distinguished bearing. He was a handsome man, with delicate features that one might mistake for a woman¡¯s. His lips were small and the bridge of his nose narrow. His beautiful blue eyes seemed as calm as the surface of a lake.


    ¡°The situation is dire,¡± he said in an unusually grave and solemn voice, like a priest, ¡°and we must make a decision quickly to avoid the worst. But I fear, whatever we decide today, that there may be nothing to prevent our defeat. We must therefore decide how we wish to end it. You all know that my brother, the king, has been captured, as well as His Highness Henry.¡±


    The Prussian nobility nodded gravely, their faces stern.


    ¡°My brother, whom I have called upon today, has been disgraced following our failure before Prague, and I find myself today obliged to represent the Prussian Crown. Nevertheless, I refuse to represent Prussia without consulting you, members of Parliament.¡±


    The nobles present in the room looked from the prince to his brother and their neighbors in turn. Generally, being involved in state decisions was a great honor, but in presenting it this way, they felt the prince was attempting to share in the blame.


    ¡°The Austrian army, we have just learned, is advancing towards Berlin from the south. Charles of Lorraine commands for Empress Maria Theresa an army reportedly numbering eighty to ninety thousand men and has taken Breslau. All of Silesia is falling into Austrian hands as we speak.¡±


    ¡°And General von Lestwitz? And his army?¡± an unusually large man, his face glistening with sweat under the chandeliers and daylight, asked, unable to contain himself.


    ¡°He was indeed entrusted with the heavy task of defending the place, but unfortunately, he chose to abandon it without a fight to our enemies. He withdrew with his army intact, still numbering four thousand men.¡±


    ¡°I-impossible!¡± stammered the man, suddenly pale as if he had been bled dry.


    ¡°Unfortunately, his army no longer exists, as once they left the city, his soldiers massively deserted.¡±


    ¡°Lord God! What a disgrace! What a scandal!¡± several voices cried out in the room, making each voice inaudible.


    The prince raised his hand, and gradually the room returned to a semblance of calm.


    ¡°Gentlemen, to all those who think we can raise new armies through conscription, here is the result.¡±


    Guillaume looked at his younger brother with surprise. Despite the situation, he still held command of the room. Ferdinand, however, seemed not to notice. He resumed speaking calmly, outlining the situation point by point.


    ¡°The French, who have formed a significant force by joining with the Imperial troops, will most certainly lay siege to Leipzig, which will certainly not hold out for long given the unequal forces. At best, they may buy us some time, but that is all. Meanwhile, the Russians are attacking us from the east and seem determined to take East Prussia from us. Even though there have been no major confrontations since the end of August, caution is warranted. The Russians are unpredictable. As for the Swedes, it is clear they want their share of the spoils by expanding their kingdom at Brandenburg¡¯s expense.¡±


    The more the prince spoke, the more the Prussian nobles seemed to sink into a foul swamp, with no hope of escape.


    ¡°Your Highness, forgive me, but¡­ what about our British ally? Will they do nothing to help us?¡±


    ¡°We have not yet received a response to our requests, unfortunately. And I fear that we will not be satisfied. According to previous letters from London, Parliament does not intend to send troops to the continent. However, they might release funds to raise troops in Hanover and all regions occupied by the French and their allies to keep them occupied and thus reduce the pressure on our kingdom. They can certainly conduct operations on the French coasts, which will keep many soldiers stationed there.¡±


    That¡¯s not enough! It¡¯s really not enough! We need a solid army to push back our enemies, not just delay them! My brother must know that as well as I do!


    The disgraced prince looked at his younger brother, who also did not seem optimistic. This was evident even from a distance. Clearly, the parliamentarians were aware of this.


    ¡°What should we do, Your Highness?¡± asked a man at least twice the prince¡¯s age, bowing.


    ¡°The ransom amounts for our king and His Highness are not yet known, but they will inevitably be considerable. It is not impossible that France will demand double the ransom of an ordinary general for each of them. We will not be able to raise it, at least not before being devoured by our enemies. We must therefore choose between continuing the fight without His Majesty and our brave officers who accompanied him, relying on poorly trained and poorly equipped soldiers, partly gathered by force, or negotiating a peace treaty.¡±


    Prince Guillaume trembled and lowered his eyes, unable to look at the reaction of the nobles.


    ¡°What is the position of Parliament?¡± the prince pressed, sweeping the room with his now sad gaze as if to indicate that he would abide by their decision.


    The men present remained silent for a moment, as their fate depended on what would be decided. The silence was so intense that one could hear the flies buzzing. No one seemed willing to speak, at least not first. If they had an opinion, they kept it to themselves for fear of being judged.


    It was impossible to tell what others were thinking.


    Finally, a young man as handsome as Apollo, even more so than the prince, stepped forward. His colorful clothes embroidered with gold gave him an additional charm, that of a prince charming straight out of a fairy tale to whom no woman could resist. He was slender, stood straight, and moved with a firm step.


    One of His Majesty¡¯s favorites, I believe. I hope he does not say something foolish!


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± he said in a soft and clear voice like a natural spring lost in the German mountains, ¡°I believe we must act as His Majesty would have wanted. His Majesty has always been kind and compassionate. He has always seen himself as the servant of the State rather than its master,¡± he said, turning to the parliamentarians, seemingly looking at each one of them. ¡°I propose that we follow his example and think of the people¡¯s welfare. Our chances of victory are slim, and the longer we delay acknowledging that, the greater the number of brave Prussian soldiers sacrificed will be.¡±


    He then turned to Prince Ferdinand, his eyes welling up with tears.


    ¡°Thus, I suggest that, without further delay, we begin negotiating a peace treaty with France and its allies.¡±


    Voices rose in the room. Some vehemently criticized what had just been said, justifying that they were still waiting for a response from King George II of Great Britain, while others approved with applause.


    Ferdinand observed the room¡¯s agitation as a mere spectator, watching the expressions on the faces. He turned to his brother, who had not made a sound since the beginning of the assembly. His red eyes betrayed a deep concern for Frederick and Henry. Even though it was known that both would be well treated, each had barely closed an eye at night.


    Now that he had the chance, he observed his brother more closely. It was clear that he had lost a lot of weight. This was evident in his cheeks, around his eyes, his wrists, and his clothes in general. He who filled them a few months ago, although he had always been thin, now floated in his jacket and coat.


    If only we had won at Prague... Maybe we could have avoided this disastrous situation?


    The situation had already been grave during the summer with so many enemies on the borders. However, from his point of view, it was the disaster at Kolin that drove the kingdom into despair. It was because of this defeat that his brother had desperately sought a decisive victory and had refused to leave the battlefield to others.


    It¡¯s my fault¡­ It¡¯s all my fault¡­

 Chapter 22: The Eternals Rivals

    A tense atmosphere had settled over the Chateau de Versailles for the past few days. Gone were the carefree times when balls, banquets, plays, operas, and fireworks were organized. Even in the splendid salons of the most beautiful palace in the world, people barely dared to exchange jokes.


    Everyone feared receiving bad news from Saxony and Hanover, where it was said that His Majesty¡¯s armies and their valiant allies were fiercely clashing with the formidable Prussian troops. The nobility that populated this immense palace, which seemed particularly somber under the relentless rain, held its breath.


    The latest news indicated that the King of Prussia was turning back after days of trying to escape the powerful army assembled to destroy him, and he was now threatening to eliminate the scattered units of the two commanders: Prince de Soubise and General Hilburghausen. A massive battle had likely taken place, but the outcome was still unknown, even though it was already November 12th!


    His Majesty, Louis XV, who had been nicknamed "le Bien-Aim¨¦" (the Beloved) after surviving an illness in 1744 with the help of God and his grateful people, was more impatient and nervous than usual. He had not been seen like this since the birth of his last child in 1737, twenty years earlier.


    This nervousness, a highly contagious ailment, had eventually reached his ministers, who had previously shown confidence. Even his mistress, Madame de Pompadour, was beginning to worry about not receiving any news from the man she had suggested for this extremely prestigious office.


    If Prince de Soubise failed, it would be her name that would be tarnished. Ultimately, she would be blamed for all the losses suffered, even though she was miles away from the front.


    Louis XV was pacing back and forth in his study, passing briskly in front of his closest advisors. His Minister of War, Antoine-Ren¨¦ de Voyer de Paulmy d¡¯Argenson, nephew of the previous minister who had been exiled earlier that year, watched him, but refrained from saying anything that could be misinterpreted. He did not want to lose his position just a few months after obtaining it.


    This man was not very impressive in appearance, but his mind was sharp. He was known for his remarkable library, which was said to be the largest privately owned collection. He chose his books with extreme rigor. He was also known for his peculiar gaze; while one eye looked to the right, the other looked to the left. It was said to be very strange to converse with him face to face because one could never tell if he was looking at you or elsewhere.


    The Abb¨¦ Bernis was also present as the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, along with several high-ranking generals. His son, the Dauphin Louis of France, was also there.


    The only sounds in the room were the King¡¯s footsteps, the ticking of a clock, and the rain against the windows.


    Then there was a knock at the door, and a valet entered, holding two small envelopes sealed with wax. With the utmost respect, the man bowed before the divinely ordained monarch and handed him the precious letters.


    ¡°One is from Prince de Soubise,¡± the King said anxiously, standing before a painting of himself as a glorious leader of men. ¡°The other is from the Duke of Richelieu. I¡¯ll open the Prince¡¯s letter first.¡±


    With trembling hands, he broke the seal bearing the Prince¡¯s coat of arms and pulled out a sheet of paper covered in fine but perfectly legible black ink writing. He immediately began to read the message in silence, closely observed by the men present. They all wore the same expression, subtly blending anticipation and fear.


    Louis XV¡¯s lips moved slightly as he read, but it was impossible to discern what he was saying. Finally, he stopped. The ministers, generals, and the Dauphin held their breath. The King read the letter again, visibly shocked, and the more he read, the more his emotions showed. Everyone could see the joy on his face, marked by the years.


    The King straightened up, a rare smile on his lips, and declared in a clear voice: ¡°Gentlemen, listen to this news from the battlefield.¡±


    The ministers all took a step closer, their full attention focused on the trembling monarch, who was almost ecstatic.


    ¡°Your Majesty, today, November 5, 1757, your troops achieved a great victory in Saxony, near a village called Rossbach. Our forces inflicted a crushing defeat on His Majesty¡¯s enemies, from which they will not recover. Half of Frederick¡¯s army is dead, incapacitated, or captured. All seventy-nine of the enemy¡¯s artillery pieces have been seized, along with a large number of their flags and standards. His Majesty Frederick II of Prussia and His Highness Prince Henry of Prussia have been captured and will be safely escorted to one of our strongholds until, if it pleases Your Majesty, a ransom is demanded. I took the liberty, Sire, of sending a letter to Berlin today to inform our enemies of the situation and to await further orders. Your devoted servant, Charles de Rohan, Prince de Soubise.¡±


    All were stunned beyond words upon hearing all these news. Saying they were good would be an understatement. These were wonderful news. If they were dreaming, none of them wanted to wake up.


    ¡°Congratulations, Your Majesty, on your great victory!¡± exclaimed the Minister of War, the first to applaud the King, who was as happy and proud as ever.


    ¡°Congratulations, Your Majesty!¡± echoed the others behind him. ¡°The news will soon spread across Europe and then the world! All those who doubted your armies and your officers will have no choice but to hide in the hope that they are forgotten!¡±


    ¡°Haha! Well said, Abb¨¦! Ah, this letter has made us thirsty. Everyone, take a glass!¡±


    The King, contrary to protocol, served drinks to his advisors, not forgetting his son, who deserved the nickname ¡°Beloved¡± far more than he did.


    ¡°Um, pardon me, Sire,¡± said a tall general with a serious face, ¡°but what does the other letter say?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s true. We had forgotten. A letter from Marshal de Richelieu¡­ also dated November 5th.¡±


    The men stopped drinking and resumed a dignified position around the King of France.


    ¡°Your Majesty, I have the honor of informing you that our forces achieved a great victory over the Prussian enemy near a village named Rossbach today. As I had the honor of recounting in my letter of September 30th, after capturing the fortified town of Magdeburg, abandoned by the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg, and seizing in your name the supplies and equipment useful to his armies, we set out on November 2nd, and not on the 1st as planned. As I had the honor of explaining, we learned that the French and Imperial armies were threatened by Frederick II¡¯s army, augmented by the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg¡¯s army. We therefore marched south for four days and arrived near Rossbach as your armies and those of the Emperor, despite their numerical advantage, were on the verge of losing the battle. Our squadrons immediately struck the enemy from behind, sowing chaos in the Prussian cavalry and infantry ranks. Our regiments arrived shortly after, having expended all their remaining energy in this battle for the glory of Your Majesty. The enemy, taken by surprise between two forces, was unable to regroup and hastened to flee when they realized all hope of victory was lost. At the same time, the Picardy Regiment, commanded by Sieur de Br¨¦hant, led the assault on the hill from which His Majesty the King of Prussia was commanding his troops and where all his artillery was located. Quickly encircling this hill, they managed to capture a great number of officers, including His Majesty and His Highness Prince Henry. It is undoubtedly a great victory for Your Majesty, and I am delighted to have made my modest contribution. The enemy seems to be retreating towards Leipzig; it will likely take us a few days to recover and resume our march to take possession of this city in your name. Your devoted servant, de Richelieu.¡±


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Once again, the ministers and generals were speechless. There was such a discrepancy between the two letters recounting the same events that even the King no longer knew what to think. While the second letter clearly indicated that the victory was due to the intervention of Richelieu¡¯s troops, he was not mentioned at all in Prince de Soubise¡¯s letter!


    It was incomprehensible!


    ¡°Is it thanks to His Grace the Duke of Richelieu that we won this great victory? Why is this not mentioned in Prince de Soubise¡¯s letter? And what letter is he referring to? Did you know that he had captured Magdeburg, Your Majesty?¡±


    ¡°Certainly not! I thought he was still in Halberstadt!¡±


    There was another knock at the study door, and another valet appeared, out of breath as if he had run through the entire chateau.


    ¡°A-a letter from His Grace the Duke of Richelieu!¡±


    ¡°Give it to us,¡± the King ordered, breaking the wax seal.


    The man obeyed and disappeared through the same door he had entered.


    ¡°It¡¯s the letter dated September 30th,¡± the monarch sighed. ¡°No matter, it is a great victory that we have won! We will quickly sort this out and reward those who deserve to be rewarded! Ah, what I wouldn¡¯t give to see the face of that old grouch!¡±


    Imagining the reaction of his old rival, the King of Great Britain, Louis XV¡¯s smile grew even wider.


    ¡°Let¡¯s organize a grand celebration! We want our laughter, music, songs, and dancing to be heard all the way to London!¡±


    ***


    This November 14th had begun with a thick fog, but by now it was raining so heavily that it was impossible to set foot outside without risking illness in the coming days. The streets of London were as gray as the Thames or the sky, so much so that one might have thought night was about to fall. Yet it was only early afternoon!


    A few people could still be seen here and there, walking briskly on the slippery cobblestones while avoiding muddy areas and the piles of dung left by horses. They walked close to the buildings to take advantage of the shelter they offered, as it was customary for the upper floors to extend over the streets.


    Although there were still lights on in the shops, it was, in many cases, a big waste, as customers were not venturing out in such dreadful weather. Not only was it raining heavily, turning the streets into rivers, but there was also a steady and powerful wind blowing from the west. At times, it mercilessly whipped the unfortunate passersby, blowing into their coats and knocking off their tricorn hats.


    In St. James''s Palace, an old red-brick building constructed two centuries earlier and seemingly untouched by time, a massive fire was burning peacefully in a fireplace, slowly warming the occupants of a large room dimly lit by chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.


    This palace could not be compared to the Berliner Schloss or the Palace of Versailles, but behind each brick lay a story. Great kings and queens had passed through, slept within its walls, and signed important decrees for the future of this kingdom, which seemed to have weathered everything.


    The dancing flames cast grotesque and distorted shadows on the walls adorned with paintings of monarchs, princes, and princesses. The air, only slightly warmer than in the neighboring room where no fire burned, felt heavy.


    Anyone entering the room at that moment might easily think that the few occupants were plotting some heinous conspiracy.


    Perhaps they would have preferred that, for at least they could act and easily rectify the situation. Here, that was not the case. The reason for this palpable tension was a hastily written letter from His Majesty''s British ambassador in Berlin.


    Alas, the news was not good: their only ally on the continent had been defeated a few days earlier. No, it would be more accurate to say that they were crushed. Their army had been reduced by half, perhaps more if they tried, as was written, to hold out in a siege at Leipzig. Worse, the King of Prussia had been captured!


    ¡°This is a disaster,¡± croaked the King of England, Scotland, and Ireland like a raven. ¡°We have no one left on the continent to retake Hanover.¡±


    My precious Hanover... The land where I was born...


    The ministers, especially the Duke of Newcastle in his capacity as Prime Minister, refrained from reminding him that he was King of Great Britain before being Elector of Hanover and that his duty was to prioritize the British people.


    ¡°Your Majesty, do not worry,¡± the Duke replied with surprising calm. ¡°The war is only just beginning.¡±


    ¡°And that is precisely what worries me, sir. This war is only just beginning, yet it has already cost us so much! Parliament must absolutely vote to raise funds to send troops to Hanover, or it will fall in a matter of days, weeks at best!¡±


    ¡°I completely understand, Sire,¡± the Prime Minister began diplomatically. ¡°Unfortunately, our resources are limited, and we are under attack everywhere, particularly in North America. With our recent failure at Rochefort, Parliament will hesitate to send more troops to the continent, especially if it¡¯s not to directly harm France. Hanover, I fear, is not the priority for these people.¡±


    ¡°I know that, alas, all too well...¡± the King sighed, suddenly weary.


    George II settled into a chair near the fire, with a large hunting dog beside him that didn¡¯t even bother to lift its head. He slowly took his face in his hands and remained motionless for a long moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.


    Cursed Parliamentarians! Even those of the Whig party! They understand nothing! They don¡¯t care what happens to Hanover. To them, it¡¯s not ¡®home¡¯! They only think about Great Britain and its interests! Why?!


    ¡°They prefer,¡± the King resumed as if answering his own questions, ¡°to focus all our resources on our colonies, our islands, and our trading posts rather than on this territory they don¡¯t recognize as their own. They would rather abandon it to our enemies than deploy troops there. But they don¡¯t seem to understand that if they truly abandon this territory, a second front for the Kingdom of France, we will be truly alone against the storm.¡±


    ¡°As I said, Your Majesty, the war is only just beginning. Did not our ambassador say that several high-ranking officers of Frederick II managed to escape and retreat safely to Leipzig? They could cause significant damage, force His Majesty the King of France to send or maintain a large force there, and perhaps even change the minds of your Parliamentarians. And if that doesn¡¯t work, we can always recover what was lost later, once we have won this war.¡±


    George II said nothing.


    Never before had the old king, who was over seventy, felt so alone, weak, and powerless. More than ever, he felt like a vase, a decorative object that could be replaced from time to time. His rival, Louis XV, wielded real power. Even if he had his own problems with his parliaments, he could move his troops as he pleased.


    Slowly, he nodded, his gaze lost in the comforting glow of the flames rising from the large logs in the fireplace.


    Fortunately, we have an excellent army and the best navy in the world! No one disrespects us without paying a heavy price!


    ¡°Very well. I trust you.¡±


    But make those French pay for this affront! Let their ports burn along with all their ships! Let there be nothing left but ashes! I want the name of King Louis to be remembered as the destroyer of his own kingdom! Louis the Accursed! Louis the Weak! Louis the Hated!

 Chapter 23: The War Must Continue

    Adam, now a corporal, wore woolen chevrons on his sleeves, just above the elbow. Very simple, they instantly indicated his rank within the company. His role primarily involved assisting the sergeants in maintaining discipline among the troops, ensuring that exercises were properly carried out, and that any unruly elements were punished. For this, he would be aided by the lance corporals.


    Captain Gilbert, Armand Gilbert, was a man nearing forty, with a triangular face and a chin split in two by a scar that extended up to his lower lip. His long brown hair, tied in a simple ponytail like any common soldier, had begun to gray around the ears. His eyebrows were thick and bushy, and on his left cheek, he had a large mole that resembled a big pimple. He had likely tampered with it in the past, as it now appeared quite unsightly and noticeable. Only a beard, which unfortunately for him was forbidden in the king of France''s armies, could have concealed it.


    He had had long conversations with him in recent days, and from what he had observed, this was not a man to be disrespected or taken for a fool. He was strict with his men as much as with himself. However, he could be somewhat dishonest when he made a mistake. Placing immense importance on order and discipline, he kept a firm hand on his soldiers to ensure they stood out from the rest.


    While much of the army had behaved disgracefully throughout this campaign, acting more like militias or highwaymen, his soldiers had only taken what was necessary or useful. If excesses were committed, the culprits were invariably punished.


    This company had apparently distinguished itself during the Battle of Rossbach and had effectively supported the efforts of the Grenadiers of France when it was necessary to break the enemy infantry formation. However, this had come at a high cost, as they had lost a corporal and a dozen soldiers.


    Replacing them would not be easy, especially so far from France. This problem was shared by many other companies. None were at full strength.


    Captain Gilbert had accepted the newly promoted Fran?ois Boucher but had serious doubts about his abilities. He would have preferred to have him as a lance corporal to test him and gradually train him for his future duties as a corporal, but he had been forced into this decision.


    Out of respect for both the rank and the man, he had complied with the decision of the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, whose reputation was well-established. Under his command, the regiment had thrived and had even distinguished itself on two occasions: once at Hastenbeck and again at Rossbach.


    However, he had been very clear with the young man: he expected a great deal from him and would be closely monitoring him to ensure he did his job well. If he proved incapable of handling his new responsibilities, he would do everything to replace him with someone more experienced and deserving.


    "Pick up the pace! Set up the camp!"


    "At your orders!"


    "We''re behind the other companies! I want us finished before the others! Understood?"


    "Yes, Captain!"


    Corporal Boucher, or Adam, had sweat covering his brow as they had been marching quickly over the past few days to reach the immediate vicinity of Leipzig. The entire army of the Duke of Richelieu had been moving to join those of Soubise and Hindburghausen, or rather what remained of them.


    Indeed, they had suffered greatly before Richelieu''s arrival at Rossbach, especially their cavalry, which had been almost completely destroyed.


    From the west of the city, the armies were taking positions in the villages near the large city, gradually tightening their grip on the units that had taken refuge there. Monsieur de Br¨¦hant''s Picardie Regiment was setting up a camp in Markkleeberg, to the south of the city.


    There, many tents were being erected, but not haphazardly, as there were rules to follow to ensure easy navigation within the camp. Distances had to be maintained to allow for good circulation within the encampment. The last thing the officers wanted was to waste time searching for their men and trying to get them out to organize a defense or an attack.


    "Corporal! Go help those soldiers! They seem to be struggling!"


    "Yes!" Adam responded energetically, leaving his current task to help a small group of soldiers trying to set up a tent near a muddy road.


    On this 15th of November, almost all the trees in the region had lost their foliage. The air was getting colder as December approached. Rain and hail showers followed one after another without end, and the sun was barely visible. Estimating the time of day became difficult. Sometimes it seemed as though night was falling, even when it was still morning.


    "Are your stakes driven in properly?" Adam asked the soldiers struggling to set up their tent.


    "Ah, yes, I think so. But in the mud, they don''t hold well."


    "The others managed, so why not us? You two, hold the poles. I''ll help set up the canvas."


    "Thank you, Corporal!"


    The tents were very simple, designed to be produced and set up quickly. They consisted of two long poles planted in the ground, connected by a third horizontal one. The canvas needed to be placed on top, ensuring an equal amount on each side, then stretched and secured. It was as simple as that. But here, the ground was unstable, and there was wind. It blew into the canvas, inflating it like a ship''s sail.


    "Turn this way. That way we won''t be bothered by the wind. Throw it over, and now we can unfold it. Wait, it''s in the wrong direction. There! Where are the stakes?"


    "Here!"


    "Good! Keep holding and securing the canvas. I''ll get them."


    With an extra pair of hands, the tent was quickly set up. Adam moved between the tents, regularly asking if anyone needed an extra hand. Finally, all the tents were erected.


    "All tents are ready, Sergeant!"


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    "Good work. We seem to have been quite efficient. I''ll inform the Captain. Where is he, by the way?"


    "I think I saw him with the lieutenant. They were heading towards the center of the camp."


    "Very well. I''ll see if I can find him. In the meantime, make sure the men don''t wander off, and go see the vivandi¨¨res to prepare us a good hot meal."


    "At your orders!"


    Adam had quickly adapted to this soldier''s life, and it worried him greatly. The more time passed, the less he felt like a stranger in this era. The sounds and smells that had seemed strange to him in the first days now went almost unnoticed. The scent of hay, the animals, the wood fire, his own smell, the sound of the drum, carts rolling in the mud, hooves striking the ground, the officers'' commands, and the soldiers'' laughter. Sometimes he wondered if he would be able to return to his old habits once he was back in his own time. He often thought about his family and friends. He would then think about everything he had done and even more about everything he hadn''t done. He couldn''t even remember the last time he had told his parents that he loved them.


    As soon as we take this city, I''ll ask again for permission to leave the army and go to Hameln.


    That''s what he kept telling himself, but he didn''t believe it. Even he knew it. They had been so deep in enemy territory that it would certainly take weeks to reach that small town. And in this season, he risked falling ill and not finding the watch he suspected was behind his arrival in this era.


    When I think that it¡¯s almost December, it¡¯s crazy! Wait a minute, what day is it? The 14th? The 15th? Damn! It''s the 15th! It''s Dad''s birthday!


    He immediately realized the absurdity of his thoughts.


    Damn, I''m stupid. Dad hasn''t even been born yet. Nor Granddad or his own grandfather! Or so I think. Wait... Can I change the future? Oh, damn! What if I never get born? Would I just disappear?


    Adam had never been particularly smart, and it was only now, four months after his journey through time, that he was starting to ask himself these important questions.


    What if I accidentally kill one of my ancestors, or if they never meet their future wife... Oh my God!


    A sudden, violent headache struck him, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. With shaky legs, he approached a cart that was being unloaded, containing all the straw mattresses and cloths to cover the waterlogged ground.


    One hand on the side of his face, eyebrows furrowed, his fingers touched the long scar he had received on the day he arrived in this century. It no longer hurt, but it was still somewhat sensitive to the touch. It stretched from his eyebrow and curved above his ear. However, only a small part of it could be seen, hidden by his long hair.


    Focus! I shouldn''t overthink it, just do what I need to do, that''s it! The faster this is over, the sooner I''ll be home! Haha, my parents will never believe me!


    ***


    Meanwhile, the pressure was gradually increasing on the inhabitants of Leipzig and the Prussian soldiers still there. The few high-ranking officers who had managed to escape the vast Franco-Imperial army were gathered to exchange opinions in a beautiful house in the heart of the city, the oldest part.


    Lieutenant General von Seydlitz, his right arm in a sling, turned to the two other officers present in the room, his gaze hard and filled with strength and determination despite the terrible wound he had received at Rossbach.


    "Gentlemen, we must abandon Leipzig; there''s no doubt about it. There''s no more time for illusions. If we stay, this city will be our tomb. But that doesn''t mean the war is over. Even if they take the city, they can''t be everywhere. Let''s make their lives impossible until they realize that they are not in conquered territory!"


    Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg, his jaw clenched, lifted his head and exclaimed enthusiastically:


    "Well said. We must strike them wherever they are weak, give them no respite, and make them regret coming to our land!"


    General Keith, sitting back and looking absent, responded in a flat tone while staring at the small flame atop a half-melted candle:


    "Gentlemen, you talk about harassing our enemies, but with what means? We have almost no men left, and they are demoralized. Every day, more soldiers desert. Do you think they''ll fight to the death for a lost cause?"


    Von Seydlitz straightened up abruptly, his eyes blazing, despite the immense pain that extended from his missing hand to his neck.


    "It is precisely because the situation is desperate that we must fight with all our strength! Everything can still change! What we need are a few victories, even small ones! The people are with us and will surely fight by our side to drive out the enemy. The French have been so cruel to them that there will be no shortage of volunteers!"


    "And how will they fight?" Keith insisted, clearly not convinced. "With sticks and stones? We need at least rifles and powder in large quantities. The best will in the world won''t be enough."


    Duke Brunswick-L¨¹neburg scrutinized General Keith as if he were seeing him for the first time. He didn''t immediately respond, as this was indeed a major problem if he ever hoped to regain control of Hanover. Von Seydlitz was nervously tapping the surface of the table in front of him with his remaining hand.


    "My men still have their horses and sabers; they can certainly do something! I have faith in my men! I may have lost a hand and a large number of my soldiers, but those who have joined us are all loyal and very experienced. They could attack isolated groups or small convoys, seize their weapons and ammunition, then disappear. They know this land well."


    Keith and Brunswick-L¨¹neburg couldn''t help but look at the bandaged stump where a large hand, well-trained in the use of the saber, should have been. They dared not imagine what that loss represented for such a man. It was a considerable loss that would have plunged most men into a terrible stupor. But he hadn''t uttered a word about it, as if his loss was limited to a coat button.


    "Agreed," Keith conceded, "but that might not be enough. We need weapons and ammunition, artillery, and reliable equipment. If we want to take the initiative, we will need our British allies. After all, their hatred of the French is as great as ours, but much older."


    "Hmm, the British," the proud cavalryman remarked, "can we really count on them? If we rely on their help, we might all die before seeing the barrel of the first musket!"


    Duke Brunswick-L¨¹neburg turned to Keith for his opinion on a question that had been on his mind for several days.


    "General, do you think they might send a few regiments to assist us in retaking Hanover?"


    The general finally tore his gaze from the candle and looked at his comrades, whose faces were drawn with exhaustion.


    "Honestly," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, "I''m not sure we can count on them. From what I know, their army is smaller than that of the King of France and is spread out across the world. They have to defend their coasts as well as their colonies and trading posts. They will likely be reluctant to send troops to Hanover."


    "In that case," the Duke replied, turning once again to von Seydlitz, "I think you are right. It is more important to achieve victories, even modest ones, to counterbalance our failure at Rossbach."


    Von Seydlitz looked intently at Duke Ferdinand and nodded in recognition. Keith could only concede and asked:


    "How should we proceed?"


    The three men fell silent, pondering for a moment. Finally, it was Lieutenant General von Seydlitz who spoke.


    "As you so aptly said, my lord Duke, we must strike the enemy wherever they are weak and only fight battles that we are sure to win. The larger our group, the more we will concentrate our enemies. Due to our numerical inferiority, it would be better for us to split into three groups."


    The other two generals nodded in agreement, their eyes once again filled with determination.


    Taking advantage of the enemy''s slow assembly and advance on their position, the remnants of the Prussian army quietly evacuated the city of Leipzig before splitting into three corps. One headed north as if to join Hanover and Brunswick, the second moved northwest as if heading for Berlin, and the third went east as if aiming for Dresden or Prague.

 Chapter 24: Guerrila

    The temperatures had been steadily dropping day by day and week by week. They finally plummeted sharply at the beginning of December.


    Adam had never been this cold in his entire life¡ªwell, in his previous life, of course. Thankfully, he no longer slept in a tent but in a house in Magdeburg. Despite the impressively thick walls and the number of blankets, he still felt a bit cold at night. It was much better, however, than sleeping outside. He would have frozen to death long ago along with the rest of Richelieu''s army.


    The army had spread out somewhat to better control the vast occupied territory. Part of it was stationed in this city, a few thousand more to the east in Halberstadt, some in Brunswick and Hanover, in Minden, or further north in Bremen, Celle, and Nienburg.


    Prince de Soubise, like General Hildburghausen, had done the same as Marshal-Duke of Richelieu to spend the winter in peace. They occupied towns and villages further south between Gotha and Leipzig, including Erfurt, Naumburg, and Wei?enfels.


    Since there were at least a thousand armed men in each of these towns, up to ten thousand in the larger cities, the enemies of France, the Holy Roman Empire, and Austria dared not approach.


    Yet, despite the season and the presence of so many soldiers, this December was not calm.


    While negotiations had begun to sign a peace treaty, small autonomous groups were attacking patrols and killing their men before stripping them of their belongings. Often, these brutes went further by desecrating the corpses. The officers were naturally furious but couldn¡¯t eliminate all of them.


    Sometimes they managed to catch one of these groups, and then they could avenge their comrades, but this was quite rare.


    The air was freezing that morning, so much so that with every breath Adam took, a large white plume formed in front of his face. The grass was as white as his coat, and a thin layer of ice had formed on the surface of every puddle.


    I wonder if it¡¯s going to snow? Adam thought as he looked at the gray sky stretching to the horizon.


    A light breeze whistled through the branches of the trees lining the road he and his squad were following, shaking the few remaining dead leaves.


    To think it¡¯s already December. In twenty days, it¡¯s Christmas. That¡¯s crazy.


    At this thought, his heart tightened. It was a time of year he loved. Around this time, his father would decorate the living room with garlands and colorful baubles. Almost at the last minute, his mother would be in the kitchen preparing a good meal and a chocolate yule log, while his sister would be trying to put a cute costume on Plume, their overweight cat. As for him, he¡¯d still be out shopping, looking for an original gift for them.


    But the atmosphere here was anything but festive, quite the opposite. Everyone wore very serious expressions.


    He wasn¡¯t in command of this squad of about ten people since among them was a sergeant named Michel Leclerc. He was a fairly experienced man who had been serving in the king''s armies since 1751, so like Adam, he was experiencing war for the first time. Though he was quite short, his arms were powerful. Adam had seen him defeat Jean in an arm-wrestling match one evening, with the prize being a bottle of Italian wine.


    The patrol advanced slowly, cautiously, along a deserted country road about twenty kilometers northwest of Magdeburg, leading straight to Hanover and Brunswick. Everyone was quite tense because for some time now, patrols and convoys had been targeted by what remained of Frederick II''s army.


    The general¡¯s orders were to patrol the roads and visit nearby villages to track down these groups and eliminate them.


    Adam walked in the middle of his comrades, with Sergeant Leclerc leading the way. Everyone was silent, focused on their surroundings. His long musket weighed heavily on his shoulder, and the cold December wind slyly slipped into his coat, which reeked of sweat.


    It was the same one he wore in summer because the Ministry of War hadn¡¯t deemed it necessary to design one coat for summer and another for winter. He had to come up with tricks, the first being to simply layer up under his red jacket, of which only the bottom was visible once his long coat was on.


    The further they moved from Magdeburg, the more he felt his nervousness growing.


    He quickened his pace, passing his comrades until he was level with his superior.


    "Sergeant, maybe we should turn back here," he murmured so the others wouldn¡¯t hear. "It¡¯s too quiet. I don¡¯t like it."


    "Do you think I don¡¯t want to, Corporal? If it were up to me, we would¡¯ve turned back at Gutenswegen. But we have our orders and a route to follow. We¡¯ll go as far as Hilden... uh, Holden... Whatever, we¡¯ll go as far as our objective, check that everything¡¯s fine, and then head back."


    "Understood," Adam replied with a small sigh.


    At least I¡¯m not the only one who wants to go back. Just because nothing¡¯s happened so far doesn¡¯t mean nothing will happen later. I don¡¯t know why, but I feel like we¡¯re going to have trouble.


    Fear was driving the men mad. Each thought they saw something in the woods surrounding the small, frozen dirt road. A creak, a movement. Adam was far from the only one fearing an enemy attack. The stories they had heard were chilling.


    A loud creak was heard to the right, but again it was a false alarm. It was just two branches rubbing against each other in the wind.


    Phew! It was nothing, haha! I got scared!


    Everyone relaxed, and they resumed their march.


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    Suddenly, there was a crack. The tension within the group had barely had time to dissipate before it spiked again. This time, the noise seemed to come from the left. The men exchanged worried glances.


    "What was that?" someone asked in a muffled, trembling voice.


    Leclerc raised a hand for the group to stop and be quiet. Ten pairs of eyes scanned the woods for any suspicious movement. Time suddenly seemed to have stopped. Adam noticed he had stopped breathing.


    A snowflake passed just below his eyes, tiny and fragile. Carried by a light breeze coming from the east, it fell slowly until it finally touched the cold ground, cold enough that it didn¡¯t melt. Another snowflake then appeared in his field of vision, followed by many more.


    Adam thought he saw a fleeting movement between the trees, so he readied his carefully maintained weapon. His stomach tightened when he saw a second movement.


    "To arms!" the sergeant shouted at the same moment a gunshot rang out from among the trees.


    Fuck! I knew it!


    A French soldier collapsed on the road, his chest pierced by an enemy bullet.


    "We¡¯re under attack! Take positions!"


    Defending themselves on such a narrow road surrounded by trees was the worst possible situation. The enemy had cover, while they had none. Back to back, the French soldiers covered each other, firing towards the plumes of white smoke that lingered where shots had been fired.


    Several more shots rang out around them, forcing the French to tighten their formation until they formed a sort of circle.


    "Argh!"


    A cry echoed behind Adam. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sergeant collapse.


    "Fall back! Fall back!" Adam ordered. "Get off the road and take cover behind those trees!"


    Without turning their backs on the enemy, the six remaining soldiers obeyed and positioned themselves behind the massive trunks of the large trees closest to the road.


    "Do you see them?!"


    "No, Corporal!" replied one of the soldiers, tall and thin as a branch. "Only the smoke!"


    Shit! These fucking trees! If we were on different terrain¡­


    Adam dared to look in the direction of the enemies and felt a bullet whiz past above his head. The enemy was very close, so close that they could have seen the color of their eyes if there hadn¡¯t been so many obstacles between the two sides. Moreover, the snow had started falling heavily.


    Terrified, the young corporal repositioned himself behind his tree, whose roots snaked between his legs.


    Come on! Courage! One¡­ Two¡­ Three!


    He emerged from his cover, pointed his weapon¡¯s barrel in the direction of the enemy positions, and fired at a gray figure standing between two twisted trees. He didn¡¯t stay to see it fall and quickly returned to his shelter. With a trembling hand, he placed his weapon on the ground and took a ready-made cartridge from his cartridge box, carefully stored for quick access.


    The principle was roughly the same as modern bullets, except that the soldiers had to make them themselves. It was just a small paper tube containing black powder with a wad at one end and the projectile¡ªa simple lead ball¡ªat the other.


    Like a well-oiled machine, the young man reloaded his weapon and stepped out of his cover to shoot again.


    "Corporal! We need to retreat! There are too many of them!"


    I know! Damn it, I know!


    Even if he couldn¡¯t see them, he knew the enemy had the advantage. Based on the gunshots, it could be deduced that there were at least twenty of them. Fixing bayonets and attempting to rout the enemy with a charge would be useless; worse, it could be fatal.


    "We¡¯re falling back! Maintain a line. Those on the sides fall back first!"


    His voice sounded so hoarse to him that he had trouble recognizing it.


    Gradually, his men retreated until only he and another soldier, who couldn¡¯t have been more than seventeen years old, were left. The boy looked terrified, but he didn¡¯t seem willing to leave.


    "What are you still doing here?! Get the fuck out of here, moron!"


    The young man, who hadn¡¯t understood everything his corporal had just said, turned towards him with a fake smile.


    "I can¡¯t leave you to hold them off alone, Corporal! I¡¯m going to help you!"


    "Idiot!"


    Even though he found it foolish for the boy to insist on staying in such a dangerous place, Adam couldn¡¯t help but feel grateful, as he wasn¡¯t too keen on staying alone to hold off twenty enemies.


    "Okay, but don¡¯t get yourself killed!"


    Across from them, the Prussians finally realized that there were only two enemies left in front of them. They began to emerge from their hiding spots and advance. Adam and Augustin¡ªthat was the young man¡¯s name¡ªfinished reloading their weapons at the same time and killed two enemies who were standing in the middle of the road. Like puppets whose strings had been cut, they collapsed onto the icy ground, which had started to turn white.


    "We¡¯ve held them off long enough. We¡¯re retreating now!"


    "Understood!" Augustin replied, nodding vigorously.


    Adam and Augustin began to run, fleeing the bullets whizzing around them. Behind them, though neither of the young soldiers could say exactly how far away, German shouts echoed. The snow acted like a welcome screen, though the flakes weren¡¯t dense enough to render them invisible.


    His heart was pounding so hard that he could have sworn someone was playing a drum right next to his ears. The icy air filled his lungs, and branches whipped against his face. Passing through a thorny bush, he got scratched but completely ignored the pain.


    A cry rang out near him, and he saw that Augustin had fallen.


    Adam quickly went back and, without any delicacy, grabbed him by the arm to pull him to his feet. He was so forceful that the young man was lifted off the ground, which surprised even Adam.


    They ran for a long time, unable to say how long, nor could they say how long that tiny skirmish had lasted. Around them, everything became eerily quiet. No one seemed to be pursuing them.


    "D-do we¡­ Did we lose them?"


    "I-I think so, yes," Adam replied, drenched in sweat after such an intense effort.


    Finally, they rejoined their comrades, who were waiting for them near a narrow road¡ªactually the same one they had left, but which made a wide loop to connect to a hamlet with only a handful of houses.


    "Is everyone alright?! How many of you are there?!"


    "With you, there are six of us, Corporal," replied a soldier with a very ordinary face.


    "Shit!"


    "What about the sergeant and the others? We can¡¯t just leave them there!"


    "Calm down! We¡¯ll go back to Magdeburg and make our report. The general will likely want to send a stronger unit with cavalry. The enemy will have had time to leave, and we¡¯ll be able to recover our comrades¡¯ bodies. Understood?"


    "Y-yes!"


    Demoralized, the French soldiers resumed their march under a heavy snowfall that lasted an hour, which was enough to radically change the landscape. Hardly any words were exchanged on the way back.


    Once in Magdeburg, Augustin realized his ankle was twisted and swollen like a balloon. It was surprising, as he hadn¡¯t complained once until then. Adam deduced that he had been so stressed that he simply hadn¡¯t noticed the pain.


    As Adam had guessed, the general sent an entire company to the site to retrieve the bodies and track down the Prussians. Unfortunately, with the fresh snow covering everything, it was impossible to locate the enemy or determine which direction they had gone.

 Chapter 25: Hunter hunted

    The uniforms worn by the French soldiers were barely distinguishable in the winter landscape. The snow was so deep in some places that it reached up to their knees. In the fields, it was like an immense sea of pure, dazzling snow whenever a ray of sunlight broke through, which was quite rare at this time of year. When it did happen, temperatures usually plummeted.


    The trees seemed frozen, as if petrified by the Siberian-like climate, with their branches bowed under the weight of fresh snow. Sometimes, the branches even snapped due to the heavy snowfall over the past two days.


    There had been a brief period when the temperatures became somewhat milder, causing all the snow accumulated during December to melt. But it didn¡¯t last. The temperatures suddenly dropped again on January 8th, and it started snowing once more¡ªlightly at first, then so heavily that going outside became impossible. The risk of getting lost in the blizzard was too great.


    That morning, the sky was still heavily clouded, but patches of bright blue sky were visible in some places. The sun, which had not been seen in a long time, appeared so beautiful and bright that it caught the eyes unaccustomed to the gloom by surprise. Yet, its comforting rays were not enough to warm bodies numb from the cold.


    Adam and his fellow soldiers marched in two columns, flanking six large wagons pulled by sturdy horses¡ªsmaller and stockier than the ones ridden by cavalry into battle. They regularly cast nervous glances around them.


    This convoy was quite special, as each wagon carried six enormous dark wooden barrels bound with iron hoops. Whatever was inside them was bound to attract attention. To escort them, they had come with fifteen men, not including the drivers. Unlike the escort, these men didn¡¯t wear uniforms but thick coats designed to keep the wearers warm. Most of their coats were dark, and they covered their faces with thick scarves to protect against the light but constant icy wind.


    The infantry had strict uniforms to adhere to, but that didn¡¯t mean they couldn¡¯t double or even triple the number of layers worn under their uniforms. Even though it was very uncomfortable, as Adam felt much bulkier than he actually was, it was better than freezing to death.


    The first wagon carved a deep track in the fresh snow, making things much easier for the following wagons. The same went for the men, who did their best to follow the path created by the first man in the line.


    No one complained about the cold or their slow pace, as everyone was focused on the mission.


    It was the middle of January. After enduring the relentless assaults of this troublesome invisible enemy¡ªnow identified as the men of the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg¡ªthe soldiers under the Duke of Richelieu had become familiar enough with this disgraceful strategy to respond effectively.


    Since the first ambushes, they had figured out how this enemy operated and what they liked to target.


    "Captain, do you think it will take much longer?" asked the driver of the lead wagon to Captain Gilbert, who was leading this squad¡ªa rather unusual task for him.


    "Who knows?" he replied from his horse, a beautiful creature with a gray coat speckled with white as if someone had splashed paint on it. "Maybe nothing will happen today."


    "We¡¯re in their zone, right?" asked the driver, a burly man with hair as black as night and eyes as blue as the sky, with a hint of worry in his voice as he sat uncomfortably with a long rifle at his feet.


    "We have been for a while now, yes," replied Captain Armand Gilbert, adjusting the gray wool collar that kept his neck warm. "So they could appear at any moment. But," he noted, "this isn¡¯t the best place."


    "Because it¡¯s too open?" asked the driver, who was actually a soldier around his age.


    "That¡¯s right."


    Adam, who was walking two paces behind the first wagon, listened attentively to the conversation between the two men and reflected on their mission and all the challenges they had faced in recent weeks and months. The Prussians and their local allies had been unbearable, giving them almost no respite. Almost every day, they received news of an attack on one of their units.


    They struck almost anywhere and at any time. Every patrol set out with fear in their hearts, not knowing if it would be their last. The number of dead and wounded was growing, which was a major concern for the officers. In enemy territory, every man was precious.


    His Majesty had already struggled to recruit men to fill his regiments. Fortunately, it hadn¡¯t yet reached the point where they had to resort to trickery and trapping able-bodied men of the right age into donning a uniform. This was something that often happened in both the infantry and the royal navy when a war dragged on too long.


    "Tell me," Corporal Boucher/Adam asked the driver, whose face was partially hidden like a bandit¡¯s, "the road we¡¯re following leads to those trees, right?"


    The driver leaned forward slightly to see who was speaking to him, and when he saw a young man walking slowly near his wagon, he nodded.


    "Yes, sir!"


    Adam looked ahead. Continuing down this path, they would reach a fairly dense wooded area, consisting mainly of tall pine trees as high as a city wall. Snow had settled on them, forming thick white cushions on each branch.


    If they weren¡¯t at war and didn¡¯t risk being killed at any moment, he might have found the landscape beautiful, worthy of a postcard or a painting.


    "Well, if I were them," Adam continued, "I¡¯d position myself over there. That way, I¡¯d be sheltered while my enemies would be exposed."


    "You¡¯re right, Corporal. Tell everyone to be on their guard as we approach the trees ahead."


    "Yes, Captain!" the young soldier responded immediately.


    Slowly, the column of wagons and men approached the trees. Everything was so silent. The only sounds were the crunching of snow underfoot, the wheels carving their path on the frozen road, the horses working hard, and occasionally the songs of a few birds, some of which sounded more like threats or warnings.


    Let¡¯s see if they take the bait, Adam thought, glancing furtively at the barrels.


    The immense trees stood like imposing wooden pillars, surrounded by dense bushes. Flanking the road on both sides, they formed an impassable wall.


    So, will they attack or not?


    The trap devised by the Marshal Duke was simple but had a good chance of succeeding. They had studied and mapped out each attack to estimate where the best place would be to set an ambush for the Prussians, Hanoverians, Hessians, and others. They also knew, thanks to a few prisoners captured during this long period, that these enemies were constantly short of supplies despite help from the British Crown and the locals.


    A convoy this impressive could not go unnoticed.


    I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll come. Soon.


    Adam was not mistaken. As soon as they entered the forest, they found a fallen tree blocking their path. The moment the convoy stopped, gunfire erupted from all around them. It came from the left, the right, and even from behind the fallen tree.


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    In this situation, the convoy could neither advance nor retreat.


    Despite the urgency of the situation, none of the men were caught off guard. They all kept their cool and took up positions. Enemy soldiers wearing colorful uniforms, each different from the other, could be seen among the trees, their eyes burning with hatred and greed. Their figures stood out clearly against the enchanting landscape.


    They were certainly already envisioning themselves taking possession of the immense barrels, which must contain powder, weapons, or food. Perhaps it was all of these things, in which case it would be a great haul.


    ¡°Now!¡± Captain Gilbert ordered, his voice echoing among the towering trees.


    But suddenly, from each barrel emerged a French soldier who grabbed a weapon from the bottom of the wagon. Six barrels in six wagons. Instead of facing about twenty men, the attackers were now up against more than fifty!


    Although they had come in numbers to seize the wagons, they were no match for such a force. They were only about thirty strong.


    The Prussians, stunned, didn¡¯t have time to react, and the first volley of musket fire took down several of them who had ventured too far forward. They collapsed where they stood, and soon their bright red blood mixed with the snow, turning it a strange shade of pink.


    Adam, who had retreated to the third wagon, shouldered his rifle as soon as he reloaded it and fired at a man whose face, like his own, was hidden by a high woolen collar¡ªblack in this case. Despite the thick cloud of smoke that smelled of burnt powder, a now familiar scent, he saw the man clutch his shoulder and take cover behind a tree.


    Fuck! I only wounded him! Fucking bastard!


    Quickly, he reached into his cartridge box and pulled out another cartridge. It was still full, as it could hold thirty cartridges. In an instant, his weapon was ready again.


    I¡¯ll get you, bastard!


    His breathing was oddly calm, and his mind was clearer than ever. He carefully watched the tree behind which his enemy had taken cover but saw a second man appear nearby. He turned his barrel slightly and shot this man, who fell backward like a stone.


    ¡°You won¡¯t get us this time!¡± he roared, his voice carrying above the chaos.


    Then he shouted in German so the enemy could understand: ¡°You will all die here, filthy dogs!¡±


    The Prussians, initially surprised by the strong counterattack, quickly regained their composure and began to fight back. Bullets whizzed in all directions, occasionally striking a soldier on either side. On the captain¡¯s orders, the French soldiers stopped shooting and skillfully fixed their bayonets to the ends of their barrels. They then began to charge the enemy, who had already started to retreat deeper into the woods.


    They spread out, forming a sort of semicircle around the wagons, and charged with extreme violence at the fleeing adversary. To motivate themselves, they only had to think of everything they had endured in recent times. Their frustration was immense, and their anger was ready to explode. Each man was like a barrel of powder, ready to ignite and explode.


    ¡°Don¡¯t hold back!¡± Captain Gilbert shouted. ¡°Show them what it costs to challenge the King of France¡¯s army!¡±


    Adam passed the captain and leaped forward like a hunting dog sent by its master after a terrified prey. Clutching his musket tightly in his frozen hands despite his woolen gloves, he lunged at the wounded man sitting in the snow, his uniform stained with fresh blood.


    The man¡¯s face was twisted with fear and pain, and his complexion was pale. His tricorne had fallen off, and he had lowered his collar to breathe more easily. His face resembled Jean¡¯s a little because of his square jaw and crooked nose, but that was all.


    ¡°P-please!¡± the Prussian stammered in his language, raising a trembling, blood-covered hand in a desperate gesture. ¡°I surrender!¡±


    His eyes, wide with fear, searched the young corporal¡¯s, hoping to find a glimmer of humanity. But to Adam, this man was nothing more than an enemy. He had tried to kill him, and in the reverse situation, he wouldn¡¯t hesitate to shoot Adam down like a dog. A deep anger, constantly fueled by the memory of his fallen comrades, burned in his heart. It added to all his frustrations, all those weeks of living in fear and hunting an invisible enemy in an exhausting guerrilla war.


    Without averting his gaze, his face impassive, Adam drove the point of his bayonet into the enemy¡¯s abdomen. The blade effortlessly pierced the fabric and then the man¡¯s flesh, reaching his delicate organs. A muffled groan escaped the soldier¡¯s thin lips as he leaned slightly forward under the pressure.


    ¡°Hu-Hurgh...¡±


    His eyes, like large marbles, stared in disbelief at the weapon Adam held. Normally, they would try to take prisoners to exchange them for a ransom.


    Adam then saw the soldier place his bloodied hands on his musket barrel and use his last strength to try to push the musket back, attempting to withdraw the blade deeply embedded in his intestines. Adam watched him struggle for a long moment, motionless, then took a step back. Very slowly, he withdrew his weapon from the man¡¯s body. A large stream of blood flowed from the wound, as well as from his mouth.


    Despite the severity of the injury, the man still managed to plead for mercy one last time. He was barely breathing. Not even God could save him now. Adam plunged the bayonet in a second time, this time aiming for the heart. Only then did the man stop moving. His eyes, wide open, seemed to be staring at something invisible behind Adam.


    You damn bastard! This is for Jules, you son of a bitch!


    Jules had been wounded during one of these attacks two weeks earlier, near a small village called K?rbelitz, only eleven kilometers northeast of Magdeburg. He and his patrol comrades thought they were safe so close to their headquarters, but they stumbled upon a group of soldiers bold enough to challenge the Marshal Duke right under his nose. It was a great provocation. Fortunately, Jules had only been wounded that day.


    With his blood still boiling, Adam turned and resumed the chase, following the footprints in the snow. His comrades had already gone far ahead in pursuit of the enemy.


    Eventually, they ceased the pursuit since they couldn¡¯t stray too far from the convoy, even though the wagons were technically empty. Gradually, the men returned to the wagons. The horses, although frightened by all the commotion, hadn¡¯t moved. That was mostly because they couldn¡¯t, as there wasn¡¯t enough space here for them to turn around.


    ¡°Are we really letting them go, Captain?¡± Adam asked with some frustration, a sentiment shared by most of the soldiers present.


    ¡°No. We¡¯re giving them a five-minute head start so they can regroup and lead us to their camp. Has everyone returned?¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± replied a sergeant named Pierre Ma?on.


    ¡°Let¡¯s wait a little longer, then. After that, we¡¯ll go after our enemies.¡±


    ¡°At your orders!¡±


    With the snow, it wasn¡¯t difficult to track these men. Captain Gilbert¡¯s company found them as they were hurriedly gathering their belongings to disappear for a while and regroup. There were only seven or eight of them left.


    Their camp, which consisted of a few makeshift tents around a campfire that was out but still smoking, was located near a frozen stream from which a few frost-covered reeds protruded.


    Captain Gilbert¡¯s men, who had taken the time to clean and reload their weapons, had no trouble eliminating them all. A single volley cut them all down, ending the operation.


    It was only then that they felt satisfied. A sense of relief washed over Adam, and there was no doubt his comrades felt the same. Smiling, they decided to return to their headquarters.


    Once back in Magdeburg, the captain was congratulated by Colonel de Br¨¦hant and the general. However, it was only a small team they had taken out. There could be twenty or more teams like this one in just that region.


    Meanwhile, Adam found his friends, who were also returning from patrol, but in another region.


    ¡°Oh, so it was a success?¡± Charles said with a slight smirk.


    ¡°Very good! That¡¯ll teach them!¡± Jean exclaimed joyfully. ¡°Those dogs only understand force!¡±


    ¡°Yes, but it was just one of their teams,¡± Louis said, downplaying the achievement. ¡°I think as long as their leader keeps fighting, we¡¯ll keep getting attacked over and over.¡±


    ¡°What we need is to quickly make them understand they¡¯ve lost the war. By the way, do we know how the negotiations are going?¡± Adam asked.


    ¡°Who knows?¡± Jules sighed, his arm in a sling. ¡°They¡¯re probably haggling over details. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll all be over soon.¡±


    ¡°I hope so. I can¡¯t wait to go home,¡± murmured P¡¯tit Pol, looking downcast. ¡°I¡¯m so tired of this country. I miss Corbie.¡±


    All their faces grew sad at the mention of their hometown. The only exception was Adam, who had no attachment to that village he had only briefly seen in a dream. He often had such dreams, which allowed him to learn a little more about Fran?ois¡¯s life. But they were sometimes difficult to understand. It was like mixing up all the scenes of a movie and watching them as is. Under those conditions, it was very hard to follow the plot.


    It was even more challenging because they sometimes got mixed up with his own memories and ordinary dreams with no meaning at all. In one of them, he saw himself participating in a training session in a barracks full of young recruits, then found himself in a modern gymnasium playing sports with his classmates¡ªa handball game¡ªuntil dinosaurs showed up to eat everyone.


    ¡°You know, even if we sign a peace treaty with Prussia, we¡¯ll still be at war, right?¡± Adam asked seriously. ¡°We¡¯re still at war with England. I think¡­ I think we still have a while to go. I don¡¯t know, maybe a year or two?¡±


    P¡¯tit Pol didn¡¯t reply, because even though he didn¡¯t look it, he was smart enough to understand.

 Chapter 26: The Duke of Newcastles Agent

    One of the first things he had been told was that everything he did, heard, and said was confidential and should only be disclosed by order of his employer, the Duke of Newcastle. The second was that if he were discovered, he would be alone, as the Crown could not acknowledge knowing his name or his intentions. The third was that if he were caught, only death awaited him.


    Such was his fate as a spy. He would never be recognized, never praised for his work, and even less likely to be decorated. At best, he would receive money, enough to live decently.


    This was the main reason he had accepted this rather unequal offer. John Ingham came from a modest background with modest manual skills, which wasn''t ideal for the son of an artisan, and he had a mountain of debts left by his alcoholic father, who was also addicted to gambling. When the old man finally decided to die on May 15, 1724, which was inevitable given his lifestyle, his creditors had shown up at his door to demand the money owed, increased by staggering, albeit legal, interest.


    In fact, there were more creditors than relatives at poor Peter Ingham''s funeral.


    For the sake of his sister, who had always been in poor health, his young wife, and his child, he accepted the offer he was fortunately made one rainy evening in his modest shop. That was in October 1726.


    For the Duke of Newcastle, who had just become Secretary of State for the Southern Department, he spied for nearly a decade in London and other British cities. His employer mainly wanted to hear and control rumors. Then, in 1738, he was sent to France on a mission of the utmost importance, having taken the initiative to learn that complex language to better serve his master.


    The Duke ordered him to go to Rochefort in anticipation of a war that was bound to happen, and he did. He was to observe the movements in the port, count them, assess their firepower, report on the morale of the inhabitants and workers, and even stir up conflicts. This last part wasn''t the most complicated. Almost as soon as the War of Austrian Succession began, the coffers of the Kingdom of France emptied as if they were leaking. Without money, there were no salaries. His whispers turned into massive protest movements.


    Then, one of his collaborators, a foolish local who had the bad idea to boast about being a spy to his landlady, was arrested. Luckily, he heard rumors about this and fled before King Louis XV''s troops could come and place a thick hemp rope around his neck.


    He boarded a modest smuggling ship at night in 1744 and returned to England. Despite his failure, he retained the Duke''s trust and continued to serve him.


    Almost all the money he earned went to his wife, a faithful and loving spouse who never questioned his activities or how he earned a living. Thanks to her, his sister Mary''s health greatly improved, and his son, James, grew up without want. He could have good clothes and fine shoes.


    He served for a time alongside his master in London but also served on the continent, notably in the Holy Roman Empire.


    Now, John Ingham was a mature man of almost sixty. After so many years of service risking his life, a rarity in his profession where few lived to old age, his nerves were solid.


    Dressed in a long and expensive poppy-colored coat that he kept open despite the freezing temperatures to show off a splendid buttercup-yellow waistcoat, this old man with an extravagant appearance stood at the bow of a small single-masted ship. A red sail, filled by a light breeze from the east, carried the boat across the calm waters of the Spree, through fragile sheets of ice that had broken off from the still-frozen banks.


    The center of the river was navigable and frequented by many other vessels, both small and large.


    Slowly, the ship had ascended the Spree from the North Sea and was now approaching Berlin. On this January 21st, the city, with its snow-covered rooftops and steeples, seemed so peaceful that it was hard to imagine that not long ago it had been besieged by an Austrian force and that a war was still ongoing.


    Here we are. Berlin. Is this their capital? How pitiful. From here, it looks like a provincial town.


    The ship''s captain, a large man with a round throat like a frog and a poorly-shaved face, approached him heavily.


    "Monsieur, we are arriving in Berlin. We''ll dock near the Royal Bridge. Will that do?"


    "Thank you, Captain. That will be perfect," replied the old man with a soft smile, highlighting his many wrinkles.


    The spy didn''t have a high opinion of this man, but he had done what was expected of him and hadn''t asked questions. Naturally, he knew nothing of his identity or mission. A little gold had been enough to convince him to take him on board to this city.


    My mission can finally begin. I hope it''s not too late.


    Despite some concerns, he was relatively confident. A peace treaty wasn''t negotiated in such a short time. Even if the talks had begun in the weeks following the disaster at Rossbach last November, only a little more than two months had passed.


    When France had to negotiate the least costly and least humiliating peace possible with the all-powerful Great Britain, it had taken six months of discussion! There was no reason for it to be different this time.


    As soon as he set foot on land, he headed towards the heart of the city with surprising ease for a foreigner. It was as if he had visited the Prussian capital hundreds of times. In reality, this was his first time in this city. He had simply memorized its layout by studying a detailed map for long hours over several days.


    Hmm, not bad. The streets are wide and well-maintained. The hygiene isn''t perfect, but even London doesn''t smell like roses. They are somewhat similar.


    The streets were slippery due to freezing and thawing, and more than once, he almost fell, like some of the people he passed between the docks and his destination. It was a modest shop selling canes, located across from the house of the British Ambassador to Berlin, Sir Andrew Mitchell.


    Naturally, his house was closely watched. Anyone who made contact with this man or one of his servants was, in turn, monitored. This ordinary shop was a point of contact, practically under the observers'' noses.


    In fact, he walked right past one of them, who was dying of boredom and occupying himself as best he could. If he noticed him, the man gave him no importance. To everyone, he was just an old man entering a cane shop. His sharp gaze swept the room, and as soon as he saw that everything was safe, he headed towards the counter.


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    "Good day, sir, how may I help you?" asked the shopkeeper, a man of a similar age, but so hunched over that one might think he was bowing.


    "Good day, sir. What a beautiful day! It puts me in a good mood!"


    The shopkeeper''s gaze subtly changed.


    "Yes, but I don''t have time to enjoy it. I''m far too busy. I have work to do."


    "Then I won''t stay too long. I''m here to pick up an order."


    "Ah, very well," said the shopkeeper, "under what name?"


    "Alban Minsten."


    The old man nodded softly and went to the back of the shop, leaving the "customer" alone for a few moments.


    Good, he has the message.


    The old man quickly returned with a long, dark wooden cane topped with a beautiful silver handle, which he handed to the agent. With respect, the agent received it with both hands and tested it. It was perfect in both size and the shape of the handle.


    "How much do I owe you, sir?"


    "It''s already been paid, sir."


    "Oh, that''s right. Where is my head? In that case, I''ll leave you to your work. Good luck."


    "Thank you very much, dear customer! A wonderful day to you as well!"


    John left the small shop with his new cane, and like an honest bourgeois, he walked down the street with pride. The agent stationed in front of the ambassador''s house saw him and clicked his tongue in disdain. He must have thought that this man wanted to live like a noble and was willing to spend a fortune to resemble them.


    He made his way to a district outside the city walls¡ªnow useless due to the city''s rapid and extensive growth¡ªwhere he found an inn. It was very simple and blended perfectly into the landscape. The landlady, a plump woman in her forties with a friendly face, quickly assigned him a room. For a tidy sum, she agreed not to take in any other guests. It was a room large enough to accommodate four other people, so it needed to be compensated. But money wasn''t an issue.


    Once he was in his room, which was rather simple, he took his cane and unscrewed the handle. There, in a hollow compartment, he found, as expected, a short message written by the ambassador himself. There was only one name: Karl Wilhelm Finck von Finckenstein.


    What a long name! No matter. So, he''s my target.


    ***


    This man was an experienced diplomat who had served his king by representing him in Denmark-Norway, Great Britain, and Russia. He had then served more directly under Frederick II of Prussia by becoming one of his ministers.


    Naturally, he was present when Prince Ferdinand convened the kingdom''s top figures to decide whether to open negotiations with France and its allies. As the son of a Prussian field marshal and brother of a division general, he could not accept the idea of peace so soon after the beginning of this war for Silesia. It was imperative that Prussia survive and rebuild its forces to return to the forefront.


    According to him, at the start of the war, they were only a step away from joining the world''s great powers!


    But now, they were heading toward a shameful peace! Despite his close friendship with Frederick II, he could not accept these scandalous terms that were being offered with a smile, as if those scoundrels had already made enormous concessions.


    Greedy bastards! How dare they look down on us like that?! In the time of the "soldier king," they would have trembled with fear!


    Even though Frederick II had an impressive reputation far beyond Prussia, it still didn''t match that of his father, Frederick William I. He was a harsh man with many flaws, but a good king with a keen sense of duty. He wouldn''t have hesitated to arrest Prince Ferdinand and execute all his bad advisors, for what they were doing was high treason.


    How dare you claim to be Prussian and bow down like that?! Have you no pride?! If Father could return to life with the "soldier king," they would all tremble in fear!


    Fortunately, there were those who, like him, did not want a peace that would bring Prussia to its knees, even annihilate it. He had expressed his opinion to His Highness Prince Ferdinand, and for that, he had been sidelined. As he had been told, his "opinion was too problematic for the proper conduct of negotiations with the involved parties."


    He had indeed fiercely argued with his comrades in front of the representatives of Austria, France, Russia, and Sweden, but was it not too harsh to dismiss him in such a manner? He could only see it as an injustice, he who had the kingdom''s interests at heart more than anyone else.


    May they all be damned! Under their quills, the kingdom that was so painstakingly built will be destroyed and absorbed!


    With furious steps, he left the royal palace under the bewildered gazes of courtiers and guards. As soon as he passed through the palace gates, he was assaulted by a cool, almost cold wind. Accustomed to the region''s climate, which could be as harsh as the one that forged the bodies and minds of Russia''s inhabitants, he paid it no mind and continued on his way until he reached the city.


    To his left, the Spree flowed peacefully, unaffected by the tensions and complex games of politics. The same was true for all the people going about their business. Everyone had their own problems, and it was the duty of the nobility to take charge of all those concerning the kingdom''s politics.


    If they knew what was being said behind these high walls, they wouldn''t hesitate to come before its gates in great numbers, Karl thought, his heart heavy.


    His jaw was so tight that he could feel his teeth grinding. His clenched fists were lined with large, very visible veins, swollen as if filled with air. His lips, pressed together, formed only a thin line beneath his very narrow nose.


    I-I need to calm down... I''m starting to get stomach pains. Damn it! But how can I calm down when my kingdom is being murdered?!


    He placed a hand on his large belly, where a pain had begun to emerge. It felt as if his insides were being twisted.


    Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn''t notice, until the last second, an old man richly dressed who, however, could not go unnoticed. The man leaned with a certain elegance on a cane so dark it could be described as black with red highlights, and topped with a charming silver handle.


    "Lord von Finckenstein? W-would you have a moment to spare? Please!" implored the old man, his face showing concern, even desperation.


    "Hmm? Do we know each other? If so, I apologize, but I have no memory of our meeting."


    "Oh, no, we are meeting for the first time. My name is Alban Minsten. I... I understand that your opinions regarding the ongoing negotiations have caused you some trouble," said the man, lowering his voice and looking around as if he feared someone might steal his purse.


    The minister''s thin eyebrows furrowed sharply. It was almost a provocation. His father wouldn''t have hesitated to challenge this old man to a duel for that, but he was not his father. He considered himself more mature than that.


    "If this is to mock me, sir," he said in a dry, cold tone, "I take my leave."


    "No! I have no intention of mocking you, my lord!" John, alias Alban, responded, waving his hands vigorously in front of him. "I... In fact, I am more saddened by the situation. To think that these people do not understand the gravity of the situation and are willing to abandon everything, even their honor, to preserve their financial interests! What a sadness, truly!"


    The politician''s gaze softened a bit upon hearing these words. It was always pleasant to hear someone share the same opinions as you. Although he was not isolated at the Royal Palace, he had been the only one to take a stand as he had, loudly proclaiming that they should not be ready to sign anything just to quickly end this disastrous war.


    "What do you want from me, Mr. Minsten?"


    "To speak with you, my lord, that''s all. In private, please. What I have to say must not be heard by anyone else!" he said very seriously. "Do you have time and a place where we won''t be disturbed... or overheard?" he added in a whisper.


    The stout man observed this old man, who seemed more sympathetic, for a moment. Although richly dressed, he did not seem superficial like many courtiers. Growing more intrigued by the mystery, he finally nodded in agreement.

 Chapter 27: The Spy And The Minister

    Karl Wilhelm Finck von Finckenstein''s mansion was splendid, though its architecture had a slightly rustic touch in John Ingham''s view. It was perfectly situated in the most prestigious district of the Prussian capital. Everyone who walked these streets was impeccably dressed and carried themselves with rare elegance. Even the servants seemed perfectly in place.


    The spy stood out in this panorama with his colorful clothes. Here, most people wore subdued garments¡ªbrown, black, or white. But the old man showed no reaction when people started to observe him, especially since he was walking alongside one of the most influential men in the kingdom.


    "This is the place," said the former diplomat simply, as he stepped down from his carriage, drawn by a single horse with a coat as black as ink.


    A beautiful animal that surely suffered from not being able to gallop at full speed across vast meadows.


    John, fully in his role, nodded slowly. All his gestures, even his breathing, exuded apprehension.


    They entered the building, the interior of which was even more magnificent than the exterior, immaculate like a king''s residence. Every element seemed perfectly in place. The decor was meticulously thought out. There were masterful paintings, though this was not a subject the agent from Newcastle was well-versed in. At best, he could say that the canvases were pretty.


    Above his head hung a massive chandelier that must have weighed as much as a horse, adorned with gold leaf and crystal beads. A lifetime of work wouldn''t be enough to afford one. This was truly a work of art.


    Magnificent! Grand! Such grandeur! Such majesty! How many artisans must have worked on this chandelier, I wonder!


    "Let''s go to the library. We''ll be undisturbed there."


    "T-thank you, thank you a thousand times for granting me your precious time, my lord!"


    The minister cast a brief glance in the direction of the old spy but remained silent. He greeted a few servants and requested tea in the library for two.


    The room in question, hidden behind a heavy door in an oriental style, likely inspired by what was common in the Ottoman Empire, was as sublime as the entrance. The atmosphere here was hushed, inviting those fortunate enough to be welcomed to sit down and enjoy a snack while perusing one of the many books.


    The classics were naturally present: poetry, theater, opera, travelogues, memoirs of great figures, and scientific treatises. There was a bit of everything, in six or seven different languages, some no longer spoken anywhere.


    "Please, have a seat. Hanselm will bring us some tea."


    "You are a generous host, thank you. I wasn''t expecting such hospitality!" replied the old man, who seemed very moved.


    "Now, tell me what this is about."


    The minister seemed to be running out of patience. It sounded more like a command than a request.


    "Yes, my lord. I will tell you everything, but understand that what I am about to share is very sensitive and must not be overheard by anyone else."


    "Don''t worry about that. Hanselm is trustworthy. He is as competent as he is discreet. I have absolute confidence in him."


    John pretended to be embarrassed and squirmed in the deep armchair embroidered with gold and silver thread.


    "My lord, far be it from me to doubt your man, but in my profession, one quickly learns that absolute trust does not exist. Every man has a price."


    "Your profession¡­" murmured the minister, thoughtful, all his attention focused on the old man in front of him.


    "My lord, before I begin, you must understand that once I start revealing what I know, there will be no turning back. You will be in danger, as I am now."


    The portly minister felt his heart pound harder in his chest. Many key words had been spoken in a single sentence¡ªwords that usually piqued men''s interest.


    "Reveal¡­ No turning back¡­ Danger. How mysterious. Very well. Ah, here''s Hans. Thank you, Hanselm, leave us now, please. And keep the other servants away."


    "Very well, sir."


    The man, tall and slender with the bearing of a soldier¡ªperhaps he had been one¡ªslipped away and gently closed the door behind him. Only the spy and the minister remained. They waited a few seconds, and when the master of the house deemed it long enough, he leaned forward slightly, a sign that he was all ears.


    "My lord," began John Ingham, taking on a voice so grave and serious that it made the minister tremble in his seat, "I came to you because I believe I have found in you someone trustworthy. I didn''t know who to turn to, I was completely lost. I didn''t know whom to trust in Berlin."


    The minister, slightly flattered, subtly nodded but did not interrupt his guest, growing more and more curious.


    "My work requires great caution and discretion. My life is full of dangers and adventures, but this time I don''t know who my enemies are¡­ or the enemies of my master."


    "Your master?" the minister couldn''t help but repeat, his hands gradually becoming clammy. "P-please, continue. Whom do you serve?"


    "The only master who is also a servant. The only one who truly wants the best for our kingdom. The one who, to make it greater and stronger, took up arms against an invader but is now held captive."


    "His Majesty?!"


    "Yes, I serve our good king, Frederick II, the Great. For him, I have undertaken numerous missions that have taken me far from my home, acting and listening in the shadows to assist him, and through him, the entire kingdom."


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    "You''re a sp¡­"


    "Be careful, my lord," the old man said more seriously still, his eyes piercing the minister like well-honed blades. "Do not utter that word lightly. In the wrong hands, it can lead to very serious consequences and ruin us both."


    "Yes, of course, forgive me! I-I understand."


    Internally, John smiled. He knew that from now on, this man was in his hands and would swallow every word he said, even the most outlandish ones. He just needed to support them by adding details and convincing evidence.


    "As I was saying, I believe I''ve found an ally in you. What convinced me to approach you was your courageous stance. While others bowed to the foreign envoys and the few Prussian nobles pushing for a quick peace, even at great cost, you, my lord, took a completely different approach, which led to your expulsion from the negotiating table."


    The minister trembled and felt a cold anger rise within him again. He recalled those contemptuous and despicable faces, their false smiles.


    "His Majesty would never have accepted it, and you know that. You did nothing wrong, my lord, do not doubt that."


    "I do not doubt it," von Finckenstein replied firmly. "I know what is best for Prussia. And what they are doing is a heinous crime against our king and our kingdom!"


    "My lord, you are right, but this is nothing compared to what is truly happening. Outside the negotiation room, far from prying eyes, other discussions are taking place, and they are much more alarming."


    "What?! What is happening? What are they plotting?!"


    This is much easier than expected. Our ambassador was right, he is the best candidate.


    "Before heading off to face the French and the Imperial forces, His Majesty wisely sent me to France. It was there that I learned of secret negotiations. Agreements are being discussed. Our representatives are not acting in the interest of His Majesty or our kingdom. They want to protect themselves! No, it''s worse than that¡ªthey want to seize power!"


    "This is¡­ No, it''s impossible! They wouldn''t allow themselves to be corrupted to such an extent!"


    John saw how troubled his interlocutor was, which was the goal, but he also saw the glimmer of doubt in his eyes.


    "Do you think so? As I told you, every man has his price. Offer enough, and ideals collapse like a house of cards."


    "Surely you have proof, don''t you?"


    Of course, I''ve brought ''proof.'' If mere words were enough to deceive such a man, I would be very disappointed.


    Without a word, John reached into his coat with a long, thin hand spotted with brown age marks. He drew out a carefully folded document. The man''s gaze seemed irresistibly drawn to the piece of paper. Slowly, the spy handed it to the minister.


    With a trembling, sweaty hand, he took it and began to read. The more he read, the more the color drained from his face. He couldn''t believe his eyes. Yet the proof was right before him and even signed. John didn''t take his eyes off him, analyzing every movement, every change of expression. Fear, doubt, anger, disappointment.


    "Where¡­ Where did you get this document?" he finally murmured.


    "I infiltrated the Palace of Versailles," the old man replied with a sigh, "and approached the hairdresser of the Dauphin of France''s wife, the heir to the throne. She accidentally came across this document and kept it. She also overheard a conversation she shouldn''t have heard. My lord, there are currently negotiations to assassinate our king and Prince Henry, all to avoid paying a ransom. But according to the hairdresser, there is also talk of a plot to usurp the throne. Prince Ferdinand might be involved in the conspiracy. However, this is just a rumor. It could also be the work of his supporters behind his Highness''s back."


    "God help us."


    The man, pale as a corpse, collapsed into his armchair. It was as if he had been struck on the head with a heavy hammer.


    "Now you understand, my lord, why I insisted on the secrecy of our conversation and my hesitations."


    Minister von Finckenstein didn''t even have the strength to respond.


    "But, my lord, all is not lost yet. The negotiations are still ongoing, and His Majesty is still alive. For now, at least."


    "We must do something. To remain inactive is to accept all these abominations!"


    "That''s true!" confirmed the spy, very pleased with the way the conversation was going.


    "But time is running out! An agreement might be reached quickly!"


    "Really?" asked the agent, honestly surprised. "How far along are they?"


    "Thank God, there is more than one state to satisfy, but progress is swift! Those who desire peace want a treaty signed before the end of winter."


    John Ingham felt a sense of unease growing within him. He hadn''t expected things to move so quickly. He thought he had until summer, perhaps even a year, to act.


    So soon?! Will I have enough time?


    "Why this deadline?"


    "To avoid further disasters in the spring. The Austrians, the Russians, the French, the Swedes¡ªthey have all stopped advancing to take their winter quarters. But in the spring, when the weather improves, the war will resume with even greater intensity, and we will not be ready, no matter what we do. East Prussia will be invaded like the rest of it. In a month, Berlin will be destroyed or partially destroyed by Austrian or French cannons. Everyone is very afraid, and they are right to be. Ah, we should spend the little time we have left reforming our armies and training new troops. We have the means."


    "Yes, I know. It is too soon to sign a peace treaty, especially with such an enemy."


    "I will contact my friends in the army, as well as my brother. He, too, has good friends. We will prevent these traitors from selling our kingdom and the skin of our beloved king, and then we will repel our enemies!"


    Very good! That''s the spirit! I''m counting on you!


    The spy raised a beautiful porcelain cup from China to his lips, the infused water having had time to cool. It was still very good, even excellent, and its gentle aroma mingled with the one already present in the room.


    Though he showed no emotion, John Ingham was actually delighted. He had deployed all his skills in this conversation. He had spoken in the minister''s language with such naturalness that he hadn''t detected even the slightest accent. He had invented a story to justify his false information, captivated him by speaking of adventures and dangers, and had fabricated a very realistic forged document.


    It was the fruit of a lifetime spent working for his true master, the Duke of Newcastle. Fortunately, he wasn''t required to run around everywhere. With age, he had learned to blend into the crowd and disappear. Now that he was old, he had a distinct advantage over the young ones who were caught within a few months. Some were discovered before they even reached their destination and began their work.


    But I am growing old. I have been doing this for so long. Perhaps it is time for me to stop. I might end up making a mistake¡­ and then I won''t be able to react in time.


    A sad smile formed on his wrinkled face. He had seen so much and met so many people. Almost everyone he had ever had under his command was dead, most of them hanged, often without exception.


    Like him, it was money that had driven them to this path, more rarely out of love for the country. Yet, he had met a few who were genuinely patriotic. Most often, they were officers, honorable men. The others were poor souls with serious flaws. Through greed, boasting, stupidity, or simply bad luck, they all ended up being caught eventually.


    I think it''s time to leave this life behind and enjoy the time I have left. Now that I think about it, I''ve spent almost no time with my son. I haven''t even seen him grow up. And to think he''s a father himself now. Well, hehe, thanks to me, they are safe. They have a good life and live in a beautiful house. This life of deceit¡­ full of lies, was not in vain.


    Slowly, he finished his cup and left the opulent residence, accompanied by the manipulated minister, though unaware of it.


    No regrets.


    As soon as he left the house, the old man blended into the crowd. Although he was being watched by the shaken minister, he quickly lost sight of him despite his conspicuous attire. He considered it a spy skill and felt once again impressed by this elderly man he had greatly underestimated.


    "I need to talk to my brother quickly; there''s no time to lose!"


    With that, he returned to his home and locked himself in his study.

 Chapter 28: The Clandestine War Council

    John Ingham couldn''t leave Berlin as soon as he arrived. He had just begun his work. Now that the seeds of discord had been planted, they needed to be watered and given a good environment to grow quickly!


    In the following days, he continued to move between neighborhoods, uttering a word here and there that would end up in a listening ear. This word would become a sentence, then a paragraph, and finally a pamphlet. Gradually, rumors spread and grew in the city, eventually attracting the attention of the authorities. Naturally, they didn¡¯t like the unrest, especially at this moment.


    Even though the negotiations were progressing well, there were many complex points to address. Some required more than one discussion because they were so sensitive.


    The pressure on them, as well as on the foreign diplomats, suddenly increased when they began to be questioned about what they were promising. Nothing was final, yet there were already whispers, even in the servants'' quarters, that they were giving up territories, strongholds, planning to reduce the size of the armies, and so on.


    Some even dared to say that Berlin would be occupied for several years by enemy armies and open to looting for three or four days! It was a scandal! Never had such a thing been considered!


    His Highness, outraged by these rumors, had been forced to issue a denial distributed throughout the capital, accompanied by his promise to do everything possible to ensure that the people of Prussia were as little affected as possible by this still-developing treaty.


    Despite all his efforts, the rumors did not die down.


    ***


    Far away, in the north of the kingdom, in a village near the Russian front line, all was quiet. Each army was resting or trying to do so in preparation for the resumption of hostilities in the spring.


    Karl Wilhelm Finck von Finckenstein''s brother, Friedrich Ludwig, was five years his senior. They had the same narrow nose and thin mouth, which was slightly protruding. Unlike Karl, Friedrich was a soldier through and through. He was a cavalry officer and currently held the rank of division general. He commanded the Tenth Dragoons Regiment when he was injured fighting the Russians in the northeast of the kingdom during the summer. Fortunately, those savages had not exploited their victory by sinking their teeth deep into their beautiful country.


    They had lost many men in that battle, at Gro?-J?gersdorf, but it was predictable given the disparity in forces. They were only twenty-five thousand, while the enemy numbered nearly seventy thousand! This overwhelming difference would have made many a commander retreat, but not them! They were Prussians, and a true Prussian never retreats before any enemy or any challenge. On the contrary, the more insurmountable the obstacle seems, the greater their desire to conquer!


    That day, while they had lost between four and five thousand brave men, those cursed Russians lost nearly six thousand! They were not pursued by the enemy, a mistake if not a fault in Friedrich''s view, which had allowed them to retreat in good order.


    During the winter, it had been quiet because the enemy commander, a man named Apraxin, had hurriedly withdrawn to the capital. A strange rumor had apparently begun to circulate even in the camp, suggesting that Empress Elizabeth was dying. This rumor quickly proved false, and poor Apraxin, who had sought to climb higher in the hierarchy at the Russian imperial court, found himself accused of corruption and cowardice in the face of the Prussian enemy.


    It was false, but that didn¡¯t matter. It was just politics, and this man had the misfortune of being on the losing side. Here, the chancellor Bestuzhev-Ryumin.


    None of this interested Friedrich much. Politics bored him deeply. He far preferred the simplicity of war, much more straightforward and far cleaner than what happened in the sordid corridors of palaces.


    Here, at least, I know who my enemies are, and I know what I must do to them. A good saber or musket strike, and the problem is solved! I really don¡¯t know how my brother puts up with all that. The lies, the corruption, the little arrangements, the underhanded tricks.


    Just then, on January 30th, he received a letter from his younger brother, Karl.


    Sitting comfortably by a good wood fire, he was surrounded by a few officers to whom he would entrust his life without hesitation.


    "Let¡¯s see what he has to say. Oh, it¡¯s dated the 21st. It took a while to get here. What?!¡±


    His loud cry immediately drew the attention of all the cavalrymen who had taken shelter from the cold and were discussing the war. Most sported fine mustaches, and unlike the cuirassiers, they didn¡¯t wear shiny armor. Their clothes, simple, resembled those worn by the infantry.


    Ignoring all these stares, he continued reading the letter, which was very different from what he usually received.


    ¡°This¡­ This is a joke?! This can¡¯t be true!"


    "Bad news, sir?" finally asked a man with a face disfigured by a deep scar running from his left jaw to his right temple, a souvenir from his first battle at Kesselsdorf.


    "Bad?! Bad?! Catastrophic, yes! If I didn¡¯t recognize my brother¡¯s handwriting, I¡¯d swear someone was making fun of me! Bastard politicians are negotiating secret agreements with our enemies, sacrificing our kingdom for positions, monopolies, and money!"


    "How?! How dare they betray the kingdom! If this is true, they should all be beheaded! No, they don¡¯t deserve such a favor! They should be hanged and then thrown to the pigs!"


    "We can¡¯t let them get away with this!"


    "Gustav is right! It would be a betrayal of us, the soldiers, and all those who have fallen so far, not just since the beginning of this war! We¡¯ve all shed our blood to make this kingdom powerful!"


    All the officers agreed. But as soldiers, they couldn¡¯t act as they pleased. Their kingdom was known for the quality of its army, and that came from an immense respect for order and discipline.


    "I¡¯m going to write one or two letters. Quiet, the rest of you. I need peace."


    "To whom will you write, sir?" asked another officer, whose mustache was so thick it seemed to want to devour his mouth.


    "To someone I have a great deal of respect for and who, I¡¯m sure, will know what to do. Lieutenant-General von Zieten."


    A deathly silence fell over the room to the point that the soft crackling of the wood fire seemed deafening. They all knew that illustrious name. He was a great man, a brave among the brave who had nothing left to prove to anyone. It was only a matter of time before he became a full general.


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    This man will know what to do, and his hand will not tremble. Such is his nature. No matter the enemy, he will not sheathe his saber as long as he breathes.


    All the officers present had heard rumors about this man. He was hot-blooded, proud, courageous, ready to fight to the end for his convictions, even if it meant breaking a few orders. If such a man were involved and what their chief had said was true, even in part, many heads would roll.


    "I believe that in the same region as him, there is another general of great talent who could be useful to us. I¡¯ll write him a letter as well."


    "Really?" asked the scarred cavalryman. "Who do you have in mind?"


    "The Duke of Brunswick-Bevern. He¡¯s an honest man. Like von Zieten, according to the latest reports, he was defending the south of the kingdom against the Austrians. I¡¯m sure he will be just as outraged as we are when I tell him what my brother has reported. We must act quickly!"


    ***


    Almost a week later, in L¨¹bben, an insignificant village seventy kilometers south of Berlin, the inhabitants were surprised to see a new group of Prussian officers arriving. All of them were resplendent in their magnificent gold-embroidered uniforms, mounted on their powerful warhorses. It was like witnessing a military parade. Their coats were of various colors, with one of them even draped in a wild animal skin over his shoulders!


    He wasn¡¯t tall, yet he exuded a powerful martial aura that made those who accidentally met his eagle-like gaze tremble. His eyebrows, thinned with age, drooped, giving him either a sad or contemptuous expression. His eyes, large like those of a startled animal, seemed to peer deep into you, reading your innermost thoughts. His lips, pink and full like a woman¡¯s, formed a slight smile, though it seemed hollow.


    The men accompanying him radiated a similar beastly strength, making the whole group resemble a pack of hungry wolves.


    Their horses, exhausted after such a long journey, steamed in the cold Prussian countryside air. Their muscles, stretched to the extreme, made them even more impressive.


    With terrifying agility, the riders halted their beasts near a large establishment, mostly made of wood, which stood two stories high. Several other horses, no less majestic than theirs, were patiently waiting nearby, attended to with the utmost care by a small group of boys, the eldest of whom couldn¡¯t have been older than fifteen.


    When these children saw the new group arrive, they couldn¡¯t help but step back a few paces. The one who was clearly their leader, the man with the animal skin, was undoubtedly the most intimidating of the lot. Not one dared to look these cavalrymen, armed with very long sabers adorned with gold and silver, in the eye.


    From the outside, still partially frozen though it was already February, fragments of conversations could be heard. The discussions seemed particularly heated, and curses were so colorful that many sailors would be surprised.


    The old Hans Joachim von Zieten, without a hint of hesitation, forcefully pushed the door open, without caring if anyone was behind it. Immediately, the talking ceased. It was as if a very strict teacher had just entered his classroom.


    The Prussian officers, who had been insulting each other moments earlier, calmed down and sat in their places, their faces pale.


    Even though he hadn¡¯t reached the highest rank in His Majesty¡¯s army, and was rapidly approaching sixty years of age, his reputation was solid enough that these senior officers treated him with respect. To look down on him, both literally and figuratively, could be fatal. After all, he was known, among other things, for his numerous duels. The fact that he was still alive was proof of his abilities. Furthermore, over the years, he had not been idle. He had fought in the War of Polish Succession as well as the First and Second Silesian Wars.


    His steps, heavy as if he were wearing full armor, echoed on the rustic wooden floor, whose uneven planks creaked loudly like the hull of an old ship.


    "Lord von Zieten, it is an honor. Thank you for coming," said Friedrich Ludwig Finck von Finckenstein to the new arrival, bowing deeply.


    "Hmm, it is only right. It is my duty to rush to the kingdom¡¯s aid when it is in danger. But I did not expect the enemy to be so close to Berlin. I thought I would find them only at the border."


    "As did we all, my lord. Please, have a seat. We, um... we had just begun."


    Von Zieten looked at the men already present one by one and recognized them all.


    Von Finckenstein, de la Motte-Fouqu¨¦, and Brunswick-Bevern. Good. These are trustworthy men.


    He removed his heavy fur coat and casually placed it on the back of a modest wooden chair reserved for him at the head of the table. Underneath, he wore his lieutenant-general cavalry uniform. While his breeches were as black as night, his hussar jacket was as red as blood and adorned with numerous golden cords. Prominently displayed on his chest were two high Prussian honors. The first was the blue and gold cross of the Pour le M¨¦rite, and the second was the insignia he had received from the king, signifying that he had joined the very exclusive circle of the Order of the Black Eagle.


    This last decoration was his greatest pride. Naturally, he deserved it. He had received it after the Battle of Prague last May, a great victory, though costly. The Duke of Brunswick-Bevern had also been there, as well as at Kolin, a disaster.


    Despite the large fire that had been burning in the hearth for hours, it was still a bit cold in the vast room, occupied only by carefully selected military officers. As soon as the door was opened, the heat escaped.


    "Gentlemen," began von Finckenstein, "time is of the essence. According to my brother, who remained in Berlin, our enemies make significant progress every day. If we delay too long, a shameful peace will be signed, condemning our kingdom. The very life of our sovereign and his brother, His Highness Prince Henry, are at risk. We must speak frankly."


    The Duke of Brunswick-Bevern placed his large hands heavily on the modest wooden table, occupied by a few bottles, cups, and empty plates, exerting unnecessary force on it.


    "The situation you have described is critical. We have all fought so much for His Majesty and Prussia, it is impossible for us to stand by while they conspire to destroy it! A peace can be signed, but only if the terms are acceptable! If what you have reported is true, the kingdom will be bled dry and torn apart! This is high treason!"


    "Yes, yes, enough with the obvious. We must decide what needs to be done," said Heinrich August de la Motte-Fouqu¨¦ in a grave voice that matched his very advanced age.


    "Isn¡¯t it obvious?!" cried Brunswick-Bevern, pounding the table with his fist. "We must march on Berlin and bring down these enemies of the kingdom!"


    "Hmm, what is the situation in Berlin?" asked von Zieten calmly, fixing his steely gaze on von Finckenstein.


    "Not good, I fear," replied the officer, his expression dark. "The people are becoming very restless, and my brother fears this will push the negotiators to hasten the talks. According to rumors..."


    "Rumors are what they are," von Zieten cut in coldly, with a frightening calm. "We must rely on concrete facts. How far along are the negotiations?"


    "I-I think half the work is done."


    "Good, that gives us a little time," he murmured as if speaking to himself. "Your option, Lord Duke of Brunswick-Bevern, is interesting, but it would be a risky gamble. We could easily be labeled as rebels, which would stifle our voices. They would discredit us and continue to work towards signing this peace that we do not want¡ªat least not until our kingdom is in a better position. It cannot get any worse, anyway. So, we need a few victories."


    The officers looked at each other around the table. Achieving a victory sounded so easy when spoken by this man.


    "Where should we strike? To the north? The Russians are not weak adversaries. Or to the south? But the Austrians are very numerous and formidable. Or to the west, where the French and Imperials are."


    "Hmm," the lieutenant-general mused, bringing a large hand, crossed with thick veins, to his fine mustache. "Perhaps we should strike at the French. I¡¯ve heard that the army of Prince de Soubise was nearly annihilated by His Majesty¡¯s army despite its clear numerical superiority."


    "But they have since been reinforced! My lord, I urge you to choose another target!" said la Motte-Fouqu¨¦ nervously.


    "And we will be reinforced as well. Are not Messrs. von Seydlitz, von Brunswick-L¨¹neburg, and Keith in the field? I believe they are causing our enemies quite a lot of trouble. With them, we will certainly have the means to inflict heavy losses on them. As soon as the news reaches Berlin, the negotiations will surely be paused while they try to understand what is happening. Even better, they will end if we manage to free His Majesty and His Highness!"


    One by one, the officers submitted and accepted this decision. They were, of course, aware of the risk involved. They could not afford to fail, for a defeat would not only cost them the support of the people but also plunge them further into despair. Prussia¡¯s enemies might even demand a higher price in exchange for peace!


    "For Prussia!"


    "And for the king!"

 Chapter 29: Confession

    Adam watched as the sharp blade approached his throat. Slowly, it slid across his skin, removing the small hairs and the foam that resembled whipped cream. The barber, a simple soldier from the third battalion, was very focused on not nicking his client. Adam didn''t move an inch, barely daring to breathe.


    The barber had started at the ears and gradually worked his way down, following the curve of the jawline. Then he moved to the space between the nose and mouth, and finally, to the most sensitive area, the neck. More than once, Adam had cut himself trying to do it alone.


    In no time, Adam had a smooth face again. A childlike smile formed on his lips as he rediscovered his clean chin in the small mirror that was presented to him.


    He knew what he looked like, but he always had trouble getting used to it. Physically, he had nothing in common with Fran?ois. He was taller, had a slightly lower chin, a slightly broader forehead, a slightly shorter nose, icy blue eyes, and chestnut hair with beautiful reddish highlights.


    There was no apparent way that he could be a distant descendant of Fran?ois. This seemed even truer if his hypothesis about his time travel was correct. According to him, Fran?ois had died at Hastenbeck, and his soul, for some obscure reason, had traveled to this place.


    It was just his little theory.


    "So?," asked the soldier, holding up the small mirror in front of Adam''s face.


    "It''s perfect. Thanks again for your help," replied Adam as he left the chair.


    "No problem," said the man, putting away his tools. "Feel free to come see me if you want another shave later, sir."


    "Certainly."


    Adam walked away, and his good mood immediately fell. He had been like this for two or three days, as the 6th of February was approaching.


    It''s tomorrow... My birthday.


    "Ah..."


    A long sigh escaped his mouth as he dragged his feet back to his friends. Since joining a different company, he only spent meals with them. Like his friends, he was very busy with his duties. As a corporal, he had to stay with the company at all times and be present for all training sessions.


    His own exercises had been incorporated by the captain into the program for the other soldiers, so every morning their company started the day with a run around Magdeburg. Over the weeks, their men had become disciplined and resilient enough to maintain formation for long hours.


    While Captain Gilbert was very satisfied with this progress, the ordinary soldiers, including three new recruits, weren''t necessarily as happy about it.


    Jules, Jean, Louis, and P¡¯tit Pol were sitting on stone steps near the Elbe River, which was completely free of ice. Behind them was an imposing stone fountain producing a very relaxing sound, and in front of them, on a large island, stood the citadel of Magdeburg.


    The river was very high this season, and the current was strong due to the melting snow upstream. During the summer, it would be much lower, or even unnavigable if the region were hit by a prolonged heatwave.


    Charles wasn''t with them because he had been selected for picket duty, meaning he was on guard duty. It wasn¡¯t fun, but everyone had to do it for the good of the army. Fortunately, this role, which nobody wanted, didn''t last more than a day.


    Tomorrow, he would be back with them.


    "Ah, here he comes! All handsome and clean! Well, almost clean," joked P¡¯tit Pol.


    "I''ll take a bath tonight," Adam replied a bit coldly, drawing the attention of his friends.


    "Are you okay? Is something wrong?" Louis asked with concern.


    "You can tell us anything, you know?" said Jules, moving closer to him.


    Actually, no, I can¡¯t! Damn, I can¡¯t take it anymore! It¡¯s so hard not being able to tell anyone!


    "Ah," said Jean as if he had figured something out, "it¡¯s because of a woman. She turned you down, didn¡¯t she? Hahaha!"


    Louis lightly smacked Jean on the head.


    "Hey, what?! What did I say wrong?"


    The looks from his friends made Jean realize it was better to keep quiet. P¡¯tit Pol turned to Adam, a small flame of concern in his eyes.


    "Tell us, Fran?ois. What''s the problem? If we can help, you know we¡¯re here for you."


    "I know, but I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything you can do. I¡¯m just feeling down, that¡¯s all. And it¡¯s not something I can talk about with you guys. Sorry."


    They all took on serious expressions, as this was the first time they had seen their friend in such a state. Sometimes, especially last summer, he would get a bit down, but never to this extent. And if he didn''t want to share his problems with them, they really had no idea how to help.


    "If you want to talk to someone and you¡¯re afraid of being judged, maybe you could see a priest?"


    "A priest?!"


    Adam was the most surprised, as he had never been religious. In fact, he had never even been baptized. With all the scandals he had heard about on TV or the internet, he didn¡¯t have a high opinion of those people, though he was aware they weren¡¯t all like that.


    "It¡¯s a good idea," said Jules, nodding. "Go see a priest and ask to confess. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll feel better afterward."


    M-me? Confess? Me?! Shit, they¡¯re serious!


    "I¡­ Alright, I¡¯ll try."


    Without further hesitation, the young man stood up and headed toward one of the many religious buildings in the city. The most imposing one was, of course, the Magdeburg Cathedral. It was located in the southern part of the city, literally facing the ramparts. Across from it, a large paved square allowed visitors to admire the building from a distance.


    Nearby was the royal house where some of the Duke of Richelieu''s officers were staying. The cathedral was so imposing that Adam had trouble imagining that ordinary people had built it with their hands. Not only was this edifice, erected to the glory of God, large, but it also featured numerous sculpted details. The main entrance, in particular, invited passersby to stop and admire the figures.


    On either side, a tall square tower made of stone, blackened by time, seemed to stand guard.


    Once on the forecourt, Adam hesitated.


    Do I really have to do this? I¡¯m really not comfortable. Do I even have the right to enter? And what if there are people inside?


    The corporal looked around, and seeing that no one was paying him the slightest attention, he pushed one of the black wooden doors open. Everything was so silent that for a fraction of a second, he thought he had gone deaf. Strangely, it seemed colder inside than outside.


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    The door then slammed shut behind him, making him jump.


    Fuck, that scared me!


    He took his eyes off the closed door and looked more carefully around him. The place was immense, large enough to accommodate an army. A soft, colored light faintly filtered through the few tall stained glass windows, coloring the floor and the massive stone pillars, white as chalk, supporting an impressive vault.


    Wow! It¡¯s so beautiful! And so big!


    All the religious buildings had been spared during the looting that immediately followed the capture of the city. It was fortunate because many sacred objects made of gold were visible at the back of the nave.


    Without him noticing, a man approached him. Dressed entirely in black, he seemed very old and wise, mainly because of his long white beard. He held a small but very thick book in his hands, the plain cover of which did not reveal the title. He spoke to him in German with a calm voice, though one that betrayed a certain hostility, which was perfectly understandable given that his city was occupied.


    "What can I do for you, my son?"


    "Hello, uh, Father? I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m not used to this. And I haven¡¯t mastered your language yet."


    The priest, Constantinus, looked with surprise at this young man who spoke his language relatively well, although one could clearly hear strange sounds from elsewhere in his accent. His gaze softened a bit.


    "It¡¯s alright. What can I do for you, soldier?"


    "I just need to talk to someone. To confess, I mean."


    The old clergyman simply nodded and gestured for the young man¡ªfortunately, he had come without his weapon¡ªto follow him to one of the confessionals. These were not just wooden booths but true works of art, carved with a finesse and precision that were eerily realistic.


    Quickly, Adam found himself alone, kneeling on a small dark wooden bench covered with a small purple cushion. He was facing the small door through which he had entered, and to his left was a metal grille leading to the compartment reserved for the priest.


    Constantinus entered it without making any sudden movements and positioned himself so that Adam could only see him in profile through the dense mesh of the grille.


    "Alright, whenever you¡¯re ready, we can begin."


    "Ah, um, okay. Let¡¯s do this."


    The priest made the sign of the cross, and Adam clumsily imitated him.


    "I¡­ Um, I¡¯ve never confessed before. I don¡¯t know where to start. I-is there something I¡¯m supposed to do?"


    "You¡¯ve¡­ You¡¯ve never confessed before?"


    "Yes," Adam replied shamefully, strangely embarrassed by the situation even though it was extremely common in his original time.


    "Normally," the priest began in his deepest and gentlest voice, "you would start by saying, ¡®Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been so long since my last confession.¡¯ But for you¡­ Well, it doesn¡¯t matter. Just say what¡¯s on your heart. Speak openly, for God knows everything. What sins have you committed, my son?"


    Adam looked at the priest¡¯s figure through the grille for a moment, then turned his gaze straight ahead.


    "Before I begin, can you confirm that everything I say will remain between us forever?"


    "That is correct."


    "Alright, in that case¡­ I have¡­ I have many regrets, Father. I didn¡¯t do some things I should have, and I did others that weren¡¯t good. And I¡¯ve also done horrible things."


    "Go on, my son."


    "Lately, I¡¯ve been led to do things¡­ things I didn¡¯t think I was capable of doing. Often, I had no choice, but sometimes I did, and yet I still did them. I¡¯ve stolen, I¡¯ve lied, I¡¯ve hurt people, and I¡¯ve killed."


    "These are indeed terrible sins. War, my son, is a trial, and it is not easy to resist temptation. Sometimes, to protect oneself, it is necessary to do terrible things, but as long as it is not done with ill intent, God can understand, for God is good and merciful. Do you regret these things you did when you could have done otherwise?"


    "Yes, Father. I regret them. But I also regret doing those other things. I could have fled, dropped my rifle¡­ I mean, dropped my musket and left this war, which isn¡¯t mine, far behind. I could have tried to find my way home on my own. But I didn¡¯t. I was scared. I¡¯m still scared."


    "We all return home eventually, one way or another. Like the homing pigeon, even if it is days away from its coop, it knows it will return one day."


    Adam''s throat tightened, and a warm tear began to roll down his cheek. With a trembling hand, he wiped it away, but others kept coming continuously. His emotions, now that he had started to open up to someone, were becoming uncontrollable.


    "In my case, I¡­ I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll never make it home. I would love so much to see my parents again, my sister, my cat and dog, and my friends too. Even if I didn¡¯t get killed during this damn¡­ sorry, this cursed war. That¡¯s my other great regret, Father. Not being able to make things right with my family. I¡­ I haven¡¯t been a good son."


    "Why do you say that? Have you also sinned against your family?" the priest asked in a reproachful tone.


    "Yes."


    "Have you lied?"


    "Yes."


    "Have you been disrespectful?"


    "Yes."


    "Have you been violent?"


    "No. Never."


    Although I did really argue with my sister a few times.


    "Have you stolen?"


    Adam was about to say he had never done that before, but then he remembered he was guilty, and for such foolish reasons! He recalled slipping his hand into his mother¡¯s wallet and taking a few bills to buy soda and snacks between classes at the nearby convenience store.


    "Yes."


    "Do you regret it?"


    "So much that it makes me sick and keeps me from sleeping."


    "Then you are on the right path to obtaining God¡¯s forgiveness. But first, you need your parents¡¯ forgiveness."


    "I-I¡¯d really like that, but I can¡¯t," Adam whimpered, his face now bathed in tears, twisted with sadness and despair.


    "Why?" the priest insisted impatiently. "Are they with God?"


    "No, Father."


    "Then why can¡¯t you ask for their forgiveness?"


    "Because they don¡¯t exist yet¡­ They haven¡¯t been born yet," Adam finally confessed.


    The old Constantinus thought he had misheard and slowly turned towards the grille to observe his penitent.


    "Pardon? What did you say?"


    "Th-they haven¡¯t been born yet," Adam repeated in a trembling voice, resisting the urge to turn towards the priest. "They won¡¯t be born for another two hundred years, roughly. And neither will I. Maybe. I¡­ I traveled through time while I was on a trip abroad without being able to say goodbye or tell them I loved them. It¡¯s been¡­ about eight months now that I¡¯ve been stuck here, in this time. And I don¡¯t know how to get home, or even if there¡¯s a way. I have a little hope, but if it doesn¡¯t work, I really don¡¯t know what to do. I¡­ I¡¯m so scared of spending my life here, Father!"


    "¡­"


    "Father?" Adam asked with concern.


    The old priest, hands clenched around his small prayer book, didn¡¯t know how to respond, so he decided to remain silent for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.


    "Sorry. Yes, um¡­ That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s indeed complicated."


    Adam couldn¡¯t even imagine what the priest must have looked like at that moment. Behind the grille, he must have been staring at him like a madman, or worse, and sweating profusely. Because of the barrier between them, he could barely see the old man with the long white beard.


    "Even though I¡¯ve made some good friends, I can¡¯t tell them everything, I can¡¯t share my problems. I believe¡ªno, I¡¯m sure¡ªthey won¡¯t understand. How could they? They might even hate me. So I¡¯ve kept it all to myself¡­ and it¡¯s eating me up inside. You¡¯re the first person I¡¯ve talked to about it since I¡¯ve been here, Father. Thank you."


    "Kuhum! Y-you¡¯re welcome, I¡­ I¡¯m here for that. But, um, when you say you¡¯re from the future, you really mean the future? That is, you know what¡¯s going to happen?"


    "Well, in broad strokes, yes. The time I come from is very different from this one. In fact, since I¡¯ve been here, I realize how much the world has changed in just a short time over the past few decades. Here, there are places that don¡¯t seem to have changed since the Middle Ages. But in my time, cities change very quickly. That¡¯s because technology is evolving faster and faster."


    Adam then began to describe the 21st century, and the more he spoke, the more excited he became. Conversely, the priest felt his strength leaving him. Adam spoke of strange enchanted carriages powered by invisible horses, others capable of flying high above the birds and clouds, ships without sails, some of which could even go underwater, magical messages that could reach the other side of the world in the blink of an eye, and many other things besides!


    It all seemed unbelievable, but the more this young man talked, the more the doubt grew in the priest¡¯s mind. It was so detailed, with so few hesitations, that the priest hadn¡¯t had time to find a flaw in this ridiculous story. No one in the world could imagine such nonsense! Above all, there was no reason to invent all these things and events supposedly happening in less than two centuries.


    Trembling like a leaf, his eyes wide and his breath short as if after intense exertion, he watched the young French soldier leave his compartment with a relieved smile. He barely heard him from his compartment, thanking him for listening for so long.


    The priest didn¡¯t even have the strength to react. When he finally emerged from his compartment, he looked like he had endured a torture session.


    Stumbling, he made his way to a hard wooden bench where he didn¡¯t move again. Slowly, he felt himself tipping to one side.


    When they found him an hour later, he was already cold. He had taken with him all the secrets that had been entrusted to him over the decades, secrets that had proven too heavy to bear.

 Chapter 30: Prince Augustus Ferdinand Of Prussia

    Hans Joachim von Zieten, Heinrich August de la Motte-Fouqu¨¦, and August Wilhelm of Brunswick-Bevern were caught in a race against time. They quickly set to work to seek allies, knowing that even the slightest misstep could be fatal. Acting swiftly without alerting their enemies in Berlin¡ªnow that was a challenge!


    After a rigorous selection of their contacts, only a handful of names remained. It wasn''t much, but behind each name stood highly skilled and loyal troops.


    But that wasn''t enough. What they needed were large numbers of troops to confront the Franco-Imperial armies, surround, and eliminate them. Moreover, these troops needed to be properly equipped since it was unthinkable to send them to the front without powder or muskets.


    This was Friedrich Ludwig Finck von Finckenstein¡¯s primary mission. He had the advantage of being positioned in the north of the kingdom, close to the sea and their only ally, Great Britain.


    Since the beginning of December, they had been receiving regular shipments of military equipment and funds by sea to continue the fight.


    No one was fooled: if their ally was being so generous, it wasn''t out of pure kindness but to prolong the conflict on the continent and keep a significant portion of Louis XV¡¯s army tied up.


    Friedrich Ludwig did not return to East Prussia but instead headed to Western Pomerania, a vast region conquered a century earlier by the Great Elector Frederick William, father of the first King of Prussia. This was where British ships were unloading their precious cargo. They departed from southern England, crossed the North Sea, rounded the Danish peninsula, entered the Baltic Sea, and arrived at the discreet port of Kolberg.


    The location was so insignificant that it had not been deemed necessary to build walls or a fortress there. Few European officers knew of its existence, making it an ideal spot to deposit arms, tents, powder, and gold. Of course, all of this arrived under another flag. With the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway being neutral and so close, it was easy to disguise these ships as mere merchant vessels of that state.


    However, they had to be cautious, as Swedish ships patrolled these waters, which they considered their own, just as the English Channel belonged to Great Britain or the Caribbean to Spain.


    On the day Friedrich Ludwig arrived in Kolberg, two small ships docked. The wood of their hulls was dark, likely more from years of service than the tar waterproofing them. When he saw them mooring, he even wondered how these ships could still sail.


    But as he got closer, he realized that the aging of the wood had been faked, and it wasn¡¯t in as bad a state as it appeared.


    Under tight security, heavy crates and large barrels were unloaded. Everything was quickly stored, under the watchful eye of the officer, while the captains of the two ships exchanged a few words with an infantry captain. The man, who couldn¡¯t have been forty, quickly saluted as soon as he saw Friedrich Ludwig approaching.


    "My general!"


    "At ease, major. Gentlemen, good day," Friedrich Ludwig said to the two ship captains.


    "Um, forgive me, my general, but these gentlemen don''t speak our language very well. If you wish, I can translate for you."


    "That won¡¯t be necessary. I speak English."


    The division general turned again to the two men, whose skin appeared weathered by the sea salt and repeated assaults from the sun.


    "Gentlemen," he said in their language, "what do you bring?"


    "Muskets, powder, and military tents," replied one of them in the same language. "As for the muskets, they aren''t the latest models, but I can assure you they are not only functional but of very high quality. They will kill your enemies without any problem."


    "Hmm, good. Is that all we are expecting? Do you have artillery?"


    The two captains exchanged a quick glance, visibly embarrassed.


    "My lord, transporting artillery is not an easy task, especially in these difficult times. Our king needs every piece to defend his coasts and arm his ships."


    "I understand, but His Majesty must also understand that a battle fought without artillery against an enemy who possesses it can only be lost, no matter how many troops the commander has. Can you convey that to your employers to inform His Majesty?"


    "I... We will deliver your request," said the sailor, bowing respectfully.


    The Prussian general, who would celebrate his forty-ninth birthday in exactly three months, cast his eagle-eyed gaze over the cargo being unloaded. He seemed fairly satisfied with what he saw.


    "When will the next shipment arrive?" he asked with anticipation, estimating that it was far from enough to arm a force large enough to challenge France and the Holy Roman Empire.


    "In two weeks," replied the older captain, displaying a carefully trimmed white beard.


    "So late? Can¡¯t you bring them faster?"


    Damn it! Even though we''ve received a lot of material, it''s far from enough. If we fail because of their slowness...


    "My lord," responded the younger of the captains, "it''s not so easy. We have to gather all this material, load it discreetly, and bring it on very slow vessels to avoid alerting the enemy. If we speed up, our regular passages will eventually attract the attention of other nations!"


    Friedrich let out a deep sigh of resignation.


    "In that case, there¡¯s nothing we can do. Major, immediately load all this onto wagons and ensure everything arrives at this location."


    He handed him a small note, then a purse to each man for their silence.


    ***


    The problem with secrets was that sooner or later they ended up being revealed because the moment they were shared, they ceased to be secrets. They simply became information known to a small number of people. Trouble began when this information spread and reached the ears of the wrong people.


    In this particular case, it involved suspicious movements by certain high-ranking officers and the unauthorized transportation of a large amount of military equipment.


    When this reached the desk of Prince Ferdinand, grieving the loss of his brother, Prince Augustus William, at just thirty-five years old, he didn¡¯t know how to react immediately. After all, these were important names. All were seasoned men, known for their bravery and integrity.


    They must have good reasons. It¡¯s¡­ it must be to defend the kingdom against foreign armies preparing and strengthening at our borders.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    In the absence of his elder brother, the king, Prince Augustus Ferdinand had to manage all the affairs of the kingdom, which exhausted him and kept him awake until very late hours. He now slept only a few hours per night, and it showed in his eyes despite his makeup. At twenty-seven, he looked thirty-five. But he didn¡¯t complain, for others shared his burden.


    Like him, his brother¡¯s ministers and diplomats worked tirelessly every day for the good of the kingdom. Progress was being made, but sometimes he felt as if he wasn¡¯t advancing, like being on a ship pushed by opposing winds and currents.


    The rumors, mostly false, that circulated in the city troubled him deeply. The people of Berlin were restless, and he feared that, due to some misunderstanding, they might decide to take matters into their own hands and physically target foreign diplomats and their own.


    He had discussed this at length with his ministers and hesitated greatly over the best strategy to adopt. One thing was certain: sending the army would only aggravate the situation.


    I feel like I¡¯m sitting on a powder keg!


    "Your Highness? Lord Finckenstein has arrived."


    "Ah, very well. Have him come in. I¡¯ll see him."


    I hope he can give me good advice. Even though I don¡¯t agree with him on many points, he is a competent man, loyal to my brother and the kingdom.


    The minister didn¡¯t take long to enter the vast study and found a prince who was almost unrecognizable. He himself had changed a lot. The most significant consequence for him had been a significant weight loss. He had been forced to visit the tailor for new outfits. Around his neck hung the splendid medal he had received when he became an honorary member of the Royal Academy of Sciences of Prussia.


    "Thank you for coming so quickly, my lord."


    "I am the kingdom''s servant, Your Highness," he sincerely replied, bowing very low. "How may I serve you?"


    "I need your advice, minister. I am very worried about the unrest in the city. I fear that in their anger, they may attack our people and those from other states who have come to Berlin to negotiate peace. What do you suggest?"


    "Your Highness, your concern is reasonable, but isn¡¯t it enough to calm the people¡¯s anger to avoid such an incident, which would be a great humiliation?"


    "Certainly, but how? We have tried many times, but they don¡¯t listen to us. I even feel that the more we try to appease them, the more their anger grows."


    Minister von Finckenstein remained silent for a moment, observing the prince as if trying to assess him. This made the prince feel quite uneasy.


    "Your Highness, may I speak honestly?"


    "Please do," replied the prince, making a small, elegant hand gesture.


    "The people aren¡¯t angry, they¡¯re afraid. Afraid of what this peace treaty, which has been discussed for months behind closed doors, will contain. Because they know nothing of what¡¯s happening right now, they fear the worst, and I¡¯m afraid they may be right. The current situation of our kingdom is dire. The consequences for them and the kingdom can only be terrible as well. What they need is a bit of hope."


    "Hope? How? If you¡¯re talking about waging a major battle during the negotiations, I believe I¡¯ve been clear. We don¡¯t have the resources! And the outcome would be too uncertain. In the event of defeat, the people of Berlin might storm the royal palace."


    "In that case, there¡¯s only one solution."


    "And what is that?" pressed the prince, his heart pounding with anticipation and dread.


    "Do everything in your power to free His Majesty and His Highness before the signing of this treaty.


    The people will be relieved, and perhaps we can regain the upper hand during the negotiations on the battlefield."


    The prince trembled, but what the minister said made sense.


    "Minister, the ransom for His Majesty..."


    "Is negligible compared to the fate of the kingdom, Your Highness."


    "Very well. Thank you for your advice. You¡¯ve been a great help, and I see things more clearly."


    "I am your servant," replied the politician, who seemed strangely relieved.


    Prince Ferdinand let out a deep sigh and summoned someone to inform the French and Prussian diplomats, locked away in other parts of the palace, that he was ready to pay the ransom demanded by His Majesty Louis XV for His Majesty Frederick II and His Highness Prince Henry.


    But just as he had finished dismissing the servant, another appeared, sweat beading on his forehead and looking utterly distressed.


    "Y-Your Highness!"


    "Hmm?! What¡¯s going on?!"


    Immediately, the prince imagined the worst. That one of his brothers had died or was suffering during their captivity; that the people of Berlin had risen up against the Crown; that the French, Imperials, Russians, Swedes, or Austrians had decided to launch a major attack somewhere; that an incident had occurred in one of the negotiation rooms, or something else.


    "Your Majesty, a man has presented himself at the palace gates, claiming to possess information of the utmost importance! He says he¡¯s an agent in service of His Majesty!"


    Ferdinand had read espionage reports before, but he had never met a single spy, as their identity had to remain secret, naturally. Announcing oneself so openly at his doors was tantamount to condemning oneself or one¡¯s career.


    This... This must be really urgent!


    "Bring him up, but use the other passage. He must not cross paths with anyone on his way here. The guards at the door must be immediately kept in isolation!"


    "It¡¯s already done, Your Highness!"


    There were several passages, as in almost any palace worthy of the name. Some were known to ministers, courtiers, and servants; but there were others, known only to a select few, reserved for the inner circle of His Majesty and, possibly, his agents.


    Shortly after, the faithful servant, who had spent his life in service to the Crown, returned accompanied by an old man whose modest appearance contrasted with the importance of his profession. Dressed in a brown coat matching his breeches and a burgundy waistcoat, nothing about him suggested that this man worked in the shadows of His Majesty for the good of the kingdom.


    His long hair, naturally white like snow, was tied back into a long ponytail that brushed between his shoulder blades with each movement. This was a notable feature of the man, but his eyes were even more striking. They were so sharp that it felt as though one were dealing with a much younger man. There was a power in them that commanded respect, similar to that of veterans who had fought many wars.


    "Your Highness, thank you for receiving me. It is an honor to meet you, even though the circumstances are dire."


    What?! This is my brother''s spy?! But he¡¯s an old man! Ah, but that gaze! It chills me to the bone! There¡¯s no doubt he has gathered much experience! Perhaps he¡¯s been serving the kingdom as long as my brother?


    A shiver slowly ran through the prince¡¯s young body.


    "O-One has told me that you have information of the utmost importance to deliver. What is it?"


    "Yes, Your Highness. I regret to inform you that several generals and high-ranking officers have betrayed His Majesty and gone over to the enemy. They are, at this very moment, gathering their armies to defect and offer themselves to the French and the Imperials, along with a vast amount of military equipment!"


    "What?!"


    The prince could hardly believe what he was hearing, so shocked was he. He knew, of course, who this man was talking about.


    They did this?! They dared?!


    "The leaders of this group are Messrs. von Zieten, von Finckenstein, de la Motte-Fouqu¨¦, and Brunswick-Bevern."


    "Von Finckenstein..." murmured the prince, not expecting to hear that name.


    So you too have betrayed us...


    "Here is the proof, Your Highness, of their treason," said the old man, handing over a series of letters, all signed and dated. "I fear that seeing peace about to be signed with our enemies, they decided to abandon the kingdom, their honor, and His Majesty in order to preserve their estates, enrich themselves, and possibly gain favorable treatment from our enemies."


    As he spoke, the prince nervously scanned the various documents. Each was more incriminating than the last! One of them directly implicated Minister von Finckenstein, in league with his brother.


    Time seemed to freeze in the study.


    Disappointment gave way to wild, destructive rage. His breathing became short and heavy, while his heart pounded violently in his chest, echoing in his head like a war drum. His blood began to boil in his veins, preventing him from thinking clearly. He felt a monstrous, uncontrollable urge to kill and destroy everything around him.


    Those who knew the prince well understood how gentle and calm he normally was. If they could see him now, they would surely believe they were dealing with a completely different person.


    When his voice finally rose, it cracked like thunder.


    "Arrest Minister von Finckenstein immediately! He must still be in the palace! And arrest Messrs. von Zieten, von Finckenstein, de la Motte-Fouqu¨¦, and Brunswick-Bevern for high treason, right now!" roared the prince, his voice echoing throughout the palace.


    The spy, John Ingham, smiled inwardly. Within minutes, at the palace gates, the minister was seized, pale with terror and anger, proclaiming his innocence and accusing the prince of betraying his own blood and kingdom.


    New rumors quickly spread through Berlin, adding to the many others, and making the people of Berlin even more anxious about their future.

 Chapter 31: Loneliness

    Confessing had done Adam a lot of good. For a brief moment, he had felt relieved of the immense weight that had been crushing both his body and his mind.


    As he left the cathedral, he felt liberated, but that feeling didn¡¯t last more than a week. Even though he had been able to share his problems with someone, they hadn¡¯t disappeared. He still felt like a stranger in this time, if not in this world, as it was so different from the one he knew. More than an intruder, he saw himself as an impostor. He was pretending to be someone he was not, spending his days playing a role. Often, he doubted. Was he playing his role, or was he acting sincerely? This question kept coming back and haunted him even in his dreams.


    This feeling manifested itself as a strong sense of loneliness. Even though there were people around him, he was the only one with these problems.


    As Jean had hinted a little before he went to the Magdeburg Cathedral, he had tried to chase away his loneliness by getting closer to a girl, a local named Ida. She was younger than him as Fran?ois, but a bit older than him as Adam.


    She was very beautiful, fresh as morning dew, sparkling like fireworks, and full of energy. She radiated an aura of purity that one could only find in children from his original era, whose minds were still untouched by everything found on the Internet and television. She also had a rural charm that made you want to simply walk with her through wheat fields and pick wildflowers.


    ¡°Haaa¡­¡±


    A long moan echoed near his ear.


    He could feel her warm breath on his neck and the softness of her skin against his. Her breasts, round and generous, far more so than Brunhilde¡¯s or Joanna¡¯s, rubbed against his muscular chest, the result of several months of rigorous training.


    ¡°Haaa, yes!¡±


    Her nails, long and cruel like a tiger¡¯s claws, dug into the skin of his back, while her splendid and seductive body, like that of a succubus, wrapped around him.


    Despite being stimulated by all the sensations flooding his brain, the young corporal felt empty. He had high expectations when entering this room lit by two candles, but he couldn¡¯t focus on the moment or truly enjoy it. It was almost as if he were moving like a robot.


    Adam decided to quicken the pace and became more aggressive as if to drown out his thoughts. Surprised, the woman let out a high-pitched cry and bit his neck lightly before softly kissing him in the same spot. Her blood-red, plump lips invited anyone who saw them to press theirs against hers and devour them like a sweet treat.


    Lying on top of her, Adam couldn¡¯t see the expression on her face, but her moans and jerky movements left little doubt about his ability to satisfy his partner for the night.


    Is she faking it? Is this her way of playing her role? If so, it¡¯s very convincing, thought the young man, his muscles tense, especially in his arms, as they worked hard to keep from crushing the woman.


    They responded to each other¡¯s gestures, adjusting their movements to reach a higher level of pleasure, as if they were having a silent conversation. Adam felt the brunette¡¯s legs slide up his hips and lock around him as if to hold him captive.


    Even though he should have been pleased by the seemingly genuine reactions of the young woman, the emptiness inside him grew deeper, intensifying his discomfort when he should have been happy to spend the night with such a beautiful woman. Almost out of guilt, he kissed her neck while caressing her with his firm, calloused hands.


    ¡°O-oh, yes! K-keep going!¡± she murmured, her body growing warmer by the second.


    I don¡¯t intend to stop now, Adam thought inwardly, maintaining the intense pace.


    The temperature in the room had steadily risen since they began their game in the bed. Now, it was like a sauna. A powerful scent emanated from their two sweat-covered bodies, but neither of them cared. All they thought about were their senses, stimulated to the extreme.


    Feeling boredom creeping in, Adam had an idea.


    Let¡¯s try this position. Maybe it¡¯ll help me refocus. Damn it, what¡¯s wrong with me?! Why am I not satisfied?! Why do I feel so alone?!


    The French soldier detached his lips from the neck of the young woman with long, dark hair cascading like a river of ink over her white shoulders and sat up. The movement surprised the woman, but she let him continue, as he seemed to know what he was doing.


    ¡°W-what?¡±


    Now, he could better admire her beauty. She had a devilish charm with her perfect curves and delicate features. Her chest glistened with sweat under the soft glow of the candles, casting their dancing shadows on the simple, cracked walls.


    ¡°Just relax, I think you¡¯re going to like this,¡± Adam whispered as he positioned his hands under the woman¡¯s round, tender thighs, who was both intrigued and excited.


    Anyway, this seemed to work in the pornos I¡¯ve seen. I think it went like this¡­


    Slowly, he lifted the long, slender legs of his partner, and soon they were resting on Adam¡¯s shoulders. More and more surprised, she watched the soldier resume his movements, and instantly she understood. New sensations, new stimulation. She felt as though she might lose her mind.


    ¡°Oh! Oooooh, my God! Oh, my God! Ah! Yes! It¡¯s good!¡± she gasped, breathless.


    Her cries, louder than ever, echoed throughout the building they occupied, attracting the attention of the soldiers sitting and chatting downstairs, sheltered from the hailstorm whitening the streets. It should have embarrassed them, but these were Richelieu¡¯s soldiers. They had seen, heard, and done far worse since the beginning of this campaign. Then again¡­ That woman with whom the young corporal had gone upstairs was screaming awfully loud.


    The bed, which they could clearly hear, was hitting the wall violently and at regular intervals, so much so that it seemed like the wall might give way.


    Finally, there was a loud cry, and everything stopped.


    A few moments later, the corporal reappeared, his face impassive and his purse lighter. Indeed, this woman wasn¡¯t the one he had tried to seduce a few days earlier, but a prostitute. She had been following the army since practically the first day, making her living by renting out her splendid body.


    Her name was Agn¨¨s, and she was very popular within the army. Almost every soldier, at least those who could afford it, had used her services. Even the officers paid her visits. She was indeed very expensive, as she was the most beautiful among all the women who followed the army with the sole purpose of getting rich. Some hoped to find among these men a protector who would become their husband.


    As for the young and innocent Ida, Adam had not been able to seduce her despite his handsome face. To be completely honest, he had miserably failed and had been rejected like never before. It had shocked him, as he had confidence in his face and well-built body. Even in his original time, he had never been rejected in such a way. He had no choice but to accept it and hadn¡¯t approached her since.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    However, the young woman seemed somewhat receptive to his charms. They had spoken a few times, and she smiled at him. And what a smile! She could have been mistaken for an angel fallen from the sky!


    Ida had beautiful blonde hair, as golden as wheat and carefully braided, very beautiful blue eyes like a summer sky, and skin as white as fresh milk. She was one of the three daughters of a local craftsman, a weaver, who was neither rich nor poor.


    On the fifth of February, the morning of the day he went to the cathedral for his very first confession, he had gone to see her and had taken his chance by approaching her face-to-face. He had tried to hold her by the hips and wanted to kiss her, but she had stepped back three paces to escape him. Her face had then become terribly serious, and her smile had suddenly disappeared.


    When he tried to ask her what was wrong, whether he was moving too fast, she had almost gotten angry. Adam was completely lost at that moment because, from his perspective, there was nothing wrong with his actions. He had tried, she had said no, and that was that. But not for her, apparently.


    To her, what he had attempted to do was not insignificant. Relationships between a man and a woman, she had explained, were very serious matters that involved more than just the two lovers. In fact, it could very much affect the reputation of the young girl and her family, starting with her parents.


    Adam was a soldier, a French soldier, no less. His fate was to leave and possibly never return. Even if his intentions were clear, which they weren¡¯t as marriage hadn¡¯t been mentioned, he remained, and would forever remain, a stranger and an invader.


    Ida¡¯s parents would never accept such a relationship. And if they decided to be intimate despite that, her reputation, as well as her father¡¯s, would be ruined! She would be dishonored, and if he decided to abandon her, no one else would want her. It would be even worse if she were to become pregnant by misfortune. She would be condemned to live alone in shame with a fatherless child!


    Adam had been so taken aback by all this that he was left speechless.


    While he had noticed many differences between his time and this one, there were still many things he needed to understand. He severely lacked common sense, and what had happened that day was proof of that.


    He had thus realized that, unlike in his time, women in this era cared greatly about their reputation and that of their family, and they didn¡¯t see relationships outside of marriage in a positive light. Here, women often married without having a say, for the good of the family and for their own security, as the man had the sacred duty of caring for and supporting his wife.


    He had struggled to understand all of this and initially thought it was a joke. He had then made the mistake of taking it lightly, which had truly angered young Ida. He had imagined that the beautiful blonde was simply shy, but that was not the case.


    She had then been clearer and had asked never to see him again.


    "Well, you sure made a lot of noise, corporal! Haha! We thought you were trying to destroy this house!"


    The soldiers, even though they were of a lower rank than him, laughed heartily when they heard their comrade, a huge, vulgar-looking man, physically close to Jean¡¯s build.


    Adam didn¡¯t reply and walked to the counter where he ordered a beer. In no time, his drink was ready and placed in front of him. It didn¡¯t taste great, but he was very thirsty after such an effort. The liquid disappeared in just a few gulps, which inspired a bit of respect from the soldiers, even though they too could hold their liquor.


    Before he realized it, he was involved in a drinking contest with other soldiers, including the tall one, a French grenadier named Martin Lesaint. He didn¡¯t try to avoid it and even hoped to forget his loneliness, which seemed even deeper than before, with a large quantity of alcohol.


    His vision was blurry, and his steps unsteady. Fortunately, the beers he had drunk were not very strong, because otherwise, he would have been rolling on the ground, and it¡¯s a wreck that Captain Gilbert would have found when entering Mauritz¡¯s tavern, or Moe¡¯s, as the regulars called it.


    ¡°Come on, pull yourself together!¡± ordered the captain, very upset and disappointed with his corporal¡¯s behavior.


    ¡°Y-yes!¡± mumbled Adam, following his officer as best he could to the royal house.


    He tried his hardest to walk properly, but it was hard to appear sober. The uneven ground, scattered with large foul-smelling puddles here and there, seemed unstable, and the walls wobbled like the surface of the ocean. His attention drifted like an abandoned lifeboat after a shipwreck, and he had a taste of vomit in his mouth.


    His meal had ended up in a large pot not far from Mauritz¡¯s counter after a few beers, while the grenadier Martin Lesaint was still standing and drinking his umpteenth beer without difficulty. By the end, he had lost count, but kept drinking everything that was served to him.


    ¡°Stand up straight and adjust that uniform!¡± grumbled the captain, helping him in front of the door to the office that the colonel occupied. ¡°Alright, it¡¯s not great, but it¡¯ll do. Just try to talk as little as possible, okay?¡±


    ¡°U-understood.¡±


    Even with that much alcohol in his blood, Adam¡¯s mind was clear enough to understand that he was in trouble or soon would be if he misbehaved in front of Colonel de Br¨¦hant, whom he was now supposed to meet.


    KNOCK KNOCK


    ¡°Colonel, I¡¯ve brought Corporal Fran?ois Boucher as you ordered.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, captain. You may stay; this won¡¯t take long. Corporal, the reason I¡¯ve asked to see you is to inform you of the progress regarding the ransom for His Majesty the King of Prussia and His Highness Prince Henry, as promised.¡±


    Immediately, Fran?ois¡ªor rather Adam¡ªfelt his mind clear. Discreetly, he wiped his sweaty hands on the fabric of his uniform.


    ¡°The ransom for King Frederick II has been set at one hundred and fifty thousand livres and for his brother at one hundred thousand livres.¡±


    Hearing these figures, Adam was shocked because since his time travel, he had learned, at least partially, the value of money in this era. A simple infantry soldier earned about ten livres per month. From that, he could roughly imagine the fortune this amount represented.


    Of course, it was important to remember that at Rossbach, many other officers and soldiers had been captured, which meant that the King of France was going to make a lot of money. Typically, a third of it went to the king. Since the Duke of Richelieu was responsible for this great victory, he was bound to receive a significant share of all the ransoms.


    "To give you a comparison," the colonel thought it wise to add, "an infantry soldier can be ransomed by the enemy for four livres."


    "F-four livres?!"


    Is that all we''re worth?! What is that, the equivalent of ten chickens?!


    "You¡¯ll receive your share as soon as His Majesty has collected the portion that is rightfully his, as well as His Grace the Duke of Richelieu and his most deserving officers. However, this may take some time, so I ask you to be patient and not to waste all your wages foolishly, whether it be on women of low virtue¡­ or alcohol."


    Immediately, Adam felt his face flush with shame. It was as if he had been caught with his hand in a jar of sweets.


    "I-I¡­ I apologize, my lord!"


    The colonel looked alternately at the corporal and the captain standing before him.


    "Corporal, a mistake is only a mistake as long as it¡¯s corrected. It becomes a fault when it is repeated, knowing that what you¡¯re doing is wrong. It is bad for you as well as for the men under your responsibility. If you want to keep your rank and progress within the King¡¯s armies, you must become an example, a source of inspiration."


    "Y-yes, Colonel!"


    "Then prove yourself worthy of your stripes and behave accordingly. Alcohol turns people into fools, and as for women, they are a constant temptation for men. They invite disorder, laziness, and lust. Keep your distance, and you¡¯ll be better off. And your purse will thank you for it."


    "M-may I ask, Colonel, how I should use the money I¡¯ll receive from the ransoms for His Majesty and His Highness?"


    "Well, you could send it in full or in part to your family, where it would be safe. Or you could purchase a charge, for example."


    Purchase a charge? Ah! He means buy a rank! I can do that? Ah, but I don¡¯t know what rank I can buy with the money I¡¯ll receive! I don¡¯t even know how much I¡¯ll get!


    "C-could I buy a captain¡¯s charge?"


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant and Captain Gilbert had the same reaction, raising an eyebrow in surprise at the bold statement from this young corporal. Seeing their reaction, Adam belatedly realized that he had just said something foolish.


    "Young man," the colonel began patiently, "do not underestimate the value of ranks. That of captain is an officer¡¯s rank. Not all charges can be purchased with gold. Even if you had the money, His Majesty, along with many nobles, would oppose such a purchase. It¡¯s simply not reasonable."


    "Oh..." Adam murmured with disappointment. He wanted to rise in rank as quickly as possible and hold a high position in this army.


    Oddly, he attached great importance to it, despite having no desire to stay in this time period. He dreamed of the day he could finally search the Hameln region to find Fran?ois¡¯s watch and possibly return home.


    "However," the colonel continued, "it¡¯s not impossible to purchase a lieutenant¡¯s charge."


    "M-my colonel?!" Captain Gilbert interjected, shocked by these words. "He¡¯s only twenty!"


    "Well? Do you think that prevents some from placing their sons in prestigious positions at indecently young ages? Of course, it won¡¯t be easy. You¡¯ll need to convince His Majesty. To do that, you must show impeccable behavior¡­ and have a very highly placed ally. A colonel, for instance."

 Chapter 32: A Flood Of News

    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 Wolfenb¨¹ttel, 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-Fouqu¨¦.


    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-Fouqu¨¦. ¡°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-Wolfenb¨¹ttel, nephew of His Majesty and the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg, 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-Fouqu¨¦.


    "Our chances of victory are growing," confirmed August Wilhelm, Duke of Brunswick-Bevern. "My cousin, the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenb¨¹ttel-L¨¹neburg, 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-L¨¹neburg, 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."


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "This is very good news! With them and the men the Crown Prince of Brunswick-Wolfenb¨¹ttel 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 K?nigsberg! 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 K?nigsberg 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-Fouqu¨¦. "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-L¨¹neburg 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!"

 Chapter 33: Improvising

    The streets of Berlin were plunged into darkness, wrapped in a light fog. It was barely possible to make out the dim glow of lanterns and candles through the windows.


    At this time of year, night fell early, giving the false impression that it was very late. Few people walked these wide, well-paved streets in some areas; narrow, winding, and dirty in others.


    The tranquility of the early evening was occasionally disrupted by the passage of a carriage pulled by one or two sturdy horses. The solid wooden wheels creaked and clattered over the polished cobblestones, jostling the passengers every time they fell into a hole where a cobblestone should have been.


    With the recent rains, these holes had filled with water, forming large brown puddles where bits of straw and excrement floated.


    The smell was foul, even in these fine neighborhoods where the houses competed with one another in their architecture and beautiful facades. At night and in this weather, there was nothing to distinguish Berlin from London or Paris.


    In the end, John Ingham thought, all the major cities of Europe look the same. There are subtle differences, but the layout and architecture are the same. And the smell is the same.


    The English spy frowned as he narrowly avoided a pile of dung left by a horse, visibly trampled on by a man with large feet. The tracks indicated that he had tried to clean his shoe on a cobblestone a little further along, and when that wasn¡¯t enough, he had tried again a little further on.


    Raising his gaze slightly, beyond a few rooftops, he could make out the massive figure of the royal palace. It was barely visible through the fog. The complex of buildings was difficult to distinguish in the thick grayness, reduced to a large, looming shadow in the darkness. One could easily have ignored it were it not for the many lights piercing through the tall windows.


    Hmm, it really feels like London... What rotten weather! At my age, I should be warm by the fire, not out working like a dog! I really need to quit this job.


    These thoughts had been recurring more and more often, and he was well aware of it. It was a clear sign that he no longer found any pleasure in playing a role in the shadow of great lords. The excitement had given way to weariness and bitterness. It wasn¡¯t the life of lies that bothered him most, but rather the constant state of alert, the ever-present fear of being caught. After more than thirty years in the field¡ªan uncommon feat¡ªthis fear had not disappeared. Without the excitement he had once felt long ago, thinking he was rendering a great service to the Crown and to a prominent figure in his kingdom, only the negative aspects remained.


    Damn, not only do I have to work in this weather, but I also have to work in a hurry! I really hate this!


    Indeed, John Ingham had been contacted through various intermediaries by the British ambassador to Berlin. He had been asked to do more to disrupt the ongoing negotiations between France and its allies on one side and the Kingdom of Prussia on the other. Apparently, it was urgent.


    "Ah..."


    A deep sigh escaped from his narrow lips and was lost in the silence of the night.


    I really hate this. Does he think it''s easy? That I¡¯m all-powerful? I¡¯d like to see him in my place!


    John Ingham continued his solitary walk down a major street in the city, wide enough to let two carts pass without any problem, and saw a bright glow behind large windows. Cheerful, lively music escaped from the building, inviting those inside to dance and those outside to enter.


    It was a fairly prominent tavern in the city, usually very busy. That had diminished somewhat due to the general circumstances, but it was doing better than other establishments whose business had plummeted.


    This exception was explained by the regular patronage of foreign soldiers, particularly French ones. They had come to Berlin as an escort for the diplomats, but unlike them, they weren¡¯t housed and fed at the Royal Palace.


    There were many stories and rumors about them, so much so that the regular clientele had fled the place to avoid trouble. Fights fueled by alcohol were a daily occurrence, but they paid well.


    Ingham¡¯s expression became more serious as he approached the establishment.


    Ah, I hate improvising like this...


    He slipped into a dark alley nearby and took a deep breath before striking himself violently in the face. His fist hit his jaw with such force that he staggered back a few steps. As soon as he regained his composure, he punched himself in the face again and slammed his forehead against the nearest wall.


    Bandits wouldn¡¯t be any less violent with him, yet he didn¡¯t make a sound.


    If anyone saw him, they would probably think him mad and quickly walk away, pretending they had seen nothing.


    There, that should do it. No, something''s missing.


    He then began to dishevel his clothes and rolled around on the ground like an animal.


    When he emerged from the alley, he was unrecognizable. It was as if an entire squad had trampled him.


    He positioned himself in a corner, across from the tavern, under a lantern to make himself clearly visible, and waited in the cold.


    ***


    "Ahaha! Hey, Baptiste, order another bottle!


    "Where are you going?" asked the soldier, his blurry eyes turning to his friend Joseph, who was getting up and heading for the exit. "Y-you¡¯re leaving already?!


    "No, you idiot, I¡¯m just going to take a piss! I can¡¯t take it anymore! I feel like I¡¯m gonna explode!"


    The laughter was so loud and plentiful in the large hall that everyone had to speak loudly to be heard. The louder one group spoke, the louder the next group had to speak to be heard in turn. Eventually, everyone was shouting.


    The heat was unbearable, a stark contrast to the cold air outside the large tavern, but less so than the smell. It reeked of alcohol, sweat, and vomit, as one of them¡ªa young lad¡ªhad thrown up in the middle of the room. He hadn¡¯t had the time or energy to get up and relieve himself outside. In truth, he wasn¡¯t even conscious. At some point, though no one could say exactly when, he had started to fall asleep in his chair while playing cards with his comrades, all older and more accustomed to such drinks.


    Joseph, his steps unsteady, zigzagged toward the door and grinned foolishly when he heard the bell above his head jingle as he passed through.


    He regained some of his senses when a cold breeze brushed his face, as hot as if he had a fever. He walked straight ahead, crossed the road, and began to relieve himself on the house opposite. The powerful smell in the area and the many wet stains on the wall gave an idea of how many soldiers had passed by to do the same.


    "Ah, that feels good..." groaned the soldier, unshaven and very unkempt.


    "Boohoo!"


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    He belatedly noticed someone nearby, curled up like a baby, crying loudly.


    "Huh? Hey, w-what¡¯s wrong with you, mate?"


    Curious, the soldier approached and saw that the man sobbing in the corner was an old man. His body was twisted and filthy, his clothes disheveled, and his face was so battered that Joseph couldn¡¯t just walk away without at least asking, out of politeness, if he was alright.


    "Please, leave me alone, boohoo!"


    Though he could have just gone back to his friends, Joseph didn¡¯t. Never had he seen a man so miserable. And yet, he had seen plenty! This old man seemed to suffer as much in his body as in his soul. Above all, he spoke French.


    "Hey, you¡¯re French? What are you doing in Berlin? What happened to you?"


    "Oh, sir, please, leave me be! Before you stands the most unfortunate of men! I don¡¯t want to trouble you with my woes."


    Growing more curious, the soldier moved closer to the old man.


    "Tell me, I know that accent. Where are you from?"


    "B-Bordeaux, sir. Why? Sniff!"


    "Ah, like me! And my friends too! Hey, I can¡¯t leave a fellow countryman like this! Come on, old man, get up, come inside where it¡¯s warm, and tell us what¡¯s wrong!"


    Joseph roughly grabbed the old man¡¯s arm, his long white hair framing a thin face covered in bruises, and pushed him toward the tavern filled with drunken soldiers.


    "Hey, guys! I found an old man from Bordeaux! Look!"


    "Damn it, Joseph, what did you do to that poor old man? He¡¯s a mess!"


    "You idiot! It wasn¡¯t me! He was already like this!" Joseph shouted, his face red and his breath heavy with alcohol. "Come on, friend, tell us what happened! Baptiste, pour him a drink!"


    "But..."


    "Do it!"


    John Ingham shakily took the glass handed to him and downed it in one gulp, which pleased the French soldiers greatly. They filled the old man¡¯s glass again, but this time he didn¡¯t drink immediately.


    "My friends, thank you!" he said, his eyes brimming with tears.


    "So, what happened to you? Did someone hurt you?" asked a soldier with an especially large jaw and a very round nose.


    "Sir, a tragedy," Ingham replied in a broken voice. "A true tragedy! I am the most wretched of men! My granddaughter, oh, if only you could have seen her! She was the sweetest, kindest, and most beautiful! A little angel! She was traveling with me for business, for I had to protect her. She lost her parents when she was very young, you see? But the Prussians saw her and decided to have their fun with her before offering her to one of their diplomats! Boohoo! She was so sweet!"


    "What?! They dared?!"


    "Those animals!"


    "The dogs! Revenge!"


    All the soldiers had gathered around, their eyes red with anger.


    "W-what happened to your granddaughter?" asked a soldier who seemed to have just woken up.


    "I tried to stop them, but those cursed Prussians were too many and too strong. They beat me and then took my precious granddaughter to the royal palace by force!"


    The soldiers were on the verge of tears, trembling with rage as they heard this tragic tale. But the old man¡¯s story wasn¡¯t over yet.


    "My body was in pain, but I couldn¡¯t let my precious Marie be violated by those monsters, so I went to the palace gates. I shouted, I begged, but all I received were blows from their sticks. But I didn¡¯t give up! And that¡¯s when they told me... That¡¯s when they told me..."


    Every soldier felt a lump in their throat, dreading and yet anticipating what the man would say next.


    "W-what did they tell you?" Joseph asked in a trembling voice, so small it was barely audible.


    "That¡¯s when they told me she had been given to one of their diplomats to encourage him to work harder, a brute named von Podewils. I begged the guard to release her immediately, but he said there was nothing he could do and that she would eventually be freed once the man had had enough fun with her."


    "My God! What wickedness! What injustice! What did you do?" asked another soldier, driven mad with rage by the cruelty of the Prussians.


    "I stayed there for two days in the rain, the wind, and the hail, pleading with everyone entering and leaving the palace to free my dear granddaughter. And on the third day... on the third day," the old man said with increasing difficulty, visibly shattered by grief, "they told me she had taken her own life... She threw herself from one of the windows of the Royal Palace! Boohoo! They won¡¯t even let me recover her body!"


    The blood of the French soldiers turned to molten lava. Every man present had become a bomb, an infernal machine ready to destroy everything in sight. Their anger, too great to be contained, exploded at that moment in front of the tear-filled eyes of the old man with the ravaged body.


    Without needing to utter a single word more, the large group of soldiers decided to leave the inn and seek justice for the poor child on their own. Striding firmly down the main street leading straight to the palace, they shouted in their language all their hatred for the Prussian nobility, starting with the despicable diplomats representing this decadent kingdom.


    ***


    John Ingham, who had resumed his impassive demeanor, observed from a reasonable distance as this very conspicuous group marched toward the Prussian royal residence, severely criticizing their methods. They quickly arrived at the palace gates and attacked the guards, who were caught off guard by this assault. Fortunately for Ingham, there were few of them; otherwise, they would have easily overpowered this small group of drunken soldiers, too inebriated to fight properly.


    Well, this wasn¡¯t what I had in mind, but... At least, he thought as he watched them fight like rabid dogs, they¡¯re causing a commotion.


    The surprise among the palace guards was short-lived, and they quickly reorganized. This allowed them to push back the heavily intoxicated men. Using clubs and musket butts, they drove back these foreigners shouting in their strange language. It became even easier when reinforcements arrived. From his vantage point, he could clearly hear the soldiers¡¯ screams and the sound of blows being delivered.


    By ¡°coincidence,¡± it was at this moment that a Prussian diplomat even found himself in action. It was Heinrich von Podewils, a sixty-five-year-old man with a round face and a well-rounded belly from decades of eating the finest dishes and drinking the best wines. He had developed the habit, long before the start of these negotiations, of discreetly going out at night to meet his mistress, the wife of one of Frederick II¡¯s ministers.


    It was from this discovery, a fortunate chance during an investigation of the palace and what was happening there, that John Ingham had devised his little plan to put an end to these negotiations that had resumed a few days earlier.


    As expected, he went out to meet his mistress. Good! He was noticed by these idiotic soldiers! Go on, now! Kill him!


    Ingham¡¯s gaze, cold and unshakable like a snow-capped mountain, observed the situation, hoping for a fatal outcome for the diplomat.


    With his death at the hands of the French, the Prussians would have no choice but to end the negotiations! If he could die in a gruesome way, that would be perfect!


    But soon, reinforcements arrived, and all the French soldiers were subdued. As for the old politician, he did not seem injured. At most, he had been shaken and shocked by the events.


    It failed...


    John Ingham didn¡¯t hold much hope for this operation, so he wasn¡¯t too disappointed. It was barely prepared and relied heavily on luck.


    I suppose it was inevitable. If I had had more time to prepare, perhaps I could have come up with a better plan. Too bad.


    Despite his detached demeanor as he watched from a dark alley while the French were arrested, John Ingham was not at ease. He knew that the more he acted, the more his face would become known.


    Hmm... Very soon, my description will spread throughout the city, and then I won¡¯t be able to escape. It seems my time is up. I will leave a message for the ambassador. He needs to find a new agent for this mission.


    Ingham didn¡¯t know if it was still feasible. After all, if the highest authorities of the kingdom, starting with His Highness Prince Ferdinand, had understood his role and goal, then they could make him fail by hastening in the opposite direction.


    The prince may not win this battle, but he can make us lose by finalizing this treaty. As soon as King Frederick is freed, this war for Silesia will be over, and Britain will find itself alone against its enemies. I wonder who they will send?


    As the Duke of Newcastle¡¯s agent feared, his identity was quickly discovered, and a manhunt was launched against him throughout the city the next day. With such a large target on his back, it would now be very difficult to leave the Prussian capital. But he was already gone.


    For a very generous sum, he had boarded in the middle of the night on a barge bound for a port in the Baltic Sea.


    As the first light of dawn appeared on the horizon, the old spy stood firmly like a captain at the rear of his heavily loaded ship. All around him were large bales wrapped in thick, poor-quality fabric, carefully stacked to take up as little space as possible. His ship, moving at an excruciatingly slow pace, glided peacefully down the river as calm as a lake. This tranquility was only disturbed by the regular movements of the pilot.


    His powerful arms, taut like a bowstring, worked hard to propel the long vessel forward, creating a slight ripple on the surface of the Spree. On either side of the river were numerous empty plots, but they would eventually be golden in the summer.


    This is exactly where I passed through to reach Berlin. It¡¯s strange. Despite all the risks I took, I feel like I haven¡¯t changed the course of events at all. Well, I¡¯m just an old spy. Maybe in another time, I could have prevented the signing of this treaty.

 Chapter 34: The Calm Before The Storm

    As soon as Marshal Duke of Richelieu learned of the presence of a Prussian army north of Hanover, he began issuing orders to move his army, which was mostly stationed in Magdeburg, as quickly as possible. He also sent letters to his officers, including the Duke of Broglie, based in Halberstadt, to meet in Hanover so they could march together against this enemy.


    When they finally arrived on March 1st, Bremen had already fallen into enemy hands, along with their second camp in Verden.


    It was said that the Prussians had an army of twenty-five to twenty-seven thousand men, which was fewer than Richelieu¡¯s thirty-two thousand. Indeed, he had been reinforced by troops from neighboring camps in Brunswick and Celle. He had a decent number of squadrons and more than enough artillery pieces.


    Confident in his chances of victory, he set off north at dawn on March 2nd. They passed through Wedemark and then the village of Holdenhagen, located on the northern bank of the Aller River. The next day, the duke ordered them to set up camp once again around the village of B?hme, a tiny village named after a small, fast-flowing river that emptied into the Aller.


    The cold water of the B?hme chilled Adam¡¯s right hand as he dipped his canteen to fill it before the battle that was soon to take place. It certainly wasn¡¯t as pure as the bottled water one could find in a supermarket or from a tap, but it was better than some of what he had had to drink since arriving here.


    The river made a comforting sound as it flowed over the large black rocks in its path, undeterred. The current was strong despite the gentle slope at that spot, due to the recent rains. When it rained, it never did so in small amounts. The waterlogged ground could no longer absorb anything, forcing it to remain on the surface. Roads and fields were often flooded. It was hell for camping or even just getting around.


    ¡°Push! Harder!¡±


    Behind him, on the same road they had all followed, several men were wading through the thick, sticky mud, trying to move a heavy cart laden with a large quantity of supplies, including what was needed to feed everyone.


    It was almost nightfall, and though they had already set up camp, they had not yet eaten.


    I¡¯m so hungry. Damn, I want something hot and filling! I¡¯m dreaming of a huge four-cheese pizza with a thick crust!


    Meals in Richelieu¡¯s army were never plentiful, except on very rare occasions. Most of the time, they consisted of hot cereal porridge mixed with a bit of meat and vegetables for flavor.


    When the soldiers had the chance to eat a good meal, which usually happened for a day or two after successfully taking an enemy town, they turned into gluttonous monsters, barely able to think.


    More than once, Adam had seen conflicts break out over a piece of meat.


    ¡°Fran?ois!¡± P¡¯tit Pol called, waving his hand high to be noticed by his friend. ¡°We need a hand here!¡±


    The young corporal, who hadn¡¯t seen a penny of Frederick II¡¯s and his brother¡¯s ransom and therefore hadn¡¯t been able to buy a lieutenant¡¯s commission, approached and quickly understood the problem.


    ¡°Damn!¡± he said, seeing the situation.


    ¡°Tell me about it. We need to lift the cart to get the wheel back in place, but it¡¯s too heavy.¡±


    ¡°Well, we need to unload it to lighten it.¡±


    ¡°No time, and honestly, we don¡¯t really feel like taking everything out just to put it all back in. Are you coming?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Do I just need to push?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± replied Charles, his hands already in place near those of Jean, which seemed twice the size of his own. ¡°On three. One, two, three!¡±


    Everyone pushed, and the cart slowly righted itself. Jules hurried to get the wheel back on track, forcing it onto the long wooden axle running through the cart.


    ¡°It¡¯s done! It¡¯s back on. Let it down slowly! Slowly!¡± Jules reminded them, not wanting to see one of his friends get hurt so foolishly.


    ¡°Looks like we¡¯re good.¡±


    The cart continued on its way and parked beside the others outside the camp. The cooks quickly got to work, and a delicious smell began to waft through the air around B?hme.


    Holding his bowl in both hands to warm up a bit, Adam sat with his friends. They all smiled, but it was clear that they weren¡¯t at ease. Their faces were pale, and their smiles were hollow. P¡¯tit Pol trembled so much he had trouble making cartridges, and Charles was cleaning his musket for the third time. The others weren¡¯t faring any better.


    It¡¯s strange. Why am I not particularly worried about tomorrow? The enemy army is so close, and surely I¡¯ll have to kill people. Yet, I¡¯m not trembling¡­


    Part of him was afraid, but another part, the one that wanted to distinguish itself in battle and rise through the ranks, seemed to be eagerly awaiting the fight.


    Adam hadn¡¯t participated in a real battle since Rossbach last November. That had been four months ago, though it felt like an eternity. In the meantime, he had only been involved in small skirmishes, most of which weren¡¯t even worth recounting.


    Here, around these few villages, in these wide, open plains, tens of thousands of men would fight, and surely thousands would die.


    The air around the small group was heavy, as it was around all the other groups. It was as if a dark cloud hung over the camp. The soldiers, tired from the intense march in the harsh weather, had trouble eating. Some couldn¡¯t swallow anything, and it was very likely that many of them wouldn¡¯t be able to fall asleep easily that night.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Dressed in their uniforms, weighed down by the frequent rains, they all reeked of wet dog.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard,¡± said Jean, looking at his small steaming bowl, ¡°that the Prussians set up camp less than half a day¡¯s march from here, and their officers gave their soldiers good meat.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± replied Charles, ¡°our officers should do the same! Our soldiers would surely be in a better mood!¡±


    "Ha! That¡¯s for sure," Louis said, stirring his cereal porridge with his spoon as if making sure there wasn¡¯t anything strange mixed into his food. "I bet right now they¡¯re eating roasted chicken or grilled pork."


    Everyone, Adam included, started to salivate at the thought of the delicious aroma. What they had been served looked like animal feed compared to what the higher-ranking officers were eating.


    Despite this inequality, no one felt it was unfair. After all, all the officers were from the nobility. Even though they no longer resembled the noble knights of old, they were still the elite of society. By virtue of their high birth, they could hold all the most prestigious positions in His Majesty¡¯s armies, as well as in his government.


    "What do you think will happen tomorrow?" Louis asked, nervously playing with his long blond hair that framed his handsome face, making him look far less like an angel.


    "With any luck," muttered P¡¯tit Pol, "we won¡¯t be able to fight because of the rain."


    Adam gazed up at the gray sky, looking thoughtful.


    Rain? Maybe there¡¯ll be some tomorrow, but I¡¯m not sure it¡¯ll stop our officers from sending us into battle. We¡¯ll probably just be wading through the mud.


    Later, when nearly everyone had retreated to their tents to rest before the battle, Adam found himself wandering through Marshal-Duke de Richelieu¡¯s camp. The last traces of daylight had disappeared hours ago, but the sky was too overcast to admire the moon and stars.


    Exhausted, he had fallen asleep as soon as he lay down on his straw bed. But as soon as he slipped into the realm of dreams, he had a terrible nightmare.


    He saw himself in battle, facing the fearsome Prussians, his feet firmly stuck in thick, black mud, so heavy he couldn¡¯t move. Then he fell, either pushed or wounded. People began to trample him¡ªboth allies and enemies¡ªuntil he was slowly sinking into the mud, leaving only his face above it.


    Unable to move, he tried to scream for help, but no sound came from his mouth. He woke up with a start, trembling with terror.


    Fearing this dream was a premonition, he thought about running away, since the camp wasn¡¯t far from the road the army had followed while pursuing the Duke of Cumberland northward. Almost in a panic, he left his tent, which had suddenly felt too small, even just for him alone. If he¡¯d had more courage, he would have taken his chances and tried to reach Hameln. Maybe he would¡¯ve found Fran?ois¡¯s pocket watch there, and maybe he would¡¯ve found a way to return to his own time.


    Maybe... the young man sighed inwardly as he wandered between the tents.


    Without realizing it, he found himself in front of his friend Charles, who was still sitting by the small fire where they had all gathered to eat earlier. He was still polishing his long musket, as if trying to make it shinier than a brand-new weapon.


    "You should get some sleep, Charles. It¡¯s getting late."


    "Oh, Fran?ois. I didn¡¯t hear you coming. Shouldn¡¯t you be with your company or asleep by now?"


    "I couldn¡¯t sleep, it¡¯s still a bit early for me," Adam lied as he stepped closer.


    "A bit early," Charles said thoughtfully. "Aren¡¯t you tired after all that marching?"


    "Yeah, I¡¯m tired," Adam nodded softly, "but not enough."


    Charles gave his friend a strange look as Adam sat down beside him by the fire. Despite being close to the flames, their uniforms were still a bit damp.


    The fire burning in front of them was much smaller than it had been earlier, but now and then you could still see a few tiny flames and glowing embers among the cracked, partially ashen branches. There was something hypnotic and soothing about these flickering lights, but Adam preferred when there were large flames. He liked watching them envelop thick branches and slowly devour them, rising high into the night sky. They made a light sound, accompanied by a gentle crackling that made you want to wrap yourself in a thick blanket and sleep like that.


    If it weren¡¯t so cold, he would have stayed outside his tent for a few more hours.


    "Hey, Fran?ois?" Charles said in a surprisingly hoarse voice.


    "Yes?" Adam responded instinctively, turning toward his friend, whose serious face was turned toward the small, smoking fire.


    "How do you stay so calm?"


    "Calm?" Adam replied in surprise. "I don¡¯t feel particularly calm."


    "When I look at you, it seems like tomorrow will be just another day. How do you do it?"


    "If you think I¡¯m not scared, then I¡¯m doing a good job pretending. I¡¯m just faking it, that¡¯s all."


    "Oh. I thought¡­ Never mind."


    The two friends remained silent for a moment in the darkness, barely lit by the tiny campfire. It was a strange atmosphere, yet it seemed perfectly fitting for the eve of a battle.


    Charles was the reserved type. Adam had realized that after months of being in his company. He didn¡¯t talk much, which usually gave more weight to everything he said, unlike Jean, who said everything that came to mind, even the most trivial things.


    In the end, they hadn¡¯t spoken much, Adam and him.


    "My father," Charles suddenly began as if talking to himself, "hardly ever told me what it meant to be a soldier or to go to war. He often told me about what he¡¯d seen during his time as a soldier. You know his favorite story, right? The one where he saw His Majesty. He loves to tell that one. He tells me all the time, just like he often told me about his most glorious moments in battle, the camaraderie he shared with the friends he made in his regiment, and the mischief of his brothers-in-arms. How many times has he told me those were the best years of his life? So I stupidly thought war was like that. Joyful moments punctuated by glorious ones."


    Charles paused as if to catch his breath. Adam couldn¡¯t recall seeing him speak so much before. Yet, his friend didn¡¯t seem finished. It was as if a dam had broken.


    "I know now," Charles continued, his voice firmer, "that¡¯s not what war is. In fact, I realized that right from the start. When you almost died, I thought¡­ I really thought I was going to lose you, Fran?ois. That there would only be the five of us left¡­ until there were four, then three, then two, and then just me. What I¡¯ve seen doesn¡¯t match up with what my father told me."


    "I think your father didn¡¯t want to remember the bad parts. So he made an effort to smile and tell the least difficult moments to convince himself that that was war. War, no matter how fine our uniforms, is ugly. People suffer, and people die."


    Charles nodded.


    "That¡¯s true. War is ugly. We should say that more often, back home and in the palaces. Maybe there¡¯d be fewer wars if people knew what really happens when war breaks out?"


    Adam couldn¡¯t help but smile, but it was a sad smile, thinking of the naive statement his friend had just made.


    If you only knew. As long as war is far away, people couldn¡¯t care less. And even if it took place in a nearby country, they¡¯d keep living their lives because they¡¯re not the ones suffering and dying. War¡ªno matter what you know about it¡ªyou only really understand it when you live it. No one would play war games if it were that simple. We¡¯d be disgusted, even scared at the sight of blood and the sound of explosions. When I used to play, I laughed at war. What an idiot I was!

 Chapter 35: The Battle Of H?uslingen

    The two armies did not immediately leap at each other¡¯s throats, for although both were eager to annihilate their adversary, they had preparations to make.


    On Wednesday, March 8, 1758, everyone was in position. It was only six in the morning, and it was still dark. The sky was just beginning to lighten timidly in the east, but it would be at least another hour before the sun rose on the horizon.


    Marshal Duke of Richelieu had formed a series of lines between the village of Altenwahlingen, partially protected by a dense forest, difficult for an army to cross, and the Aller River, on the left flank of the army. The Prussian army, positioned only four or five kilometers from the French lines, stretched from the Aller River to the first houses of the village of H?uslingen.


    Both sides had used the terrain to their advantage, which could be challenging in places due to the woods and water points. Just as General von Zieten had positioned his troops on the heights behind H?uslingen, the Duke of Richelieu had done the same behind Altenwahlingen. In both cases, this gave them no significant advantage, as these heights rose no more than ten meters above the lowest point between the two armies.


    Despite the very early hour, no one in the French army was yawning. Everyone was too tense to feel tired. Some couldn¡¯t eat anything before taking their positions following the orders of their officers.


    By battalions, the soldiers were placed on the battlefield like pieces on a chessboard.


    Adam found himself on the right wing of the very long formation, swallowed up by the mass of soldiers, standing perfectly still as if he had been petrified. Holding his musket firmly with both hands, he awaited the next order like a perfect little soldier.


    The army at that time, more than ever before, was a place where there was no room for heroes. They were trained to form a single block, a solid line that neither retreated nor advanced without orders. Charging alone, taking out a few enemies, and returning as if nothing had happened was unthinkable. They were expected to display the utmost discipline and act together as one to exert the greatest force. In short, individuals were completely erased in favor of the group.


    Adam was a soldier, but before that, he was one of the many links making up the battalion in the front line.


    Damn it, why did I have to end up in the front line?!


    All around him were soldiers with tense faces. Their hands shook slightly on their weapons, and he could even hear some of them praying. In these circumstances, he didn¡¯t find it ridiculous, quite the opposite.


    Though he had never been religious or superstitious, he too had prayed to make it out of this hell alive.


    A small group of French officers advanced and met a few Prussian officers in the middle of the fields. From where he stood, Adam could barely make them out. Quickly, the two groups parted.


    What the hell are they doing?! What are they saying?!


    Adam could only wonder, for he didn¡¯t yet understand the traditions of this time. Indeed, it was customary to send one or more representatives to seek a non-violent resolution to the battle by asking for the enemy¡¯s withdrawal. This was usually just a formality and rarely resulted in the troops actually withdrawing.


    As expected on both sides, it was a failure, and soon the cannons began firing at the enemy lines. Despite the distance, the noise was deafening.


    The Duke of Richelieu hadn¡¯t concentrated all his artillery in one place, as he needed to cover a wide area. He had therefore built redoubts, small earth fortresses, to place a few pieces. Fortunately, he had many.


    Where Adam stood, there were two redoubts. One was in front of him to his right, and the other a little farther away on his right.


    The presence of woods between the French and Prussian armies posed a challenge for troop movement. It forced the two commanders to send their men into the open spaces, which acted like corridors. It was these spaces the artillery aimed to cover first.


    There were no words to describe the sound of so many cannons firing all at once. The air shook, white smoke, heavy with that familiar smell of burnt gunpowder, drifted on the wind and enveloped the soldiers. Cannonballs whistled through the air before digging up vast quantities of earth when they struck the ground. His ears rang as if a large gong had been struck near him, and a lump of fear grew in his throat.


    Ah¡­ Ah¡­ My God!


    Faced with such an eruption of violence, Adam felt his eyes grow moist. He so desperately wanted to run away, yet all this was merely another form of greeting. The sun was rising, and the battle was about to begin.


    He couldn¡¯t say how long the cannonade lasted, but it had caused almost no damage to the enemy, at least visibly. The same was true in reverse, as all the enemy¡¯s cannonballs had struck the ground, hitting nothing but grass and trees barely waking from their winter slumber.


    At some point, he couldn¡¯t say when, they were ordered to advance. Like a robot, Adam obeyed.


    One step after another, he marched toward the explosions like a suicidal man walking toward the edge of a rooftop overlooking a busy street. He couldn¡¯t see his comrades, as he had to look straight ahead. He couldn¡¯t see his friends either, who were in another battalion. He simply followed his sergeant, who followed his captain, who followed his colonel. The entire right wing was commanded by Lieutenant General de Conflans, Marquis d¡¯Armenti¨¨res.


    He commanded several regiments, not just the Picardie regiment. His role was simple: to ensure that the right wing held firm and crushed the enemy¡¯s left. He had to move between regiments to communicate his orders and those of the commander of this vast army, modest in reality compared to the huge battles of the last war. At Fontenoy, in May 1745, the French had around fifty thousand men on their side! That was twenty thousand more than Richelieu currently commanded! The size of an army!


    My God! There are so many of us! And them too! Damn, I don¡¯t want to die!


    Then he heard a long whistle and reflexively ducked. Fortunately, a few seconds later, he was still breathing. He looked to his right and saw that the soldier who had been there just moments earlier was no longer there.


    Adam felt a powerful shiver run through him. It started in the small of his back, slithered like a slimy snake up his spine, and gripped his throat. His muscles were so tense it felt like he had a cramp.


    His thoughts froze, and he looked behind him. Several shredded bodies lay in the damp grass, soaked with blood. The soldiers who were directly hit no longer resembled human beings. They were nothing more than pieces of warm flesh wrapped in torn cloth.


    If the soldier behind him hadn''t bumped into him, he would have remained frozen in place, staring at this horrific sight, miles away from anything he''d ever seen on the internet, in video games, or the most violent movie.


    "Don¡¯t look back," a sergeant beside him said softly. "You need to hold the formation."


    Adam swallowed and obeyed in silence.


    That single cannonball had killed five men and severely injured two others.


    Thanks to repeated drills, the troop continued to advance. Ahead, the Prussians didn¡¯t seem willing to abandon their position, mainly at H?uslingen. Seeing this, the Duke of Richelieu ordered the artillery to be repositioned to support the infantry. He only kept his mortars near him, which could hit distant targets.


    Moving heavy cannons wasn¡¯t an easy task, and it took an enormous amount of time. In the meantime, the infantry had to keep pushing forward, gritting their teeth.


    Finally, the French soldiers were close enough to fire at their enemies, well-entrenched ahead. The advantage of their musket model was its long range, thanks to the extra length of the barrel. The Prussians fired back, but with little effect!This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    In reality, Adam and his comrades weren¡¯t causing much more damage either, as the enemy was well protected. However, the Prussian artillery had a clear line of fire on them.


    Damn it! Where the hell are our cannons?!


    The enemy cannons had never stopped firing, and the French were suffering heavy losses, especially in the center.


    Then, Colonel Br¨¦hant received new orders.


    "About-turn, right!"


    Adam complied and left the enemy behind, not knowing if he had been of any use at all. Much time and many men had been lost, seemingly for nothing.


    From the enemy¡¯s point of view, this large group of soldiers seemed to be retreating from the fight. But, of course, it wasn¡¯t that simple.


    Are we going into that forest? Ah? That¡¯s the Poitou regiment! They¡¯re joining us?


    "Gentlemen," said the colonel after exchanging a word with Colonel de Choiseul, who commanded the Poitou regiment, "our mission is to flank the enemy. Stay together!"


    The young corporal nodded softly and followed his officer, his mind clouded with emotion. The trees, often covered with dark thorns, provided good cover. They were so densely packed that it was difficult to move through some areas. Fortunately, the terrain in this region was relatively flat.


    In complete silence, Adam advanced, carefully avoiding the large roots that spread across the damp ground. A soft scent of wood and wet earth surrounded him. When he wasn¡¯t stepping on the roots, he had the unpleasant feeling of walking on an old, moldy sponge.


    Behind him, the French and Prussian cannons roared. You could clearly hear them from here, but it was impossible to tell if they were hitting their targets or not.


    Damn, I hope we¡¯re going to win! If only I¡¯d paid attention in class! At least then I¡¯d know in advance if we win or lose this battle!


    Adam glanced nervously around him. Everyone seemed focused, with serious expressions on their faces. Far ahead, the colonel¡¯s back looked broad and solid like a mountain. He held a long, curved saber with a golden hilt in his right hand, like a brave warrior. It was far from the image Adam had of modern officers, good only for giving orders from behind a computer.


    Finally, after thirty or forty minutes, the two regiments reached the other side of the forest, east of the enemy army. They could have gone further following the forest, but it was very likely that the enemy army had positioned some companies to prevent them from slipping past and hitting them from behind.


    "Fix bayonets," the colonel ordered in the most authoritative voice. "Be ready for orders," he said before leaving the woods.


    As quietly as possible, they followed a small path but soon, despite all their precautions, came across a large group of lightly armed soldiers, placed here by von Zieten as reserves for his left wing. Immediately, a sharp skirmish broke out.


    "Fire!"


    An impressive volley struck the enemy, killing and wounding many of them. Quickly, Gilbert¡¯s company got into position and stretched out to form a curved line. It worked perfectly with the other companies, and at a staggering speed, they managed to reload their weapons. Another volley cracked, cutting down about fifteen more lives.


    The enemy''s morale, already low, plummeted further, and the unit retreated.


    Adam didn¡¯t have time to celebrate as they were quickly replaced by another group, also seemingly in poor shape. It was as if they¡¯d just been handed a weapon and a uniform the day before and told to die for the glory of Prussia. Their eyes searched desperately for a way out, and as soon as the losses grew too high, they began to flee.


    Adam, having just reloaded his weapon, took aim and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger, targeting a man running in the opposite direction. When the smoke finally cleared, he saw he had hit his target, and the man lay motionless on the waterlogged ground.


    Damn, at least I got one!


    "Very good! Regroup quickly, form ranks, and reload your weapons! ¡ªColonel! Many enemies approaching! They¡¯re Hessians! ¡ªPrepare for combat!"


    Without thinking, Adam reached into his pouch and grabbed a new cartridge. His hands no longer trembled as much.


    ***


    Away from the danger, the highest-ranking officers in this army observed the situation with a surprising calm, considering the violence of the battle unfolding before them. It was as if they were watching an ordinary play. From their perspective, this battle was neither going well nor poorly. A kind of balance was being established. Each commander was testing his opponent. There was a cost, of course, but the soldiers were there for that. The outcome was what mattered. If objectives could be achieved quickly at a low cost, all the better, but if heavy sacrifices had to be made, Marshal Duke of Richelieu would not hesitate.


    Before him stretched his army. It was large but tired after such a long march. Fortunately, the enemy didn¡¯t seem to be in top form either.


    "My lord, our cannons are in position. They''ve begun firing," said a tall, lean man in his forties, with a nose and cheeks so red one might think he was drunk.


    "Good, Monsieur de Valli¨¨re. Intensify the fire on the village. What¡¯s its name again?"


    "H?uslingen, my general."


    "H?uslingen¡­" the old man repeated softly, as if it were a woman¡¯s name. "Flatten that village. I don¡¯t want the enemy using it as a shelter."


    "Understood!" he replied before limping off on his left leg toward his subordinates.


    Richelieu turned to another officer, the exact opposite of Valli¨¨re. He was rather short, broad-shouldered, and so fat that his uniform seemed to be crying for help.


    "Move the regiments under Contades'' command toward those redoubts. Send a few squadrons to support them. Tell our mortars to target that area until they arrive."


    Richelieu''s orders flowed with the ease of a stream. In recent days, he had given much thought to an attack plan with his officers. He could have waited for the enemy to come, but he didn''t want to risk their commander receiving reinforcements. Moreover, he wanted to defeat them before Prince de Soubise arrived and claimed part of the glory.


    The enemy had the advantage of terrain, but my men are more numerous and, visibly, in better condition. Most importantly, we have far more cannons!


    In the distance, the ground was churned up wherever his cannonballs hit. Though they seldom struck anyone directly, almost every time, one or two soldiers were indirectly wounded. Their cries of pain could do significant damage to the enemy¡¯s morale.


    I¡¯d much rather see my comrade turned to pulp by a clean hit than watch him suffer for hours with a severed arm or leg.


    Using his spyglass, he carefully observed the situation, from the river to the village of H?uslingen. The enemy held their position firmly and seemed unwilling to retreat. This was especially true near H?uslingen.


    Let¡¯s see how long they can hold out under my artillery.


    The village was quickly targeted and subjected to heavy fire. The buildings began to collapse and catch fire under the impassive gaze of the French officers. At the same time, a barrage of fire rained down on the redoubts held by the Prussians. He saw his brave soldiers advancing, attempting to take the position, supported by dragoons and a few hussars.


    The Prussian infantry, reinforced by soldiers from Hanover, Hesse-Kassel, and Brunswick, did not give in easily and advanced to counter the assault. Having left their shelters, they now made excellent targets for the regular infantry nearby.


    He watched as a battalion of the Navarre regiment pivoted and aimed at them.


    Richelieu turned his spyglass eastward.


    "Hm?"


    "A problem, General?" asked the Marquis of Vog¨¹¨¦, standing nearby, also equipped with a spyglass.


    "No, I don¡¯t think so. But look east," he said simply, as if he had noticed something curious.


    "What are they doing?" the marquis wondered, pulling his eye away from the lens. "Are they trying to flank us?"


    "My lord," interrupted another officer, closer to fifty than forty, "that¡¯s where Marquis d''Armenti¨¨res is with his brigade. He has with him the regiments of Picardy and Poitou."


    "Ah! That¡¯s right! So he managed to get through?"


    "It seems so, my lord!" said Chevreuse with a small satisfied smile. "In any case, he seems to have drawn the enemy''s attention."


    "In that case, let¡¯s not waste this opportunity. Intensify our assaults in the east!"


    "Yes, General!"


    Although five hours had passed since the battle began, relatively little had been achieved. It had been a strange balancing act between the various forces, like an arm-wrestling match where one tries to establish rhythm before surprising with one final, decisive blow.


    That decisive blow came around one in the afternoon when the Prussians, under immense pressure, sought to turn the tide with a powerful cavalry charge.


    Skillfully led by the brave and formidable von Seydlitz, who had arrived in time for the battle¡ªunlike Ferdinand of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg, who had to delay and, if possible, distract Prince de Soubise¡ªhis charge broke through several lines of French infantry. It was almost miraculous to see so many horses charging on such difficult terrain. His mighty horse struck down three men, and his saber killed one of them. His brave comrades did just as well, creating a gaping breach to strike elsewhere behind the French.


    But there was a second line of soldiers, and soon he found himself surrounded by enemies. Slashing left and right with his saber, he searched for a way out for himself and his men. Finding none, he tried to carve one out with his blade.


    However, it wasn¡¯t enough. He was targeted by the relentless French soldiers and riddled with bullets. After the battle, no fewer than fifteen bullet wounds were counted, all in his chest.


    Later, around two in the afternoon, the left flank of the Prussian army collapsed. As the center retreated in haste, part of the Prussian army became trapped near the Aller River, where it formed a wide bend. Many soldiers, trying to cross, ended up falling into the water and were swept away by the strong current.


    By five o¡¯clock, the toll was four thousand dead on the French side, three thousand on the Prussian side. Yet, due to the large number of prisoners taken that day, the capture of their artillery, and the enemy commander¡¯s flight, the battle was considered a victory.


    That same evening, von Zieten, defeated, humiliated, rejected by his own kingdom, and without an army¡ªmost of his troops having fled¡ªtook his own life in Verden.

 Chapter 36: The Treaty Of Berlin

    Berlin seemed so peaceful at this hour. It was hard to imagine that, for days, the people of this capital had been relentlessly taking to the streets, demanding peace, lower prices¡ªbecoming outrageous as the war dragged on¡ªand justice against war profiteers and traitors.


    Everything was so calm.


    No one was outside, which wasn¡¯t surprising given the time and the weather. It was nearly midnight, and the rain was so heavy that the streets of Berlin had turned into raging rivers, carrying along a large amount of debris. The powerful downpour had started earlier in the evening and showed no sign of letting up.


    The large, forceful raindrops pounded on the roofs and the ground, drowning out every other sound, even that of the black-and-gold carriage speeding along the streets. Pulled by two sturdy horses and regularly whipped by a coachman drenched to the bone despite his long black coat and leather tricorne, the carriage made an infernal racket. The coachman¡¯s face was barely illuminated by a large lantern swinging to his right on a metal hook. Like a pendulum, it swayed back and forth, side to side, with the carriage¡¯s movements.


    No one stopped him when he finally passed through the city gates to the west, and no one came to greet the two distinguished passengers, seated across from one another inside.


    Despite the quality of the carriage, nothing could stop the two men from being violently jostled. Sitting in deep scarlet seats, they held onto whatever they could to avoid being thrown about and possibly injured.


    The rain made a deafening noise on the carriage roof. It was like an endless drumroll.


    The vehicle passed through the royal palace gates under the blank stares of the guards, just as soaked as the coachman. They barely had time to straighten up and salute, as they had been informed of the situation.


    At the entrance of the palace, sheltered from the rain, stood Prince Ferdinand, his face betraying his exhaustion. Dark circles under his eyes, still visible despite his makeup, seemed to want to reach the corners of his mouth, and his eyes revealed a deep lack of sleep.


    Beside him stood several ministers, but that was all. One could say it was a very modest reception.


    As soon as the carriage came to a halt, a hunched man in a long brown coat over fine clothing stepped out and fixed his sharp, though tired, eyes on the few people who had come to greet him.


    This reception was just what he had asked for, as the mood on this March 30th was far from celebratory.


    A second man, younger and dressed similarly, exited the carriage and briskly walked toward the main door of the royal palace.


    ¡°Henry.¡±


    ¡°Ferdinand.¡±


    The two princes embraced and remained so for several seconds before parting.


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± said Prince Ferdinand, uncertain if he could embrace his brother.


    Frederick II opened his arms and hugged his younger brother.


    ¡°Your Majesty, August Wilhelm¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. The French told me the news,¡± said the king sadly, thinking of his brother¡¯s face.


    Though they had quarreled violently after the Battle of Kolin, August Wilhelm was still his brother. It was in captivity that he had learned of his younger brother¡¯s death. Unfortunately, he wouldn¡¯t be able to see him one last time, as he had already been buried.


    I¡­ I don¡¯t even remember the last thing I said to him. I was too harsh with him. I said things¡­ I should never have said. And now he¡¯s gone. I¡¯ll have to live with this regret for the rest of my days, like all my other regrets.


    When he had heard the sad news, he had isolated himself and wept for him. In his anger, he had forgotten that his brother wasn¡¯t a brilliant general and that, like any man, he could make mistakes.


    He himself had made many.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not stay here. Let¡¯s go inside,¡± said the king, simply nodding to his ministers in greeting.


    Despite the lit candles, the palace had a sinister feel at this hour. Almost everyone was asleep, unaware that the most important figure in the Kingdom of Prussia had been freed. It had all been done in secret on March 21st, his ransom and that of His Highness Prince Henry having been fully paid thanks to the sale of the properties of the generals who had rebelled.


    Even though it was later discovered that it wasn¡¯t quite a rebellion, the prince had ordered the seizure and sale of all their mansions and townhouses. After all, the urgency was to free the king and his brother. More than being nobles of the kingdom, they embodied the kingdom itself. The longer they remained away from the palace, the more vulnerable the kingdom became.


    Led by a handful of servants, they entered a large, richly furnished room where a large fire had been burning for several hours. The temperature was so pleasant that one could easily discard their coat and even their jacket.


    A large red-and-gold armchair, topped with the crowned Prussian eagle with spread wings holding a scepter in one claw and a globus cruciger in the other, was brought near the fire, and the old king sat down. The others remained standing, content to simply see their master in good health again.


    Prince Ferdinand felt his emotions overflow, and a tear of joy rolled down his gaunt cheek, thinned by his trials. The orange flames illuminated the old monarch¡¯s face, highlighting his strained features and tense muscles.


    Finally, I am back. I have returned, I am finally home, thought the king, with both joy and sorrow, his gaze lost in the flames, barely feeling their warmth.


    ¡°You did well, my brother,¡± he finally said, weakly raising his head to look at August Ferdinand, whom he barely recognized. ¡°It couldn¡¯t have been easy.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I did my best, but I fear it wasn¡¯t enough.¡±


    Frederick felt his heart twist in pain. He shook his head.


    ¡°The situation you and the ministers found yourselves in is entirely my responsibility. I offer you my apologies and am ready to face the consequences.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty¡­¡± the ministers stammered in surprise, despair growing in their hearts.


    ¡°I was informed of the situation during my captivity, but many details were withheld. Tell me everything.¡±


    There was a moment of silence, a moment that seemed to last an eternity. No one knew who should speak first or where to begin. Finally, it was Prince Ferdinand who started. His thoughts were somewhat disordered, but he managed to roughly summarize the kingdom¡¯s situation by recounting the various events that had taken place between this emotional day and the sorrowful day of his capture at Rossbach.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The more the prince spoke, the darker the old king¡¯s face became. His small movements, especially of his arms and legs, made it clear he was deeply agitated.


    He froze completely when his brother finished.


    My God¡­ It¡¯s worse than I feared!


    ¡°I see,¡± he sighed, turning his gaze back to the tall flames in the large fireplace, richly adorned with golden sculptures. ¡°So that¡¯s what happened. Do we know what became of our officers who followed von Zieten?¡±


    ¡°General von Seydlitz¡¯s death has been confirmed, as well as that of the heir to Brunswick-Wolfenb¨¹ttel. We¡¯ve been told they died heroically. We¡­ we still don¡¯t know about the Prince of Brunswick-Bevern. Generalleutnant de la Motte-Fouqu¨¦ managed to flee with General von Zieten. It was with his flintlock pistol that he took his own life in Bremen


    ¡°I see. Where is he now?¡±


    ¡°He surrendered to the French, Your Majesty, to avoid the axe, as he had been sentenced to death for treason, like the others.¡±


    Frederick stared heavily at his younger brother, Ferdinand, who flinched under his gaze. He didn¡¯t mean to intimidate him, but it was true that he blamed him greatly for this tragedy. He felt his heart grow even colder and constrict further. The more he learned about the course of events during his absence, the more guilt weighed upon him. If he hadn¡¯t failed at Rossbach and been captured, none of this would have happened.


    ¡°What a waste. So many men lost in vain.¡±


    Prince Ferdinand felt so ashamed that he instinctively shrank, as if trying to disappear.


    There was a long silence, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire and a ticking sound from a small clock in the corner of the room, near an impressive harp and a harpsichord, both as richly decorated as the fireplace.


    ¡°I want to see von Finckenstein,¡± the king finally said. ¡°Don¡¯t bring him up, I will go down.¡±


    ***


    The former minister now looked like a vagabond. Chained like a wild animal, he had grown a terrible beard. The stench was unbearable, though he could no longer even smell it. Having no one to talk to, he had begun speaking to himself aloud. Sometimes he was aware of what he was doing, but often, he didn¡¯t realize he wasn¡¯t just thinking.


    ¡°Stupid! Idiot! Fool! I¡¯ve ruined everything! I¡¯ve condemned my kingdom! But it¡¯s not entirely my fault, is it? No, I was trapped! It could have happened to anyone, anyone. The prince, the prince was tricked too. I¡¯m not alone, no, no, no. So why am I the only one imprisoned?! What an injustice!¡±


    Clack, clack, clack.


    ¡°Huh? What? Someone¡¯s coming?¡±


    Who¡¯s coming? Who is it? What do they want? Your Highness!


    His eyes, wide open as if to capture all the light entering his cell, saw a large group of men, all dressed very elegantly. Several couldn¡¯t help but step back from the foul smell, while others quickly held lace handkerchiefs to their delicate mouths and noses.


    ¡°Y-Your Majesty?! I-is it really you?¡±


    Is this real?! Has he really been freed?! My God, let this not be a dream!


    ¡°Monsieur Minister, how you have changed. I wouldn¡¯t have recognized you.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes, ah ah, I¡¯ve changed, yes.¡±


    The man looked so pitiful that the nobles present no longer even thought of punishing him. From their perspective, it was as if he had already been severely punished for his crimes.


    ¡°Lord von Finckenstein, you made a grave mistake, and it cost us dearly.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty, I am guilty! But hear me! I was trapped! Everything I did was for the good of the kingdom!¡±


    ¡°For the good of the kingdom... My dear minister, my dear friend,¡± Frederick said in a terribly cold voice, ¡°you have greatly disappointed me.¡±


    ¡°Y-Your Majesty?¡± stammered von Finckenstein, trembling in despair.


    I... I¡¯ve disappointed His Majesty? Yes, I¡¯ve disappointed His Majesty! I¡¯m guilty! But forgive me! I... I... Please don¡¯t hate me, I beg you!


    ¡°I thought you were smarter than that. You were tricked, yes. Like a child. Tell me, if this man, this spy, had claimed to be the resurrected Christ, would you have followed him with the same blindness?"


    ¡°¡­"


    ¡°Do you know that because of your mistake, we suffered another defeat? Von Zieten, Brunswick-Wolfenb¨¹ttel, and von Seydlitz are dead, along with several thousand of our men. The rest have scattered and will likely never fight under our banner again, the Prince of Brunswick-Bevern is missing, and de la Motte-Fouqu¨¦ has surrendered to the enemy.¡±


    ¡°My God¡­¡± groaned the minister, more and more desperate, though more concerned for the kingdom than for himself.


    It really is my fault! My God, what have I done! I¡¯ve truly condemned my kingdom! Unforgivable!


    ¡°Yes,¡± the old king sighed, ¡°your mistake has cost us greatly. Even if you were trapped, even if your intentions were good, someone must be punished. I sentence you to death by beheading. Farewell, my friend,¡± murmured Frederick, his face twisted in pain. ¡°May God forgive us both.¡±


    ***


    They left the cell, forcibly ignoring the prisoner¡¯s screams that echoed through the corridors and down the stone stairs, and returned to the beautiful sitting room. The King of Prussia felt as though he could still hear the cries of his friend, the one who had supported him so much, especially in his youth when he had defied his father, the fearsome Frederick William I, who should have earned the nickname "the Merciless."


    "Your Majesty..." began Prince Henry, who was well aware of the special relationship he had with this man, whom he had placed in a key position because he trusted him.


    "I want to see our diplomats and those sent by our enemies first thing tomorrow morning¡ªor rather, in a few hours."


    "Sire?" one of Frederick¡¯s ministers stammered, his eyes wide as marbles.


    "W-what will you tell them?" asked Henry, his voice trembling under the surge of emotion that had suddenly risen like a tsunami.


    "That this war is over," he said, in an oddly calm voice, stunning everyone present.


    The Treaty of Berlin, signed on April 14, 1758, was the testament of Prussia as it had existed. It took many long days to reach an agreement with King Louis XV of France, Emperor Francis I of the Holy Roman Empire, Empress Elizabeth I of Russia, Queen Maria Theresa of Austria, and King Adolf Frederick of Sweden.


    Never before had such a treaty been seen, so terrible it was for the defeated. In many ways, it resembled a suicide note. These monarchs themselves were surprised by what was proposed and could only accept each term one by one.


    The first article concerned war indemnities to be paid to each of Prussia¡¯s adversaries. The final sum was so staggering that it was clear Prussia could never recover on its own. In the preamble, it was acknowledged that Frederick II was the sole and only person responsible for all the destruction and deaths that had occurred during this short conflict, originally launched to retain control of wealthy Silesia and gain the Electorate of Saxony.


    The second article, certainly the most important, detailed the territorial changes. Austria officially regained its precious Silesia, one of the major stakes of the War of Austrian Succession. It also reclaimed the vast region of Bohemia and some territories from Brandenburg.


    Russia acquired nothing less than the entirety of the Prussian enclave located within the Kingdom of Poland, known as "the Kingdom of Prussia" or "East Prussia."


    Many years earlier, in 1701, the Holy Roman Empire had granted Frederick II''s grandfather, then Elector of Brandenburg and Duke of Prussia, Frederick III, the title of King in Prussia. It was a reward for his loyalty, bravery, and all the qualities so highly sought after among the Empire¡¯s nobles.


    But the backstabbing inflicted on the emperor by Frederick II when he decided to attack Saxony and Austrian territories was too cruel not to be punished severely. It was therefore decided to strip him of this exceptional privilege. The emperor naturally reclaimed everything that had been lost, along with a few other territories, and Frederick ceased to be king, reverting to merely a duke.


    The Kingdom of France gained, in addition to the lands taken from the King of Great Britain, a few territories in Brandenburg. However, since these lands were far from the kingdom¡¯s borders, the Crown sold them to the emperor for a handsome sum. Hanover remained in the hands of the French for the moment, as they intended to use it later as a bargaining chip with the elderly King George II.


    As for Sweden, it obtained nothing more than its war indemnity, having failed to seize any territories during the conflict.


    The following articles primarily aimed to protect the people of Prussia and their property. For Frederick, this was the most important point. No foreign army, especially the French army¡ªwhose terrible reputation was well-known in the city¡ªwas to occupy Berlin or any city of the former Kingdom of Prussia. The duchy was once again under the authority of Emperor Francis I and under his protection.


    Then, provisions were made concerning the soldiers, ordering them to cease all activities immediately. Any violent action would be considered banditry. Consequently, any recalcitrant soldiers caught would be hanged. Naturally, all weapons were to be seized and destroyed.

 Chapter 37: Brest

    Even though Prussia had been defeated¡ªan outcome almost certain since Frederick II¡¯s capture in November 1757¡ªthere was never any question of ending the war with Great Britain. Its armies and navy remained intact.


    This war, rather than being fought on the Old Continent, was raging across almost all the seas of the globe, in the New World, in African trading posts, and in India. Although fierce, these battles could not compare to those fought in Europe. The means were too limited.


    The number of soldiers stationed overseas was smaller, and it was very difficult for European states to send fresh troops to another continent.


    Exactly one week before the terrible battle of H?uslingen, a pivotal event occurred, completely shifting the precarious balance in this conflict. On February 28, 1758, Spain declared war on Great Britain.


    That day, Spain delivered a powerful blow, striking its enemy before it even knew of the change.


    Admiral Henry Osborn never saw it coming.


    All he saw at the time were three poor French warships trying to reinforce a fleet he had managed to trap in the port of Cartagena. They seemed so weak, so fragile, that it would have been criminal to ignore them. So, with fifth of his line ships¡ªthree of the fifteen he commanded¡ªhe set off after his prey, unaware that he was the target of eighteen heavily armed Spanish ships!


    By the time he realized the situation, it was too late.


    The battle was epic and exceptionally violent. After taking out the ships pursuing the French vessels, the Spanish attacked the nine remaining British ships stationed off Cartagena. The toll was devastating, although insignificant for the all-powerful Royal Navy.


    Six of its ships were sunk, five were severely damaged, and three surrendered once it became clear the battle was lost. Only one ship managed to escape. Unfortunately for the British admiral, it was not his. Henry Osborn was killed during the battle by a wooden splinter to the throat.


    Though the losses suffered by His Majesty¡¯s glorious navy were negligible when viewed against the vast number of ships at its disposal, the humiliation could not be ignored.


    All of London heard rumors that when the elderly King George II officially learned of Spain¡¯s entry into the war, he flew into such a rage that he shattered one of his study windows by hurling a large inkwell through it.


    The French ships that had been trapped in Cartagena were finally able to break free and joined the three ships that had come to their aid, led by Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville.


    He was a seasoned and highly experienced man, a sailor to the core, just like his father and uncle.


    It was under his command that the French squadron, composed of four line ships and four captured English vessels¡ªtwo of which were in poor condition¡ªleft the Mediterranean.


    Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s mission was to sail to New France to support Louisbourg, which was under grave threat from the British army. Normally, this task would have fallen to squadron leader Jean-Fran?ois de Bertet de Sabran, Marquis de La Clue, commonly known as La Clue-Sabran, who was even more experienced than Duquesne. However, recent events had led to this change.


    Thus, La Clue-Sabran returned to Toulon while Duquesne de Menneville crossed the Strait of Gibraltar. This British-controlled location became a prime target the moment Spain entered the war, allowing the French ships to pass unscathed.


    His orders from Versailles remained unchanged. He was to sail to the New World, but first, he was to stop at the port and arsenal of Brest. Like Gibraltar, this location was of immense strategic importance to the kingdom. Its large, sheltered harbor could accommodate a considerable fleet, capable of setting sail for the New World, attacking the English coast to the north, or heading to the Mediterranean, the African coast, or India by sailing south.


    According to his mission orders, Michel-Ange Duquesne was to meet with other ships at Brest and wait for an army to arrive. Together, they were to ensure a safe crossing to the other side of the vast and dangerous Atlantic Ocean.


    This task was a monumental challenge for the officers in charge of logistics, as it involved weeks at sea. But that was not Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s concern. All he had to do was follow orders.


    His experience extended beyond merely commanding ships, most of them in the Mediterranean to prevent the British from controlling this vital sea for European trade. Indeed, he had also served, albeit for only three years, as the governor of New France. Perhaps that was the reason for the final decision to send him instead of La Clue-Sabran.


    Thanks to this valuable experience, he understood how critical the port city of Louisbourg was. The British knew as much as the French that depriving France of this fortified town would isolate all territories along the mighty Saint Lawrence River, cutting off the entire northern region of New France.


    Even though this vast territory was connected to Louisiana, another immense region stretching roughly from the Caribbean to the Great Lakes, completely blocking the westward expansion of the thirteen British colonies, it remained largely undeveloped.


    It would not be an exaggeration to say that everything there was yet to be built, including roads.


    Without Louisbourg, Quebec and its surroundings were doomed. It was, therefore, no surprise that Britain sought to capture it once again. Once again, because they had succeeded during the last war, only to be forced to return it under the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748.


    The old enemy of France had tried to recapture it the previous summer, but by sheer luck rather than the defenders'' skill, they had been repelled.


    It was certain that they would try again this year to undermine France¡¯s ambitions and allow the British Crown to drive the French out of the New World once and for all.


    Thus, Duquesne¡¯s mission was clear: ensure that Louisbourg did not fall and capture as many English ships as possible.


    There was no point in counting on the help of the Holy Roman Empire, Sweden, Russia, or Austria, as their interests were limited to Europe. The defeat of Prussia, not yet confirmed at that time, would mark the end of this war for them. Knowing this, His Majesty Louis XV did everything in his power to draw Spain into the war. France needed an ally against the formidable England, respected and feared worldwide.


    Spain, although ruled by the Bourbons, the illustrious family to which the current King of France belonged, had been very reluctant to join this conflict. Belonging to the same house was not a sufficient reason, otherwise the Spanish Crown would never have waged war against France from 1718 to 1720, shortly after the War of the Spanish Succession. Yet it was through that very war that the Bourbons had ascended to the throne of this powerful kingdom, rightly called an empire!


    The main reason that pushed Spain to side with France was that the British held several territories that His Most Catholic Majesty coveted, some of which were within his vast empire in the New World. From his point of view, this was absolutely intolerable. Indeed, in addition to owning a large number of islands in the Caribbean, Great Britain also held Belize, to the south of the Yucat¨¢n, and the Mosquito Coast, further south. More importantly, Spain desired to seize Gibraltar.


    Without the resounding victory of the French against Prussia, perhaps the Spain of Ferdinand VI would never have dared take the plunge. After all, this monarch was known throughout Europe for his reluctance to choose between Britain and France. He had even gone so far as to replace his prime minister in 1754 for being deemed too pro-French!


    Unfortunately for Ferdinand VI, his sudden and unexpected decision had consequences. In fact, as Duquesne learned as soon as he arrived in Brest in mid-March, the Kingdom of Portugal had announced that it would side with Great Britain and join them against France and Spain. Alas for the Spanish monarch, it was too late to turn back. The four colonial empires present in the New World were now at war with each other in two terrifying blocs.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Michel-Ange Duquesne, aboard the Foudroyant, a majestic 80-gun ship of the line, nervously tapped his finger on the thick railing at the rear of his vessel. His gaze, as in previous days, was fixed on the Goulet.


    Good heavens! How much longer must I wait? It''s been almost two weeks, and still no news of those ships and that army I am to escort! Has the plan changed?


    His ship had not moved an inch since he dropped anchor on March 15 in front of Brest Castle. Near his ship were a few others, as immobile as rocks in the vast Brest harbor, the famous natural refuge said to be large enough to shelter the entire fleet of His Majesty.


    It was indeed a marvelous place to anchor his ship. Like a miniature Mediterranean Sea, it was accessible only through what was called "the Goulet," a narrow passage that could not be avoided if one wished to enter Brest by sea. It was therefore the local equivalent of the Strait of Gibraltar, albeit much smaller, of course.


    On each side of this narrow corridor were batteries equipped with many heavy cannons and mortars, all ready to fire on any enemy ships attempting to force their way through. They were well-designed, fully operational, and perfectly positioned so that any attacker would think twice before trying to assault this port city, which boasted one of France''s largest arsenals.


    They''re treating me as if I''m a threat! What an outrage!


    Indeed, Count Duguay, commander of the navy at Brest, was very cautious about allowing so many men to roam the city unsupervised, which is why he had ordered Duquesne de Menneville to remain on board his ship with his crews. As he explained to him, they had arrived at the worst possible time: a terrible epidemic was raging in the city.


    A fleet full of sick people from Louisbourg, after repelling the English attack the previous year, had arrived in Brest a few months earlier. It hadn¡¯t taken long for the disease to spread to the population, soon becoming uncontrollable. Brest had two hospitals, but the number of caregivers and available beds quickly proved insufficient to deal with the scourge, which seemed like a divine punishment. The people of Brest were dying in large numbers, preventing the city and the arsenal from functioning properly.


    All Duquesne could do now was wait for these ships to depart. Unfortunately, Count Duguay had been forced to accept them in his harbor because, as Monsieur de Moras, the new Secretary of the Navy after the disgrace of Monsieur de Machault d''Arnouville, had informed him by letter, more would arrive, carrying many soldiers bound for New France.


    He had no choice but to wait for these soldiers to arrive so the ships could set sail from his port and harbor.


    "Captain! They''ve arrived!"


    Finally! It''s about time! To think it''s already March 30! We''ve been delayed considerably, I hope it''s not too late!


    His greatest fear was to arrive in front of Louisbourg and discover a foreign flag flying over the city.


    If, by some misfortune, we arrive too late...


    Armed with his spyglass, he observed from his post the ships entering the harbor. There were eight warships, which wasn''t bad. They were escorting a fairly large number of merchant and troop transport ships. As if to welcome them, a cannon roared in the distance.


    Slowly, the last ship in the long line crossed the Goulet and took its place with the others, within a cable''s length of the castle guarding the entrance to the Penfeld River.


    Behind this castle, which had nothing in common with what the Romans had once built or what the Breton lords had erected centuries later, the city seemed quite small.


    Initially tired of waiting with nothing to do, Michel-Ange Duquesne looked on with horror at the state of these ships.


    "Good Lord! Have they been through hell?!"


    The old sailor had every reason to doubt. The hulls of these ships appeared damaged, as did the rigging.


    Apparently, their journey wasn''t smooth. My God, it looks like they''ve been attacked by a sea monster!


    Planks covered holes left on the sides of the vessels, and one ship was even missing a mast.


    Rear Admiral Duquesne de Menneville boarded a small boat and headed for the Juste, a second-rate ship of the line with over thirty years of service in His Majesty''s navy.


    "Mr. Duquesne, I presume?" said a man of the same generation, extending a sailor''s hand, worn from salt. "I am the captain of the Juste, Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn, and this is my first mate, my brother, Rosmadec de Saint-Allouarn. And here is the commander of the men I bring to you.


    "I am the Marshal-Duke of Vignerot du Plessis de Richelieu, pleased to meet you, sir. I place my army at your disposal," said the older man, about ten years senior to the other three.


    "Ah, pleased to meet you, gentlemen. I am the commander of the Foudroyant, Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville. According to my instructions, I am to form a squadron with your ships and head to New France to support our colonies."


    "Indeed, that matches our orders. My apologies for the delay, sir," said the Marshal-Duke, bowing slightly. "I received His Majesty¡¯s orders rather late, just as I was about to face a Prussian army."


    "Prussian? So you were coming from Prussia with these... ships?" Duquesne choked, both surprised and impressed.


    I was about to say ''wrecks,'' for that¡¯s what they are. How did they even make it here? It¡¯s a miracle, considering the number of English ships patrolling the Channel!


    "Thanks to the Saint-Allouarn brothers," said the Marshal of Richelieu, "we arrived swiftly. Unfortunately, we encountered two small English fleets. While we managed to avoid a fight the first time thanks to a thick fog, we weren¡¯t so lucky the second time. One of our ships sank, and we had no choice but to continue our route to avoid being completely destroyed in the Channel."


    "Good Lord! I hope your men were rescued in time, for the water is freezing this season! That explains the state of your ships. I fear it may be a serious delay if we are to complete the mission entrusted to us by His Majesty."


    The old marshal, looking deeply concerned, ran his long, thin fingers over his chin, where a graying beard was beginning to show.


    "How long will the repairs take?"


    "I¡¯m not sure," sighed the squadron leader, feeling a headache coming on. "The port and workshops are running at half capacity due to an epidemic."


    "An epidemic? That¡¯s unfortunate," the old soldier grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.


    "I fear," Duquesne continued, "that even if we mobilize all available workers and the convicts in town, we will only be able to repair one or two ships before we leave. Fortunately, we captured some English ships in Spain, and a few of them are in good condition. The ones that weren¡¯t are already being repaired."


    "Excellent! In that case, we¡¯ll use them!" exclaimed the younger Saint-Allouarn enthusiastically.


    "But do we have enough sailors to man them properly?" asked the Duke, still very concerned.


    "Heh, you forget, Mr. Richelieu, that we are in Brittany," replied Captain Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn proudly. "Here, we have the best sailors in the world! A Breton is worth two, maybe three ordinary sailors!"


    The Duke of Richelieu and the squadron leader Duquesne exchanged glances as they watched the two Bretons puff out their chests with pride.


    The Bretons¡­ they both thought at the same time, with a resigned sigh.


    ***


    At that same moment, just outside Brest, on the other side of the Penfeld River, in Recouvrance, a middle-aged man, plump, with a ruddy complexion and deep bags under his eyes, entered a modest-looking house.


    There was nothing distinguishing about the house. Its walls were cracked, the windows dirty, and the slate roof dotted with patches of green, spongy moss.


    He slammed the wooden door shut behind him, carelessly placed his worn tricorne, nearly as old as he was, on a small wooden table, and hung his heavy coat on the back of his chair¡ªthe one he used for eating.


    As soon as he got home, the stout man headed to his bedroom and lit a candle on a simple desk near the small square window of the room. It was already dark at this hour, though the days were getting longer. From a poorly fitted drawer, he pulled out some paper and the special ink given to him a few years ago. It was already prepared and could be used immediately.


    He grabbed a tired-looking quill that had been waiting for nearly two weeks and dipped the tip into the liquid, very different from ordinary inks.


    He began tracing letters barely visible by the small flame.


    As it dried, it became completely invisible. To reveal the letters and words, one had to hold the letter close to a heat source. A few seconds were enough to make the message appear as if by magic.


    His employer had communicated the recipe to him, through an intermediary, of course. The message was short and consisted of two parts. The first concerned the arrival of several ships in the port of Brest, which he described as best he could, roughly estimating the number of men aboard. He knew what his employers wanted since he had been selling information to the English for three years now.


    Risky and far from honorable, he had taken up this secret work more for the money than out of sympathy for these foreigners or a taste for adventure. The second part concerned the money. It had been a while since he had received a pound. He had already requested it two weeks earlier when he reported the arrival of the French squadron in the port, but he had received no response.


    As he continued to do what was expected of him, the money was slow in coming. And he really needed it.


    When he finished, he turned over the letter and wrote a mundane message in black ink to a supposed cousin in Rennes. In reality, it was one of his accomplices, who would in turn send a similar letter to another contact in Paris, who would then send one to someone in the United Provinces before it eventually reached England.


    This was how things worked with him, and there was no doubt that it was the same in all the major ports of France."

 Chapter 38: Reorganization

    Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville watched with curiosity as the ships transporting Marshal de Richelieu''s army came into view. There were many of them, some large and others smaller, but some seemed on the verge of sinking. The sailors didn¡¯t look in very good shape either.


    He turned to the elderly man, richly dressed as befitted his rank.


    "My lord, perhaps we should start by redistributing your soldiers across our ships."


    "Hmm, yes, let''s do that. Let¡¯s start with the ships in the worst condition. How many men can you take on board?" the Marshal-Duke asked seriously.


    "Well, each ship is different. I think I can accommodate one hundred and fifty to two hundred men on the Foudroyant, but no more. Two hundred is really the limit, beyond that, and the conditions will become unbearable. We wouldn¡¯t want to lose men before the battle, would we?"


    Richelieu nodded and mentally noted the figure.


    "The Oc¨¦an, also being an eighty-gun ship, can take up to two hundred passengers. The Oriflamme is smaller, so we can only send one hundred and twenty men at most, and the Orph¨¦e, the sixty-four-gun ship you see there, can only carry fifty to a hundred of your soldiers, no more."


    "And those?" asked the captain of the Juste, pointing to two fine ships that were in decent condition but showed some damage to their hulls.


    "Those are the English ships we managed to bring with us. That one is the Monmouth and the other is the Swiftshire. They¡¯re good vessels, and there¡¯s enough space to put at least one hundred and fifty men on each."


    "So, on your ships, sir, we can transport around one thousand one hundred men," the old Marshal summarized, visibly satisfied. "That¡¯s good. And you, Monsieur de Saint-Allouarn? How many men can you take?"


    "Well, we mostly have frigates, so we can¡¯t take as many men, but we do have more ships. I think we can take about one thousand five hundred men on board."


    "Perfect! With your two squadrons, we can move half of my men. We¡¯ll leave many of the more damaged ships in Brest and use the others to transport supplies and heavy equipment."


    "Really? Well, that¡¯s good news. But how many men did you bring with you?" Duquesne asked, turning toward the ships that had been used to transport all these soldiers here.


    "About five thousand," the Marshal replied.


    The squadron leader raised an eyebrow in surprise. It wasn¡¯t a small number for the New World, but it might not be enough.


    "I see," the officer sighed. "Well, let¡¯s get started."


    ***


    Adam, who was aboard a humble merchant ship requisitioned for his company, didn¡¯t look in great shape.


    During these twelve days at sea, he had realized something very important: he didn¡¯t have sea legs. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was his fault or due to this body, but he had spent most of his time vomiting and agonizing in a corner, trying not to get in the way.


    Pale as a corpse, he stood on the deck cluttered with ropes, barrels, and crates.


    Ugh! Damn, finish me off! Why... Why me?


    The young lieutenant, having finally received his share of the ransom for the King of Prussia and his brother, part of which had been used to purchase this rank, kept asking himself this question like a broken record.


    To his great misfortune, he had moved even further away from Hameln and his escape route. His entire regiment had boarded numerous ships near Stade, taking whatever they could find.


    "Are you alright, Lieutenant?" asked Captain Gilbert as he approached.


    "O-yes, it''s better than the other days."


    "Don¡¯t worry about it. No one will judge you for this lack of elegance. You¡¯re not the only one who got sick, far from it."


    When they had all boarded these ships, much smaller than the floating fortresses surrounding them, the sea had been very rough. There was wind, rain, and large waves tossing their frail vessels in all directions.


    Fortunately, not the entire journey had been like that. For two or three days, the sea had been calm. But that was also when they encountered the first British squadron.


    Ah, we were really lucky that day. Without the fog, we could have all been sunk or captured.


    "Captain? What are we going to do?"


    "The most logical thing would be to abandon the most damaged transport ships and board other vessels. Ah, here comes a small boat towards us. We¡¯ll know more very soon."


    As Company Captain Armand Gilbert had said, a small boat with six rowers was approaching. The oars sliced through the water, propelling the boat forward without much splash. Although they were far from the speed of a motorboat, these sailors managed to move it fairly quickly. All six seemed to know how to conserve their energy.


    Despite the distance, Adam could see how powerful their arms were. Their faces, however, didn¡¯t look particularly pleasant. One could easily mistake them for bandits.


    Finally, the small boat came to a halt, and the sailors stowed their oars. A young man¡ªthough it might be more accurate to call him a child, as he didn¡¯t seem to be older than twenty¡ªclimbed aboard their small merchant ship.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Gentlemen, good day. I am Lieutenant Louis Lenoir, from the Oc¨¦an. I¡¯ve been tasked with transporting the soldiers aboard the most damaged ships. I¡¯ll start with this one. Who¡¯s the highest-ranking officer here?"


    "Sir, I am Captain Armand Gilbert, from the Picardy Regiment."


    "Nice to meet you, sir. How many men are aboard?"


    "We are forty-three," the officer replied without hesitation.


    "Good. We¡¯ll make several trips to bring everyone aboard, but first, I need to ensure none of you are ill. You, sir," the ship lieutenant said, looking at Adam, "you don¡¯t seem to be well."


    "I¡¯m seasick... but I¡¯m getting better."


    The officer, whose face still retained some childlike features, nodded gently. He knew what it was like, having been struck quite hard by seasickness himself during his first time aboard a ship.


    "Hang in there, it¡¯ll pass. Our ships are far more stable than this one. First time at sea?"


    "Yes, sir," Adam replied honestly to the very well-dressed man with impeccable posture.


    "Well, you haven¡¯t started in the best of conditions. The Oc¨¦an handles very well in open waters. It¡¯ll be a completely different experience, you¡¯ll see. Alright, let¡¯s do a quick inspection and get started. Have all the men line up. Once I give the go-ahead, they can begin boarding."


    The Oc¨¦an was a magnificent three-masted ship. The closer Adam got, the more he was in awe. From his small boat, it looked enormous. Its masts rose majestically into the sky, as if trying to reach the gray heavens. Hundreds of meters of rigging held them firmly in place and allowed for the hoisting of massive white sails, which were currently furled. Other ropes, forming large square meshes, stretched from the upper deck to the heights, enabling sailors to reach the highest points.


    My God, it¡¯s beautiful! And huge! I wonder what the view must be like from up there?


    His eyes fixed on the square platforms along the masts, and he imagined himself standing on them. The highest platform was also the smallest.


    Damn, there¡¯s no protection up there! No way I¡¯m climbing that!


    The closer the boat got, the more Adam could admire the details. The rear of the ship, commonly referred to as the "castle," was a true work of art. There were two golden balconies facing large rectangular windows, sculptures everywhere, the ship¡¯s name in golden letters on the lower balcony, and the coat of arms of the King of France, three golden fleurs-de-lis, on the upper one. Above that, a massive wooden molding, covered in gold leaf, depicted a majestic human figure that inspired reverence. Finally, at the very top, there were three impressive golden lanterns, taller than a grown man.


    Oh wow! This is too beautiful! This isn¡¯t a warship, it¡¯s a palace!


    Adam¡¯s eyes were filled with wonder, something that didn¡¯t escape the young ship lieutenant Louis Lenoir, who was also aboard the small boat.


    "It¡¯s beautiful, isn¡¯t it? It¡¯s one of the six jewels of the Royal Navy. It may not be as imposing as the Soleil Royal or as richly decorated, but it¡¯s every bit as impressive as the other ships of its generation, built on the same model."


    "No, it¡¯s incredible! It¡¯s a real palace!"


    Louis Lenoir smiled with pride. Not everyone had the chance to sail on such a ship.


    "The exterior is splendid, that¡¯s true, but you¡¯ll quickly realize space is tight inside. Not a single inch can be wasted."


    Oh, I see. It¡¯s like an airplane or a submarine, then.


    "The Oc¨¦an," the officer began, almost as if reciting a lesson, "is only two years old. It¡¯s brand new! Would you believe me if I told you it was built in just three years?"


    "Only three?! Surely it took more like ten!" Adam exclaimed, still unable to tear his gaze away from the ship¡¯s side, which was lined with numerous gun ports.


    "Ten years?! Haha, no! When they lay down a ship like this, they put an army of workers to the task! Three years is actually quite long, in fact. In wartime, a few months can make all the difference!"


    "Ah, yes, I suppose that makes sense."


    The young man seemed so enthusiastic that Adam couldn¡¯t bring himself to interrupt once he had started describing the ship. It was almost as if the officer had dreamed of being a shipbuilder rather than an officer aboard one.


    "It¡¯s one hundred and seventy-five feet long and armed with eighty guns! In reality, it¡¯s not that different from the classic seventy-four-gun ships. It¡¯s fast as well as powerful! It can easily hold its own against a hundred-gun ship! Of course, the hull is made of oak, from trees over eighty years old! It takes that kind of strength to resist English cannonballs! The rigging needs to be lighter, so we used pine. As for the carved figures, a softer wood is needed, easy to work with, so we chose linden and poplar."


    "That¡¯s incredible!"


    How does he know all this?! It¡¯s like I¡¯m getting a guided tour of a museum!


    "Alright, we¡¯re here. Be careful not to make any sudden movements; you might fall into the water."


    Adam glanced at the water in the harbor. There were a few brown algae floating here and there, and the water didn¡¯t seem particularly warm. He dipped part of his hand into the seawater and confirmed his suspicion.


    Hmm, in July or August, maybe, but right now... I¡¯ll pass.


    On the rounded side of the Oc¨¦an, a long rope ladder hung down to the water¡¯s surface. The gentle lapping of small waves against the thick hull¡ªsince there was hardly any swell in the harbor, protected by the Goulet¡ªwas oddly soothing. Adam found it hard to imagine such a ship ever being in trouble at sea.


    It looks very stable, much more than the other ship. Anyway, it can¡¯t be worse. Wait, what?! I have to climb up using that?!


    "Climb up," the young officer instructed. "We need to fetch the others, so try to be quick... and don¡¯t fall."


    Adam stared at the officer, unable to tell whether he was joking or not.


    Almost like on a battle day, he felt his body tense. He didn¡¯t know why his body was reacting this way.


    When it was finally his turn, he followed the others, placing his right foot first on the thick hemp rope, with both hands at eye level.


    Come on! You¡¯ve been through worse!


    Fortunately, everything went smoothly. One foot after the other, he climbed the hull like a monkey. He felt immense relief when he reached the top. Two large hands grabbed him by the arms and hauled him aboard the warship.


    But as soon as Adam looked around, he noticed that the many men on deck didn¡¯t seem very friendly. In fact, their mood seemed as sour as the worst moments Adam remembered from the army of Marshal-Duke de Richelieu¡ªthe times when no one had enough to eat, when they had to keep marching despite the elements, fatigue, equipment issues, and so on.


    What... what is this atmosphere? Why does the air feel heavier here? And why are they all looking at us like that? It¡¯s like they want to tear us apart!


    No sooner had they all boarded than the boat returned to fetch more soldiers. A second boat took its place, and more soldiers climbed aboard the Oc¨¦an.


    After a few hours, the transfer was complete.


    "Men, this way. The captain is going to say a few words. Gather at the stern."


    Adam, standing beside his officer, looked around with curiosity and fascination. The deck floor gleamed as if it had just been cleaned, the ropes were neatly coiled to take up less space, and, most notably, there were cannons on both sides, securely tied with ropes to large black iron stakes.


    "Gentlemen, welcome aboard the Oc¨¦an," said a man in his fifties, dressed in a long navy blue coat embroidered with gold. "I am Captain du Chaffault de Besn¨¦," he continued, sweeping his sharp, judge-like gaze over the crowd. "You must understand," he went on, his firm voice cracking in the wind like a whip, "that a ship is like a city. Everyone has a role to play, and there are rules to follow. As captain of this ship, I am the sole master on board. No one, and I mean no one, except God, has the right to question my authority. No matter your rank, seniority, or wealth, I will not hesitate to have you flogged, imprisoned, or hanged if you break our rules. Am I clear?"


    Y-yes! Very clear! Damn, this guy is terrifying! And what a terrible scar on his face!

 Chapter 39: On Board The Oc茅an

    Saying they were a bit cramped aboard the Oc¨¦an was a gross understatement compared to reality. Everything was very compartmentalized, the cannons took up an enormous amount of space, and on top of that, there were the masts, which were like three huge obstacles. And that¡¯s without counting all the equipment necessary for working in good conditions.


    Adam, who had just entered the ship with his comrades, let out a small cry of surprise. He almost hit his head on a large beam crossing from one side of the ship to the other, while another man took a lantern¡ªluckily unlit¡ªright in the face.


    The ceiling is really low... the young man sighed inwardly. Can we really spend weeks at sea with so little space?


    Guided by Louis Lenoir, they explored the ship.


    ¡°This is the second deck. The first deck is below. Don¡¯t forget that,¡± said the young officer, who seemed determined to share all his knowledge about the ship. ¡°There are sixteen 18-pound cannons on each side, totaling thirty-two pieces. On the first deck, there are thirty 36-pound cannons, fifteen on each side. Oh yes, very important! There¡¯s a whole vocabulary on board a ship. Since you won¡¯t be idle during our voyage, you¡¯ll be expected to work with us, especially right now. You¡¯ll need to learn certain terms. If someone says ¡®port,¡¯ it¡¯s the left side; if they say ¡®starboard,¡¯ it¡¯s the right. Got it?¡±


    Some of the soldiers nodded, but many didn¡¯t react. Some probably couldn¡¯t see themselves participating in ship maneuvers. Adam was one of them. He had already struggled to adjust to his life as a soldier.


    ¡°We have a few more artillery pieces at the bow, the front of the ship, and at the stern, the rear. In total, we have eighty cannons. The only thing that varies is their size. This ship, more than any of its generation, has significant storage space. This allows us to carry more water, food, gunpowder, spare materials for emergency repairs, more cannonballs, and even some animals.¡±


    ¡°There are animals on board?!¡± a soldier somewhere behind Adam asked, though he couldn¡¯t tell where exactly the question came from.


    ¡°Indeed. Thanks to them, we can have fresh eggs, milk, or meat, plain and simple. You¡¯ll have the chance to see them and take care of them. We have some chickens, ducks, pigeons, goats, and even oxen!¡±


    Pigeons?!


    Adam felt a wave of disgust rise within him. He naturally pictured the large, stupid, and greedy bird from his daily life, eating absolutely everything it could find¡ªeven bits of paper or plastic¡ªmultiplying endlessly and pooping everywhere.


    He couldn¡¯t have known that the pigeons mentioned by Lieutenant Louis Lenoir were nothing like their descendants, much like modern teenagers had nothing in common with those young men who had been working since they had the physical capacity to do so. Adam had seen many of them in the Duke of Richelieu¡¯s army, and it seemed like there were even more aboard this warship.


    ¡°Before you arrived, we restocked our supplies of food and fresh water. We have enough provisions, water, and wine for five or six months. That¡¯s enough to reach the East Indies.¡±


    ¡°Th-the East Indies?!¡± a captain, who seemed much older than Armand Gilbert, stammered. ¡°So... So that¡¯s where we¡¯re headed?¡±


    ¡°No, at least not if our orders remain unchanged. And you don¡¯t need to know that. This is just to give you an idea of what¡¯s possible with so much food. Since the ships you came on don¡¯t have sufficient reserves, we won¡¯t be able to leave immediately. So we¡¯ll have to stay in Brest for a few days. Unfortunately, we can¡¯t allow you to go ashore. There¡¯s an epidemic.¡±


    As soon as that word was uttered, everyone¡¯s expressions changed. All those who were about to cry out in protest closed their mouths and remained silent. Everyone here knew these things had to be taken very seriously. It only took one man to fall ill to condemn an entire army.


    Adam raised his hand like in school.


    ¡°Yes?¡± said Lieutenant Louis Lenoir, directing his gaze toward this young man, who, like him, was in his twenties.


    ¡°Where are we going to sleep?¡±


    As soon as he asked the question, the crowd of soldiers stirred, as everyone was wondering the same thing.


    ¡°Like all the sailors on board, you¡¯ll be sleeping in hammocks. For now, you won¡¯t see any, as it¡¯s daytime. Everything is stowed away in the morning, and we only take them out when it¡¯s time to sleep. We¡¯ll explain when the time comes how to set them up, where to get them, how to fold them, and how to get into them. If you¡¯re a restless sleeper, I recommend sleeping as close to the floor as possible. That way, if you fall, the drop will be lower and less painful.¡±


    The soldiers all tensed, imagining the scene. If they were all supposed to sleep in such a confined space, what kind of night would they have? Sleeping four to a tent was already difficult, but now they were being asked to sleep by the hundreds, all on one deck!


    ¡°M-mister?¡± a young soldier who must have been around eighteen timidly raised his hand.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°A-are... Are we all going to sleep here? Isn¡¯t it too crowded?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re all going to sleep here, but don¡¯t worry too much about space. Since we have more ships compared to our departure from Toulon, we had to transfer some of the crew to those ships. So, while the full crew of the Oc¨¦an is around eight hundred people, only half of that remains. That¡¯s why I told you you won¡¯t be idle. You¡¯ll be involved in all the maneuvers, whether in the rigging or at the cannons. Of course, we won¡¯t leave you to figure it out on your own. We¡¯ll be there to guide and train you.¡±


    Although the soldiers should have felt relieved, the vast majority had lost all their courage. Most of them already imagined themselves climbing the rigging, slipping, and either falling into the sea or crashing onto the ship¡¯s deck.


    I want to get off! I want to be sent back to Prussia!Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ***


    Inside the captain¡¯s cabin, Lieutenant Louis Lenoir found Mr. Du Chaffault de Besn¨¦ seated behind his large desk, softly illuminated by daylight streaming through the grand windows behind him.


    Despite his unimposing build, no one would dare disrespect him. He wore a simple yet finely crafted powdered wig that could easily be mistaken for his natural hair. His dark eyebrows were perpetually furrowed, giving him a constant air of thoughtfulness or annoyance. His nose, straight and fine, was somewhat long, and his charming mouth was marred on the left side by a large scar cutting across his face.


    He had been fortunate not to lose an eye when he received that gift from the English. It had happened during the War of Austrian Succession in 1747, off the coast of Spain. At that time, he was the second captain aboard the flagship of the fleet commanded by the Marquis d¡¯Estend¨¹¨¨re, the Tonnant. They were eight ships of the line and a frigate, escorting nearly two hundred and fifty merchant ships. But they had encountered Rear Admiral Hawke¡¯s squadron, which boasted twenty-three ships of the line.


    The Tonnant, a sturdy eighty-gun ship like the Oc¨¦an, had fought like a lion for hours, engaging the enemy again and again, sometimes battling five opponents at once! The fight had been brutal, and it left its mark on his face. By some miracle, they had been saved and had only twenty-three dead to mourn.


    ¡°How did it go?¡± the captain asked, not looking up from his work, meticulously writing in a ledger the names of all the men aboard.


    ¡°Quite well, captain. I showed them around the ship and started teaching them some vocabulary so they can understand your orders.¡±


    ¡°Good. I don¡¯t intend to turn them into sailors, but it would be beneficial for them to learn the basics, like tying different kinds of knots or knowing the names of the rigging elements.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of information,¡± Louis Lenoir remarked.


    ¡°Indeed, but they¡¯ll have plenty of time to learn it. Have they been informed about the regulations yet?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. Mr. Beaumont, the boatswain, clearly explained to our passengers each of our rules and the punishments for any violations.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. In that case, I¡¯m reassured,¡± said the captain as he closed his large book with its green and black binding. ¡°Tonight, I will dine with Captains Gilbert, Mortier, Joubert, Chaumont, and Dupr¨¦. Naturally, I expect your presence as well as Mr. de Sabl¨¦¡¯s. While you were with Marshal¡¯s soldiers, I sent someone to the Monmouth. Mr. Beaumont will join us this evening. We will discuss the mission His Majesty has entrusted to us. You may go.¡±


    ¡°At your orders,¡± replied the lieutenant simply before withdrawing, harboring no particular feelings toward the second in command.


    Louis Lenoir returned to the main deck, greeted by a gentle southern breeze. It had cleared most of the clouds, revealing a largely clear sky.


    The sun, low at this hour, painted the sky in fiery colors as it made the sea sparkle. It was a magnificent scene, one that made you want to do nothing but watch this painting that no great master could ever truly capture. The fluffy clouds were also awash in beautiful colors, as if God had played with every color at His disposal.


    Not far away, the guardian of Brest, the castle, seemed to be built from blocks of gold. Its high walls, almost plunging directly into the sea, were struck by the last rays of sunlight and would soon turn as dark as the sharp rocks surrounding the fortress, at least from that side.


    Brest stretched out behind the stone giant, while on the other side of the Penfeld River lay Recouvrance. The two areas had become a single city administratively, but there was no bridge connecting them. It wasn¡¯t very practical for trade. The locals had no choice but to use ferries manually propelled by long poles, unless they wanted to take a long detour.


    It¡¯s a beautiful city from here. Who would think there¡¯s an epidemic going on? Oh, how I wish I could visit the arsenal... All those people, the tools, all those techniques!


    The young man sighed deeply as he gazed at the numerous masts on the Penfeld River.


    I would have loved to learn how to build these massive ships. If only Father...


    It was then that he noticed one of Marshal Richelieu¡¯s soldiers had wandered onto the deck. With his nose in the air, he seemed quite interested in the rigging. He was also observing the cannons mounted on their solid carriages.


    Louis smiled and decided to approach him.


    ¡°You look like you¡¯re feeling better, that¡¯s good!¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes! Um, I think the other ship was just too small and unstable.¡±


    ¡°Probably, yes. This one should make your journey much more comfortable.¡±


    ¡°The journey?¡± the young man asked, clearly curious.


    Ah, I¡¯ve said too much. He certainly isn¡¯t informed about our mission. He has an epaulette. He¡¯s a lieutenant, I believe. Hmm, he doesn¡¯t look wealthy, judging by his outfit and sword. Oh! I hadn¡¯t noticed he had a scar! Good Lord! It¡¯s almost as big as the captain¡¯s!


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± the young lieutenant asked, noticing that Louis wasn¡¯t responding.


    ¡°Oh, sorry, it¡¯s just that... I didn¡¯t see your scar above your eye. Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to be rude. I have this bad habit of... Anyway!¡±


    Louis blushed violently, mentally berating himself for his clumsiness. Luckily, the young man before him showed no signs of discomfort or anger.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± he said with a smile. ¡°Yes, I was very lucky.¡±


    He then removed his tricorn and brushed back his long chestnut hair.


    My God!


    ¡°Did... did you get that in Prussia?¡± the young officer asked, both impressed and frightened.


    ¡°Yes, but it wasn¡¯t in battle. I slipped and hit my head on a big rock. It was last July. It¡¯s crazy how fast time flies! It¡¯s almost April already.¡±


    For some strange reason, he suddenly seemed very sad. Louis decided to change the subject to revive the conversation.


    ¡°By the way, did you know Spain has entered the war? You probably haven¡¯t heard yet since you¡¯ve just arrived, but I can assure you it¡¯s true!¡±


    "The Spanish? Really? Can they do anything besides play football and party?"


    "Excuse me? Play ''foot bowl''? What is that?"


    The young man suddenly seemed very embarrassed and waved his hands as if trying to erase what he had just said.


    "Nothing, nothing! It''s nothing! So, Spain has entered the war. Are they on our side?"


    "Yes! However, Portugal has also entered the war, but on the side of the English."


    "Oh..."


    Louis was a bit disappointed by the young man¡¯s lukewarm reaction. After all, these were vast colonial empires. Spain held a massive territory across the Atlantic, as did its Portuguese rival.


    "Spain officially entered the war on February 28th. And do you know how? They attacked a British squadron that was attacking us! The British were so surprised, they couldn¡¯t do anything, haha! Just thinking about it makes me laugh! At the time, the Oc¨¦an, commanded by Rear Admiral de la Clue-Sabran, was trapped in the port of Cartagena. We were outnumbered. Then three of our ships arrived. The British set off in pursuit, and we couldn¡¯t do anything because the wind was against us!"


    "Oh, really?" the lieutenant said, showing a bit more interest in the story.


    "Yes! Then they arrived! There was a huge hundred-gun ship, several sixty- or seventy-gun ships, a few frigates, and bomb ketches. Those who had gone after our ships immediately turned back but were quickly surrounded. Then the ships blocking us tried to flee, but it was too late for them too! Hahaha! It was so satisfying to see them in such despair! The battle lasted nearly five hours, and we joined in as well because during the fight, the wind changed enough for us to sail out. See those two ships? They¡¯re British ships! That¡¯s why there are so few of us aboard the Oc¨¦an. And it¡¯s the same on the other ships. We¡¯re really going to need your help to reach our destination."

 Chapter 40: Nighttime Discussion

    The night had fallen early, plunging the ships anchored in the harbor of Brest into darkness. Only a few lanterns provided any light. The moon was not visible that evening, but since the sky was clear, they could admire the Milky Way, which stretched like a wide, densely starred band above their heads.


    While an important discussion took place in the captain¡¯s quarters at the rear, or stern, of the Oc¨¦an, the soldiers under the Duke of Richelieu were finally resting in the bowels of the large ship.


    As everyone feared, they were all crammed together. Hundreds of hammocks had been hung wherever possible. They looked like cloth beans stacked on four levels. If the one at the very top fell during the night, it could take the other three down with it.


    Damn, I expected something horrible, but this¡­ this is worse!


    Adam lay in his hammock, the second one from the top, not far from the central mast, which they apparently called the "grand mat" or sometimes the "mat du grand perroquet"


    Under his weight, the edges of the hammock had folded in on him, making him truly look like a bean. His comrades didn¡¯t look any smarter, and more than one hadn¡¯t managed to stay in theirs for more than a few minutes. The most annoying part was probably the fact that you couldn¡¯t turn as you wished. Even the slightest movement made the hammock sway.


    My God, I¡¯ll never be able to sleep like this!


    Adam was used to tossing and turning several times a night. Most often, he slept on his side. It was a habit he had always had and brought with him when he arrived in this body and in this era. Unfortunately, in this thing, he wouldn¡¯t be able to do that.


    Ah¡­ he sighed inwardly. With any luck, I¡¯ll be too tired to move during the night.


    He was indeed exhausted. Those long days at sea, being tossed around in the English Channel, followed by the thrill of boarding such a massive ship¡­ it was a lot.


    At least I¡¯m not alone.


    Around him, all the men showed clear signs of fatigue. The previous weeks had been intense. They had marched like madmen to confront a Prussian army, crushed it while suffering heavy losses, pursued the survivors for two days, then headed north, leaving the Prince of Soubise to pacify the region. They had found ships to return to France and narrowly escaped death twice in the cold, gray waters of the Channel.


    Adam had discovered something about this era. Something surprising and interesting: people here were very afraid of the sea. The soldiers around him had never been more afraid of death than when they were in the Channel, despite having faced the horrors of the battlefield.


    He had learned that no one here knew how to swim. The young lieutenant realized that the cultural shift that saw the beach as a place of leisure and swimming as a sport had not yet occurred.


    By chatting a bit with the sailors about this, he discovered that they too couldn¡¯t swim, with one or two exceptions. The reason was simple: if they were unfortunate enough to fall into the water, it was better to drown quickly than to struggle and suffer. For them, not swimming meant a quick death, much like dying from a bullet was preferable to dying from a bayonet.


    ¡°Honestly,¡± said a soldier lying in a hammock two rows over, ¡°I don¡¯t know how we¡¯re going to stand this for more than a few days.¡±


    ¡°Do as you please, but I¡¯d rather sleep on the floor,¡± another grumbled, sitting on a cannon carriage next to which he seemed quite small.


    ¡°Trust me, mate, you won¡¯t think the same once we¡¯re at sea. Right now, it¡¯s all clean because we¡¯ve got plenty of time to tidy up, but it¡¯ll be a whole different story out there. You¡¯ll be glad to have a hammock hanging.¡±


    Adam, feeling just as uncomfortable as his comrades, turned slightly to see what was going on around him. All the soldiers had tried to settle into the hammocks, but some hadn¡¯t managed or simply didn¡¯t like the feeling of being suspended. More than anything, it was the swaying from side to side at the slightest movement that bothered them.


    ¡°A-are we really going to have to climb up the¡­ um, you know, the long poles in the middle of the ship?¡±


    ¡°The masts?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, those. Are we really going to have to go up there?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, little chick, we¡¯re not going to send you up into the rigging just like that. You¡¯ll get a crash course.¡±


    The man who sounded confident was one of the many sailors still aboard the Oc¨¦an. Fortunately, enough remained to handle the most complex maneuvers.


    ¡°Hey,¡± said the soldier lying in the hammock below Adam, ¡°I heard there were big problems with getting a full crew. Is that true?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡±


    The sailor¡¯s serious response surprised the soldiers listening to the conversation taking place in that part of the ship. Adam hadn¡¯t heard about this issue.


    ¡°Yeah, it was really tough. It¡¯s not that we didn¡¯t want to board, but when the pay doesn¡¯t come, you have the right to wonder why you¡¯d risk your life at sea, you know? There were quite a few deserters because of that, back when we were still in Toulon.¡±


    ¡°I get the feeling it¡¯s the same everywhere,¡± murmured another soldier. ¡°We had pay problems too when we were in Prussia and Hanover. But at least we could make it up by looting the towns and villages we passed through.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°Well, we couldn¡¯t. So, quite a few of our men deserted or tried to. After our victory off the coast of Spain, when we took a lot of prisoners, the morale improved a lot, so we didn¡¯t have too many deserters when we stopped in Bordeaux. We picked up a few more sailors there to make up for the shortage of hands, since we had to crew the English ships we captured. That¡¯s also where we got our captain. We needed someone to command the Oc¨¦an.¡±


    ¡°By the way, isn¡¯t the captain pretty scary?¡± ventured a soldier, who sounded quite young from his voice.


    "Scary?" chuckled a sailor whose skin had grown so dark from sunburn that one might mistake him for a Maghrebi. "Yes, I suppose, but believe me, kid, the one you should really fear is the boatswain. He''s the one who handles discipline on a ship."


    "The boatswain?"


    "Yeah. Come here and take a look at this," said the sailor, revealing his back, crisscrossed with scars as deep as they were hideous.


    "Oh my God! He did that to you?!"


    "Indeed. My first voyage at sea. Back then, I was serving on the Tonnant. Unlucky for me, he was already the boatswain. I was young and stupid at the time. I didn¡¯t yet know what kind of man he was and made the mistake of disrespecting him. He sure set me straight. I wasn¡¯t so mouthy after that. He tied me up in front of the entire crew, tore off my shirt, and whipped me. Ten lashes, because it was my first offense."


    "That¡¯s awful!"


    "That¡¯s the life of a sailor. Word is, he used to work on plantations in the sugar islands before sailing on the King¡¯s ships. He got fired by his former employer because he killed too many slaves when it came to punishing them."


    "I¡¯ve heard," said another sailor, who seemed quite young but was solidly built, "that he learned to handle the whip by enduring it first. They say he was a slave to the Ottomans, killed the ones who held him captive, including the one who whipped him, and then returned to France aboard a ship loaded with gold and spices!"


    CLAC CLOC CLAC CLOC


    Heavy footsteps echoed above their heads as a man Adam recognized as the boatswain appeared on the wooden stairs leading to the upper deck.


    "And they say he learned everything from the Devil, even surpassed him, and that every night, the Devil comes to him for advice. Damn it, you sacks of shit, are you done chattering like a bunch of old women?! Everyone up! Move it! Faster! Lieutenant Lenoir has something to say to you! I said, up!"


    He kicked the hammock in front of him, and a soldier tumbled to the floor at the feet of the scowling man.


    Behind him appeared Louis Lenoir, dressed in his impeccably tailored uniform as always.


    "Gentlemen, listen carefully," began the young officer in a sharp, authoritative voice. "We¡¯ll be staying in Brest for a bit. Starting tomorrow, we¡¯ll begin training so you won¡¯t slow us down once we¡¯re at sea. Two teams will be formed. Mr. Petit, our master gunner, along with our chief gunners, Messrs. Tr¨¦bodou, Ruffet, Galle, Samuel, Gauthier, and Br¨¦zier, will teach you everything you need to know about operating our cannons. Once they¡¯re done with you, you¡¯ll be able to assist our dear gunners if necessary. Meanwhile, the second team will be with me, Mr. de Beaumont here, and a few ship¡¯s officers responsible for the rigging. They¡¯ll teach you the name of every part, its purpose, and how to use it. You¡¯ll also learn how to tie solid knots. You¡¯ll quickly understand how crucial it is to master this skill."


    Louis Lenoir paused at this point to gauge the men¡¯s reactions. He wasn¡¯t sure what to make of them yet, but he had no intention of being lenient. The sea was an especially hostile environment, and it was in everyone¡¯s best interest to learn these things quickly.


    "I expect all of you to put effort into your exercises. If there are any shortcomings, you will be punished."


    "And what if we do the exercises well?" asked a soldier whose expression didn¡¯t exactly exude intelligence.


    Immediately, Mr. de Beaumont reached for the whip, tightly coiled and attached to his waist by a small iron ring. He stepped forward, and the air on the deck became suffocating. Every sailor and soldier began to tremble violently, as if they were in the presence of a great predator.


    W-what is this pressure? I-I can¡¯t breathe!


    Instinctively, Adam took a step back, and it was clear he wasn¡¯t the only one. Even the most seasoned soldiers reacted strongly to this sudden change. Only the ship¡¯s lieutenant remained unfazed. He raised a hand, and the boatswain stepped back to his place, like a dog recalled by its master.


    "Kuhum! If you do your exercises well, to answer your question, you will have simply done what is expected of you and won¡¯t be punished. That¡¯s all. You should all go to sleep now. Tomorrow will be a long day."


    With that, the officer turned and disappeared. Soon, all that could be heard were the labored breaths of the hundreds of gathered men. Adam, still in shock, made his way back to his hammock and tried to close his eyes.


    The next morning, as the first rays of daylight struggled to pass through the wooden grates in the ceiling to allow air to circulate, heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs without any care, and they were commanded to wake up.


    The old sea dogs and gunners were already awake and had begun folding their hammocks. Still groggy, Adam struggled to make sense of everything happening around him.


    "Don¡¯t just stand there like an idiot, kid, or you¡¯ll get punished. Take down your hammock."


    "Ah, uh, okay."


    The sailor ignored the young lieutenant¡¯s murmur and showed him how to do it. Each hammock had to be perfectly folded, the goal being to take up as little space as possible. When properly folded, they all fit neatly into a ridiculously small box.


    "Good, now follow me," said the sailor, a man as tall as he was broad. "We store our hammocks like this," he explained simply, showing Adam each of his movements. "There are other compartments like this around the ship so we can easily pull them out at night. Everything has to be in its place. Once everything¡¯s stored, we don¡¯t waste time looking for things. You noticed the space is tight, right? We can¡¯t afford to block passageways or run back and forth looking for a tool. Got it?"


    "Yes," Adam replied timidly, his gaze naturally drawn to the sailor¡¯s powerful arms. They were decorated with a few tattoos, each telling a small story. Most were linked to the sea, as was true for the other sailors as well.


    Soon after, breakfast was brought. Young cabin boys were tasked with this duty. All the food was carefully stored at the lowest level of the ship, in large barrels. The gunpowder reserve was at the same level for safety reasons.


    Quickly, Adam was served, and to his horror, it was worse than the dinner they had been given the night before.


    "Is this it?" he asked the large sailor next to him, who was already eating.


    "Yes. But don¡¯t be picky. We¡¯re lucky right now; we¡¯ve got fresh food. Once we¡¯re at sea, after a few weeks, your food won¡¯t look quite the same."


    "Really?" Adam asked with curiosity, eyeing his thick brown biscuit and slab of lard that looked nothing like what he was used to.


    "Let¡¯s just say there¡¯ll be a little meat in your biscuit."


    Adam¡¯s face turned pale immediately. Seeing that his new comrade had understood he was talking about maggots, the sailor smiled and motioned for him to eat quickly.


    I feel like I¡¯m going to be sick¡­ I want to go home!

 Chapter 41: Exercises

    The day promised to be particularly sunny, as the grayish veil on the horizon had disappeared quite early. The deep blue sky blended with the sea near the Goulet but stood out against the greenery surrounding the harbor. The surface of the water was almost as smooth as a lake, perfectly reflecting the stunning landscape.


    On the main deck, the men were already gathered, illuminated by the sun''s harsh rays. The ropes and sails, carefully folded on the yards, cast large shadows on the gleaming planks.


    Adam was among the large group, and it was clear that he would be trained in rigging maneuvers. When he learned this, he immediately felt a lump of anxiety forming in his throat, for he feared more than anything being sent up high, among the seabirds floating with the winds.


    He glanced at the top of the masts. The numerous ropes, each surely having its own name and purpose, were so taut they creaked as if they were about to snap. The more he looked at them, the greater the chasm separating him from the yards seemed.


    Slowly, his gaze fell on a few experienced sailors, climbing with great agility up the enfl¨¦chures, a kind of rope-and-wood ladder used to scale the rigging. Watching them climb to such heights, it was hard to imagine the countless hours of practice. To Adam, they were almost madmen playing with their lives. To him, they were terrifying.


    They''re so fast! Don''t they realize that with just one misstep... No! I mustn''t think about things like that! Think about something else!


    A light breeze from the south, carrying scents of the sea and the countryside, reached him. It was far more pleasant than the harsh smells that lingered on the lower decks. Between the odor of men and beasts, breathing was difficult down there.


    Under the watchful eyes of Mr. de Beaumont and Lenoir, everything needed for their exercises was being prepared.


    "Listen up, all of you," the boatswain called out in his most powerful voice. "There''s a lot to explain and plenty of exercises to complete. We won''t be able to cover everything in one day, so let''s start with the basics. As you might have noticed when boarding yesterday, the Oc¨¦an has three masts. The one at the front, or the bow, is called the ''mat de petit perroquet''. In the center, you have the ''mat de grand perroquet'', and at the rear, the ''baton d''Artimon''. Each mast is made up of three parts, or sections if you prefer. Just remember the central parts, the ''gallaubans des perroquets,'' and the upper parts, the ''haubans des perroquets''. The ''perroquet'' refer to the triangular sails stretched between the masts. See those long ropes?" he said, pointing to the long hemp ropes stretched between the mainmast and the foremast. "Those are the ''¨¦tais des perroquets''. For now, the sails are furled, but the royals are unfurled along those ropes. Finally, at the very front, above the figurehead, we have the ''bout dehors de Beaupr¨¦''. Master these few terms, and the orders we''ll give you in the future will be much clearer."


    Adam barely retained anything the chief boatswain had said and began to tremble at the thought of being questioned.


    "Now, let''s get down to business," the man said, grabbing a thick rope and snapping it between his hands, a sadistic smile on his lips. "Knots! You may still see yourselves as infantry soldiers, but don''t make any mistakes¡ªyou became sailors the moment you stepped aboard this ship. Knowing how to tie knots is like learning to load your weapon! You must master this skill and be able to do it blindfolded!"


    The young lieutenant couldn''t take his eyes off the rope, snapping at regular intervals. To his ears, it sounded like a whip cracking.


    "This afternoon, we''ll move on to the real deal by unfurling some sails."


    Adam hastily wiped his hands on the edge of his coat, not daring to break eye contact with the man.


    "Uh, Mr. de Beaumont, it might be a bit early for that. However, we can train them in emergency maneuvers.


    "As you wish, sir."


    "Today," said Lieutenant Lenoir, "we won''t be leaving the harbor of Brest. All the exercises we''ll be doing over the next few days¡ªat least today¡ªwill take place here, at anchor."


    Adam thought he heard a collective sigh of relief around him; perhaps his own was mixed in, yet he still couldn''t calm down. The lump of anxiety was still there, firmly lodged in his throat, as large as a ping-pong ball.


    "So," the boatswain resumed, "let''s work on the basics. I want to see clove hitches, capstan knots, bowlines, figure-eights, and reef knots. I''ll show you, and you''ll reproduce them. I don''t want poor imitations, but perfect knots. If it''s not good, you''ll do it again. Ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times if necessary. I can keep you awake all night if I have to¡ªit doesn''t bother me."


    Adam received a rope similar to his comrades'' and noted how solid it seemed. It was also heavier than he had imagined.


    Instinctively, he looked up and tried to imagine the weight of all those ropes, most of which were much thicker than the one he held.


    Damn, if I''d known, I would have learned this before coming here! I don''t know anything about this except the basic knots I tied with my shoelaces!


    Slowly, the boatswain demonstrated the first knot, and within just a few moves, it was done. Yet, the knot in the middle of his rope seemed quite complex and very secure.


    "Your turn now."


    Damn it! I didn''t understand anything he did!


    He looked at his poor rope and what his neighbors were doing. They didn''t seem to get it either.


    So, he tried his luck, but as soon as he finished, he noticed he hadn''t really done anything. When he pulled on both ends of the rope, it simply tightened.


    Louis Lenoir seemed to notice their distress and asked the boatswain to go over the steps for tying a bowline again.


    The lieutenant passed by Adam and gave him a word of encouragement.


    Adam nodded without daring to reply and started over. This time, it resembled a knot, but it wasn''t quite like what Mr. de Beaumont had done.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    His voice boomed behind him, making him jump like a cat caught doing something wrong.


    "You call that a knot?! What a disgrace! What an insult! Did you tie it with your feet?! Do it again!"


    Fortunately, these harsh words weren''t directed at him. The officer moved to the next soldier and thundered once more.


    "Really?! Is that all a proud soldier of the royal army is capable of? Pathetic!"


    The boatswain arrived behind Adam and grabbed the rope in his hands. With one glance, he saw where the problem lay.


    "Wrong! Look at this work! I wouldn''t even call this a knot! If I pull a little¡­ and there! The knot is gone! Start over!"


    Adam, who had held his breath during the inspection, let out a deep sigh and took his piece of rope back into his hands.


    I knew it wasn''t good, but this bad? Is it that serious?


    Louis came back to him and showed him how to do it. With great kindness, he carefully explained each of his movements, waiting patiently until his new comrade had fully seen and understood what needed to be done. Like the chief boatswain, it only took him a moment to complete the exercise, which was just the first in a long series.


    Adam nodded and reproduced the knot he was asked to make, and despite a few hesitations, he succeeded.


    Louis Lenoir and Mr. de Beaumont gave him approving looks, which finally allowed him to relax.


    The exercises continued for long hours under an increasingly aggressive sun and the amused glances of the seasoned sailors, who had, of course, gone through the same process. Some took a certain pleasure in mocking them when they failed, but most showed them kindness, much like the young lieutenant.


    The goal was not to humiliate them but to make them capable assistants. Becoming a sailor was definitely not possible in such a short time, as most of the crew had been in the royal navy since they were fifteen or sixteen years old.


    Every knot, every movement seemed trivial to Adam, but he could feel how much precision and discipline were essential for life on board and the ship''s smooth operation. Eventually, a good knot could save their lives at sea, for example, when the ocean raged and they needed to quickly climb the rigging to furl a sail to prevent losing a mast.


    By noon, they were granted a well-deserved break. They exchanged words with the other team, who had been learning how to load a naval cannon. While that seemed much more interesting than learning to tie knots, at least they had the benefit of working in the sun.


    They were given a hearty meal, full of energy, accompanied by a piece of bread that had begun to harden, and a mixture of water and wine. Adam then saw his officer, Captain Gilbert, approaching.


    "So, how did it go for you?" he asked in a tired voice, sitting next to him, holding in his hands the small portion of food they had been given.


    "It went pretty well, but I''m a little worried about what comes next. I think they''re being kind to us because it''s the first day, but later, it could be different."


    "Hmm, maybe. And the boatswain? Did he¡­"


    "He didn''t whip anyone, Captain. But he insulted everyone."


    "If that''s all¡­" he said, biting into his piece of bread, so hard that he let out a small grunt of surprise. "Damn, it''s like stone! What''s it going to be like when we''re at sea?"


    Adam couldn''t help but smile, but it quickly disappeared.


    "Captain, do you know where we''re being sent?" he asked seriously.


    "Yes, we discussed it last night with the captain of the Oc¨¦an and some of his officers."


    "Where are we going?" Adam insisted, noticing too late that they had attracted the attention of a good number of soldiers around them.


    "I''m not allowed to say, but it''s going to be eventful¡­ and tough."


    "Are we going to England, Captain?" asked a soldier who seemed quite experienced and bore a few stripes on his sleeve, identifying him as a sergeant.


    "I won''t say anything. Don''t insist. It''s not my place to inform you."


    After the break, the exercises resumed aboard the Oc¨¦an, just as on all the warships. The next task they had to complete was highly physical, as they were required to lower a boat into the water and then hoist it back aboard the larger vessel.


    Not only was it physically demanding, but it also required coordination.


    "Slowly on the right! You''re going too fast! What are you doing on the left?! Are you taking a nap?! Hey! Don''t mess it up! I didn''t say to let the rope run!


    "Argh! It burned my hands!"


    "Well, of course, idiot! Go protect your hands and come back! Who told you to stop?! Get to work!"


    Adam gritted his teeth, holding tightly to the thick hemp rope in his hands. The rough cord felt like sandpaper against his skin, though it was far less fragile than his hands, which were more accustomed to doing nothing physical.


    Ah¡­ Argh, it''s so heavy!


    Despite his comrades'' help, he felt like he was doing all the work. Leaning back almost to the point of lying on the upper deck, not far from the quarterdeck, he pulled with all his strength to control the descent of the boat.


    Damn! It feels like it weighs a ton! Damn it!


    All his muscles were pulled and strained to the extreme. His face had turned red and shiny with sweat. The veins in his arms were so swollen that he could clearly see them up to his shoulders, and he barely dared to breathe for fear of losing grip on the rope.


    They had almost let the boat fall into the sea, and it was only through a tremendous effort that they managed to hold it back.


    Of course, for this exercise, they had all shed their coats and jackets. Some, despite it being only the beginning of April, had even decided to take off their shirts. Adam hesitated to do the same, but it was too late. He couldn''t let go of the rope now.


    Finally, the boat reached the surface of the water, with the boatswain aboard.


    My God, we did it.


    "Ah¡­ Ahahahahah!"


    Like a madman, Adam burst into uncontrollable laughter, and like a spreading illness, it caught on with everyone around him.


    All of them were drenched in sweat and relieved that they hadn''t let the boatswain fall into the sea. For their sake, it was probably better if he didn''t survive, should that unfortunate event occur.


    Adam and his comrades had indeed seen their lives flash before their eyes, imagining the lash of the boatswain''s whip after young soldier Basile had let go of his rope.


    A voice called out from the lifeboat.


    "Are you all right? Don''t let me interrupt! Now pull me back up! And faster this time!"


    Adam stopped laughing and got back to work, ignoring the intense pain in his arms and hands.


    Slowly, two teams began lifting the large boat, as white as freshly fallen snow. The hemp ropes, taut like their muscles, made the large guaiac wood pulleys creak¡ªa tough exotic wood from the New World, said to be as hard as iron.


    "Come on, lads! Just a bit more! Heave! Ho! Heave! Ho!"


    Together, they shouted in unison, giving themselves courage and setting a rhythm. It felt so natural that Adam didn''t even question it. Along with the others, he pulled and yelled,


    "Heave! Ho! Heave! Ho!"


    Finally, the boat was in position.


    "Good! Very good work! Maybe we can make sailors out of you yet! Don''t slack off! The last one in line ties the knot. I want a clove hitch! Come on! And watch out if it''s poorly done!"


    Adam flinched and got to work, as no one stood behind him. His hands trembled after so much effort, and he noticed four large white blisters on both hands, looking like terrible swollen spots. Most of them had burst due to the rope''s friction.


    When he finished, the boatswain passed behind him, said nothing, and moved on to the next man. There too, he said nothing.


    Phew! We did it! Adam thought joyfully, before taking a closer look at his hands. Ah, my poor hands¡­ I hope it''s not like this every day!


    A large, calloused hand, full of cracks and cuts, rested on his shoulder. It belonged to the sailor with tattooed arms, who wore a broad smile but frowned slightly at the sorry state of Adam''s hands.


    "Don''t worry, kid," he said, chuckling, "you''ll see worse than this. It''s all part of the job, haha!"

 Chapter 42: The Value Of An Enraged Man

    On a floor as polished as a giant mirror, the footsteps of a tall, slender man in his fifties echoed like cannon blasts.


    The man walked briskly, determined, without sparing a glance at those who turned to look at him.


    Most frowned with disdain, muttering a few words under their breath as he passed.


    But William Pitt, unperturbed, couldn¡¯t care less about what people said about him. For him, all that mattered was the welfare of the kingdom.


    Dressed modestly despite his position, he still wore a very elegant powdered wig that partially draped over his thin shoulders, barely broadened by his coat, and swayed over his shoulder blades. His clothing wasn¡¯t meant to impress like most of his colleagues'', but it revealed a subtle attention to detail.


    He could hardly be considered a handsome man.


    His long, hooked nose resembled a bird¡¯s beak, while his eyes, too small and set too high, gave his face a peculiar oddness.


    For years, he had been self-conscious about these features, especially his nose, inherited from his father, Robert Pitt. He had been ridiculed for it as a child, but now, he was immune.


    Tucked under his arm were a few sheets of paper, the key points of the speech he had just delivered in Parliament, and he was eager to get back to work. With bad news arriving in an endless stream, anything unrelated to finding new ways to weaken France seemed a waste of time.


    Debating, persuading, negotiating, seeking compromises, forging alliances¡ªeverything felt like a waste of time to him.


    What a bunch of fools! he thought, seething with anger inside, though outwardly he seemed so calm. Do they not understand the gravity of the situation? Do they think we are invincible?!


    There were almost as many opinions on how Britain should wage this war as there were parliamentarians, though a few general trends had emerged.


    Some, like him, wanted to strike France and Spain everywhere at once, while others wanted to concentrate efforts in specific areas. Still others advocated for a defensive stance, believing it would be just as effective and far less costly than funding large operations.


    These last were the ones William Pitt despised the most.


    We are proud Britons, not sheep! We should attack with all our might, deploy every resource we have to crush the enemy! So they can never rise again and challenge us! Fools! And they wonder why they¡¯re so unpopular!


    The politician pushed open a white door adorned with exquisite golden moldings and entered a room that reflected his own nature.


    The contrast between the beauty of the corridor and the simplicity of the office was striking. There was almost no furniture and very few decorations. Everything had a specific function and utility, so that at first glance, one could get a sense of the personality of its occupant.


    He carelessly tossed his papers onto his desk, circled around it, and sank heavily into a deep, comfortable armchair.


    The room was very quiet.


    Only the regular ticking of a clock, a small marvel of technology, the muffled conversations in the nearby corridors, and the heavy footsteps overhead could be heard.


    KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK


    "Come in," he said firmly, his voice slightly hoarse after four hours of fiery oratory, which he had spent nearly as long drafting.


    "Sir," one of his clerks or assistants said¡ªa dignified young man of about twenty-seven, acting as his aide¡ª"a message has arrived from the continent."


    William Pitt sat up straight and extended a long, almost skeletal hand, weary from holding a quill for so long.


    Quickly, he opened the message from one of his agents in France, specifically in Brest. It was slightly outdated, but that was inevitable given the long journey it had taken to reach him.


    He swiftly read through it without uttering a word.


    His features were drawn from lack of sleep, as he constantly sacrificed rest for the affairs of state. Indeed, in his position, he was under immense pressure. His Majesty King George II and his numerous political adversaries seemed to be waiting for the slightest mistake to remove him, as had happened to his old rival, the Duke of Newcastle.


    Despite their many differences, they shared certain commonalities, which is why they had formed a sort of coalition. He was popular with the people, while Newcastle remained highly influential in the House of Commons. Together, he was convinced, they could achieve great things. As he had once told Newcastle, two lions are better than an army of sheep.


    The news was grim. A French squadron had gathered in the port of Brest, Brittany, which was very concerning. Even more alarming was another report about a convoy passing through the English Channel, carrying troops in that direction.


    If, as he immediately suspected, these soldiers were to board those ships, Britain would be in immediate danger!


    Thanks to his spies, he knew this force came straight from Prussia. He had even been informed that among them was a marshal!


    Damn it! If only we could have sunk them when they were within our reach!


    Their objective was still uncertain, but what was certain was that it couldn¡¯t be good for Britain.


    While this letter didn¡¯t provide much new information, he now knew more about the composition of the squadron. By estimating the number of cannons, he could gauge the number of men aboard and thus determine the force needed to stop them, regardless of their mission.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Hmm, according to the intelligence from Newcastle¡¯s agents, they must have now boarded several thousand men under Marshal Richelieu¡¯s command. He likely won¡¯t be able to do much now that he¡¯s aboard one of those ships, but caution is warranted. He¡¯s the one who defeated and captured the King of Prussia.


    His observers in the Channel had reported that Richelieu had made a significant effort to embark with as many men as possible to return to France.


    Their number was estimated at five or six thousand, which was laughable for a conventional battle, but could be disastrous if they landed in an unexpected location.


    If only we had landed troops in Hanover, this wouldn¡¯t be happening! Fools! This is what happens when you don¡¯t take your enemy seriously! I tried to warn them, but they didn¡¯t listen! We should have done everything to trap those soldiers on the continent! Now they are a direct threat to our interests! And yet, they still refuse to deploy the necessary resources to stop the French! Have they all been bought off, or are they just idiots?!


    William Pitt was furious, but it was too late to cry. Now, it was time to act.


    He knew every port and arsenal in France as if he had visited them personally, having studied the maps so extensively.


    He was well aware that Brest was nearly impregnable. Britain and its allies had broken their teeth on it in the previous century, during the reign of Louis XIV of France.


    All he could do now was send a substantial fleet to blockade these ships in the harbor of Brest.


    Indeed, while there was only one point of entry, there was also only one point of exit. By controlling what the French called the Goulet, he could paralyze an enemy fleet, no matter how powerful, for months or even years.


    This fleet would include about twenty warships and a great number of supply ships. It¡¯s not good, but it could have been worse. The most humiliating thing, though, is that some of these ships belong to us! Bah! Perhaps we can reclaim them if they try to pass through anyway? And if not, too bad, we¡¯ll sink them!


    Just thinking about it made William Pitt¡¯s blood boil.


    The loss of those few ships had been a real humiliation. That Spain had joined France didn¡¯t surprise him, as he viewed them as being of the same breed, with the King of Spain being a Bourbon like the King of France.


    Consequently, like their old enemies, they were deceitful, cruel, greedy, and without honor.


    No, the true humiliation was that they had lost an admiral because he hadn¡¯t realized he was being targeted. His tragic death hadn¡¯t absolved him of his mistake.


    Ah... This is what happens when we don¡¯t take these wretches seriously. Now, it¡¯s up to me to solve this problem.


    Even though he had made his decision to blockade Brest, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder. What was their goal? Why Brest?


    This port was in a highly strategic location. From there, ships could head north and enter the North Sea or attack English ports in the Channel; they could head west to support their colonies or attack English colonies in the New World; or they could sail south to the Mediterranean, Africa, or the Indies.


    There were so many possibilities, so many risks!


    Brest is practically at the entrance to the Channel. If they want to, they could land in southern England, just as we had attempted to do at Rochefort only a few months ago. If they succeed, what would the consequences be, and what would be the most likely targets? Plymouth? Portsmouth? Bristol? London?


    Even though the latter option was the least plausible due to the distance and its defenses, with these damn French, anything seemed possible!


    And what if it''s just a distraction? What if those dogs decide to attack us from another port? Those damned French are capable of it! Ah, I hate this! These ships should be out hunting French ships all over the world!


    William Pitt briefly massaged his temples as he felt a migraine coming on. It had been too long since he¡¯d had a full night¡¯s rest.


    With all these eyes on me, it seems I have no choice. I must ensure the kingdom is safe by blocking a few good ships, or else I¡¯ll be blamed for the slightest incident. All this because of those cowards in Parliament! Our ships would have been much more useful elsewhere for the war!


    The only relief he found in the letter was the mention of an illness spreading like wildfire inside the city, typhus, apparently.


    A faint smile appeared on his lips as he imagined a mountain of bodies waiting to be hastily buried in a mass grave outside the city. He could only hope the disease would continue to wreak havoc and immobilize that fleet long enough for his blockade to be ready.


    William Pitt took some letter paper and drafted a message to be sent to his agent in Brest through various covert channels, encouraging him to continue providing information.


    He hesitated to ask him to try and set fire to the port, but at the last moment, he changed his mind, as the chances of success were very slim. It was more likely that his agent would be caught and hanged, which would be problematic for the continuation of the war.


    He enclosed the letter with a note that would allow the agent to collect a small sum of money, trivial to the minister or the king but substantial for a simple worker, greedy enough to sell his country¡¯s secrets.


    ¡°Sir, there is something else,¡± said the clerk, his face troubled.


    ¡°Oh? What is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ um, His Majesty had a word about you.¡±


    ¡°Oh? I have a little idea of what it might be, but perhaps you¡¯ll surprise me. What did our good king say?¡±


    ¡°H-he said you were an ¡®enraged man,¡¯ sir.¡±


    The clerk lowered his eyes, fearing to meet his employer¡¯s gaze. But to his surprise, William Pitt did not get angry.


    ¡°That¡¯s all? Well, I suppose that¡¯s not so bad.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°In your opinion, Mr. Blackwood, what¡¯s worse? An enraged man or a moderate?¡±


    ¡°A-a moderate?¡± the man responded hesitantly.


    William Pitt chuckled softly and moved closer to a tall window framed by thick red curtains held by a gold cord.


    ¡°You say that because I¡¯m called enraged, it¡¯s nothing. You see, the difference mainly comes down to the amount of energy a man is willing to expend to achieve his goals. The moderate will hesitate, seeking to accomplish his objectives without paying a high price. As a result, he will limit himself. In the end, it¡¯s very likely that he¡¯ll accomplish nothing but still pay a price. Worse! He¡¯ll wonder why he failed. Maybe I went too far in that direction, maybe I didn¡¯t go far enough? So he¡¯ll try again and again to fulfill his mission, wasting everyone¡¯s time and squandering his own energy. Of course, he¡¯ll place a considerable burden on all those he¡¯s asked for an effort.¡±


    The servant said nothing and stood still, dignified like a true English nobleman, his hands clasped behind his back.


    ¡°While the moderate stands still, unable to decide, the enraged man will be determined to implement every possible strategy to fulfill his duty. He¡¯s not insane; he¡¯s driven by an iron will. He¡¯ll demand considerable effort, but if he fails, it means either the approach was wrong, or the resources at his disposal weren¡¯t enough. Then, he¡¯ll have only two options left: unlock more resources or change strategy.¡±


    "Sir, what you''re saying seems very reasonable to me, but... isn''t it a risky gamble? If... um, if an enraged man leads us into a wall, he might take the entire kingdom to ruin.


    "That''s an interesting thought, Mr. Blackwood. You have a good head on your shoulders, but don''t underestimate the English people. Even if we are ruined, even on the verge of collapse, as long as we have the will, we will rise again. If we hit a wall, we will find a new path and put just as much energy into it, no matter the sacrifices."


    The seasoned politician''s gaze shifted to a portrait of the King of England hanging on the wall, to the right of a large, richly decorated fireplace.


    "Naturally," he continued in a heavy voice, "I am ready to sacrifice myself, for the interest of the State far outweighs my own interests. I am not like those people in Parliament. That¡¯s why being called an enraged man doesn''t bother me in the least. On the contrary, it means His Majesty has acknowledged my determination. When this war is over and she has regained her precious Hanover, she will understand the value of an enraged man."

 Chapter 43: The Day Of Departure

    The Brest authorities were becoming increasingly worried about the city¡¯s sanitary conditions. Even though the death toll Pitt had hoped for was far from being reached, there were more sick people every day.


    Despite all efforts, the spread of the disease showed no signs of slowing down.


    Because there was a long way to go before old practices and superstitions disappeared, the atmosphere was even heavier than if the city had been surrounded by an army of a million men.


    Everyone was on edge, and suspicion easily fell on unfamiliar faces if their behavior seemed even slightly strange. The main rumor was that they were dealing with a poisoner, either in league with the English or with the Devil.


    It was only by a miracle that the army had prevented a crowd from publicly lynching an old hunchbacked woman who was half-deaf and blind, simply for lingering too long near a well in Recouvrance, not far from the ruins of the Tanguy Tower, a relic from the Hundred Years¡¯ War.


    To prevent the city from exploding like a powder keg, Mr. Duguay had told Richelieu and Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s men that he didn¡¯t want to see a single one of them come ashore, no matter the reason.


    The risk was real, as they needed to approach the ships to load fresh water, wine, and food for the long voyage. It was also essential to ensure that the sailors didn¡¯t carry the calamity back with them.


    Even though they understood the situation, the men didn¡¯t like it. They felt as if they were being held prisoner for a crime they hadn¡¯t committed. Most of them just wanted to enjoy some fresh food, good wine, and sleep in a real bed next to a woman, who, naturally, weren¡¯t allowed on board unless they were passengers.


    Ah, this is taking forever! sighed Adam from his hammock, dimly lit by the bluish glow of the moon filtering through the openings in the deck. It feels like I¡¯m living the same day over and over again!


    Adam was exhausted. They had spent the last four days training. When they weren¡¯t learning how to tie knots, naming the sails and ropes, they were being taught how to use the massive iron cannons. It wasn¡¯t particularly complicated, but it had to be done quickly and without missing a single step.


    In such a confined space, even a minor accident could have terrible consequences.


    He looked sadly at his hands. They were red, full of blisters, covered in small cuts, and so damaged that it was hard for him to open and close them properly. He felt like a slave, forced to work until death. The only difference was that, so far, he hadn¡¯t received any lashes.


    I just want to get off this damn boat and take a hot bath! The hammock¡¯s alright, I¡¯m getting used to it, I think, but the smell... it¡¯s awful!


    A terrifying stench rose from the small square openings in the floor. It was so bad, one might think there was a pigsty below. He didn¡¯t dare imagine what it must be like to sleep down there.


    Up here, he at least had the advantage of some fresh air coming in from outside, though it was in small quantities.


    Still, it wasn¡¯t enough to completely refresh the air on this deck.


    Pfffffffft! (a fart noise)


    FUCK! SERIOUSLY?!


    Adam wanted to punch the hammock above him. The smell of rotten eggs soon reached his nose, making him want to flee.


    Unfortunately, this kind of thing happened often and only added to the terrible odor on the ship. With so many men on board, it was bound to stink.


    Despite the late hour, he wasn¡¯t the only one still awake. He could hear bits of conversation around him.


    Seeing movement in his hammock, the man below him, a simple soldier from his company named Maximilien, tried to strike up a conversation.


    ¡°Lieutenant? Where do you think we¡¯ll go?¡±


    Adam didn¡¯t respond immediately, as if he were considering what information he was allowed to divulge, or perhaps he was already asleep. Everyone knew the departure was imminent.


    ¡°Hmm, who knows? If I understood correctly, the English are all over the world with their colonies and trading posts. We could go to Africa or England. My guess is we¡¯re heading there.¡±


    ¡°So, we¡¯re going to England?! I knew it! That¡¯s what we were saying too, my friends and I!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a possibility. From what I¡¯ve gathered, it¡¯s the kind of thing the English often do. It would be a good revenge, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°But, Lieutenant, what about the Royal Navy? We¡¯ll never get through!¡±


    ¡°I wonder. After all, we have quite a few large ships with us."


    "I heard that there are some even bigger ones out there, with over a hundred cannons!"


    ¡°A hundred?! That¡¯s insane!¡±


    ¡°I saw one once,¡± said an old sailor. ¡°They¡¯re monsters with an extra deck. When all their cannons fire at once, it¡¯s like the air itself tears apart. They can destroy anything in a single broadside. Nothing can withstand them!¡±


    The nearby soldiers and sailors fell silent, imagining the terrifying scene. All prayed never to encounter such a ship.


    ¡°There are many,¡± said a young soldier nearby, ¡°who say we¡¯re being sent to the New World. Since we¡¯re stocking up on provisions, it would make sense, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    The New World?


    ¡°Ah!¡± Adam realized. ¡°We¡¯re going to the United States?!¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Adam suddenly felt the urge to punch himself in the face.


    I''m such an idiot! They probably don¡¯t exist yet! Like, that was in the 1800s, right? I never paid attention to that in Assassin¡¯s Creed III! I was a kid when I played that! Who was the main character again? Galway, Kaylway? Oh, damn, I don¡¯t remember anymore! It was so long ago! Damn! Wait, does that mean I¡¯ll see cowboys and Indians if we go there? That¡¯d be so cool!


    Two more days passed without any changes, and finally, on Thursday, April 6, the day of the grand departure arrived.


    ¡°Hoist the petit perroquet and the petit hunier ! Hoist the grand perroquet and the grand hunier!¡±


    You could feel the excitement of the men bustling on the deck and in the rigging. Agile as monkeys, the sailors climbed all the way up, dozens of meters above the main deck, to unfurl some of the sails.


    Meanwhile, the soldiers didn¡¯t have much to do other than stay out of the way.


    ¡°Monsieur Lorient, turn the wheel thirty-five degrees,¡± the captain ordered from his station on the quarterdeck behind the poop deck.¡°Fall in behind the Monmouth.¡±


    ¡°At your command, Captain!¡± replied the helmsman, gripping the massive wooden wheel tightly with both hands, focused on his maneuver.


    Adam, absorbed by the scene, watched as the large square sails slowly unfurled and filled with the wind high above his head.


    Seagulls called out as if to wish them a safe journey, circling joyfully around the masts.


    That morning, the sky was uniformly gray as far as the eye could see. The sea was just as gray, as dark as the iron cannons of the Oc¨¦an. There was a slight swell, even in the harbor, but it was nothing compared to what they had faced in the English Channel.


    The sea looked cold and menacing that day. Slowly, the ships fell into position, forming a line. The larger ships adjusted their speed to the slower ones so that the convoy would stay together. Their journey would be long, and splitting up was out of the question.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Staying together gave them a much better chance of arriving safely. Adam watched the seabirds glide peacefully on the wind blowing from the east.


    Not too strong, not too weak, it allowed the fleet to move at a good pace, cutting through the waves.


    As they approached the Goulet, Adam once again admired the fortifications left by military architects to protect Brest.


    The line veered slightly to the left to avoid the rocks in the narrow passage, and as soon as they left the harbor, Adam noticed just how different the sea was there. Without the protection of the rocks and the eroded cliffs of the region, the sea was much rougher.


    Luckily, the wind wasn¡¯t too strong, and the Oc¨¦an remained stable.


    That¡¯s it, we¡¯re off, Adam thought with emotion.


    He wasn¡¯t sure if he should feel excited about this new experience or terrified of the uncertain future. One thing was certain, though¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t be returning home anytime soon.


    If they were heading to the far end of the world, he might not return to France for many years. Perhaps he¡¯d have to wait until the war was over to even begin searching for Fran?ois¡¯ watch, hoping no one would find and pick it up in the meantime.


    ¡°Monsieur Lenoir,¡± said Captain du Chaffault de Besn¨¦, ¡°we can hoist the main sail. The supply ships and the Monmouth are making good progress.¡±


    ¡°At your orders! HOIST THE MAIN SAIL!¡±


    Immediately, the sailors returned to the main mast and, with the help of those on the deck, unfurled the impressive lower square sail. It soon filled with wind like the others, and the Oc¨¦an slowly gained speed. The massive ship cut through the waves like a sharpened blade.


    There were more than a few routes to reach the New World, but in these distant times, when ships relied on winds and ocean currents for swift travel, two routes were favored.


    The first and most common was the one once used by Christopher Columbus. They would sail south to the African coast before turning west. With God¡¯s help, ships following this route would reach the Caribbean. Originally, this was the route the convoy was supposed to take.


    The second route was riskier since it involved sailing near Ireland before heading west. It was a challenge, a provocation to the Royal Navy. This was the route the lead ship, the Juste, was taking.


    At the tip of Brittany, there were many islands and rocks. Even detailed maps of the region weren¡¯t always enough to safely navigate through.


    The safest option was to simply go around them.


    But as the convoy passed a series of islands between one known as Beniguet Island and the modest coastal village of Le Conquet, they crossed paths with an English squadron. It was impossible not to notice it with its massive white sails. Immediately, bells rang on every French ship.


    Officers began issuing orders, and the sailors sprang into action, climbing the rigging like circus acrobats.


    Adam rushed to the railing with his comrades and was overcome with a violent tremor as he saw all those ships. Like everyone on board, the English had left a powerful impression on them when they crossed paths in the Channel.


    Shit! We¡¯ve only just left the harbor, and we already have to fight?! Fuck!


    His heart pounded in terror at the thought, for naval battles were nothing like land battles. The first difference was that each ship carried dozens of cannons! The second was that if they were defeated, there would be nowhere to run.


    This was why Lieutenant Louis Lenoir had insisted on training them to launch the lifeboats, their only hope of avoiding a visit to Neptune and feeding the fish.


    This British squadron consisted of about twenty warships, one of which was simply enormous¡ªa first-rate ship of the line. These floating fortresses were rare since they were incredibly expensive to arm, but they were also a symbol of royal power.


    Losing one was not only a human, economic, and military disaster but also a terrible humiliation.


    ***


    Onboard the Juste, the Marshal turned to the commander after observing the fleet through his spyglass.


    "Mr. de Saint-Allouarn, what do you think?"


    "Rest assured, my lord, the situation is far from bad. We''re practically in my own waters. I know these seas like the back of my hand. Even with five first-rate ships, I wouldn''t be less confident in our abilities."


    The old Marshal raised an eyebrow in surprise and looked at the young man, whose confidence seemed unnerving. He took this confidence as the common pride shared by all Bretons.


    Not being a man of the sea, the Marshal left the commander to make the decisions he deemed most appropriate. The commander shouted a series of orders that the Marshal did not understand, orders that were echoed by his brother, who was second-in-command. Contrary to what the Duke expected, they turned to port, steering the ship left, straight towards the many islets they had just passed.


    By the time they completed the maneuver, the enemy had gained ground.


    By the blood of Christ, those damned English are catching up to us! They''ll be here soon!


    Soon, the long line of French ships reached the first islets and barely submerged rocks lying between the island of Mol¨¨ne and the island of Ouessant.


    Even to the seasoned Marshal Richelieu, this course seemed dangerously reckless.


    My God! he exclaimed inwardly, looking over the starboard rail. Are they trying to sink us on these rocks rather than under enemy cannon fire? Crazy Bretons!


    The Marshal and his officers, as well as the ordinary soldiers, watched in fear as the black rocks, as dark as coal, loomed ominously. At times, only their outlines were visible in the water. To their eyes, they resembled sea monsters lurking in the shadows, waiting for their moment to enjoy a delicious meal. A mere meter off course, and their ship, along with those following, risked being gutted on one of those rocks. Depending on the tides, the margin for error was slim, or even nonexistent. Yet, as if by some miracle, the Juste passed between the rocks.


    Behind it, the other vessels ventured just as skillfully through this treacherous terrain, all like mad dancers on a tightrope suspended over an abyss.


    Relieved, Richelieu returned to the Saint-Allouarn brothers and observed the enemy¡¯s reaction.


    ***


    The English grit their teeth and did everything in their power to catch up to the French squadron. Their eyes showed fierce determination to complete their mission and add these ships to their tally.


    They had received specific orders regarding this fleet: it had to be destroyed if they failed to block it in the harbor of Brest.


    Like hunting dogs trained from day one to track and kill their prey, the British warships pressed ahead at full speed. Although it was still a bit early, the captains had ordered all gunports to be opened. The cannons were loaded, and the gunners stood ready to unleash their fury.


    Admiral Hawke, aboard the HMS Royal George, the only first-rate ship in this squadron, had been tasked by Mr. Pitt¡ªdespite their strained relationship¡ªwith preventing the French fleet in Brest from fulfilling its objectives, whatever they might be.


    In his fifties, Edward Hawke was a true sailor, unlike some of those he had to deal with. Having fallen out of favor after the loss of Minorca, he had lost influence at court and with some of his officers.


    From the stern of his ship, a behemoth with one hundred guns spread across three decks, and only two years old, the admiral watched part of his squadron race ahead in pursuit of the enemy. Meanwhile, his own ship lagged behind due to its immense weight.


    They had entrusted him with the world¡¯s largest warship, as if to say that failure was not an option. It could have been called the "King of the Oceans," and it wouldn¡¯t have seemed boastful or arrogant. To fully utilize its power, it required a crew of three hundred, disciplined and handpicked.


    All the shipbuilding knowledge of the time had been concentrated into this one vessel to create a technological marvel. But even a miracle had its limits, and the main one was its speed.


    "These waters are treacherous!" growled the British admiral to his second. "Order the squadron to head north immediately and take the Fromveur passage!"


    "Aye, sir!"


    The Fromveur passage was a narrow channel where the water was deeper, thus safer for navigation.


    No need to risk those rocks.


    According to his charts, the result of extensive research and espionage, this area was filled with natural traps.


    The admiral, his hands gripping the spyglass, watched the enemy''s movements and those of his subordinates, now far ahead. Following the precise instructions in a small brown-red leather notebook, numerous colorful flags were hoisted to relay Hawke''s orders.


    Why aren¡¯t they changing course?!


    Minutes passed, and despite the flags displaying the admiral¡¯s orders, four ships continued charging toward the enemy like enraged bulls, with full sails set. They were so close that from his position, Hawke could hear the chase guns roaring.


    "Signal the commanders of those ships to turn about immediately!"


    "Sir, they-they... They say they''re going to engage the enemy..."


    "No!" the admiral exploded, his face tense, turning from white to red.


    Far ahead of the HMS Royal George, the HMS Union, commanded by Thomas Evans, armed with ninety guns; the HMS Resolution, commanded by Henry Speke, seventy-four guns; the HMS Rochester, commanded by Robert Duff, fifty guns; and the HMS Culloden, commanded by Francis Geary, seventy-four guns, all seemed unwilling to obey the admiral¡¯s orders.


    Pursuing the enemy, who was advancing slowly, they had ordered their bow cannons, known as chase guns, to open fire.


    Their aim was to strike the rudder or the aft section of their adversaries, much less fortified than the sides.


    Unfortunately, what Admiral Hawke feared most came to pass.


    The HMS Rochester, at the head of the pursuit, violently struck a reef that wasn¡¯t marked on their charts. With a horrific sound of splintering wood, the rear of the ship shot up and twisted sharply to the right. It was a truly nightmarish sight. From his position, the admiral caught a glimpse of what should have been below the waterline.


    Time seemed to freeze, and slowly, the stern of the stricken ship crashed back into the water with a great splash.


    A cold shiver ran down Hawke¡¯s spine. Despite the distance, he could distinctly hear the ship''s dying groans and the desperate cries for help from the sailors.


    Alas, it was too late for that ship, as it was for the others.


    The HMS Resolution, which had followed almost exactly the same path as the French ships, became stranded on a sandbank, only to be struck on the rear port side by the HMS Culloden, which was trying to avoid a saber-like rock.


    Lastly, the HMS Union attempted to reverse course but was ripped open by submerged rocks, allowing a massive amount of water to flood in. Within minutes, the ship sank, leaving only its stern and masts visible.


    The admiral, watching this, forgot to breathe. His hands, trembling as if he were caught in a snowstorm, seemed on the verge of crushing the spyglass he still held.


    "Sir, y-your orders..." stammered his second, paler than the sails of the ship.


    "Send the HMS Anglesea and the HMS Ramillies to rescue the sailors. Order the rest to head north through the Fromveur passage."

 Chapter 44: The Battle Of Ouessant

    While tears of blood were being shed aboard the British ships, on the French vessels there were cries of joy as they watched those mighty and proud warships shatter on the rocks like mere toys. The Breton sailors were the most inventive when it came to mocking and insulting, often in their strange language, those Englishmen who didn¡¯t know these waters as well as they did but had nevertheless dared to follow them.


    Onboard the Juste, Captain Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn remained calm, though his heart was brimming with joy at the sight of his enemies'' suffering.


    Using signal flags, he communicated with the Foudroyant, where squadron leader Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville was stationed. He quickly received the response he had hoped for.


    "To all ships of the line and frigates, set course to the north. Form a line ahead."


    The Marshal-Duke of Richelieu turned to the captain of the Juste, looking at him in confusion.


    "A line ahead, captain? You wish to engage them in combat?"


    "Indeed, my lord," he replied simply, while keeping a close eye on everything happening around him.


    "Our mission is not to engage them, Captain. We must make for the New World as quickly as possible."


    "Marshal, replied Rosmadec de Saint-Allouarn, speaking for his brother, the ships in this squadron do not all have the same speed. You got a glimpse of that in the Channel, I believe. If we attempt to flee, gaps will inevitably form between our ships, and one by one, they will be attacked by the faster English vessels. It''s better to stay together to increase our chances of victory."


    The marshal said nothing, but he had to admit that the decision was logical.


    "I will add," Fran?ois continued, glancing at the movements of the British fleet, "who has dominated the seas in recent decades? The English, let¡¯s not kid ourselves."


    Hmm, unfortunately, that''s true. No one would dare say it to our king''s face, but it''s undeniable. They have more ships than us, their sailors are better, as are their ships and gunners.


    "My lord, do you know why this is?"


    "Because they¡¯ve invested more in their navy than we have, even when their economy was struggling," the old man answered without hesitation.


    "That¡¯s true, but it¡¯s not the whole story. What strategy do they use? They attack to destroy, while we only defend and flee when we lose confidence! That¡¯s why we¡¯re behind. For once, we¡¯re going to reverse the roles and take the weather gauge. If you¡¯re still not convinced, understand that we¡¯re not in a situation like Minorca, where the goal was to protect a position. So today, we attack!"


    Although he held the title of Marshal of France, the highest military honor one could receive, the Duke of Richelieu knew when to yield.


    "Is there anything I can do?" he finally asked after a brief sigh.


    "You, no, but your soldiers will be very useful. If we board, I¡¯ll count on them to slaughter the men on the other side!"


    The old marshal nodded and returned to the railing to observe the enemy''s movements.


    They were following the same course, but separated by a maze of shoals and reefs.


    After passing the island of Bannec, the Foudroyant, the Juste, the Oc¨¦an, and the other ships in the squadron took position, following the ship of Monsieur de Saint-Allouarn. That he should lead the way was not surprising, as he knew these waters better than Monsieur Duquesne.


    The squadron then headed southwest, turning its back to the enemy, forming a line ahead. It was the only strategy deemed valid for a naval battle, as adopting this formation allowed each ship to expose its broadside, and thus its cannons, to the enemy. After a few exchanges of fire, it wouldn¡¯t take long to determine who would be victorious and who would be defeated.


    Quickly, the French ships positioned themselves to catch the wind first, thereby assuming an offensive stance. This was a position typically occupied by the British, who were known for their aggressiveness at sea.


    This decision greatly unsettled the British officers, who found themselves in an unusual position.


    The French had reduced their sails, a sign that they did not intend to flee the battle or concede any ground to their opponent.


    In a long line of ships of the line, the English passed through the Fromveur Passage, and those who hadn¡¯t done so already opened their gunports on the port side. The French did the same on the starboard side.


    ***


    Adam stood with his comrades, surrounding an impressive iron cannon, though it wasn''t the largest on the ship. They were like the Three Wise Men around the infant Jesus.


    GULP.


    The young lieutenant swallowed hard as he observed the sea through the gunport where the cannon''s muzzle protruded. Since all the gunports were open, the deck had suddenly become very bright, despite the heavily overcast sky.


    The deck was eerily silent, so much so that one could hear a pin drop. Adam¡¯s heart pounded furiously in his chest, like a war drum. His hands had become clammy, and his shirt was soaked with sweat.


    Beside him, the marshal''s soldiers and the gunners of L¡¯Oc¨¦an were sweating profusely, waiting for the order to ignite the black powder.


    Please¡­ God, if you can hear me, don''t let me die today!


    Finally, when the two lines of ships were in position side by side, the complete silence gave way to hell. Adam shut his eyes and held his breath as the ship began to tremble violently.


    One by one, the artillery pieces unleashed their fire and iron upon their adversaries. The heavy iron cannonballs crossed the distance between the two lines in the blink of an eye and crashed into the solid wooden hulls.


    Splinters, both large and small, flew in every direction, falling into the choppy sea. Some cannonballs caused no damage, simply bouncing off the enemy hull, but others managed to penetrate the thick wood.


    The French tended to aim for the rigging more often than the English, whose strategy focused on the hull, as the French believed that an immobilized enemy was a defeated enemy. For the English, however, a defeated enemy was one that sank.


    But on this grim day, the roles were reversed, and the French were shooting to sink.


    All around Adam, the thick scent of burnt powder filled the air, so overpowering that it smothered all other smells. It stung the eyes and irritated the throat, yet everyone managed to ignore it.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    All they had to do now was perform their duties to make it out of this in one piece.


    No sooner had the gunners fired than the crew began preparing the cannon for the next shot. Each man had his role, and thanks to the intense drills of the past few days, the men of the Picardy regiment knew exactly what to do and how to do it.


    While the cannon was being cleaned¡ªheated from the blast¡ªone man brought a new projectile, while another fetched another powder charge.


    Indeed, it was unthinkable to leave powder so close to the fighting, as that would be far too dangerous! The man responsible for it had to rush to join the line of men bridging the gap between the ship¡¯s powder magazine, where the precious black powder was stored, and the gun deck.


    From hand to hand, small powder bags traveled up from the ship¡¯s lowest level.


    Despite the lack of sailors aboard L¡¯Oc¨¦an, thanks to the presence of a large number of soldiers, they had been able to establish this system, which saved precious time for everyone.


    Quickly, each cannon was resupplied with powder.


    Because they had only received brief training, the gunners didn¡¯t expect much from these infantry soldiers. Their main task was to help haul the thick ropes used to reposition the cannon after it had been loaded. It was heavy, physical work.


    As a lieutenant, Adam was responsible for about twenty men¡ªhalf of Gilbert¡¯s company. They were spread across five cannons, including the one he was stationed at. Of the eight men required to operate each piece, half were regular soldiers who had been hastily trained.


    "Come on, men! Get moving! For every ship L¡¯Oc¨¦an sinks, I will personally give each of you a pound!"


    This announcement surprised everyone, as it wasn¡¯t a small sum, and there were many men on this deck. However, the gesture was greatly appreciated by the soldiers and gunners alike, and naturally, they took on the challenge with enthusiasm.


    "You heard him?! Move it and reload these damn cannons! Let¡¯s go!"


    Two minutes later, the cannon was loaded again, to the surprise of the chief gunners, the master gunner, and the officers. Everyone had assumed that the presence of these soldiers would hinder and significantly slow down the firing rate.


    But that was not the case, and L¡¯Oc¨¦an was ready to fire before its enemy. The wind from the east meant that L¡¯Oc¨¦an was slightly tilted to the right, favoring shots aimed at the enemy¡¯s hull. Moreover, the previous broadsides had created a thick curtain of smoke in front of the enemy, forcing them to shoot blindly.


    The English gunners had to rely on the guidance of their officers, who were also engulfed in this massive cloud filled with powder residue.


    The young infantry lieutenant encouraged his men, moving from cannon to cannon to ensure everything was running smoothly, though the vast majority of the soldiers on his deck did not fall under his or his captain¡¯s command. The captain himself, positioned a little further away, let him continue.


    If he had had doubts about this boy¡¯s abilities when Colonel de Br¨¦hant had entrusted him, those doubts had long since faded. He was serious, though he still had much to learn, and he never spared himself when it came to training.


    He was liked by the men and had managed to earn their obedience despite his young age and the way he had obtained his rank.


    The captain had also been surprised by the lieutenant''s generous offer, knowing how tight money was in this army. To relieve the young officer of the financial burden, the captain quickly decided to support him by offering a generous bonus to the gunners if they managed to sink an enemy ship or take down a mast.


    BOOM!


    A loud noise echoed from near where the captain stood. A cannonball had struck L¡¯Oc¨¦an¡¯s hull at that spot, fortunately without causing too much damage. He could count himself lucky¡ªhad there been flying splinters, they would have turned into deadly shrapnel!


    While Adam was busy encouraging the gunners at the second-to-last cannon, a loud cheer erupted across the ship.


    The ship they were facing, riddled with holes, several of them below the waterline, had just lost its foremast. It had fallen to the port side, causing significant disruption in the enemy¡¯s formation.


    Indeed, with a mast down, the ship was now considerably slowed, and it was hindering the ships following it. Moreover, the vessel was now listing to the left, placing many of its breaches below the waterline! There were likely multiple leaks aboard!


    All the ships trailing behind it, the sixth in the long line, had to make emergency maneuvers to avoid collision.


    The French took advantage of the situation to execute an unexpected move, applying an idea from the Comte de Roquefeuille and Bousquet, who, by chance, happened to be in France at the time of the expedition.


    Lucky indeed, as the man had just returned from Louisbourg aboard his ship, the Hector, a second-rate ship with seventy-four guns.


    Exploiting the breach in the enemy¡¯s line, the Comte de Roquefeuille accelerated his ship, making sure to signal his intentions to those following him.


    With the Hector in the lead, they cut the enemy line in two, racing to catch the ships now isolated at the front.


    It was highly unusual and very risky to break one¡¯s line of battle. This strategy had become a staple recognized by all maritime powers. What Roquefeuille sought to do now was to implement a risky plan to surpass it.


    Soon, the Hector approached the last English ship, which suddenly found itself with an enemy on both sides.


    For this ship, it was a disaster! The officers on board, like those on the ships ahead, hurried to give the order to load the cannons on the starboard side. Unfortunately for this last ship in the line, it was too late. Not all the gunners had time to follow the order or even open the gunports.


    The Hector opened fire and continued on its course to attack the next ship. The French ship that followed, with all sails set, unleashed its cannons as well, and so on. The unfortunate British ship quickly began showing signs of distress.


    The longer time passed, the more it sank into the cold waters of the Atlantic.


    Admiral Hawke watched the disaster unfold, unable to intervene. Even at full speed, he couldn¡¯t keep up.


    The HMS Royal George was like a tortoise¡ªresilient but painfully slow. Its one hundred cannons were useless at that moment, as there was no enemy within range. All Hawke could do was give the order to accelerate, hoping to catch up with the French ships and retaliate.


    Far ahead, the situation was dire. The Hector, along with the Foudroyant, was overwhelming the English ship HMS The Princess Caroline. The exchange of fire was intense, leaving no respite for the men on board. Everyone was busy with something.


    The HMS The Princess Caroline resembled a floating wreck, sailing through a sea of debris. Then, a fire broke out on board, quickly spreading to the sails.


    The crew was overwhelmed, torn between fighting the flames, bailing out the water that was gradually filling the ship, and continuing the battle. In the end, nothing could stop the fire from reaching the lower decks.


    Finally, a massive explosion shook the sky as a ball of fire and smoke formed a mushroom-like cloud between the ship¡¯s masts. The fire had reached the powder magazine.


    This great ship, dating back to 1697, met its end at the venerable age of sixty, sinking rapidly into the Breton waters, split in two by the force of the explosion.


    Both English and French crews were shocked by the blast and the terrifying sound. Part of Hawke¡¯s squadron then began retreating from the battle.


    ***


    When the admiral finally arrived, the battle already seemed lost, and he hadn¡¯t fired a single shot. His forces were dwindling before his eyes, with some ships fleeing and others being destroyed with an unusual ferocity by the French.


    Quickly analyzing the situation, he came to a swift conclusion.


    "Our ships are retreating from the battlefield, sir!"


    "We can¡¯t do anything more, I¡¯m afraid. To persist now would only increase our losses. We cannot risk the HMS Royal George in a battle that¡¯s already lost."


    It was a wise but difficult decision. He feared the anger of both his king and his peers, as a high-ranking officer had been condemned a few years earlier for not doing everything possible to prevent the fall of Minorca.


    The Admiralty will understand.


    Edward Hawke pressed his lips in frustration and glared at the French ships, which seemed to relish inflicting harm upon them. If a glare had the same power as a cannonball, all those ships would be in flames.


    But that wasn¡¯t the case. He simply let out a long sigh, filled with sadness and frustration. He could already imagine returning to England in shame and facing the consequences.


    "Turn the ship around. Let¡¯s get out of here..."


    "Sir?"


    "That¡¯s an order! I¡¯ll take full responsibility!"


    "A-at your command, sir!"


    The Battle of Ouessant ended after three and a half hours of fighting, around six in the evening, and it was a resounding French victory. Several ships had surrendered, and a few had sunk. One had been sunk by the fire of the Oc¨¦an, which also managed to dismast another.


    In a way, the surrender of HMS Monarch could also be attributed to them, as one of their lucky shots had destroyed its rudder, leaving it as helpless as an infant. It was a valuable prize, being a seventy-four-gun ship.


    The most remarkable thing was that it had originally been a French ship, captured during the last war in 1747 by Edward Hawke. It would now regain its original name, Le Monarque.


    "Victory!"


    "We got them!"


    "Vive le Roi!"

 Chapter 45: False Start

    This overwhelming victory not only took the British officers by surprise, but also the French officers. The latter had not expected such an outcome. The Royal Navy was so renowned that nearly all of them expected to be feeding the fish by that hour.


    Perhaps that would have happened if a few of the ships had not decided to follow them into the rocks and if the enemy admiral hadn¡¯t been forced to send two ships to rescue the shipwrecked men.


    While they were killing each other, the men aboard the HMS Anglesea and HMS Ramillies did everything they could to save as many sailors from drowning as possible. Unfortunately, the shipwrecks had been so quick, mainly because they had opened their gunports, allowing water to flood in, that a large number of sailors had been lost.


    This was the case for HMS Rochester, the first to crash on the rocks between Ouessant and ?le-Mol¨¨ne. Upon striking the rock, it dangerously tilted to starboard before completely capsizing, trapping inside the ill-fated ship all its gunners, the surgeon, the carpenter, and so many others.


    The word tragedy was perfectly suited to describe its story. After the battle, the French immediately set out in pursuit of the English but did not attempt to catch them, only to push them further away. Like sharks drawn to fresh blood, they wanted to capture as many enemies as possible.


    Each man had value, for behind each of them were years of training. They could be exchanged for French sailors held prisoner in England, for example.


    There was also an effort to recover the HMS Resolution and HMS Culloden, both stuck on a sandbank. Even though they were damaged¡ªespecially the HMS Resolution, which had been struck from behind by the HMS Culloden¡ªthere was still hope of getting them out and bringing them to a safe port.


    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s going to work, captain?¡± asked the Marshal-Duke anxiously, without taking his eyes off the astonishing spectacle he was witnessing.


    ¡°There¡¯s no doubt about it. The real question is, ¡®how long will it take to get these two off the sandbank?¡¯ Unfortunately, I don¡¯t have the answer. A few more hours, I¡¯d say. They seem quite stuck, especially the HMS Resolution. The stern looks badly damaged too. It seems there¡¯s quite a bit of water at the bottom of the ship. That¡¯s a problem.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, my lord,¡± said Rosmadec de Saint-Allouarn. ¡°Our men know what to do. They¡¯re already at work pumping out the water and patching up the breaches. It doesn¡¯t have to be a perfect job; it just needs to float long enough to reach Brest.¡±


    ¡°My brother is right. I think it will take a bit longer than the other, that¡¯s all.¡±


    The other, the HMS Culloden, was well on its way to being freed from the sandbank. The ship had been lightened by throwing anchors and a massive amount of low-quality cast iron used as ballast overboard, as well as numerous barrels of freshwater and food.


    However, they hadn¡¯t touched the cannons, as they were valuable to His Majesty. It would be a shame to toss them overboard. The officers wouldn¡¯t hesitate to do so if it became necessary.


    ¡°We¡¯re in luck. The tide is with us. It makes our men¡¯s job much easier.¡±


    The old Marshal-Duke nodded without saying a word and returned his gaze to the two British ships that, unlike the other two, could be saved. Nearby, the dozens of small boats trying to assist in the rescue mission looked very small in comparison.


    ***


    Connected to the Ocean by thick and long ropes, Captain du Chaffault de Besn¨¦ was trying to pull the HMS Culloden out of its predicament. He was being assisted by Le Juste and numerous small boats launched into the sea.


    Adam, seated aboard one of them, was redder than a poppy. Shirtless, he gripped a heavy, light-colored wooden oar firmly and rowed with all his might. Sweat dripped from his forehead, falling into his eyes to the point of nearly blinding him. His comrades were in no better condition.


    "ROW! HARDER! DO YOU HAVE NOTHING IN YOUR ARMS, OR WHAT?! ROW!"


    Adam briefly glanced at the boatswain who had been barking orders at them for the past two hours. The men seated in front of him were receiving all his spittle, but they could do nothing and say nothing.


    Ah! I¡¯d love to¡­ Ah! See him¡­ Ah! Try! Ah! Bastard! Ah!


    His muscles screamed in pain, begging him to stop this torture session, and despite all their efforts, the English ship had barely moved. They had at least managed to turn it slightly to the right.


    "COME ON! ONE MORE EFFORT!"


    The young lieutenant leaned forward, his hands gripping the oar tightly, plunged the tip into the cold, gray seawater, and clenched his teeth even harder.


    "Hurgh!"


    With all his strength, he pulled the oar in time with his fellow soldiers. Behind them, the rope grew even tighter.


    I can¡¯t take it anymore! Too hot! I feel like jumping into the water, at least to wash off this powder smell that¡¯s clinging to me!


    It was the same all around them.


    If he had seen his friends again, they hadn¡¯t had the chance since they had boarded different ships near Stade. He hadn¡¯t been able to talk to them since they were all in other small boats. He had recognized them from afar thanks to Jean and his exceptional build.


    These waters were quite choppy, causing his boat to rock from side to side and back to front. It was very unpleasant. If he weren¡¯t so exhausted and focused on his task, which felt like slave labor, he would have already vomited up his last meal.


    In fact, that meal was starting to rise. They had eaten in the morning before leaving the Brest roadstead, and then again a few hours before the fighting began as they approached the island of Beniguet. That was almost eight hours ago.


    Damn it! I¡¯m tired of this! I feel like I¡¯m wearing myself out for nothing! And the sun is starting to set!


    "OH!"The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    A loud shout made the whole group stop and turn as one.


    "It¡¯s moving! It¡¯s moving!" someone shouted from another boat.


    Finally!


    Everyone could see it for themselves. Indeed, the HMS Culloden was starting to move. Thanks to their efforts, it was freed and could be led out of danger.


    Now only the HMS Resolution remained, which had been roughly repaired and lightened as much as possible. All the ships used to free the HMS Culloden were redeployed and firmly connected to the other ship. Soon, they went back to work.


    They worked hard through part of the night, but after many hours of suffering, they managed to pull the HMS Resolution off the sandbank.


    However, Brest was not exactly nearby. It would take approximately seven hours of sailing to return to the port. At night, it was complicated but not impossible when you had highly experienced sailors and talented officers like de Saint-Allouarn.


    It was almost five in the morning, two hours before sunrise, when these ships reached the entrance to the Goulet.


    Of course, they hadn¡¯t arrived without warning anyone. That would have been a recipe for being mistaken for enemies intent on besieging the city and its port. It would have been another tragedy, this time for the French. With so many batteries around the Goulet, they would have been bombarded from all sides.


    They had therefore sent a light and fast frigate ahead to Brest to inform Commander Duguay of their great victory.


    Several hours earlier.


    The cannon thundered over the city ravaged by disease, rumbling like a storm.


    In very little time, the military authorities were informed that the ship arriving in their port was one of those that had departed early that morning with Duquesne de Menneville''s squadron. Naturally, they believed a catastrophe had occurred.


    They had good reasons to think so, as they were told that its hull showed numerous cannonball impacts.


    Monsieur Duguay rushed to the port facing the castle, escorted by about twenty marines, to find out what had happened to the squadron.


    Despite the urgency, he was still impeccably dressed. Only his tense expression and quick pace betrayed the turmoil in his mind.


    Please, let nothing have happened to our ships! And to our sailors! My God, make sure they managed to escape!


    He walked so quickly that the soldiers seemed to struggle to keep up with his pace. His footsteps echoed on the cobbled streets of Brest, drawing many stares between the castle gate and the port.


    As soon as he saw the frigate Junon, he nearly collided with his soldiers, for he had frozen like a statue. His fearful eyes took in the damage as he imagined the battle it must have endured.


    It was as if it had been caught in the jaws of a gigantic monster and had escaped miraculously. Its sails were in tatters, and its figurehead, a beautiful woman dressed like the noble Roman goddess after whom the frigate was named, had been decapitated.


    Oh, Lord, what state this poor ship is in!


    The noble administrator trembled as he got a closer look at the ship, which was only going to be six years old. It was a wonder how it had managed to return.


    Curiously, the damage was much less severe than it appeared. The impacts were indeed numerous, but there had been relatively few leaks, as most of the cannonballs had struck well above the waterline. If there had been any seawater infiltration, it had been easily repaired.


    He then saw the captain of the ship, a thirty-one-year-old man with a pleasant face, a square jaw, and a straight nose, descending with an expression that didn¡¯t match that of a defeated man.


    If Adam had seen his face, he would have certainly thought that this man bore a slight resemblance to the famous American actor Johnny Depp.


    "Monsieur Duguay, please forgive this arrival, but there was an urgent matter!"


    "What happened?! Where is the rest of Duquesne de Menneville''s squadron?! And Marshal de Richelieu?!"


    The man, usually so calm, was so shaken that he forgot all his manners. The captain wasn¡¯t offended and adopted a calm tone.


    Please, don''t tell me they perished at sea!


    "All is well, sir. In fact, they are very busy as we speak, as they are dealing with the aftermath of a battle that ended not long ago near the island of Ouessant."


    "We¡­"


    "We have won a great victory, sir. All our men are working hard right now to pull two English ships off a large sandbank. Their condition is not alarming, and with some repairs, they will be able to serve in His Majesty''s navy. We have taken a few more prisoners and captured many sailors. I have brought some of them with me."


    "R-really?! Please, sir, don¡¯t toy with my heart!"


    "On my honor, sir, it¡¯s the absolute truth. Monsieur Duquesne de Menneville sent me ahead to inform you and our batteries so they don''t open fire on our ships when they arrive."


    "Ah-yes, of course," stammered the commander, shocked by the news. "Th-this is excellent news! His Majesty will be delighted!"


    "Certainly! Perhaps we should begin disembarking our prisoners and locking them up before the next wave of prisoners arrives."


    "Yes. Gentlemen, get ready. Surround the gangway. Keep a close watch on them!"


    One by one, the first prisoners were brought down. These had been taken from the few ships that hadn¡¯t managed to escape and had found themselves surrounded by French warships.


    Unfortunately, it hadn¡¯t been possible to capture the crews of the HMS Resolution and HMS Culloden, as the English had been able to rescue them during the battle.Luckily, they hadn¡¯t had time to burn the ships before fleeing.


    Around six in the morning, two hours after the arrival of the HMS Culloden in Brest, the HMS Resolution crossed the Goulet under the proud gazes of the soldiers positioned on the batteries.


    The cannon shots that echoed at this very early hour, as the sky was just beginning to lighten, seemed charged with their emotions.


    It was escorted by the Juste, the Oc¨¦an, and the Foudroyant.


    This time, no one was surprised, and Monsieur Du Gay personally welcomed the marshal and the squadron commander. They spoke at length aboard the Oc¨¦an while the sailors sought rest.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the story of the Battle of Ouessant to spread throughout the town. In front of churches, in markets, taverns, and soon in the nearby fields, everyone was recounting the French fleet¡¯s exploits and mocking the British.


    For them, it was a well-deserved divine punishment. God did not like the prideful.


    As for the prisoners, numbering one thousand four hundred and fifty, they were all taken to the castle. This was both to prevent their escape and to keep them from observing what was happening in the Penfeld River, where the King''s ships were repaired and maintained.


    Merely watching what was going on there could make a person highly suspicious. Since a royal arsenal had been built in the city, many people had tried to uncover its secrets and had ended up hanged.


    Often, they found tricks, like getting hired or getting imprisoned in Pontaniou prison or the penal colony.


    Duquesne de Menneville''s squadron did not stay in Brest, having already lost enough time, and with an enemy prowling nearby, they had to act quickly to avoid getting trapped in the harbor.


    As soon as this was done, Monsieur Duguay took up his pen and wrote a laudatory letter to Versailles to inform the Minister of the Navy and His Majesty of the great French victory, along with the details of the battle.


    The use of an unusual strategy could not and should not remain unknown to the officers when it was effective. Even though the line of battle had become the norm since the previous century, it was foolish to lock oneself into a strategy when another could be deployed to counter it.


    The Acad¨¦mie de la Marine, a private institution approved by the King in 1752, whose goal was to modernize the royal navy and strengthen knowledge of all maritime affairs, seized on the matter like a child on a treat, eager to study this new approach to naval warfare.


    In their previous meetings, the members of this academy had already discussed the possibility of intentionally breaking a line to isolate ships in order to engage them more effectively, but it had rarely been applied, as it was deemed too complex and too risky.


    With a ship being such a valuable asset, it was hard to imagine a commander risking several dozen ships just to test the feasibility of such a maneuver. Yet, Monsieur de la Roquefeuille, a member of this assembly who had helped found it along with Monsieur Bigot de Morogue, the first and current director of the academy, had dared to take that step.


    He would surely be rewarded by His Majesty.

 Chapter 46: Justice

    The more hours passed, the further the convoy drifted from land. Soon, it would be too late to attempt desertion.


    This thought haunted young Hippolyte, better known as P¡¯tit Pol.


    He didn¡¯t want to abandon his friends, knowing he would disappoint them all immensely if he crossed that line, but he also didn¡¯t want to go to the New World.


    The rumor had spread like wildfire in a dry forest and had naturally reached his ears.


    It came from Jean, his friend, who had accidentally overheard this information while near two naval cadets¡ªtwo boys, no more than fifteen or sixteen, who were being trained aboard the Foudroyant to become good officers¡ªas they spoke about their mission.


    Jean couldn¡¯t keep his mouth shut, and within just a few hours, the entire crew was informed.


    I want to go back to Corbie, P¡¯tit Pol lamented silently in his small hammock, tears welling up in his eyes. I don¡¯t want to go there!


    The small redhead, who despite the years still hadn¡¯t grown any taller, bit his lower lip hard, tortured by his thoughts.


    He adored his friends, with whom he had spent so much time, long before joining the regiment of the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, but the past few months had been so difficult that he deeply regretted following them into this madness.


    Never had he suffered as much as he had since the previous summer. His feet had been bloodied from walking the roads of Hanover; he had almost died more than once, he had fainted from heat, he had been so cold that he wanted to plunge his hands into a fire, he had been hungrier than ever before, and now they were ordering him to cross an ocean!


    Why?! Why should I endure all these things? It was a mistake! I should never have signed up!


    Hippolyte had learned to fear the sea. He had the English to thank for that because the small merchant ship he had boarded in Stade to return to Brest had narrowly escaped being blown to pieces by enemy cannons in the Channel.


    When they had encountered a British squadron for the second time, they had been chased by a dozen warships, each carrying dozens of cannons! Compared to them, they were nothing more than defenseless children. They didn¡¯t even have a single cannon to fight back!


    All he could do at that moment was pray, and he had done so with exceptional fervor.


    While he had survived, not everyone had been so lucky.


    Since that day, he had been plagued by nightmares about the sea. He saw himself once again aboard a fragile ship, lost at sea with no land in sight, targeted by those massive ships bristling with black cannons.


    Most of the time, he woke up in terror, but sometimes, he saw his ship riddled with holes, its mast breaking, and he saw himself falling into the sea.


    When that happened, he imagined himself thrashing about wildly, flailing his arms in all directions, desperately trying to grab hold of something, anything, to keep his head above water.


    But he found nothing. He would then cry out for help, in vain. Saltwater would begin to fill his mouth, and he would see himself sinking beneath the surface, plunging like a stone.


    Engulfed in growing darkness, he would lose all sense of up and down.


    In the end, he saw himself dying, alone, in terrifying silence.


    Wh-what if we sail into a storm?! What if we encounter a sea monster?!


    He thought back to a story a veteran sailor had shared with them two days earlier. The man, a southerner named Joseph, had told them such a wild tale that most of the soldiers hadn¡¯t taken him seriously. But P¡¯tit Pol believed the man was telling the truth.


    With his melodious accent, typical of people from that region, Joseph had recounted one of his voyages in the Atlantic. At that time, the War of Austrian Succession hadn¡¯t yet broken out, but tensions were already high. Every kingdom had been preparing for years, sending ships all over the world to maintain a presence in the islands, trading posts, and colonies.


    One day, their ship had crossed paths with one of these monsters.


    When someone asked if it was the size of a horse, the sailor burst out laughing and calmly stated that the creature was the size of his ship!


    Not only was the beast enormous, but there were several of them, swimming in a group!


    Fortunately, these sea monsters hadn¡¯t tried to sink them. They had merely swum by, peacefully spouting water from their backs or the tops of their heads before disappearing.


    The sailor hadn¡¯t seen much of these massive creatures, far too large to be called ¡°fish,¡± although they had fins. His officer had said they were whales and that one had to be very careful around them because there had been cases where ships had sunk after colliding with one.


    While many soldiers had laughed upon hearing the story, P¡¯tit Pol had trembled with fear. For him, it was hard to believe that God could have created an animal so large and so dangerous!


    But what P¡¯tit Pol feared most wasn¡¯t these monsters.


    If we really go to the New World, we might all get killed and eaten by the savages who live there! It¡¯s madness!


    He rolled over in his hammock, imagining the inhabitants of that vast land. Despite the French, English, Spanish, and Portuguese presence, he had been told that there were still many nearly naked savages who fought with primitive weapons.


    Rumors aboard the Foudroyant said that the locals were worse than animals. They were said to have sharp teeth to eat raw meat, with their favorite being, of course, human flesh; and they supposedly drank fresh blood at every meal.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    If we¡¯re unlucky enough to fall into their hands, will they eat us alive or after slitting our throats?


    These were the kinds of questions that made him increasingly reflect on his next move.


    Finally, he made his decision.


    In the dead of night, while everyone was deeply asleep, P¡¯tit Pol slipped out of his hammock. On tiptoe, he weaved between the hammocks of his comrades, which swayed in rhythm. The deck was unstable as the sea was rather rough that night.


    With difficulty, he made his way to the upper deck, straining his eyes to see anything in the darkness. The moon was barely visible through the thick clouds, appearing and disappearing like a ghost within seconds.


    The only sources of light were a few lanterns placed at strategic points.


    On the inky sea, a few silhouettes could be seen, mostly thanks to the large white sails. In the night, these ships were mere shadows resembling specters. Every sound seemed amplified.


    He could hear snatches of conversation from the soldiers and sailors on watch, tasked with keeping an eye on the ship and its surroundings during the night. Of course, they weren¡¯t expected to stay awake all night, as that would be the quickest way to cause an accident.


    They would be relieved in an hour, not before, by a new shift.


    This is the best time, I think, the young man thought, slipping behind three large barrels to avoid the gaze of these men.


    Quietly, he risked a glance but saw nothing unusual.


    He made himself as small as a mouse and advanced slowly, checking after nearly every step that no one was looking his way. If he was spotted now, he could claim he¡¯d come up for some air, but the further he went, the harder it would be to explain himself.


    The worst that could happen was being caught while trying to launch a small boat. No excuse could save his life then, for desertion was not tolerated in any army or any kingdom. The rope would likely be his punishment.


    As he thought about this, a pang of doubt and regret pierced his heart.


    Is this really a good idea? No, it can¡¯t be a good idea. I don¡¯t even know how far we¡¯ve drifted from the coast. I... I should just go back to sleep... I guess.


    ¡°HEY! YOU THERE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!¡±


    Loud shouts made him jump, and his heart clenched. It was more than his heart; it felt like a giant hand had grabbed all his organs and squeezed them.


    Oh no!


    He froze and said nothing.


    Soon, more shouts echoed across the deck, and the alarm rang out. People started waking up below deck, and soon dozens of them were gathered on the main deck.


    Squadron commander Duquesne de Menneville and Colonel de Br¨¦hant emerged from the aft castle, as they had the privilege of cabins and bunks, unlike the rest of the crew, and rushed to the front of the crowd to see what was happening.


    Several soldiers surrounded a young man, an infantry soldier as indicated by his uniform, preventing him from fleeing.


    He looked young, and in his eyes, one could read sheer terror.


    ¡°What is going on here?!"


    "My lord, we caught this man trying to desert. He was releasing a boat."


    "What?! ¡±


    Despite the darkness, the squadron commander¡¯s anger was clearly visible on his face. The lanterns'' glow cast frightening shadows on his features, making him resemble a demon.


    ¡°M-my lord, that¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s not it!"


    "Enough! You disgrace yourself! No need to lie! Put him in irons, we¡¯ll deal with him in daylight. Everyone, return to your bunks immediately!¡±


    His voice cracked like thunder, pushing everyone to return below deck.


    Trembling all over, P¡¯tit Pol blended into the crowd and went back to bed. Luckily, no one had noticed that he was on deck before the others or realized what his true intentions had been.


    In silence, he lay in his hammock, his thoughts more agitated than ever. His heart was pounding so hard it was driving him mad. Though relieved he hadn¡¯t been caught, he couldn¡¯t close his eyes all night.


    Four hours later, the sun timidly appeared on the horizon.


    The sky was clear, but a gentle wind whistled, propelling the ships in the squadron forward at a good pace. None of the vessels had strayed from their course during the night.


    Before breakfast was even served, the entire crew was gathered on deck. Everyone knew what had happened during the night and had an idea of what was coming next.


    They fetched the soldier who had tried to desert. His hands were bound, and his expression spoke volumes about his state of mind. He knew what he had done and that he would be punished. However, he was young. If the squadron commander decided to be lenient, he might survive. Perhaps.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville said in a loud voice, ¡°something very serious happened this morning, around two o¡¯clock. This man, this soldier whom we thought was our comrade, decided it would be a good idea to abandon us and tried to escape on one of our boats. This kind of behavior is unacceptable and unjustifiable!¡±


    The officer swept his steely gaze over the assembled men without stopping on anyone in particular, but P¡¯tit Pol shuddered when his eyes passed over him.


    ¡°When we are at sea, we form a family. In a family, certain behaviors are absolutely forbidden. Only by upholding this can we move forward. What this young man did is nothing less than an act of cowardice and betrayal. Like a thief, he acted in the night. On top of that, attempting to take a boat is an extremely serious offense, as each one is more precious than gold in the event of a shipwreck. Losing even one can have immense and terrible consequences. These two vile and criminal acts must be punished with the utmost severity, which is why I, Michel-Ange Duquesne, Marquis de Menneville, sentence you to death by hanging. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?¡±


    ¡°I-I¡­ No, sir,¡± stammered the young soldier, as white as snow, knowing that nothing could save his life now.


    Slowly, the man was led to the fore topmast of the ship. A soldier as tall and strong as Jean rolled a large oak barrel and placed it under a yardarm. A long rope was threaded through a pulley, and a noose was tied and positioned before the condemned man''s eyes.


    He trembled atop the barrel.


    Above his head, a wide white sail flapped in the wind. The wood of the hull creaked, and one could clearly hear the sound of the waves being split by the Foudroyant as it sailed. The seabirds circling the large ship looked like vultures around a corpse in the desert.


    Slowly, the rope was placed around his neck. The deserter¡¯s lips moved slightly, but it was impossible to tell if he was trembling or praying.


    P¡¯tit Pol looked all around, hoping that someone¡ªanyone¡ªwould speak up to defend the man, but all he saw were stern faces. Some clenched their jaws and chose to look away.


    Nothing was different from what he had seen in Hanover, as this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d witnessed someone being hanged for desertion.


    Strangely, this punishment, which was meant to serve as a warning, never seemed to truly deter soldiers in the long run. There were always some, consumed by despair, who tried their luck, thinking they would manage to escape and disappear.


    W-why? Why do they keep hanging men who no longer have the strength to fight when it doesn¡¯t work?! Why don¡¯t they just let them go?!


    He quickly wiped away a tear that was about to spill from his left eye. Although he didn¡¯t know this man, he knew that it could have been him.


    This isn¡¯t justice¡ªit¡¯s cruelty!


    Finally, they kicked the barrel out from under him, and the soldier fell into the void.


    The fall hadn¡¯t been brutal enough to break his neck, so he struggled for several long minutes, kicking frantically, until he stopped moving altogether. His face became grotesque, twisted in pain and asphyxiation. By the end, it had turned a purplish color, and a large vein had bulged in the middle of his forehead.


    P¡¯tit Pol couldn¡¯t look away and only lowered his eyes at the very end, when it was over.


    ¡°Hoist him higher,¡± the squadron commander ordered. ¡°Let everyone see, and may no one forget what happens to cowards and traitors. Now, return below and fold up your hammocks. We will distribute food as usual.¡±

 Chapter 47: The Long Day Of Louis

    For four days, the convoy had maintained its course northwest, as if the officers were aiming for Ireland. Luckily, they encountered no misfortune.


    Even though no English sails were in sight, the squadron was not out of danger, for at any moment they could cross paths with enemy convoys traveling between the Old Continent and the New World. The only positive point was that, as time passed, the likelihood of such an encounter became more a matter of chance.


    If Admiral Edward Hawke wanted to engage them again, he would first have to search a very wide area. After so much time, that was a difficult, though not impossible, task.


    Aware of this, the French officers scanned the horizon every hour, searching for a sail. For the moment, they were lucky, but nothing in this world is eternal.


    Then, the squadron leader moved to the front of the line of ships, passing in front of the Juste, and set course westward.


    They had a southern wind and a favorable current. It was the right moment to change course and head toward the vast American continent, almost entirely claimed by four major European powers.


    That morning, the weather was magnificent. Apart from a few scattered, white, cotton-like clouds, nothing disturbed the beautiful blue sky. The sun, dazzling, made the sea shimmer, stretching like a giant tapestry to the horizon, resembling a chest filled with precious stones.


    Unfortunately for the sailors aboard the Foudroyant, they were given no time to lounge and enjoy the moment. As every morning, they had to clean the ship¡¯s deck.


    Armed with a large brush, Louis was on his knees among his comrades, between P¡¯tit Pol and Jules. They formed a long line, and across from them, other sailors and soldiers scrubbed in unison as if to reflect their image.


    Ugh! Ah! My hands!


    Louis stopped scrubbing for a moment and looked at his hands. They were nothing like they used to be. He wasn¡¯t sure what his face looked like now, but if it mirrored his palms, he no longer resembled an angel.


    All he knew was that his once-beautiful blond hair had lost all its shine. The rest, he could only imagine.


    My hands hurt so much, the young soldier groaned, gently massaging his bruised palms.


    They were red, full of cracks and calluses, as if he had spent twenty years at sea. His hands trembled slightly, and he couldn¡¯t stop them from shaking because he had overexerted himself.


    Around him, the others continued to scrub without slowing down, guided by a sailor¡¯s song that the soldiers had begun to memorize after hearing it so often.


    Le corsaire Le Grand Coureur, (The privateer, The Great Runner,)


    Est un navire de malheur (Is a ship of misfortune,)


    Quand il s¡¯en va croisi¨¨re, (When it goes cruising,)


    Pour aller chasser l¡¯Anglais (To hunt the English,)


    Le vent, la mer et la guerre (The wind, the sea, and war)


    Tournent contre le Fran?ais. (Turn against the Frenchman.)


    Allons les gars gai, gai, (Come on, boys, cheer, cheer,)


    Allons les gars gaiement ! (Come on, boys, cheerfully!)


    This song wasn¡¯t exactly suited to their work, but by adjusting the tempo, they could find a good rhythm for scrubbing the deck.


    Seeing the bosun walking toward him with his dragging steps, Louis quickly picked up his brush and resumed scrubbing the seawater-soaked deck. He clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the pain in his hands and knees from being in such an uncomfortable position. His back also ached from making large, sweeping movements.


    With the others, he began to sing.


    Il est parti de Lorient (It left Lorient)


    Avec mer belle et bon vent (With calm seas and good wind),


    Il cinglait babord amure (It sailed on the port tack,)


    Naviguant comme un poisson (Sailing like a fish,)


    Un grain tombe sur sa mature (A squall hits its mast,)


    V¡¯la le corsaire en ponton. (And there goes the privateer put on hold.)


    Allons les gars gai, gai, (Come on, boys, cheer, cheer,)


    Allons les gars gaiement ! (Come on, boys, cheerfully!)


    His voice, it seemed to him, had changed a lot since the beginning of this war.


    Before, people used to say he had the voice of a nightingale. Today, he felt like he croaked like a bird of ill omen. He noticed it once again, which made him grimace with sadness.


    I think my own parents won¡¯t recognize me when I return home. I¡¯m afraid to see what I look like now, and even more afraid of what I¡¯ll look like tomorrow.


    Louis had always been a handsome boy. His mother once told him that from the moment he opened his eyes, she knew he would grow into a fine man. She had been right. As he grew, he became the most handsome boy in Corbie. With his angelic face and sweet voice, he could charm any woman.


    What people didn¡¯t understand was that this divine gift came with an unfortunate consequence: people tended to only see his physical qualities and overlook everything else. It was as if his entire being was reduced to his good looks and his beautiful voice. Only his friends and family saw beyond his appearance.


    He had joined the regiment of Monsieur de Br¨¦hant with them to prove that he had other qualities.


    Now, he wondered if he would lose those qualities and return changed, in the worst way. Perhaps he wouldn¡¯t return alive at all from this adventure.


    Just as Fran?ois had almost lost his life at Hastenbeck, or Jules at K?rbelitz near Magdeburg, he had come close to death several times in Hanover. Like his two friends, he now had a few scars on his body, which had grown quite thin over the months.


    The most impressive one was on his thigh. He had received it during a skirmish a few weeks after Jules had been shot¡ªa nasty bayonet wound that, luckily, hadn¡¯t caused too much damage. He had been forced to stay in bed for several weeks but had been able to get back on his feet relatively quickly.


    His gaze fell on a young soldier in the line opposite. Kneeling on the solid deck, the boy scrubbed the pre-sanded and scoured wood with his small hands to remove the toughest stains and smooth it out. Sweat dripped from his forehead, framed by two rebellious brown strands, and mixed with the seawater that was regularly poured onto the deck.


    Sensing eyes on him, the young soldier looked up, and their eyes met.


    Ah, why does he have such a handsome face, that one? Pierre, I think his name is.


    Despite all the hardships he had endured, this soldier seemed unwilling to lose his delicate features.


    He had fairly thin eyebrows, as black as his hair, a small upturned nose, dark eyes, and deep pink lips.


    It¡¯s not fair! I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t look like anything anymore!


    Though he had abandoned his white coat, he was one of the few soldiers not working bare-chested.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Louis lowered his eyes and scrubbed harder, as if to vent his frustrations.


    Even if he didn¡¯t want to be defined by a prince charming face, that didn¡¯t mean he was ready to give it up. He simply wanted to prove to the world that he was much more than that!


    ¡°Alright, boys! Put away the brushes! We¡¯ll rinse it off one last time, and then you can rest a bit!¡±


    The young soldier with hollow cheeks let out a deep sigh of relief and slowly stood up with the agility of an old man. Like the others, he placed his brush in a large tub before stepping aside to allow a few sailors to pour buckets of water over the deck.


    ¡°You okay, Louis?¡± asked Jules from behind, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Ah, yes, I¡¯m just tired. Look at my hands,¡± he said, holding them out to show his palms.


    ¡°We¡¯re all in the same boat, Louis. Look.¡±


    He held out his own hands, palms up, and P¡¯tit Pol did the same. All their hands looked the same.


    ¡°Sometimes I envy Jean. Why doesn¡¯t he have anything?¡±


    The three friends turned to the big guy, who was happily chatting with a sailor just as tall and strong as he was. They had quickly become friends after holding a strength contest. The sailor, stubborn as a mule, had challenged Jean over and over, inventing new tests each time. Their friend hadn¡¯t refused a single one and had grossly won about half of them. The two were too much alike not to get along.


    ¡°It¡¯s not fair,¡± confirmed P¡¯tit Pol, frowning.


    They went to sit in a corner of the ship, between the first and second cannons at the bow of the proud vessel. There, it was less crowded, which made for a much more pleasant place to hold a conversation.


    ¡°Is Charles still sleeping?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but that¡¯s normal since he was on watch last night. He must be exhausted. By the way, it¡¯s your turn tonight, right?¡± Jules asked Louis.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Just thinking about it makes me tired already.¡±


    Jules gave a sympathetic smile, knowing it wasn¡¯t a fun duty. Unfortunately, they would all have to take their turn at least once, especially if they were really heading for the New World. None of them knew exactly how long the journey would take since every trip was unique depending on the conditions, but it couldn¡¯t be less than a month.


    According to the most experienced sailors, they should arrive between the end of May and mid-June. Of course, that time could be greatly extended if they encountered a storm along the way.


    ¡°Ah! Here comes the food!¡± P¡¯tit Pol said excitedly, seeing the cabin boys arriving with their meal, rubbing his hands together as if to show his eagerness.


    Immediately, the sailors gathered.


    Louis stood in the long line and collected his meager meal. Today, they could consider themselves lucky, as they were given a few vegetables, mostly peas. They didn¡¯t look appetizing, but that wasn¡¯t what mattered.


    They were also given some dried and salted beef, along with a piece of bread as hard as wood. Because they had received meat, they were not given any cheese. However, they did get a good ration of red wine.


    Just as he was about to start eating, a loud cry echoed behind him.


    ¡°To port! Look to port!¡±


    ¡°What is it?!¡±


    ¡°Oh! They¡¯re beautiful! And how fast they are!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re jumping!¡±


    Louis and his companions rushed to the left side of the ship and looked into the water. They easily spotted a small pod of gray dolphins swimming alongside the large sailboat, as if racing with them.


    They seemed to be having fun, occasionally performing flips in the air before diving back into the sea.


    Wow! They¡¯re so beautiful! I¡¯m sure they can go even faster! Haha!


    The dolphins stayed with them for a while, then disappeared. Louis felt a sense of loneliness wash over him as he no longer saw them swimming around the warship.


    That evening, as the sun sank lower and lower, tinting the sky with a thousand soothing colors, Louis prepared to face his night watch.


    The crew gathered in the lower decks. Gradually, the light dimmed, forcing the crew to light the lanterns.


    A marine soldier, in his forties, was singing softly, accompanied by a sailor and his violin. His deep voice seemed so sorrowful that no one dared to interrupt him. The lyrics echoed through the decks, moving the sailors who listened. Many of them could relate.


    Brave Marin revient de guerre, tout doux (Brave Sailor Returns from War, So Gently)


    Brave Marin revient de guerre, tout doux (Brave Sailor Returns from War, So Gently)


    Tout mal chauss¨¦, tout mal v¨ºtu (All poorly shod, all poorly dressed)


    Pauvre marin, d''o¨´ reviens-tu? (Poor sailor, where are you coming from?)


    Tout doux (So gently)


    Madame, je reviens de guerre, tout doux (Madam, I return from war, so gently)


    Madame, je reviens de guerre, tout doux (Madam, I return from war, so gently)


    Qu''on m''apporte ici le vin blanc (Bring me here some white wine)


    Que le marin boit en passant. (That the sailor drinks as he passes.)


    Tout doux. (So gently)


    Brave Marin se mit ¨¤ boire, tout doux (Brave sailor began to drink, so gently)


    Brave Marin se mit ¨¤ boire, tout doux (Brave sailor began to drink, so gently)


    Se mit ¨¤ boire et ¨¤ chanter (He started drinking and singing)


    Et la belle h?tesse ¨¤ pleurer. (And the fair hostess began to cry.)


    Tout doux. (So gently)


    Qu''avez-vous donc, la belle h?tesse, tout doux (What is the matter, fair hostess, so gently)


    Qu''avez-vous donc, la belle h?tesse, tout doux (What is the matter, fair hostess, so gently)


    Regrettez-vous votre vin blanc (Do you regret your white wine)


    Que le marin boit en passant? (That the sailor drinks as he passes?)


    Tout doux. (So gently)


    C''est pas mon vin que je regrette, tout doux (It''s not my wine that I regret, so gently)


    C''est pas mon vin que je regrette, tout doux (It''s not my wine that I regret, so gently)


    Mais c''est la mort de mon mari (But it¡¯s the death of my husband)


    Monsieur vous ressemblez ¨¤ lui. (Sir, you look just like him.)


    Tout doux. (So gently)


    Dites-moi donc, la belle h?tesse, tout doux (Tell me then, fair hostess, so gently)


    Dites-moi donc, la belle h?tesse, tout doux (Tell me then, fair hostess, so gently)


    Vous aviez de lui trois enfants (You had three children with him)


    Vous en avez six ¨¤ pr¨¦sent. (You have six now.)


    Tout doux. (So gently)


    On m''a ¨¦crit de ses nouvelles, tout doux (I received news, so gently)


    On m''a ¨¦crit de ses nouvelles, tout doux (I received news, so gently)


    Qu''il ¨¦tait mort et enterr¨¦ (That he was dead and buried)


    Et je me suis remari¨¦e. (And I got remarried.)


    Tout doux. (So gently)


    Brave Marin vida son verre, tout doux (Brave sailor emptied his glass, so gently)


    Brave Marin vida son verre, tout doux (Brave sailor emptied his glass, so gently)


    Sans remercier, tout en pleurant (Without a word, while crying)


    Il regagna son batiment. (He returned to his ship.)


    Tout doux. (So gently)


    Louis felt his throat tighten as he listened to this sad song. Even though no wife was waiting for him in Corbie, he imagined himself in the place of this poor man, returning home after years at sea, only to learn that his wife thought him dead and had remarried.


    It¡¯s so sad! I really don¡¯t know how I would react in his place.


    With that thought, he slowly stood up, bid his friends goodbye, and, along with others, climbed to the upper deck. Gradually, the ship fell silent.


    Night had long fallen, yet Louis was not asleep. Instead, he had to patrol the deck of Foudroyant, ensuring nothing happened while his comrades rested.


    Of course, he wasn¡¯t the only one making rounds on the deck. There were a hundred men who weren¡¯t allowed to sleep: a helmsman, two officers, gunners, sailors, and lookouts stationed on the masts.


    What had happened the first night was the night watch team¡¯s negligence. No one should have reached the lifeboats without being noticed. They had received a serious reprimand, even though the desertion attempt had failed.


    The pressure on Louis¡¯s shoulders was immense.


    It¡¯s my first time. I don¡¯t want to be punished.


    The night promised to be very quiet. Yet, despite the warnings, it was difficult to stop the night crew from doing anything other than keeping watch. Most of the time, they whispered to avoid disturbing their comrades sleeping below, but some had taken out games to pass the time faster.


    Just as his shift was about to end, Louis was confronted with a situation no one could have anticipated during his inspection of the hold.


    ¡°Wait, what?!¡±


    ¡°Shhh! Do you want everyone to hear you?¡± Pierre responded urgently, his eyes wide, half-naked as he washed himself in the darkness.


    ¡°B-but¡­ Pierre, I mean¡­ You¡­¡±


    ¡°Well?¡± Pierre pressed, covering his chest with his hands. ¡°Could you at least turn around?¡±


    ¡°Oh, uh, yes, of course! I mean¡­ Sorry.¡±


    Pierre clicked his tongue and hastily got dressed, turning his back to Louis, his face redder than a peony.


    ¡°B-but you¡¯ve been with us from the start,¡± Louis whispered. ¡°How¡­ You-you were a woman this whole time?¡±


    ¡°No, it happened this morning! When I woke up, my dick had vanished! Idiot!¡±


    Louis bit his lip hard, realizing his own stupidity.


    What an idiot! Really, what an idiot!


    ¡°All right,¡± sighed the woman disguised as a man. ¡°You can turn around.¡±


    Her eyebrows were furrowed. It was clear she was angry at being discovered, but she also seemed very worried.


    ¡°Why did you¡­ why are you¡­ Damn, I don¡¯t even know how to talk to you now! What¡¯s your real name?¡±


    The woman with black hair hesitated before answering with a sigh.


    ¡°Anne-Sophie. My name is Anne-Sophie. But I forbid you from calling me that in front of the others. Talk to me like you always do, or better yet, don¡¯t talk to me at all. No one can know, understood? Or I¡¯ll cut it off!¡±


    GULP!


    Louis nodded vigorously. For some reason, he didn¡¯t doubt that this woman, who had faced the same trials as him, was capable of carrying out her threat.

 Chapter 48: The Visitor

    William Pitt arrived in the port of Plymouth on April 8th, a little after eleven in the morning.


    His carriage, drawn by two fine horses with bright eyes and shining coats, stopped in front of a magnificent three-masted, three-decked warship, its hull painted red.


    A young man hurried out of his seat, wrapped in a thick black coat, drenched as if he had been thrown into the sea. A heavy downpour beat down on the man, as it did on anyone who wasn¡¯t sheltered.


    The coachman, his face grim, tucked his head into his shoulders like a tortoise, his broad hands still gripping the reins.


    The boy circled the carriage, avoided a large puddle, and opened the heavy door on the left side, facing the grand ship. The politician grimaced at the dreadful weather, let out a small sigh, and stepped out. Just then, a violent gust of wind whipped his face, drenching him to the bone.


    Despite the pain, which made him want to lie down and not move, he walked quickly toward the long wooden gangway connecting the great ship to the quay, cluttered with ropes, cannons, crates, and barrels.


    Though he wasn¡¯t heavy, he felt the gangway bend slightly under his weight. The wood was slippery, but thankfully there were thick ridges at regular intervals to keep him from slipping.


    When he reached the top, he was greeted by a few officers and soldiers, as somber as the sky.


    "Welcome aboard the HMS Royal George, my lord. We were informed of your visit."


    William Pitt reached into his coat and pulled out a signed letter.


    "Then you know why I¡¯m here," the man replied in a grating voice.


    The small piece of paper immediately began to turn to mush the moment it was exposed to the rain, which was pouring down so heavily.


    The deck of this immense ship, the pride of the Royal Navy, had been rendered slick by the long downpour and reflected the men and objects on it like a mirror.


    The officer, in his forties, with a slightly crooked square jaw and eyes as gray as the sky and sea, nodded.


    "Everything seems in order, my lord," he said, extending the letter back to the minister, who quickly tucked it away inside his coat. "I will lead you."


    William Pitt said nothing and followed the man, keeping a reasonable distance between them. They were led to the rear of the ship, where more soldiers were positioned, armed to the teeth. Their fixed gaze made them seem less than human.


    However, they moved to salute their officer and this guest, whom they only knew by name and reputation.


    As William Pitt and the senior officer passed them, the soldiers dared to glance in their direction without turning their heads.


    The visitor skirted the massive wheel, enormous like everything else on this monstrous, richly decorated ship, and passed through several doors that could rival the finest castles in Europe. The officer stepped aside in front of one of them and inclined his head slightly.


    "Take all the time you need."


    The politician, his face very serious, thanked the officer and entered the captain¡¯s quarters of the ship.


    He found Admiral Edward Hawke seated at his desk, busy scribbling a few words on some paper, which had been brought to him in large quantities. He stopped as soon as he saw his visitor and stood up to greet him properly.


    "Mr. Secretary of State, I did not expect this visit."


    "Really?" replied William Pitt, pulling out a chair to sit across from the admiral. "You shouldn¡¯t be. I see I¡¯ve interrupted your work. Do you have everything you need? Are you lacking anything?"


    "Hmm, thank you, but nothing is denied me, except leaving this ship. I can also go out for some air whenever I want, as long as I request it. Of course, I¡¯m never alone when I leave this room."


    "I must tell you, sir, in all honesty, this situation is very painful. I¡¯m doing everything in my power to help you, but my means are limited."


    The admiral crossed his hands on his desk and stared at the minister, as if trying to read his thoughts.


    "Honestly, sir, what do you think my chances are of surviving this trial? Sir Byng was executed for not doing everything possible to prevent the fall of Minorca. The charges against me are just as serious."


    "But the fault does not lie solely with you. I¡¯m certain you can defend yourself effectively. The failure at Ouessant is due to your subordinates disobeying your orders. In fact, I believe they¡¯re also on this ship?"


    "Yes, my lord. They¡¯re on the lower deck. Like me, they¡¯re preparing their defense."


    William Pitt did not respond immediately and looked away. Although they were aboard a warship, it was a beautiful space. Fine paintings hung on the walls, and even a harpsichord stood there.


    "Do you play?" asked the minister, as if to change the subject.


    "Of course, but I don¡¯t have the talent of our greatest musicians. At best, my level is passable. I¡¯ve never had the knack, despite my tutors'' efforts to instruct me. I suppose I don¡¯t have a musical ear."


    "May I?" asked Pitt, gesturing humbly toward the large musical instrument.


    "Do as you please," replied the naval officer with a certain weariness, aware that within a few months he would likely be shot for his failure to prevent the French squadron from leaving Brest.


    Soon, a few light notes floated through the large cabin. The minister played quite skillfully, but there was no emotion in it. It was like reciting a speech without breathing any life into it. In other words, he merely pressed the right keys in the right order at the right time.


    "You may not know," the minister Pitt resumed after a while, "but you have many friends in London. Ministers, officers, some of whom will be your judges, and the people."


    "The people..." murmured the admiral with a hollow laugh. "Well, then I¡¯m saved."


    "You would be wrong to think that he has no power. I am proof of that."


    "You, sir?" the admiral replied, raising an eyebrow.


    "Do you believe His Majesty is pleased to have me in this position? The answer is no. So, why do you think I am still in this position? It¡¯s because I have the support of the people. His Majesty cannot ignore that and had to recall me shortly after dismissing me. Mr. Newcastle, who was also pushed aside, cannot be forgotten either. Why? Because he remains very influential in Parliament. A person¡¯s influence, wherever it comes from, is still influence. Gather enough influential people, and nothing is impossible."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "That didn¡¯t help Admiral Byng," sighed Hawke, leaning back in his chair. "He too had supporters."


    "But not the people, because at that time Mr. Newcastle managed to manipulate public opinion to save his own neck. Remember, his head almost rolled after Minorca. The situation is very different today. Above all, we haven¡¯t lost any territory, only ships."


    At these words, the admiral¡¯s face abruptly tightened.


    "Only ships..." he repeated in a whisper before slowly lifting his face, his eyes darker than the abyss.


    This surprised the minister, who stopped playing, his hands hovering above the ivory keys.


    An oppressive silence fell between the two men. All that could be heard was the sound of rain beating against the large windows behind the officer.


    His face suddenly turned red with anger, and he jumped out of his chair, scraping the gleaming floor with a sharp screech.


    "Those were not just ships we lost that day! We lost countless men! Brave sailors loyal to the King and the Kingdom!"


    It was only then that William Pitt realized his mistake. Slowly, he placed his long hands on his aching knees and, without flinching, faced the officer¡¯s fury.


    "Very few could be rescued! You weren¡¯t there! You have no idea what it¡¯s like to watch your ships break on rocks, to see brave sailors fall into the water, crying for help! To you, they¡¯re just numbers, but for me, for us sailors, they are lives!"


    "You¡¯re right," Pitt murmured. "I offer my sincerest apologies. I didn¡¯t mean to downplay your losses, to insult you, or insult the memory of those you lost at sea."


    The admiral calmed down and sat back in his tall red-and-gold chair.


    "Where are you in your work?"


    "For now, I¡¯m just noting everything I did that day, hour by hour, so I don¡¯t forget anything. I¡¯m also writing down the names of all the people I will call to testify."


    "Do you have many witnesses?"


    "Oh, yes. All those who saw that I gave the order to avoid those damned rocks and those who saw those men ignore my orders."


    William Pitt gently nodded, then asked the question that had been burning on his lips, likely the one he would find hardest to answer when the trial took place in a few weeks.


    "Admiral, why didn¡¯t you attack the French when they returned to Brest? You could have also blocked them in that harbor, as initially planned."


    Edward Hawke showed no emotion on his face. It was like looking at a lake lost in the mountains, isolated from everything, even the wind.


    "Sir, what do you think my squadron looked like at that moment? We had just come out of a naval battle. My ship was the only one undamaged, simply because it had been too slow to reach the fight. The others were either in poor condition or sinking. Two of my ships were also overloaded with the survivors from the HMS Culloden, HMS Union, and HMS Resolution. Many of my ships had fallen back, and I needed time to regroup them. When I returned to Brest the next day, around six in the evening, there was no one left to lock in. All our enemies had fled, and I had no way of knowing in which direction. We searched for hours, circling Ouessant, since that¡¯s where we had faced them, but tensions were so high on the remaining ships that I had no choice but to return to Plymouth for urgent repairs and to file a report."


    "Is that what you¡¯re going to tell the Admiralty?"


    "It¡¯s the truth," the admiral retorted, frowning.


    William Pitt closed his eyes as if trying to see the future and what would happen next.


    In truth, he was very disappointed. He had hoped for a more significant reason to justify such a failure. These weren¡¯t bad reasons, but if he had been the admiral, he would have had no trouble making him the scapegoat.


    When John Byng was arrested for cowardice and negligence after the disaster at Minorca, he had publicly spoken in his defense, as at that time, insufficient resources had been deployed to defend the island and its fort.


    But this was different. Admiral Hawke had been entrusted with an exceptional ship and a squadron large enough not only to block the ships of that degenerate Louis XV but to destroy them all!


    "I see," Pitt finally said. "From my perspective, you made a grave error in judgment, but you definitely don¡¯t deserve the death penalty. Like Admiral Byng. Unfortunately, your fate is in the hands of others, not mine. Please, do your best to defend your case. The Kingdom needs good and loyal officers. We cannot afford to shoot all our officers as soon as they fail. I will do my best to ensure the people demand your pardon BEFORE your sentence is pronounced. Be strong."


    With that, the politician painfully rose from his seat and headed for the door.


    Though he pretended to be fine, his joints, especially in his knees and feet, were hurting him. They were swollen, red, and hot. It was as if someone were pinching his nerves hard and pulling on them like drawing a bowstring.


    "Are you finished, my lord?" asked the officer, who had been waiting near the helm. "Do you wish to go below to see Captains Speke, Geary, and Evans?"


    William Pitt hesitated, for although he had traveled a long way to get here, he dreaded his reaction when he met the eyes of those miserable wretches who had ruined the entire operation. If it were up to him, he¡¯d have them shot on the spot.


    "Yes, this won¡¯t take long. I have only one question to ask them."


    The officer gave the minister, ten years his senior but appearing much older, a strange look before guiding him to the lower level. The three men were forced to share a space equivalent to the one Hawke occupied alone.


    Their prison wasn¡¯t bad either, but being three in such a confined space was quite uncomfortable for the officers. Like Hawke, the three captains were busy drafting their defense. They had no intention of being condemned without protest.


    Even if they had made a mistake, technically, the blame should fall on their officer. Especially since the admiral¡¯s orders had come far too late. Additionally, the fault should also fall on those who had drawn the nautical charts they had used to navigate near Ouessant.


    It was clear that mistakes had been made during the depth soundings and the marking of the rocks.


    They were surprised to see the Secretary of State for the Southern Department. As soon as they saw him enter, the three men trembled.


    It was as if the temperature in the large room had suddenly dropped several degrees. Moreover, there was a kind of pressure they hadn¡¯t expected from a mere politician.


    All conversation and writing ceased the moment he stepped into the room. Their eyes scrutinized and analyzed every move of the old man who seemed ready to devour them alive.


    "Gentlemen, I would like to wish you a good day, but you do not deserve it. In fact, you deserve nothing but to face the wrath of your peers and His Majesty. That said, you have been granted the right to defend yourselves. So, I¡¯m listening: why did you ignore your superior¡¯s orders and decide to pursue the enemy among the rocks?"


    "My lord, you are mistaken! This is an injustice!" declared Captain Evans passionately.


    "Sir, that¡¯s not what happened! We would never have dared!"


    "Exactly! We would never have done such a thing! We simply made an error in judgment! We thought we could trust our charts!"


    "So, all this mess is the fault of the charts? Is it because of the charts that you refused to avoid those rocks as your admiral ordered?"


    "I-I¡­ My lord, that¡¯s not it! We couldn¡¯t obey that order because it came too late!"


    "That¡¯s true, my lord! We were on the verge of entering this dangerous area when the admiral¡¯s orders reached us! If we had obeyed and turned around, we would have collided with the rocks surrounding us!"


    "We really had no choice but to continue along the same path as the French ships! You must believe us!"


    Pitt didn¡¯t flinch and looked at the three terrified men one by one.


    "We will see about that when we analyze your movements. But expect terrible consequences if the Admiralty determines that you had time to turn. However, even if it is proven that you indeed couldn¡¯t follow Admiral Hawke¡¯s orders, there remains one question that may cost you your lives."


    "W-what is it?"


    "When you evacuated your ships¡ªI''m referring to the HMS Culloden and the HMS Resolution¡ªwhy didn¡¯t you set them on fire before leaving? Why did you leave them intact?"


    "I¡­ We¡­ We didn¡¯t have time."


    "No time¡­ No time¡­" the minister murmured to himself, a mad glint burning in his eyes. "NO TIME?! YOU FOOLS! Because of you, those two ships fell into enemy hands! Soon we¡¯ll have to face them at sea! No time?! You should have blown up the powder reserve, even if it meant losing your lives!"


    The politician¡¯s voice, thin as a twig, echoed through the entire room, reverberating across a good part of the warship with the power of a cannon shot.


    "You are the shame of the Royal Navy," Pitt said with terrifying calm. "For your own sake, I hope all three of you are sentenced to death. If not, I will ensure the rest of your lives are miserable. Goodbye, gentlemen."

 Chapter 49: In Need Of Help

    This Tuesday, April 18th, was a very dry and hot day, just like the previous two days.


    The men aboard the Foudroyant¡ªthough it must have been the same story on all the ships in this squadron¡ªwere seeking coolness, but that was difficult on a ship. Indeed, while they could find shade on the lower decks, it was usually quite warm there due to the presence of other sailors.


    Around Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s squadron, there was nothing but the sea, as deep a blue as the sky. Not a cloud was in sight.


    A steady wind from the south was propelling the ships at a good speed, generously filling the large sails that were set. Half of the great ship¡¯s sails had been unfurled, as they needed to avoid creating distance between the vessels.


    When the crew wasn¡¯t resting or maintaining the ship, they had to train.


    As on the first day, the men practiced loading and reloading the cannons, but this time the gunners were involved. When they had faced the English near Ushant, they had had to work together, and several issues had been noted. The goal now was to eliminate all of them and ensure that every man knew exactly what he had to do.


    The same applied to those who were skilled with knots. They had been selected to participate in maneuvers in the rigging and had to learn to identify and handle the ropes.


    Soon, Louis was certain, they¡¯ll send us up there!


    His gaze drifted to the heights, and he imagined himself gripping the ropes, fighting not to fall while completing his mission.


    He wasn¡¯t too bothered by the height. As a child, he liked to climb trees, which was definitely not the case for his friend Fran?ois. After ten feet (a little over three meters), he completely lost his nerve and froze up. Usually, when he accompanied Louis into the trees, he wouldn¡¯t go more than five feet high.


    ¡°Pick it up! Put some muscle into it, soldier!¡±


    Louis snapped out of his thoughts as the bosun passed by, quickening his pace.


    He was holding a large hemp rope that went straight to a wide brown pulley connected to the main sail. The more he pulled, the more it unfurled. But because he had slowed down a bit, it hadn¡¯t unfurled evenly.


    Immediately, he felt the wind rush into the gigantic square of white fabric, pulling him forward.


    ¡°Watch your legs, kid! Your legs! Spread them out more, there you go! Now you¡¯re controlling the sail, not the other way around. Now, tie a bowline over there.¡±


    ¡°Aye, sir!¡±


    ¡°Hold on, I¡¯ll be back. What¡¯s that one doing?! Hey! What are you up to?! Hold that rope! No, don¡¯t let go! I¡¯m warning you, if you let go, you¡¯ll answer to me! Same as Blondie over here, tie me a nice bowline! A bowline, I said! What is that?! That¡¯s better! Good grief! So, Blondie, how¡¯s that knot? Perfect, now furl the mainsail, come on, come on!¡±


    Louis, tense as could be, didn¡¯t have time to rest and immediately got back to work, furling the mainsail.


    The effort required every muscle and all his energy. In fact, he didn¡¯t have much left. His entire body ached, and he was terribly thirsty.


    In this heat, all he wanted was to cool down. Unfortunately, there was only the sea. If he decided to jump in, he gave himself no more than a few seconds before being swallowed by the waves.


    Ah, in Prussia at least, we could cool off in their rivers! Good grief, I stink!


    Despite his efforts not to smell too bad¡ªhe had increased the number of washes under Fran?ois¡¯s influence¡ªhe still stank just as much. All his clothes were soaked with foul odors. There was the smell of his sweat, of course, but there was always that lingering scent of burnt powder from the terrible battle at Ouessant.


    Why does my shirt stink so much?! I washed it four days ago with seawater!


    When he finished furling the sail, it was someone else¡¯s turn to train. He stepped away and sniffed his shirt, immediately regretting it.


    ¡°Yuck! I need to find something! This is urgent!¡±


    ¡°Something wrong, Louis?¡± asked Jules, approaching casually.


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t stand my smell anymore. I need to wash, and not just a little.¡±


    ¡°We could make a request, but I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s possible out here at sea. It¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    Louis could only agree. Unless someone was securely tied to a rope, almost no one would dare jump into the water.


    Who knows what¡¯s down there? Sea monsters, maybe?


    In recent days, they had been able to chat with the sailors on the Foudroyant, and the soldiers of Richelieu quickly realized that these men were eager to share all their adventures!


    Jean¡¯s new friend, for example, had told them that once they had caught a huge sea creature, as big as a longboat, with a mouth full of sharp, triangular teeth like razors. He had kept one as a souvenir and made it into a necklace.


    When Louis saw it, he immediately imagined the beast. It must have been truly terrifying. ¨¦tienne, that was the name of the sailor, had described it as some sort of very large fish, with a triangular fin on its back, making it easy to spot when it swam near the surface. This one was an adult, weighing nearly two thousand pounds! (980 kg)


    ¡°Do you think there are animals like the ones ¨¦tienne and the others described in these waters?¡±


    ¡°No idea. We can ask the bosun later, but I¡¯m not getting my hopes up. We¡¯d all have to stop to avoid accidents. Not sure the squadron leader will go for that. Especially since the journey is still long.¡±


    Louis could only acknowledge the logic in what Jules said. He would likely have to endure his sweat for another two weeks or more.


    As he expected, the officers denied Louis¡¯s request. All he could do was grit his teeth and endure it.


    By evening, almost the entire crew was on deck, enjoying the cool air. A light breeze gently caressed them as they washed without any shame.


    They used a simple damp cloth and seawater, since, unlike fresh water, it was abundantly available all around them.


    Ah! That feels good!


    Unlike his comrades, Louis took care to wash almost every part of his body. Beside him, others were much less meticulous, usually satisfied with cleaning just their armpits, arms, and chest.


    As he was finishing up, he caught the gaze of Pierre, or rather Anne-Sophie, standing at the other end of the deck, her face expressionless but with a strange glint in her eyes. Since he had accidentally discovered her secret, they hadn¡¯t spoken once. They had even avoided each other¡ªor at least, she had avoided him.


    He noticed a small hand gesture, and after a few seconds, he realized it was directed at him, signaling that she wanted him to come over.


    What? He wants... well, she wants to talk to me, now?! I thought she never wanted to speak to me again!


    Louis was utterly confused, but he decided to get dressed before heading over to the young woman. From afar, and even up close, she really looked like a man. She simply had somewhat delicate features, that was all. She was also a bit shorter than the others, with less stamina and physical strength. Otherwise, there was no difference.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Walking at a normal pace, he reached her side and leaned against the thick railing, which was damaged in places from the last battle. A light repair job had been done to prevent anyone from getting hurt by splinters.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t told anyone, don¡¯t worry,¡± Louis whispered so softly that one had to strain to hear him.


    ¡°I know. If you had, believe me, I would¡¯ve known, and I would¡¯ve found a way to cut off your dick before they arrested me.¡±


    ¡°Charming,¡± the young soldier remarked sarcastically, briefly glancing at the woman¡¯s impassive face.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a game, Laurent. My life¡¯s at stake,¡± Anne-Sophie said seriously.


    ¡°Like all of ours. And my name¡¯s Louis.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. Louis, Laurent.¡±


    Louis wanted to retort but quickly gave up, knowing he had nothing to gain except making an enemy of this crazy woman.


    ¡°What do you want, then?¡±


    ¡°I want your help.¡±


    Louis couldn¡¯t help but chuckle softly, his gaze fixed on the golden horizon.


    ¡°What? What¡¯s so funny?! Are you mocking me?!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that. It¡¯s just that you have a funny way of asking for help.¡±


    A trace of irritation formed on Anne-Sophie¡¯s face. Her dark eyes seemed to shoot daggers, but Louis didn¡¯t seem impressed. When he first discovered her secret, he had been surprised, but now it was different. He¡¯d had time to process the information and knew that no matter what this woman said, he held the upper hand.


    ¡°Please, Louis, I need your help,¡± she finally articulated slowly.


    The soldier raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, not expecting her to give in so easily.


    This isn¡¯t funny. Alright, what exactly does she want?


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°I need to wash too, but after what happened last time¡­ it¡¯s too dangerous. I need someone to stand guard. Same for the latrines.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? What did you do before?¡±


    Anne-Sophie furrowed her brows angrily and pursed her lips in frustration.


    ¡°Shut up! You have no idea how hard I¡¯ve worked to get this far without being caught! Always coming up with excuses, stupid tricks just to be alone for a moment, just to take a piss! You have no idea what it¡¯s like!¡±


    She glanced furtively over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation.


    ¡°Now that you know the truth, at least I have nothing to hide from you, so¡­ help me.¡±


    Louis looked at her in silence for a long time, as if weighing the pros and cons, but in reality, he had already made up his mind. He just wanted to tease her a little, make her wait and fear his response.


    ¡°Damn it, say something!¡± she growled, clenching her fists, her cheeks slightly flushed with anger.


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    As quickly as she had gotten angry, Anne-Sophie calmed down.


    ¡°Good. In that case, meet me where you found me last week when the bell rings for the last night watch.¡±


    The rest of the day passed without incident or any notable events. The crew, which naturally included the soldiers under Marshal-Duke de Richelieu, had begun to settle into a kind of routine.


    Each day was much the same, with only slight variations in the meals, weather, conversations, or exercises.


    Louis spent a long time talking with the sailors, including ¨¦tienne, to learn more about their pasts and the places they had traveled.


    ¨¦tienne was thirty-five years old, which came as a surprise since everyone in the group had assumed he was around the same age as them¡ªtwenty or twenty-one. This meant he had been old enough to fight in the previous war. And he had.


    He had faced the English more than once, whether in the Caribbean, the Mediterranean, or off the African coast. Unfortunately, almost every time, the French navy had been defeated.


    For him, the war had ended in May 1747, as he had been taken prisoner along with many others after the terrible Battle of Cape Finisterre, the first one, since there was a second in October that same year.


    Despite the defeat, his pride was evident because, at that time, he served aboard the Terrible, a seventy-four-gun ship that lived up to its name. The battle had lasted all day despite the disparity in forces favoring the British, but the Terrible had held out the longest.


    In fact, their ship had caused the British considerable trouble, as they had only surrendered after exhausting all their ammunition.


    ¡°Hahaha! You should¡¯ve seen their faces! Those bastards looked like beaten dogs! The funniest part was how we ended the battle! We were out of cannonballs but still had gunpowder, so we loaded our cannons with silverware! Bouahahaha! Their ships¡¯ hulls were so ridiculous! Our commander, Chevalier de Saint-Georges, surrendered his sword with such elegance you¡¯d never have believed he was giving up! Even the English were impressed!¡±


    All the sailors and soldiers burst out laughing with pride, applauding the bravery of the French sailors.


    ¡°After that, well, we were taken to England along with all our captured ships. Of the six, I think three were integrated into the British navy. We were held prisoner in a remote village in the middle of nowhere, though quite a pretty one, and we had to wait for the end of the war to be released."


    "And the women? What were they like?"


    "Oh, they weren¡¯t bad-looking. But don¡¯t think we could get close to them. They treated us like animals or the sick. Oh, and by the way, their food is crap! They can¡¯t cook! Even their omelets are awful!¡±


    Louis smiled, and when it was time to sleep, everyone returned to their hammocks.


    Soon, snores could be heard throughout the deck.


    Despite the hours that had passed since sunset, it was still very hot. Most of the sailors slept shirtless, and Louis was no exception.


    With one arm behind his head and his legs crossed, he reflected on the uncertain future. He wondered what would happen if he were captured and whether he could endure being a prisoner of the English for years. Maybe after eating their food and hearing them speak their language, he¡¯d no longer want to leave?


    That seemed very unlikely, especially if the food was as bad as ¨¦tienne claimed. And what future could he possibly have there? Even after ten or twenty years, he¡¯d still be a Frenchman in their eyes.


    That was natural, just as an Englishman would always be seen as an Englishman, no matter how long he lived in France. He¡¯d be viewed with suspicion and closely watched by the police in case he tried to spy or corrupt the locals.


    Even if he found a loving woman there, her family would never accept her marrying a Frenchman. He himself wouldn¡¯t accept his child, if he ever had one, marrying a foreigner.


    DING DING


    It¡¯s time. Damn, I didn¡¯t get a wink of sleep!


    Quietly, without making a sound, he slipped out of his hammock and headed for the wooden stairs leading to the first deck, then down another staircase to the hold where they stored supplies, gunpowder, cannonballs, and many barrels.


    It was very quiet there, but that only made every little noise more noticeable. The simple creaking of the wood sounded like a terrible noise.


    The smell was strong, but very different from what he breathed a bit higher up. Here, it smelled stale, like wine, vinegar, and something reminiscent of stables.


    Anne-Sophie was there, shrouded in darkness, barely visible despite a nearby lantern. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she seemed to have been waiting for him for a while.


    Large, shifting shadows played across her face, making it impossible to read her emotions.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m here. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°As I told you, I need your help to stand guard. If someone comes down, stall them long enough for me to get dressed. I really need to wash."


    "Tss, fine. Should I stand here?¡±


    The young woman looked at the spot Louis indicated and shook her head.


    ¡°No, farther. And I¡¯m warning you, if you look at me, I¡¯ll rip your eyes out. And I¡¯ll cut your tongue just to be sure you don¡¯t tell anyone."


    "Crazy," he muttered.


    "What did you say?¡± the woman growled, like a dog protecting its bone.


    "Nothing. It¡¯s fine. You can go wash, Anne-Sophie."


    "Don¡¯t call me that, even when it¡¯s just the two of us.¡±


    A few minutes later, Louis heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor, a small splash, and the rubbing of a cloth against skin. With his back turned, he could only imagine the woman¡¯s body, wet and glistening under the soft flickering light of a candle.


    His heart pounded furiously in his chest, as he found the situation strangely exciting. He wanted to turn around, to steal a glance in her direction, but the fear of the consequences stopped him.


    She¡¯s taking her time! What¡¯s she doing?!


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m done. D-don¡¯t turn around! I didn¡¯t say I was dressed yet! Back up towards me."


    "Huh?"


    "Just do as I say! Take these bandages, you¡¯re going to help me with something. You can turn around, but don¡¯t look. Look at the ceiling if you have to. I want you to help me wrap this around my chest. Don¡¯t hesitate to make it tight."


    "How am I supposed to do that without looking?!"


    "Shut up! Just do what I say!¡±


    In the dim light, Anne-Sophie, her back turned and her hands pressed against her aching chest from being bound too tightly, began to blush deeply.


    Slowly, they wrapped the bandages, which was much easier with two people than alone.


    ¡°You¡¯re not looking, right?"


    "No!¡±


    Louis gently lowered his eyes and saw a slender, delicate neck, gleaming shoulders, a well-shaped back, and sensual curves. Her skin, pale from not being able to undress during the day, looked so soft.


    A dangerous desire began to rise within him.


    ¡°All done,¡± he finally said in a whisper.


    ¡°Thanks. I¡¯ll let you know when I need your help again.¡±


    Fortunately, Anne-Sophie didn¡¯t notice the state Louis was in. She quickly tied her jet-black hair with some sort of fabric lace and disappeared, leaving Louis alone with his thoughts.


    What am I doing?

 Chapter 50: The Salon Of Lady Fox

    That morning, as the previous morning, London was in turmoil.


    A terrible tension had settled over the great city on April 18th. It was as if a dreadful storm was about to break. The citizens walked briskly and spoke with energy, often with worried or outraged expressions on their faces.


    For the spies of the police force, it was like being a child in a candy shop where all the jars had been opened and left unattended. They no longer knew where to turn.


    "Did you hear?"


    "Of course! What a disgrace!"


    "How could our officers have allowed such a thing?"


    "What will happen now?!"


    "Do you think the French will try to land troops on our soil?"


    "Don''t worry, my dear. The Royal Navy protects us!"


    "No French ship will ever reach us. We are safe."


    "Certainly, but still..."


    In the streets of London, newspapers and pamphlets were being passed from hand to hand at a wild pace, even faster than money at a gambling table at Court. At the speed of a galloping horse, news of the peace treaty signed between Prussia and its enemies spread through the streets, salons, clubs, and caf¨¦s.


    The excitement in the capital was such that one might have thought they were on the brink of a new civil war¡ªor worse, a revolution! That excitement didn''t fade away, even after two weeks.


    Meanwhile, the great personalities of the realm, especially the women, hurried to invite the most prominent figures of the kingdom to their residences.


    Among these figures was Lady Caroline Fox, wife of the Treasurer, Henry Fox.


    At thirty-five, she was a woman of rare nobility, both in heart and blood. She was one of the daughters of the second Duke of Richmond, Charles Lennox, and thus a descendant of Charles II of England.


    Yet, she owed nothing to him, for she had chosen to follow her heart by marrying Henry Fox despite the difference in age and status. Indeed, her father, though very wealthy by the end of his life, had come from a modest background.


    As her father, the Duke, had forcefully told her, there was no way his daughter would marry the grandson of a farmer.


    She hadn''t listened and did not regret it, for she was happy.


    The manor her husband had acquired nearly twelve years ago now, Holland House, was the most lively of them all. People often gathered there to discuss literature, philosophy, art, and, of course, politics.


    It would be a mistake to think that because one was born a woman, one understood nothing of these matters.


    In truth, it was a fascinating subject, provided one sought to understand the why and how. In this, Lady Fox¡¯s friends had an advantage, for they loved understanding what was happening around them and discovering the behind-the-scenes stories that journalists were not allowed to print in their papers and gazettes for fear of offending this or that person.


    They didn¡¯t care about such threats and, without the slightest shame, spoke among themselves of all sorts of anecdotes that could prove precious and useful.


    Often, they would pass this information on to their husbands, brothers, cousins, and fathers, but it wasn¡¯t always necessary, as the men frequently joined in these passionate and lively discussions.


    "Is it true, Lady Fox, that His Majesty began to cry when he learned of the signing of this treaty?"


    "Well, he placed a hand over his eyes and took a long time to respond to the Secretary of State for the Southern Department."


    "My husband?" Lady Hester Pitt, William Pitt''s wife, gasped in surprise, startling the child she held in her arms.


    "Indeed, Lady Grenville! Has he said nothing to you?"


    "To be honest," she admitted, "he didn¡¯t come home last night."


    "Really? Fufu, does that happen often? You should be wary."


    The women, easily grasping the innuendo, laughed heartily, though the laughter soon faded.


    "You don''t know my husband well," Lady Pitt replied with a tired voice having given birth just two weeks ago, and with a touch of melancholy. "He isn''t like that, truly. But yes, it happens often, especially since the start of this war. He works very hard for the good of the kingdom. I fear for his health."


    "That¡¯s true, madam," nodded the Duke of Newcastle gently, sitting in the most elegant manner, a steaming cup of tea in hand. "You know, and I believe everyone in London knows, your husband and I have many disagreements, but I must admit that no one at Court works harder than him. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if someone told me that his speeches are longer than his nights. You should advise him to rest a bit."


    "Oh, but I do, yet he is so stubborn. I fear this little one is already starting to take after him, isn''t that right, John?"


    The child, a year and a half old, looked up at his mother with large dark eyes inherited from his father. So far, he had been more interested in his mother''s sublime pearl necklace than in what was happening around him¡ªat least until the arrival of sweet, sparkling pastries that looked like precious gems.


    "My Lord Duke," said Lady Fox, turning slightly to face the tall man, "you don¡¯t seem saddened by the end of this war. How is that? This Treaty of Berlin leaves our kingdom alone to face our enemies."


    "Yes, why are you so calm?"


    "Ladies, I am calm because I have absolute confidence in our armies and navies to defend us, regardless of the enemy or their numbers. Your husband, Lady Fox, is making tremendous efforts to provide additional funds to our armies, and your husband, Lady Pitt, is making equally great efforts to spend it all on our war."


    "Ohohoh, how funny you are, sir!"


    Lady Pitt smiled graciously, though she wasn¡¯t entirely sure if it was a compliment. She set her child down, who quickly toddled over to the table, trying to see the delicacies placed amidst large bouquets of colorful flowers.


    "More seriously," resumed the Duke of Newcastle, adopting a more professional posture, "the reason I¡¯m not worried for our kingdom is that we only have two real enemies: France and Spain. All the other great states that were at war with us are now satisfied, having gained land and gold by tearing apart Prussia. Now, they must digest their winnings. That¡¯s why they naturally came to us to end this conflict."This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Are you saying that the Holy Roman Empire, Russia, Sweden, and Austria no longer pose any threat?"


    "None," confirmed the Duke, lifting his cup to his lips. "They couldn¡¯t care less about our kingdom. What interested these realms and empires were primarily Prussian lands. Except for Sweden, which wasn¡¯t quick enough to seize the opportunity, all are satisfied with this outcome."


    "So," asked Elizabeth Montagu, much more a woman of letters than a politician, "this treaty is actually beneficial to us?"


    "I wouldn¡¯t go that far, madam. In reality, it would have been far more advantageous for us if this war had lasted much longer. The longer the better, of course, without involving our troops¡ªor as little as possible."


    "Isn¡¯t that horrible?" she whispered as she thought about all those lost lives.


    "Unfortunately, that¡¯s the reality, madam. The longer the war drags on in that part of Europe, the more our enemies, especially France, are forced to bankrupt themselves and keep their troops stuck in place. Because this war over Silesia ended prematurely, our enemies have been able to redeploy¡ªif only partially¡ªtheir troops to harm us. It¡¯s in this context that Admiral Hawke was arrested: because he miserably failed to stop a French fleet carrying a strong force."


    "Ah, that¡¯s the matter my husband was talking about," said Lady Grenville.


    "What did he say?" asked Lady Fox with sincere curiosity.


    The Duke of Newcastle perked up, pretending to be more interested in the intoxicating scent of the tea served to him.


    "He went to Plymouth to meet Admiral Hawke. He¡¯s very saddened by what¡¯s happening to him, just as he was when Admiral Byng was arrested and tried for his failure at Minorca. For him, it would be unjust for Hawke to be condemned for this failure."


    The people present appeared uneasy at these words, as the Duke of Newcastle had been directly involved in the Byng affair, making him the main culprit of a disaster everyone wished to forget. Naturally, all eyes turned to him, but once again, he seemed unbothered.


    "What happened to Admiral Byng," he said in a deep, steady voice, "has nothing to do with Admiral Hawke¡¯s case. I have no doubt that justice will prevail, and if not, I will support the petition for clemency that will undoubtedly reach His Majesty¡¯s desk."


    "Thank you, my lord!" Lady Pitt softly replied, running an affectionate hand through her only son''s hair, who was growing up so fast.


    "But isn¡¯t it dangerous?" asked Lady Montagu, gracefully wiping a bit of vanilla cream from the corner of her plump lips that had escaped from a puff delicately sprinkled with chocolate. "Aren¡¯t you afraid our admirals might go mad at sea out of fear of ending up like poor Admiral Byng?"


    Once again, awkward glances turned toward the Duke of Newcastle.


    "It is indeed a concern. We cannot let this become a habit, or I fear the worst for our glorious navy. If Admiral Byng¡¯s unfortunate execution was a clear message to our officers to encourage them to do their utmost, a second Byng would be a threat, driving our admirals to undertake the worst follies out of fear of being dishonored and executed."


    As he spoke these words, his expression transformed, and his gaze became colder than an eternal glacier. A wild thought crossed his mind.


    Pitt, that madman, surely he wouldn¡¯t dare...


    His lip trembled slightly, and his hands clenched around his cup. The hot liquid began to tremble as well and spilled slightly onto his crimson breeches.


    "Are you alright? Did you burn yourself?"


    "Ah, no! Ahem, forgive me! How clumsy! Kuhum!"


    The man hastily grabbed a napkin to dab at his clothes, but the damage was done.


    As he delicately patted the damp fabric, the politician¡¯s mind was racing. The more he thought about it, the more worried he became about what William Pitt might be plotting.


    "I... I must apologize, I¡¯ve just remembered I have an urgent letter to write. Ladies, gentlemen, please excuse my sudden departure."


    The Duke bowed deeply, careful not to dislodge his imposing powdered wig, and excused himself, surprising everyone in the vast room bathed in light and spring fragrances.


    He quickly reached his carriage and addressed the coachman without delay.


    "To Whitehall."


    "Very well, sir."


    As soon as he was seated and the door closed, the coachman cracked the whip, urging the two horses forward. The carriage could be considered modest given its owner¡¯s status. It was black, lacquered, adorned with a few gold designs, particularly around the doors.


    On both doors were his coat of arms, extremely complex as it depicted all the alliances forged over generations with the great families of England. This crest was also displayed on his impressive gold signet ring, which he only removed on very rare occasions.


    Alone in the carriage, he curled up slightly, clasping his hands before his mouth as if in prayer.


    Pitt, you wouldn¡¯t have this admiral condemned to drive all the others into madness, would you?


    The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.


    He knew how much that man wanted an all-out war with France. He knew he had nearly died of rage when the Duke of Cumberland signed that vile treaty at Kloster-Zeven, and he also knew that Pitt was ready to do anything to ruin France. And that was the fundamental difference between them: he was more reasonable.


    There were certain lines that should not be crossed. Once that line was passed, he would say "stop," but not him. He wouldn¡¯t stop until France was brought to its knees. Eventually, even that might not satisfy him. He might want nothing less than the total destruction of that kingdom.


    The problem was that, unlike him, Pitt was willing to do things that a man should not even consider.


    To prevent the signing of the Berlin treaty, he had to turn a blind eye to a number of things. Being willing to assassinate a diplomat and frame someone else for it¡ªthat wasn¡¯t him.


    He hadn¡¯t given that order, of course, but if his most loyal agent had decided to resort to such a shameful method, it meant that he himself was changing and becoming more like Pitt.


    We cannot win the war at such a price! If that¡¯s the case, what¡¯s the point of winning? We would lose our identity, our pride as Britons, our honor! Even back then¡­ Byng¡­ no, long before that¡­ How did I end up here?


    Slowly, he buried his face in his hands as if to hide his features, ravaged by shame. He recalled his family motto: "no shame in loyalty."


    Byng¡­ I had already crossed the line, and for what? Simply to avoid facing my own responsibilities. It should have been me who was condemned, me and all those who hadn¡¯t provided the necessary means for that operation¡¯s success. What a disgrace! From the start, it was doomed to fail! And I knew it!


    Slowly, he sat up straight and took five deep breaths to calm himself. He couldn¡¯t appear in such a state.


    I must be sure of this man¡¯s intentions. Depending on what he says¡­


    Between Holland House, located in Kensington to the west of Hyde Park, which roughly marked the boundary of London, and Whitehall, there were barely four miles (6.4 km), yet it took an excruciatingly long time to reach their destination.


    He barely noticed how violently he was being shaken by the lamentable condition of the road. Potholes were everywhere, each deep enough to break a wheel or a horse''s leg.


    The carriage skirted the southern edge of Hyde Park, which led them onto the bustling Piccadilly. The street was particularly busy that day, but he hardly spared a glance for all the people coming and going.


    Some were seated in the street, holding out skinny hands toward the passersby, hoping for a small coin to buy a piece of bread. There were also numerous women of ill-repute selling their charms, though they had none.


    A grimace formed on his face as the carriage passed them. Unfortunately, it was such a familiar sight that it had become ordinary.


    There was hardly a street in London where you wouldn¡¯t find a few of them. In some places, they were so densely concentrated that one might wonder if they were truly in the capital of the most powerful kingdom in the world.


    There seem to be more and more of them, the old politician sighed silently. If we lose this war, how many more will there be?


    In a sharp turn, the Duke of Newcastle¡¯s carriage entered The Haymarket, which was in no better condition despite the nearby St. James¡¯s Palace and the offices of the kingdom¡¯s most illustrious figures. There too, beggars, including maimed and penniless veterans of the War of Austrian Succession, sought to survive by any means.


    Finally, after turning right at Charing Cross to avoid The Strand, which led straight to St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral and its famous dome, the carriage arrived at Whitehall.


    There were many fine buildings with delicate facades, though some looked so old that they stood out in contrast. Perhaps that was the only real difference between old London and the young cities of New York or Boston. Here, there were ancient buildings that had witnessed countless kings, queens, and princes.


    The entire street seemed dedicated to the smooth running of the kingdom, all the way to Westminster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament.


    ¡°We¡¯ve arrived, my lord.¡±


    Without a word, he opened the door and stepped into a magnificent building that housed numerous offices for an army of politicians and diplomats. Here, the kingdom¡¯s interests in the vast southern regions¡ªfrom the Americas to Italy, including the Caribbean, France, and Spain¡ªwere defended.


    With a brisk pace, he entered the building, ignoring everyone who greeted him. He had no trouble finding his way, having visited frequently. Like those people, he was deeply invested in foreign affairs.


    With minimal announcement, he entered William Pitt¡¯s office.

 Chapter 51: His Greatest Fear

    The Duke of Newcastle found his rival, who was also his political partner, standing before his desk, surrounded by clerks and military officers from both the navy and the army. They were observing and commenting on a large, detailed world map, though not without errors.


    Everyone raised an eyebrow at the intrusion.


    "My Lord Duke? I don¡¯t believe we have an appointment? As you can see, I am currently busy. Could you come back later?"


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s urgent, sir,¡± the Duke of Newcastle said coldly, surprising those present a second time.


    ¡°Very well. We were almost done, but... Gentlemen, please excuse me. It seems this cannot wait a few hours. I will see you out.¡±


    The officers, all high-ranking men accustomed to commanding thousands on various battlefields, grimaced as they headed toward the door in deathly silence. This treatment was perfectly unacceptable. It was no different than being treated like mere footmen.


    The door closed behind the men, leaving the Secretary of State and the Duke alone in the vast room, so silent one could have heard a pin drop. Even the small clock on the large desk seemed to have stopped ticking.


    ¡°Well, sir! What a dramatic entrance! Those gentlemen won¡¯t soon forget it. What was the urgency?¡± Pitt asked, carefully folding the map while inviting the Duke to sit down.


    ¡°Sir, you¡¯ve returned from Plymouth, I believe?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°Did you meet with Admiral Hawke?¡±


    ¡°Him and the captains who disobeyed his orders, responsible for the loss of three of His Majesty''s ships and many others.¡±


    Hmm, the words and tone suggest that he holds those three men accountable rather than the admiral¡­


    ¡°What do you make of the matter? Be honest, I beg you.¡±


    ¡°When am I not?¡± the man replied, sitting heavily across from the Duke, chuckling softly.


    The Duke¡¯s gaze did not waver, and William Pitt adopted a more serious posture, as if he had been accused of a crime and had to defend himself.


    ¡°In truth, sir, I am torn. Grave mistakes were made that day, and a great opportunity was squandered. That fleet which departed from Brest¡­ it could cause us much trouble. The time that has passed without any action leads me to believe it did not set sail for our coasts or for Scotland. We would have spotted them. That leaves the West and the South. If it finds our squadron currently besieging Saint-Louis in Senegal¡­¡±


    ¡°I am not speaking of that squadron, but of the admiral.¡±


    Don¡¯t deflect the conversation, Pitt! That won¡¯t work on me!


    Pitt was slightly taken aback by his rival¡¯s sharp tone.


    They had known each other long enough to interpret each word and intonation with relative accuracy. He tilted his head slightly to the side.


    The Duke of Newcastle¡¯s face was rigid rather than impassive, his breathing shallow, and his movements minimal. Everything suggested that he was worried.


    ¡°Mr. Hawke made an error in judgment, but that¡¯s just my opinion. If the court, which will soon convene aboard HMS Neptune, declares that the conditions were no longer suitable for victory, then the admiral will be in the clear.¡±


    ¡°And if they declare that he did not do everything in his power to secure a victory at sea?¡±


    ¡°Then I will defend him, as I did with Lord Byng. No, I will fight even more fiercely, for the kingdom needs experienced men like him. We cannot afford to lose this man.¡±


    That was precisely what the Duke wanted to hear, but was he sincere? That was the real question, and it had been tormenting him since Holland House.


    I wish I could trust him, but¡­ I think him capable of sacrificing Hawke as if he were nothing more than a chess piece, important, yes, but a mere piece all the same. I wonder what piece I am to him? A rook? A bishop? Perhaps just a pawn?


    The two men remained still and silent for a long minute, but as it became clear that he would not learn more, the Duke stood up.


    ¡°I sincerely hope you will support him alongside me, sir. If he were to die, it could have the most terrible effect on our officers. They might seek to avoid confrontation for fear of losing ships and being punished by the Admiralty and His Majesty.¡±


    Pitt nodded slowly, his expression difficult to read, before handing the Duke a paper.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°I intended to share this information with you, but since you are here¡­ The minister, or rather the ex-minister, of Frederick II of Prussia, Karl Wilhelm von Finckenstein, was executed in public in Berlin last week. The charge was high treason. You can inform your man; after all, it¡¯s thanks to him. A shame it wasn¡¯t the goal¡ªit was quite a move.¡±


    ¡°¡­"


    "Honestly, you surprise me, My Lord Duke. I didn¡¯t know you to be so determined. It¡¯s good to know.¡±


    ¡°For the good of the kingdom,¡± the Duke whispered.


    ¡°For the good of the kingdom,¡± William Pitt agreed. ¡°Fortunately, all is not yet lost in Prussia. We still have two cards to play, though they are not the best.¡±


    ¡°Which ones? Ah,¡± he realized, ¡°you must be talking about the elder von Finckenstein? Do we know what happened to him?¡±


    ¡°He is still alive, which is all that matters, isn¡¯t it? The Prussians who do not wish to see their kingdom disappear will naturally turn to him, though von Zieten would have been a far better candidate. His suicide, though understandable, is regrettable.¡±


    ¡°And the second? Were you thinking of General Keith? Do you know where he is?¡±


    "No, I have no information about him. Last I heard, he was being pursued by the Austrians. Maybe he surrendered? No, sir, I was thinking of Ferdinand of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg. I think¡ªno, I am sure¡ªthat he hasn¡¯t surrendered and never will. With our support, he might be able to hold them off in the region for several months more, maybe even until next spring, against Prince de Soubise¡¯s army."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Hmm, perhaps,¡± the duke sighed as he handed the letter back to Pitt.


    Slowly, he walked toward the office door and placed his hand on the magnificent golden handle decorated with delicate engravings.


    I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s an ally or an adversary. I¡¯ll have to keep a closer eye on him. If he truly wants to save him, I¡¯ll know.


    ¡°What do you think,¡± the duke asked without turning around, ¡°where is this squadron headed?¡±


    Pitt, with both hands resting on his left knee, which had suddenly started hurting, slowly raised his head and observed the broad back of the Duke of Newcastle.


    ¡°In my opinion, it¡¯s heading for New France. I imagine the worst, so I won¡¯t be caught off guard, but I hope it won¡¯t arrive in time to save Louisbourg.¡±


    ¡°Hmph, even if they did arrive during the siege, what could five thousand men do?¡± Newcastle replied, slowly opening the door.


    ¡°Sometimes, sir, I have a hard time understanding you. In the morning, you are decisive, and by evening, hesitant. Perhaps it¡¯s time to make up your mind? The French are and always will be a threat, as long as they have enough strength to rise again. They must never be underestimated, especially when led by a determined general like Richelieu. And when they¡¯re desperate, they become even more dangerous. That¡¯s when they are at their most cunning, their cruelest, but also their bravest.¡±


    ***


    At the same moment, far to the west, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, about eight hundred kilometers off the Irish coast.


    ¡°No! I¡¯m not moving from here! I¡¯m not going any higher!¡±


    ¡°Stop whining and climb!¡±


    ¡°I refuse! I¡¯m not going any higher!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not even halfway up, you know? Come on!¡±


    ¡°I said ¡®no¡¯! I¡¯m not moving!¡±


    ¡°As you wish. But if the boatswain comes to drag you up by the scruff of your neck, don¡¯t complain.¡±


    Adam said nothing, closing his eyes as tightly as his hands were gripping the ropes. His hands were clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white. Hot tears flowed freely down his tense, ghostly pale face, whiter even than the sails of the Ocean.


    Timidly, he risked a glance down, though he had been warned not to.


    Oh my God!


    His head began to spin, and his vision blurred.


    His body was so tense that it was impossible for him to move even a single muscle. It wasn¡¯t just like glue holding him in place; it was as if screws had been driven into his bones at every joint.


    I... I can¡¯t move! I can¡¯t move!


    The knot of anxiety that had formed in his stomach while he was still on the main deck had risen into his throat and now seemed ready to escape. It was as if he clenched his teeth to stop the knot from tumbling overboard.


    W-we¡¯re so high! My God, we¡¯re so high!


    With his head pressed against the ropes forming a ladder to climb the rigging, he refused to take another step. The wind, now stronger, whistled in his ears and blew his hair back.


    While this level of wind was quite bearable on the deck, it felt terrifyingly powerful in the heights.


    He had never felt such fear before. Compared to this, a battlefield seemed like a pleasant stroll in the park.


    ¡°Seriously, you should start climbing. The faster you reach the foremast top, the sooner we can get back down.¡±


    Adam stole a glance at the sailor accompanying him, then looked up at the large platform far above his head. Next, he looked down again. The deck and the people on it looked so small. It felt like he was several dozen meters high, though he knew that wasn¡¯t the case. At best, he was five meters up.


    W-why am I so scared?! Why?! Urgh!


    Frozen in place for over three minutes, he felt the wind whipping him, gravity pulling him relentlessly toward the center of the earth. A part of him¡ªthankfully a small part¡ªwhispered that he should just let go and end his torment.


    ¡°Well, we don¡¯t have all day, kid! Come on! You¡¯re a brave soldier, right? A lieutenant? Then prove you¡¯ve got guts and climb!¡±


    Adam slowly opened his mouth, more difficult than if he were a rusty machine, and inhaled a deep breath of salty sea air. Ignoring the crashing waves against the warship¡¯s hull, he raised his right leg and awkwardly placed his foot on one of the thick ropes that made up the shrouds, then lifted his left hand higher.


    Slowly, he pulled himself up with all the strength he had in his arms and legs, praying someone would just put him out of his misery.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, lad! Just a little more effort! You¡¯re almost there!¡±


    The soldier, who had shed his uniform and tricorn to make the climb easier, barely heard the sailor¡¯s encouragement¡ªnot because he didn¡¯t want to, but because he couldn¡¯t. His heart and the wind were making too much noise.


    C-come on, j-just a little more! I¡¯m almost¡­ almost there!


    Finally reaching the top, he had to grab onto new ropes forming wide square meshes between the yardarm¡ªthe long wooden beam from which the sails were unfurled¡ªand the foremast top. The trick with these new ropes was that they forced him to face the open void, like a spider clinging to the ceiling.


    Because he hadn¡¯t looked closely at the setup before reaching the wide platform, he was caught off guard.


    W-what the hell is this?! N-no way!


    ¡°How do I do this?¡±


    ¡°Like you¡¯ve been doing so far, one step at a time. It¡¯s not complicated!¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°No buts! Come on! Hey, don¡¯t forget there¡¯s someone up there to help pull you up!¡±


    Easier said than done! Damn it! Shit! To hell with all of you! Bastards!


    With a trembling, uncertain hand, he grabbed one of the vertical ropes as high as he could and pulled with all his might to help him climb. His entire body was aching. His right foot, bare, finally found another thick, rough rope that seemed sturdy enough to support an elephant, though to him, it looked barely strong enough to hold his weight.


    Like a man overboard, he extended a desperate hand toward the top, and miraculously, a hand grabbed it. A force suddenly pulled him upward, and finally, he reached the foremast top. Though it would be more accurate to say he collapsed onto it.


    ¡°Well! You sure took your time! I thought I¡¯d fall asleep waiting!¡±


    Adam timidly raised his head and glared at the sailor looking down on him. What was frustrating, even humiliating, was that his savior couldn¡¯t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old¡ªthe same age Adam actually was.


    It was easy to read the contempt in his gaze. To this brown-haired, brown-eyed boy, with short hair to minimize the risk of lice¡ªplague aboard ships¡ªAdam appeared to be an adult of twenty-one.


    Don¡¯t look at me like that, you bastard! I did my best, okay?!


    Soon, another man arrived on the platform, which suddenly seemed quite small. It was Michel Renier, the tall sailor covered in tattoos, his back lined with long scars.


    ¡°Good job, lad! Next time, you¡¯ll be even faster! Though, really, it¡¯s hard to do worse.¡±


    Adam, clutching tightly to the ropes securing the top part of the mast, shot a dark look at the sailor, who seemed to be enjoying the situation.


    ¡°N-next time?!¡±


    ¡°Of course! You need to practice in case we need you to furl or unfurl the sails! We¡¯re counting on you!¡±


    The young man trembled with rage and terror at the thought of having to climb up here again, possibly in the middle of a storm. He looked at everything above him and shook even harder.


    Then, he looked at the yardarms and imagined himself hanging over the void, with no real safety, trying to tie knots without falling. He trembled even more, something the two sailors didn¡¯t miss, as they burst out laughing.


    ¡°HAHAHAHA! That face! It¡¯s priceless!¡±


    "Looks like he¡¯s seen a ghost! Haha!"


    Adam¡¯s face, already pale as could be¡ªthough it seemed impossible¡ªsuddenly darkened.


    ¡°You think this is funny?! Damn it!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re just messing with you, kid! Relax a little and enjoy the view!¡±


    With a dark look, Adam turned around and took in the seascape that stretched before him like an immense panorama.


    The Ocean seemed so small on this vast expanse of deep blue sea. The sky was equally breathtaking, dotted with a few gray and white clouds, casting large shadows over the water¡¯s surface. From his vantage point, the ship¡¯s movement was palpable. It was almost as if he were one with it.


    Around them, the ships of Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s squadron sailed swiftly, their broad sails unfurled and filled by a southwesterly wind.


    To the left of the proud vessel, cutting through the waves with disconcerting ease, large gray clouds covered the horizon. You could even see a few flashes of lightning.


    ¡°Hmm, there¡¯s a storm over there.¡±


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s already been spotted, and it seems to be getting closer. With some luck, we¡¯ll avoid it. Otherwise...¡±


    ¡°Otherwise?¡±


    ¡°Well, otherwise, things are going to get rough.¡±

 Chapter 52: In The Heart Of The Storm

    The ocean had raged far beyond what Adam had imagined. Enormous waves surrounded Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s ships and tossed them about like fragile toys. Despite a change of course, nothing could be done to avoid it.


    The storm rumbled, and a torrential downpour fell upon them, as if some sadistic higher power had decided that the waves crashing over them weren¡¯t drenching them enough.


    The waves created massive splashes as they collided with the hulls, positioned head-on to reduce the impact, and covered the deck like vast white carpets. All of this water, when it didn¡¯t drain off the ship through the many side openings, seeped into the lower decks through the ventilation hatches designed to allow men to see and breathe.


    All the gunports were shut tight to avoid a disaster like the ones that sometimes happened. It took just one opening to doom them all. Once the ship was too heavy with seawater, nothing could save it. That¡¯s why many men were sent to the pumps to drain the water accumulating at the bottom of the Oc¨¦an.


    The task was exhausting, especially since they weren¡¯t allowed to stop. They were regularly replaced.


    ¡°Lieutenant Boucher, your turn!¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    His rank meant nothing in the current circumstances.


    These pumps, located near the mainmast, looked like large iron cranks. Five men were needed at each crank, and there were four on this ship. So twenty men were constantly required to pump all the water out of the hold.


    ¡°Come on! Give it some muscle!¡±


    ¡°Hurgh!¡±


    His arms screamed, as did all the muscles in his back, because even with five men, it was hard work. He could feel the strong resistance in the mechanism, which wasn¡¯t that complicated to understand.


    Below them, there were large tubes plunging down to the bilge, the lowest point of the ship. Inside these tubes were chains, with iron and leather disks at regular intervals, sized to fit the tube¡¯s diameter.


    When these disks sank into the water, they trapped it inside the tube and lifted it with them. At deck level, well above the waterline, this water flowed out into a second tube, a horizontal one leading outside.


    When all the pumps were running, they could push out more than a thousand liters of seawater!


    SPLASH!


    Another wave crashed over the deck, generously soaking not only those outside but also those below.


    ¡°Damn it!¡±


    ¡°Pump harder!¡±


    Despite the closed hatches and ventilation grilles, seawater kept seeping aboard the Oc¨¦an.


    ¡°Faster!¡±


    Drenched from head to toe, Adam did his best, calling upon all his muscles to work even a little faster. But it was no easy task, especially with the ship being tossed around in every direction.


    Around him, lanterns swung on their hooks, and men clung to anything they could find.


    BOOM!


    ¡°What was that? A cannon shot? Are we under attack?¡±


    ¡°Idiot! We¡¯re in the middle of a storm! No one would be crazy enough to attack another ship! We can¡¯t even open the gunports without getting a faceful of seawater! That¡¯s just the storm!¡±


    Adam gripped the long metal bar, hard, cold, and black, tighter still, and without stopping, began to pray like never before.


    My God, please, let us all make it out alive! I can¡¯t die here, you know that! I-I¡­ I really have to get home!


    He had been through some fierce storms in the past, facing whatever the future held for all these people fighting with everything they had against nature, but this was the first time he had felt so endangered. Maybe it was because he was aboard a ship, and his safety depended on it?


    Please, my God, if you hear me and are truly all-powerful and merciful, take me back home! Bring me back to my family, to my time! I promise I¡¯ll go to church every Sunday¡ªno, every day!


    His only answer was another wave, as powerful as it was cold. Water poured down from the deck through every opening it could find and streamed into the hold. Someone opened a hatch, letting in some light and a lot of seawater.


    A man in a long black coat, drenched as if he had decided to dive into the ocean before coming to see them, descended and nearly slipped when another wave crashed over them.


    ¡°Are you alright?!¡±


    ¡°Y-yes! I¡¯m fine! And you?!¡±


    It was only then that Adam realized it was Lieutenant Louis Lenoir.


    ¡°We¡¯re doing our best, but it might not be enough, sir!¡±


    ¡°Keep doing your best, you¡¯re doing a great job!¡±


    His voice carried all his fears and a sense of urgency.


    He didn¡¯t stay long and went further below to inspect the hold.


    ¡°Focus! No slowing down!¡±


    Fuck! I¡¯d at least like to know if we¡¯re being effective! Is the water level going down with this thing?!


    ¡°Shift change! Good work, everyone! Go get some rest!¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Adam gave up his spot to another and let out a deep sigh of relief. He crossed paths with Lieutenant Louis Lenoir as he came back up from inspecting the hull, the cargo, and monitoring the water level.


    ¡°How¡¯s it down there?¡±


    ¡°Lots of water, but it¡¯s manageable, thanks to the pumps. You should try to get some rest. It¡¯s not over yet.¡±


    The young man could only nod obediently and take shelter with the rest of the crew.


    During a storm, there wasn¡¯t much to be done. Everything that could be done had already been taken care of. They had reefed the sails, securely tied down anything that could move, checked the cannons and gunports, activated the pumps, and up on deck, they made sure the ropes held and the ship stayed on course.


    Adam walked like a drunkard, zigzagging between obstacles, avoiding the busy sailors as much as he could. The floor seemed to shift, unstable, almost alive.


    The wood creaked so much it was easy to believe the ship would split in two on a wave.


    ¡°Shit!¡±


    A larger wave pushed him back several steps, causing him to bump into a thick wooden post. A metallic sound echoed, quickly followed by a sharp pain in the back of his head.


    ¡°Ouch! Fucking lantern!¡±


    He put a hand where the lantern had hit him, but there was no blood. He groaned and cursed a second time as the ship descended the large wave, sending him five steps forward.


    Finally, he made it to the lower deck, where hundreds of men were huddled together, all those who weren¡¯t needed elsewhere. The moods were varied: some tried to get a little sleep, while others prayed or chatted.


    Adam collapsed into a corner, his back against the sturdy wooden wall, which vibrated under the assault of the waves.


    His muscles trembled from the exhaustion and tension accumulated at the pump. His stomach, empty and churning, was sending all kinds of warning signals. If he hadn¡¯t already vomited everything overboard, he would have carried a bucket with him.


    His face was pale and covered in sweat. Adam tried to calm itself, ignoring the ship¡¯s movement.


    Hurgh! I-I can¡¯t take this anymore! I¡¯m tired of vomiting! I¡¯ve already thrown everything up!


    But that unpleasant sensation wouldn¡¯t leave him. As much as the fear of a shipwreck, that gut-wrenching urge to bend over a basin¡ªor any container¡ªand empty his stomach a little more clung to him like barnacles on a ship¡¯s hull.


    He was exhausted.


    Despite the situation, he tried to close his eyes. He forced himself to think of calming things.


    Mom, Dad¡­ Aurore, Plume, Ludo.


    He perfectly envisioned his family in a perfect scene that might have really taken place. Adam pictured his sister and father playing a racing game on their new TV, all smiles and making grand gestures as if it could help their respective cars turn faster. He imagined his mother, Alicia, vigorously brushing Ludo, their Labrador, who was thrilled and exposing his belly under the curious gaze of Plume, who for years no longer deserved that name.


    Imagining himself back with them, in the living room near the dining table, a solitary tear rolled down his cheek.


    Seeing them again, even if only in his mind, brought him as much comfort as it did pain.


    Their smiles merged with others¡ªboth unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. There were only two, but they looked at him with the same tenderness. Upon closer inspection, the man¡¯s smile was very different from that of his father, Guillaume.


    For some strange reason, he wasn¡¯t surprised to see these two people, standing side by side as if they were waiting to be photographed.


    Fran?ois¡¯s parents. They look so different from my parents.


    The father¡ªFran?ois¡¯s father, Charles Boucher¡ªwas simply dressed in this image, without the austere appearance he had in most of the memories that had appeared to Adam in dreams. On the contrary, he had the air of a loving father, armed with immense patience.


    His dark hair, tied back with a leather lace, revealed a wide forehead marked by a few lines of worry. His narrow eyes seemed to conceal many thoughts, and his cheeks, many trials.


    His mother¡ªor rather Fran?ois¡¯s mother¡ªwas stunning despite the years. She looked easily ten years younger than her actual age. Her face was very beautiful, especially her eyes, as blue as the sea. In her gentle smile, there was an expression of all her love. She placed a hand on her belly.


    Wait, what?! She¡ªshe was pregnant?! No, that¡¯s just my imagination! She¡­ this isn¡¯t a memory! Is it?


    A loud rumble followed by a terrible sound of wood creaking made him suddenly open his eyes. A thin string of drool had started to trickle down his chin.


    ¡°Ah, I¡¯d fallen asleep!¡±


    So that was possibly a memory of Fran?ois?!


    Around him, nothing had changed. The deck was still a chaotic mess, though they had secured everything that could be, and the sailors had begun praying louder. Their deep voices, though not grim, blended into a strange harmony.


    Adam watched them and supposed it couldn¡¯t hurt to join them silently, hoping to be heard by God. In case his prayer might reach the Almighty faster, he clasped his hands together and began to murmur.


    A bright flash briefly illuminated the deck.


    BOOM!


    Just two seconds after the flash, a deafening sound similar to a cannon shot shook him to his core.


    ¡°You alright, kid? You hanging in there?¡±


    Adam looked up and saw that the person speaking to him was Michel Renier, the tall sailor with tattoos.


    ¡°I guess it could be worse,¡± Adam groaned. ¡°I¡¯ve thrown up everything, so I should be fine until the end of this storm.¡±


    ¡°Good! It¡¯s important to look on the bright side!¡± he said with a huge smile.


    The young lieutenant raised an eyebrow and stared at the sailor for a long moment.


    ¡°How can you be so calm? Aren¡¯t you scared?¡±


    ¡°Hahaha! Of course I¡¯m scared! Who wouldn¡¯t be in the middle of a storm?¡±


    ¡°Well, you hide it well¡­ You really don¡¯t seem like it.¡±


    The man sat down next to Adam and settled into a comfortable position.


    ¡°You know, kid, I¡¯ve seen a few storms in my time. Some even bigger than this one.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and I learned something very important: being scared doesn¡¯t help. You¡¯re in a storm, you can¡¯t do anything about it. That¡¯s it. You just have to wait for it to pass. The sea is like that. Sometimes it¡¯s as calm as a lake, without a breath of wind, and then suddenly, she gets angry and shows you that she can swallow you whole.¡±


    Adam nodded slowly, thinking he understood what the sailor with the strong arms blackened by the tattoos was trying to say. There were mermaids, an anchor, a compass rose, a ship sailing through a storm, and more.


    ¡°Do¡­ do you think we¡¯ll make it?¡± Adam asked, hoping for a firm, reassuring answer.


    ¡°If she allows it,¡± the sailor said, his face turning serious, almost grim. ¡°I¡¯d like to say that our ship is invincible and all that, but nothing¡¯s invincible. You see, you should never believe you¡¯re in control out here. The sea is unpredictable, but in the end, it¡¯s always her who decides. No matter your efforts, the size of the ship, or the quality of the crew, if the sea wants to swallow you, then so be it. That¡¯s why worrying doesn¡¯t help. All you can do is hold on and wait for the storm to pass. Even if the sea is furious, she never stays angry for long.¡±


    Adam listened in silence, and when the sailor finished, he couldn¡¯t tell if he should feel reassured or not.


    Suddenly, the ship dangerously tilted to the right, where Adam and Michel were sitting. They saw the sailors rolling to that side.


    ¡°Damn, that was a big one!¡±


    ¡°Hurry, get back up! Distribute the weight!¡±


    ¡°Check the knots! Watch the cannons!¡±


    The sailors ran frantically to the other side of the ship to try to right it, if only a little. It was a strange sight.


    A few hours later, everything was quiet aboard the Oc¨¦an. It was as if they had all been caught in an illusion.


    Slowly, the sailors climbed onto the main deck and were greeted by an astonishing sight. The sky ahead of them was a brilliant blue, while behind them it was pitch black.


    Their ship seemed intact, and the rest of the squadron was there, though a bit scattered.


    A large hand rested on Adam¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°You see, kid. No reason to worry.¡±

 Chapter 53: Under The Stars

    Louis, standing at the bow of the Foudroyant, watched with emotion the warships that made up Duquesne de Menneville''s squadron. Although they had survived the terrible storm, they had sustained damage and heavy losses.


    The officers had given the order to slow down to allow the ships that had drifted off course to return, repair what had been broken, and wait for the missing vessels.


    Unfortunately, after three days, there was little hope left for the latter.


    It was a true tragedy.


    So, two ships carrying troops and supplies had disappeared, likely sunk. This meant the human losses would amount to approximately two hundred men. Along with the horses and cannons... this could cost the Marshal-Duke dearly once in the New World.


    On board this ship, the men were divided on how to react. While all the sailors were relieved to be alive after such an ordeal, there was a somber mood on the ship, as if death had knocked on their door.


    In a way, that¡¯s exactly what had happened, as three of their own had been swept away by the sea. Jacques LeGoff, thirty-one years old, father of three children, sailor; Denis Carrier, twenty-seven years old, father of two children, sailor; and Eug¨¨ne-Alexandre du Perret-Courtois, sixteen years old, aspirant de marine.


    Although young Eug¨¨ne-Alexandre du Perret-Courtois came from the nobility, unlike the vast majority of the crew, they mourned his loss just as much as the other two. On board the Foudroyant, they were all sailors.


    In their eyes, he was much more than just a kid in training to become an officer in the King of France''s navy. Because they formed a large family united by salt and sea, he was like a little brother, gone far too soon.


    The soldiers of Richelieu, who had boarded a few weeks ago, were still struggling to grasp this mindset, this philosophy. However, this harrowing experience had made them realize how vulnerable they were at sea and how quickly death could come for you, almost as swiftly as a cannonball.


    Louis, leaning his shoulder against the sturdy wooden wall and letting the wind blow through his hair, slightly turned his head to the side and addressed Anne-Sophie without looking at her.


    "Hey, doesn''t it bother you? I mean, aren''t you sad?"


    "Sad? About what?" asked Anne-Sophie in a deeper voice than usual, her face set as if she wore a neutral plaster mask.


    "Well, I don''t know. For the dead?"


    "Seriously? After what we''ve been through in Prussia? If I had to be sad for everyone who¡¯s been killed since the start of this war, I''d never stop! It doesn¡¯t bother me much, that''s all. It''s better this way. Otherwise, it would drive you mad. You should do the same."


    "I see."


    Louis crossed his arms over his chest and returned his gaze to the horizon. In front of him, the sun was very low, painting the sky with soft colors.


    They were right at the bow of the ship, practically over the void. While Anne-Sophie tended to her natural needs in a cramped space exposed to the wind and the spray from below, Louis kept watch.


    There were eight places there, but all were empty except for the one used by the young woman disguised as a man. They were just rectangular wooden boxes, each with two large circular holes on top.


    Despite the sea breeze, the smell was unpleasant.


    She had positioned herself as far away as possible, her back against the mat de Beaupr¨¦, the mast that passed above the figurehead.


    "COUGH COUGH COUGH!"


    She started coughing, but Louis didn¡¯t turn around or ask if she was okay. He knew she had fallen ill because of the storm, and she wasn¡¯t the only one. With any luck, it would pass quickly, but the illness seemed stubborn.


    "I''m done," she finally said in a hoarse voice, passing by Louis with a dragging step.


    Her face was a bit flushed, and her breath slightly labored. Dark circles had formed under her shadowy black eyes, which she seemed to struggle to keep open.


    Louis gave her a strange look, keeping his thoughts to himself, and decided to leave his post. He followed her without noticing that someone was watching them from the other side of the ship.


    "Hey, An... um, Pierre?"


    "What?" she growled.


    "You still haven''t told me why you enlisted," Louis remarked as he adjusted his disheveled blonde hair.


    "Oh, that. Why does it interest you so much?"


    Anne-Sophie shrugged and turned to the young man who, despite his pitiful appearance after the last few months, seemed to be in better shape than she was. She leaned against the bulwark between two cannons and looked out at the horizon.


    "I come from a modest family. My father owns a bit of land north of Sedan, barely enough to support us. But the harvests haven¡¯t been good, and my father needed money to repay a debt. Since I was of the minimum age to join the king¡¯s armies without his consent, I signed up when the regiment was heading towards Valenciennes."


    "To Valenciennes? So, you enlisted before me," Louis said, raising an eyebrow slightly.


    "You enlisted after the colonel''s wedding? Cough cough!" asked the young woman, overcome by another fit of coughing.


    "Yeah," the soldier confirmed with a hint of nostalgia. "Me and my friends, we all enlisted on the same day. May 26, 1756, in Saint-Omer."


    "Ah, I see. You missed something."


    ¡°The wedding, you mean?¡±


    ¡°Yes, we ate very well that day. The entire town was invited for the occasion. Anyway, I didn¡¯t enlist for glory, honor, or whatever. It was for the money. Everything I earned, I sent to my parents, but it was so little. I was hoping to make more, maybe even strike it rich when the war broke out. Ha! What a joke! A pittance of a wage! I would¡¯ve earned more staying home!¡±


    Louis could only understand her anger and frustration. When they enlisted, they were made grand promises. Despite all the risks they had taken, he didn¡¯t feel like he¡¯d covered himself in glory, and he certainly hadn¡¯t become any richer. All he had to show for it were a few scars and bad dreams.


    ¡°Jesus Christ! And now they¡¯re sending us to the New World to risk our lives!¡±


    He couldn¡¯t reply to the young woman¡¯s complaint. So, he remained silent at her side, watching the horizon.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The days passed fairly quickly, each one blending into the next, and little by little, the young woman began to open up to Louis.


    They talked about their lives before the army, their daily routines, their families, usually isolating themselves in a quiet corner of the ship to avoid being disturbed and, more importantly, to avoid being overheard. Anne-Sophie¡¯s health had eventually improved, which was fortunate. After all, she couldn¡¯t risk seeing the doctor, as he might ask her to remove her shirt.


    If that happened, it would have been a disaster, as her true identity would have been revealed.


    That night was particularly windy, though nothing compared to the storm they had endured. The wind howled, and the sails flapped above their heads like sheets being vigorously shaken at a window.


    Louis and Anne-Sophie were isolated on the foretop of the mainmast. Surrounded by taut, swaying ropes in the wind, they spoke softly, far from prying eyes and ears.


    The sky, partially covered, revealed a multitude of stars and, at times, a generous half-moon. A shooting star passed silently from west to east, but it quickly disappeared like an illusion.


    Normally, Anne-Sophie was on watch and Louis at rest, but he had decided to keep her company by joining her in the rigging. Below them, a few sailors moved about, barely illuminated by the moon and lanterns. The sea, slightly choppy but not rough, gleamed softly and made a gentle sound as their ship met each wave.


    The young woman, her face barely visible in the dim light, gripped a rope tightly in her trembling hands. Up here, every movement of the ship seemed amplified. One could really feel the effects of the waves and wind, though it was mild compared to the sensation at the very top of the mainmast.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Louis asked, squirming slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position.


    Anne-Sophie didn¡¯t respond right away, continuing to bite her lower lip. Her eyes, fixed on the horizon, sparkled like diamonds, and suddenly, tears began to fall.


    ¡°Pi¡­ Anne-Sophie?!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t take it anymore! I can¡¯t take it!¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Louis exclaimed, moving closer, his throat so tight he felt like he was being strangled.


    ¡°I can¡¯t take it anymore, Louis!¡± she cried in a voice higher than usual, a woman¡¯s voice. ¡°I¡¯m so tired of lying, of hiding! I¡¯m exhausted!¡±


    She drew her legs in and buried her face in her arms, curling into a ball. Her shoulders shook violently, and the sounds she made were muffled. Louis, about to place a hand on her shoulder, froze.


    Louis was stunned. It was the first time he had seen her like this. He had even come to believe that the Anne-Sophie he had seen until now was the real Anne-Sophie. Seeing her so fragile now was very strange for him.


    It was as if he had suddenly found himself facing an entirely different person.


    Her voice was different too. It had become much more feminine. Even when they were alone, she had kept her deep, masculine voice¡ªthe voice of Pierre.


    Finally, he placed a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be okay,¡± he said softly, as if revealing a secret. ¡°You¡¯re not alone.¡±


    ¡°Of course I am,¡± she whimpered, lifting her head slightly to reveal a tear-streaked face. ¡°I¡¯m alone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he replied.


    She grimaced and shook her head.


    ¡°But you¡¯re a man,¡± she said, wiping her tears with hands so rough that they would never regain their former softness. ¡°What could you possibly understand about my problems?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ can try,¡± Louis whispered, applying a little more pressure to his hand and rubbing the young woman¡¯s back.


    ¡°I¡¯m so tired, Louis. Look at me. Look at what I¡¯ve become.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°Every day, for almost three years, I wake up like a man, I talk like a man, I walk like a man, I swear like a man, I eat like a man, I work like a man¡ªor at least I do my best not to fall too far behind¡ªbut it¡¯s never enough! I¡¯m really doing my best, Louis!¡±


    ¡°I know, everyone knows you¡¯re trying hard.¡±


    ¡°And yet, they look down on me! Everyone! You know what they call me behind my back? ¡®The baby,¡¯ because they always have to watch over me! Even the kids are stronger than me! They¡¯re faster too! Damn this wretched body! I wish I had been born a man!¡±


    Louis couldn¡¯t say anything, because he had heard things about her. He had often wanted to contradict them, but every time he had, it had backfired on him.


    Anne-Sophie chuckled softly, but it was a hollow, sad laugh, seeing how much Louis was struggling to support her.


    ¡°And I have to stay quiet, act like I don¡¯t know what they¡¯re saying about me! Pretend again, lie again! Always! My life is nothing but a lie! And I can¡¯t afford a single mistake! If anyone discovers my secret, do you know what will happen to me? They¡¯ll arrest me and send me back to France in shame! My life will be over!¡±


    ¡°Your life won¡¯t be over, Anne-Sophie.¡±


    ¡°Haha! Don¡¯t make me laugh! Look at my face! Look at my hands! Who would want someone like me?!¡±


    Louis suddenly leaned forward, locking eyes with the trembling young woman.


    "Me."


    And he kissed her.


    Anne-Sophie froze, surprised, and only realized what was happening after a moment. She could feel Louis'' warm lips covering hers. She wanted to push him away, but she didn¡¯t move. Slowly, she raised her hands and placed them on Louis¡¯ shoulders.


    Her cheeks were burning, and her thoughts became muddled. She stopped thinking and let her body act.


    She wrapped her arms around Louis and returned his kiss before he could pull away.


    Suddenly, the wind, the fear, the sadness, the sound of the waves¡ªall disappeared around them. It was as if they were alone in the world.


    Their kiss grew deeper, more passionate, and Louis was surprised to feel a tongue slipping into his mouth. He opened his mouth wider and mirrored Anne-Sophie. Their tongues met and danced for a moment.


    Their blood boiled in their veins, and their warm breaths mixed.


    It was then that they were interrupted by a grating voice from behind Louis.


    ¡°Well, well! What do we have here? Hehe!¡±


    ¡°Damn it, Ren¨¦!¡±


    It was Ren¨¦ Gabin, the biggest scoundrel in Louis¡¯ company. Unfortunately, due to his seniority and the losses suffered in Germany, he had managed to climb to the rank of anspessade. He was about to be promoted to corporal. He outranked Louis.


    Slowly, like a vulture who had found a tasty prey, he climbed onto the broad wooden platform and looked at the two soldiers. A huge smile spread across his thin lips, revealing a set of badly damaged teeth. Several were missing, and others were broken.


    ¡°I see you two are having fun up here!¡±


    A cold shiver ran down Louis¡¯ spine, and he instinctively placed a protective arm between Ren¨¦ and Anne-Sophie.


    ¡°It¡¯s not what you think!¡± Louis shouted as he leaped to his feet, with Anne-Sophie rising behind him.


    ¡°Oh no? Hey, I¡¯m not judging, kid. He¡¯s got a nice face, the little one! I bet the rest isn¡¯t bad either!¡±


    Louis immediately realized that Ren¨¦ thought Anne-Sophie was a man. Yet that didn¡¯t seem to bother him.


    He reached for his belt, and an even wider smile spread across his cruel face.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we can all have some fun!¡±


    ¡°Stop it!¡±


    But with a rough shove, Ren¨¦ pushed Louis aside, nearly sending him tumbling into the void.


    ¡°Ren¨¦!¡±


    In a violent move, certainly one he had performed hundreds of times in Prussia, Hanover, and Saxony, Ren¨¦ grabbed Anne-Sophie¡¯s jacket, yanking it open and popping several buttons, which fell through the wooden grating beneath them and disappeared into the abyss.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    He stopped, staring in surprise at Anne-Sophie¡¯s pale face before turning back to Louis.


    ¡°HAHAHA! This is even better! The little guy was a girl! I¡¯m so jealous! Hey, were you planning to keep her all to yourself? Tut-tut-tut, that¡¯s not very nice.¡±


    Ren¨¦ turned back to Anne-Sophie, trembling like a leaf and struggling to break free. Despite her efforts, she couldn¡¯t, even as he freed one hand to tear away her bindings, exposing her chest.


    ¡°Not bad at all,¡± he remarked, his vile eyes roving over her.


    He ran a rough tongue over his dry lips as if about to savor a delicious meal and began to lower his breeches, all while keeping his grip on the terrified young woman.


    With overpowering strength, he shoved her onto her back as his breeches reached his knees.


    At that moment, Louis intervened, lunging forward at Ren¨¦, who had seemingly forgotten all about him. He hit Ren¨¦¡¯s shoulder with such force that he lost his balance. His legs, tangled in his lowered breeches, couldn¡¯t spread to steady him.


    As if in slow motion, Louis and Anne-Sophie watched Ren¨¦ fall from the rigging. With a loud crack, he hit the deck below. He hadn¡¯t had time to scream, but in the silence of the night, there was no way no one had heard the noise.


    Sailors quickly gathered around the mainmast, forming a wide circle around the man lying on the deck, motionless and grotesque like a broken puppet. A small pool of blood trickled from his nose and his split skull.


    Then they looked up in their direction.


    ¡°We¡¯re doomed!¡±


    Louis felt a warm hand grip his. With great difficulty, he turned his head and gazed at Anne-Sophie¡¯s face. He squeezed her hand tighter, without saying a word.

 Chapter 54: The Confession

    Louis and Anne-Sophie nervously looked down.


    More and more sailors were gathering around Ren¨¦¡¯s body. Despite the darkness, they could clearly see the officers approaching the corpse. A sailor pointed in their direction.


    ¡°Diantre!¡± cried Anne-Sophie, feeling her strength leave her.


    ¡°Hurry! Take off your coat, jacket, and shirt!¡± ordered Louis, quickly undressing.


    ¡°Wh-what?!¡±


    Even in the darkness of the night, he could see her face turning as red as a British uniform. Instinctively, she clutched her clothes tighter.


    ¡°Hurry! We don¡¯t have much time! We¡¯re going to switch uniforms!¡±


    Anne-Sophie immediately felt foolish for not understanding what Louis was trying to do. She obeyed, despite the shame of revealing her body, and handed him her clothes¡ªonly the top part of her uniform.


    Louis, unfazed, put on the torn shirt, the red jacket with missing gold buttons, and the white coat of the young woman. Since these clothes were mass-produced in the king¡¯s factories, they were the same size. Swapping their clothes wasn¡¯t an issue.


    ¡°Alright, listen to me. He attacked me, and he tried to rape me. I kicked him to defend myself, and he fell. Got it?¡±


    ¡°G-got it.¡±


    ¡°You tried to stop him, but you couldn¡¯t. You couldn¡¯t do anything. Is that clear?¡±


    ¡°But you¡­¡±


    ¡°Is that clear?¡± Louis insisted, looking Anne-Sophie straight in the eyes.


    Anne-Sophie saw all his determination in that gaze. There wasn¡¯t a hint of hesitation.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she whispered.


    The young man nodded slowly, took a deep breath, and looked down.


    ¡°We need to go down.¡±


    With extreme caution, Louis and Anne-Sophie climbed down to the deck and were immediately surrounded by soldiers and sailors. Louis pretended his hands were trembling, simulating an indescribable fear. It wasn¡¯t hard since they had much at stake.


    ¡°What happened here?! I demand a clear answer!¡± thundered squadron leader Duquesne de Menneville, furious, followed closely by Colonel de Br¨¦hant.


    ¡°Sir, a man fell from the main mast. These two were on the hune of the main mast.¡±


    The squadron leader stabbed his gaze at the two young soldiers, one of whom had a disheveled uniform.


    ¡°Is this your doing?!¡±


    His voice, so low it seemed to rise from the depths of hell, made Louis and Anne-Sophie tremble.


    ¡°I-it was an accident, sir,¡± Louis said without daring to look him in the eyes. ¡°He attacked me.¡±


    Out of the corner of his eye, Louis saw Jules, Charles, and P¡¯tit Pol doing their best to hold back Jean from intervening. Taller than most sailors, Jean was easy to spot in the crowd. His face was contorted with unspeakable anger.


    ¡°An accident?!¡± the squadron leader roared. ¡°You¡¯d better have a good explanation because if not, by Menneville¡¯s word, I¡¯ll have you whipped to death!¡±


    Anne-Sophie and Louis flinched but didn¡¯t collapse.


    With a firm voice, Louis recounted his version of events.


    ¡°Sir, I climbed up to the top platform of the main mast to support my friend Pierre, who was on duty. While we were talking, this man joined us with bad intentions. We told him to leave, but he refused and pushed Pierre. Then he threw himself at me to¡­ to¡­ You understand?¡±


    The squadron leader¡¯s expression changed, which didn¡¯t escape Louis.


    Homosexuality, although condemned by the Church, was not unheard of. There were even rumors of a certain tolerance, like infidelity, in the highest circles of society. Louis wasn¡¯t sure, but it was a rumor he believed because it was so abject.


    Such behavior was probably more common on His Majesty¡¯s ships, especially during long voyages, as sailors had no one to turn to for affection except their comrades. But that didn¡¯t mean the behavior was accepted.


    ¡°Continue.¡±


    ¡°He tried to tear off my clothes, and Pierre tried to intervene, but he wasn¡¯t strong enough. This man, who is well-known in my company for his bad behavior, easily pushed him aside and started lowering his pants. I managed to kick him, and he fell.¡±


    ¡°Young man,¡± said the squadron leader, turning to Pierre, ¡°do you confirm his account?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. It¡¯s the truth!¡± Anne-Sophie said, using her man¡¯s voice.


    The officer turned to the crew.


    ¡°Does anyone have anything to report? Did anyone see or hear anything?¡±


    A sailor stepped forward, and the two soldiers trembled as their eyes met.


    ¡°Sir, I heard shouting just before the accident and looked in that direction. I saw this man,¡± the sailor said, pointing at Louis, ¡°standing on the top platform and looking down. I also found this jacket button on the ground.¡±


    He handed the button to the squadron leader, who compared it to those on Louis¡¯s uniform. He had no trouble confirming they were identical.


    He quickly noticed that the threads had snapped on the jacket as if someone had pulled on it violently, the same with Louis¡¯s torn shirt.


    ¡°Are there any other testimonies?¡±


    ¡°Me, sir,¡± said a sergeant, raising his hand.


    ¡°What is your testimony? What did you see or hear?¡±


    ¡°I am the sergeant of the deceased soldier. I am Sergeant Dupuy, under the command of Captain Lecornu. This soldier, as this young man said, had a very bad reputation. He was a violent man who committed numerous criminal acts in enemy territory. Everyone who knew him knows this. He liked to harm people, regardless of their gender or age. I saw him, sir, raping a child in front of her parents! There are several witnesses, and a report has been written. He... He was a monster!


    ¡°I can also testify against this man, sir. In Hanover, when we had just taken Hameln¡­¡±


    The testimonies came in quickly, and the squadron commander felt increasingly nauseous as he listened.


    ¡°It seems that this man was a bad man. Here is my decision: this fall that was fatal to him is an accident. Soldiers Louis and Pierre were only defending their virtue and are therefore declared innocent. No punishment will be inflicted upon them.¡±


    Immediately, several applauses echoed on the deck, with Jean¡¯s being the loudest.


    They carried Ren¨¦ Gabin''s body inside the ship, and all the sailors returned to their quarters. Dawn was not far off, but every minute of sleep was precious.


    Phew, on l''a ¨¦chapp¨¦ belle, Louis sighed inwardly with relief. I really thought we were going to end up hanging, or worse!The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Then he thought back to Anne-Sophie, particularly her lips.


    I still feel the warmth of her breath on my face. Her lips¡­ They were so soft.


    Although they had escaped a grim fate, he couldn¡¯t help but repeatedly think about what he had done in the rigging. His face suddenly turned red.


    Why am I reacting like this?! It¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve kissed a woman!


    Indeed, he had been so popular in Corbie that he had a plethora of choices when it came to partners. He could have married the apothecary¡¯s daughter or the hatmaker¡¯s girl, the vegetable merchant¡¯s sister or the cousin of the furniture maker, but he had never really been interested.


    Perhaps it was because for the first time he had been treated with indifference; this time, he showed a genuine interest in a girl.


    She was rough and violent, masculine, in a way; yet, when he thought of her face, his heart raced and his body became warmer.


    I must be crazy¡­ or just strange. Am I really attracted to this kind of girl?


    The next morning, or rather a few hours later, all the sailors were gathered on the main deck.


    They all wore serious expressions as if they were about to go into battle. The atmosphere was, however, more akin to what one would find inside a church.


    Louis stood next to Anne-Sophie and her friends, wearing an intact shirt and a scarlet jacket adorned with all its golden buttons. A little earlier, he had sewn them back on with as much care as if it were his own jacket.


    Anne-Sophie wore a profoundly indifferent expression, but her eyes betrayed her true feelings. They were cold and filled with anger. Louis had no trouble guessing the reason: she had to witness the sea burial of the bastard who had tried to rape her.


    Solemnly, the squadron commander and captain of the Foudroyant arrived, holding a Bible and a few sheets of paper in his hands. As the only master on board after God, it was his duty to lead the ceremony. The cause of death was of no importance, as this man was under his responsibility.


    He was dressed in the most noble manner, dignified like a god of the sea. A light breeze made the long white feathers on his black and gold tricorne and the hem of his royal blue coat dance.


    The body of Ren¨¦ Gabin, cold and stiff, was brought in silence, lying on a wide wooden plank, his arms at his sides, simply dressed in breeches and a shirt. He looked like a wax statue.


    Bastard! Who would believe, seeing him like this, that he was a scoundrel? He looks so calm and innocent!


    Louis showed no emotion as he watched the body pass in front of him, already half in his thick canvas sack. He had already been weighted down with an iron ball and partially sewn up. The needle rested on his chest, ready to be used to finish closing the sack.


    He doesn¡¯t even deserve this prayer. On the continent, he would have ended up in a mass grave or better yet, with the pigs! That¡¯s all he deserves!


    He held back from spitting on the ground and simply followed the body with his gaze.


    They placed it on the deck floor and slid a small Bible, which must have belonged to him, inside the sack. Then, a sailor stepped forward and finished sewing the end of the sack. At the level of the face, as tradition dictated, they passed the long, thick needle through the nose. The one charged with the task did not flinch.


    His work was very rough, but it was sufficient to prevent the body from rising to the surface once thrown into the sea.


    As soon as he finished, he stepped back and returned to the other sailors, and the captain spoke while leaning on the holy book.


    ¡°In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum.¡± (Into your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit.)


    They hoisted the embalmed body, feet facing the sea, over the railing and waited for the captain to finish his prayer for the eternal rest of the deceased.


    ¡°O Almighty and eternal God, Lord of the living and the dead, we humbly pray for the soul of your servant Ren¨¦ Gabin, whom you have called from this life. Welcome him into your kingdom of peace, where there is no pain, nor sorrow, but eternal life. We entrust his body, delivered to the depths of the sea, and his soul, entrusted to your infinite mercy. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.¡±


    ¡°Amen,¡± replied the rest of the crew behind him.


    With a nod, Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville gave his consent to throw the body.


    The sailors lifted the plank, and the long weighted canvas sack slipped overboard. No one watched the body sink, but with an iron ball, there was no doubt it would soon be at the bottom of the ocean.


    ¡°Captain Lecornu,¡± said Colonel de Br¨¦hant in a low voice.


    ¡°Yes, Colonel?¡±


    ¡°You will inventory this man. In the coming days, we will proceed with an auction to the highest bidder.¡±


    ¡°At your orders.¡±


    The rest of the day went by like the previous days. The officers ensured that all the men aboard the Foudroyant stayed occupied, and there was no disorder.


    That evening, Louis and Anne-Sophie barely spoke to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Yet, they had so much to say to each other.


    The day had been long and painful for both. It felt like a torture session. Louis was unable to think of anything else. The face and voice of Anne-Sophie kept returning to his mind.


    They were so close, yet he felt an immense chasm had opened between them.


    It¡¯s nothing. It¡¯s just temporary. We¡­ We need to be discreet for a while. Just for a little while. A few days at most.


    The only moment they spent together was when Anne-Sophie needed to go to the latrines. But even there, they didn¡¯t speak.


    Her friends had naturally noticed this change in behavior and sought to understand what was wrong, but Louis remained silent. This only worried Jules, Charles, P¡¯tit Pol, and Jean even more.


    With a heavy heart, he went to bed when it was time. He had barely spoken a word during the day.


    Could it be that she hates me? Did I do something wrong?


    Quickly, darkness settled between the decks. Everything fell silent. All one could hear was the sound of the wood creaking.


    From hearing it so often, no one noticed all these little creaks. This naturally included Louis, whose agitated thoughts kept him awake.


    Suddenly, a hand appeared out of nowhere and pressed against his mouth.


    Wh-what?!


    Despite being clearly awake, he hadn¡¯t seen anyone approach. He hadn¡¯t heard anything either. He reached for the small knife he kept hidden in his pocket, but just as he was about to strike the intruder, he saw a familiar face.


    Anne-Sophie?!


    Barely lit, he had no trouble identifying her face. She was the only one on board with large eyes as dark as a moonless night and long black hair.


    She placed a long, slender finger on her almost red lips to signal to him that he should remain silent. Then, she gestured for him to follow her.


    Louis nervously looked around, but noticed no suspicious movement. Slowly, he got out of his hammock and followed the young woman, who walked strangely while carefully avoiding all the swinging hammocks from side to side. Louis felt like a spy, but it didn¡¯t bother him as much anymore, as he had already done this several times to help the young woman wash discreetly.


    Cautiously, they descended to the lowest level of the warship without making a sound, and when they were sure no one had followed them, Anne-Sophie turned to Louis.


    ¡°Louis, uh, earlier, I mean, last night, you said¡­ that¡­ that you would like¡­ me.¡±


    Her voice was so soft that Louis had trouble hearing her. To say it was a whisper was too generous. However, Louis nodded.


    Both of them had flushed cheeks, and their breathing was ragged, as if they were in enemy territory, lost in a snowstorm, isolated in a secluded cabin.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The young woman nervously took his left arm and blushed even harder, her heart pounding furiously in her poor chest.


    ¡°If¡­ Whatever happens¡­ We¡­¡±


    Anne-Sophie could no longer think clearly, even though she had spent much of the day visualizing this encounter. She timidly gazed at Louis standing in front of her. He seemed larger than a mountain. Conversely, she saw herself as smaller, more ridiculous, and more pitiful than a mouse. Her words choked in her throat as if even they were too ashamed to come out.


    ¡°Whatever happens, Anne-Sophie, I will be there for you. Even if you are discovered, even if you are sent to the other side of the world, I will come find you and I will marry you.¡±


    Two tears began to flow down her burning cheeks, and unable to hold back any longer, she rushed to kiss Louis. Immediately, the young man felt a bold tongue¡ªdaring even¡ªmeet his.


    The young woman''s warm, clammy hands grabbed his face, which in her eyes was the face of an angel, and without thinking about what she was doing, she set about removing Louis''s coat. He allowed it and helped her take off her coat, then her red jacket.


    Oh my God!


    That was the only clear thought racing through Louis''s mind as he removed his shirt, revealing a muscular, sweat-covered chest.


    He felt the woman¡¯s lips descend onto his neck and traverse his skin like a seasoned explorer seeking to map unknown land.


    He closed his eyes as if to better feel her tender kisses. His own hands caressed Anne-Sophie¡¯s back, and he even went so far as to free her long black hair. His rough fingers ran through her locks and gripped her skull as if encouraging her to continue.


    Please, whatever you do, don¡¯t stop! And if this is a dream, oh God, may I never wake up!


    ¡°L-Louis¡­¡± she whispered softly in his ear.


    ¡°Y-yes?¡± he replied in a warm breath without releasing his embrace.


    ¡°I¡­ I love you! I love you!¡± she confessed.


    ¡°Me too,¡± Louis replied with an assurance that surprised even himself. ¡°I love you, Anne-Sophie!¡±


    He kissed the young woman on the neck, tenderly at first, then generously, as if he hadn¡¯t eaten in days.


    Her skin is salty, a bit dirty, but¡­ It¡¯s not unpleasant. Ah¡­ It¡¯s her scent. Her taste. I think I¡¯m going crazy!


    The longer the seconds passed, the more their desire grew.


    Then he froze.


    Oh no!


    Jean, his good friend, was staring at him from the supply room door, with wide eyes of astonishment and a mouth so agape that he could have swallowed a whole barrel.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Jean!¡±


    Sensing that something was wrong, Anne-Sophie stopped and froze as well, discovering Louis''s gigantic friend in the entrance, watching them like strange animals.


    ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Um, I didn¡¯t see anything,¡± he said, turning around, visibly extremely embarrassed. ¡°But be more discreet, guys. Uh, see you tomorrow.¡±


    And he disappeared as if he had never been there.


    Morbleu! He¡­ He thought I was¡­ a bugger?!

 Chapter 55: Alien

    Adam, aboard the Ocean, was surrounded by a large part of the crew on the second deck. There was practically no light, the few lanterns not enough for everyone to clearly see their surroundings.


    All the men were silent, attentive, hanging on the young lieutenant¡¯s words, anxiously awaiting his next sentences.


    The faces were so tense that one could easily believe they were discussing mutiny and murder. Their faces gleamed with sweat, and an invisible but suffocating tension hung around them.


    "Suddenly, the strange egg opened, and a bizarre creature, resembling a spider, leapt straight at the sailor''s face! Surprised, the man didn¡¯t have time to react! Quickly, horrible, powerful legs grabbed hold of the man, covering his entire face, and a long, rope-like white tail wrapped around his neck. He wanted to scream, call for help, but it was already too late."


    At that moment, several hundred men gulped, imagining the terrifying scene described by Lieutenant Boucher.


    With his words and gestures, he had managed to captivate these brave sailors, who were nevertheless used to frightening tales. But for the past week and a half, they had been discovering nearly every evening new extraordinary stories, unlike anything they had ever heard.


    That evening, he had begun a new tale, one that promised to be horrible, even traumatizing.


    "The sailor¡¯s comrades," Adam continued, his face half-lit by a flickering candle, "rushed to their friend and tried to free him, but it was no use. The creature was firmly attached. One of them pulled out a knife and tried to cut one of the legs, but not only did it not cut, the blade broke. It was like trying to cut through a rock! Not knowing what else to do, they decided to bring the sailor back aboard the Nostromo. The officers didn¡¯t want that thing on board, but the sailors were as determined as the scientists on board. He was their comrade, their friend; they couldn¡¯t leave him behind on that mysterious and unsettling island. The captain gave in, and they brought the poor sailor to the ship¡¯s surgeon¡¯s table."


    Adam/Fran?ois looked so serious that all the sailors trembled, already fearing the worst for this poor sailor who hadn¡¯t asked for anything but seemed doomed nonetheless.


    Adam, for his part, was laughing inwardly.


    HAHAHAHA! Who would have thought Alien would entertain these guys! They seem so terrified¡ªthey¡¯re not ready, poor souls!


    The story Adam was telling was indeed Ridley Scott''s Alien, but his version was slightly adapted to the audience. Instead of a spaceship, it was an exploration ship, and the planet discovered by the Nostromo crew was an uncharted island in the Pacific Ocean.


    By telling these stories, he was killing two birds with one stone: firstly, he was trying to make this endless journey more bearable, and secondly, he was trying to gain the men''s attention, since, as a lieutenant, he had to be capable of fulfilling Captain Gilbert¡¯s duties if the latter was unfit.


    Since the storm, his health had only deteriorated.


    Adam continued his story in the gravest voice he could muster, looking at each sailor around him as though he were a messiah.


    "The surgeon had never seen such a creature, nor had the scientists on board. They were all in uncharted territory. Like the sailor¡¯s friend, the surgeon took a blade and tried to free the unfortunate man, but his blade broke to his great surprise. He grabbed a second one and attempted to cut the creature elsewhere, on the softer part of its body. It was difficult, but not impossible. And when he finally managed to injure it, he was stunned, as were the scientists and the captain.


    A strange, steaming green blood began to pour out with a hiss. The knife blade had started to melt like a candle! A few drops fell onto the table, and a hole began to form! Then the strange liquid dripped through, and the floor began to melt too! The captain was the first to react, fortunately, as the liquid quickly reached the bottom of the ship! The ship was taking on water!


    Thanks to the brave carpenter, they were able to patch the breach, and once it was done, he returned to see the surgeon. The surgeon showed him the blade, which no longer resembled anything. It really looked like a candle!"


    The sailors all had wide eyes. They had never heard of such an animal. The lieutenant was so precise in his descriptions that they weren¡¯t sure whether this creature was imaginary.


    "And¡­ And then?" asked a bald sailor with a flattened nose in a small voice, his fists clenched so tightly against his thighs they had turned white.


    "They noticed something... strange. The creature, still firmly attached to the brave sailor¡¯s face, was clearly dying. But was it because of that tiny cut? No one on the creaking ship could say for sure."


    Adam paused for a moment and let out a deep sigh, as if inviting the sailors to do the same.


    "Finally, the creature detached itself, and the sailor was freed. Slowly, he opened his eyes, disoriented and with no memory of what had happened to him."


    "Phew! So, the creature is dead, and the sailor is saved!"


    How cute, thought Adam, holding back a smile. This is just the beginning of the movie!


    "The ship weighed anchor, leaving behind that cursed island. But they brought the creature¡¯s corpse on board so the scientists could study it."


    "No!" shouted a sailor in the crowd, bringing a hand to his mouth. "They need to throw it into the sea! Get rid of it!"


    "Yes! It¡¯s too dangerous! How can the captain allow such a thing on board?! It doesn¡¯t make sense!"


    "Exactly! The creature¡¯s blood made a hole in the hull! In the hull!"


    "Yes, but you forget that they were told from the start to follow all the scientists¡¯ requests! Those are the King¡¯s orders! He has no choice!" said another in a deep voice, crossing his powerful arms over his broad chest, shaking his head slowly as if to underline the Nostromo captain¡¯s helplessness.


    "SILENCE!" thundered Michel Renier.


    With a simple nod, Adam thanked the tattooed sailor and resumed his story once silence returned.


    "The atmosphere¡­ was very peculiar aboard the Nostromo," Adam articulated slowly, as if weighing his words. The sailors didn¡¯t feel reassured with that creature on board, even though it was said to be dead. However, their comrade seemed to be in good health, and that was what mattered most to them. The officers were generous in an attempt to maintain peace. That evening, they were served fine Bordeaux wine and real food. Quickly, a delicious aroma filled the ship. The mood on the Nostromo gradually became cheerful, and the men began to sing and dance to the sound of a violin."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Adam paused again and brought the lantern closer to his face.


    "But suddenly, the sailor began to feel unwell."


    "Oh, my God¡­"


    "He seemed to have trouble eating, then breathing."


    "Oh, no!"


    "He stood up, clutching his throat," Adam continued, standing up as well."


    "Diable!"


    "To his stomach!" Adam insisted, playing with his voice, taking great pleasure in making his audience tremble.


    "He then collapsed to the floor, trembling like a leaf, his eyes turning white!


    "By all the saints!


    "They wanted to help him, but didn¡¯t know how! They lifted his shirt and saw something alive in his stomach! It¡¯s moving! It¡¯s fighting and trying to get out. And then¡­ Splash!


    "AAAAH!"


    Several screams of terror rang out simultaneously on the deck, startling everyone who wasn¡¯t listening to the story. Lieutenant Louis Lenoir rushed down to see what was going on.


    "What?! What¡¯s happening?!"


    He then saw all the men, still wide awake despite the late hour, gathered around Lieutenant Boucher, all trembling with fear, even the oldest among them.


    "E-everything¡¯s fine, sir. It¡­ It¡¯s just a story, just a story," Michel Renier replied, pale as if he¡¯d seen a ghost.


    "A story?! All this ruckus over a story?!"


    "Sorry, sir, it¡¯s my fault. I was telling it, I shouldn¡¯t have chosen that one."


    Lieutenant Lenoir stared at Lieutenant Boucher, wondering what kind of story could put such brave sailors in this state. Despite his curiosity, he ordered everyone to make less noise and go to sleep within the hour.


    As soon as he disappeared, the sailors refocused and leaned forward, devouring Adam with their eyes.


    "S-so?! What happened next?!"


    Adam smiled at their reaction, imagining what it must have been like in movie theaters in 1979 when it first came out.


    It must have been amazing! That¡¯s how you know it¡¯s a good movie! Even after all these years, people still talk about it!


    "From the sailor¡¯s belly, soaked in blood, emerged a tiny creature, also covered in blood. It had no eyes, yet it seemed to be watching all the men around. It let out a small cry, revealing numerous sharp little teeth, and before the sailors, shocked, could do anything, the creature escaped and disappeared into the bowels of the ship!"


    Adam hadn¡¯t expected such a reaction to this story.


    It wasn¡¯t the first one he had told, but the previous times hadn¡¯t been this intense. Maybe it was because this story ticked so many boxes for these sailors: a ship, a long voyage, a mysterious island, a team of scientists challenging the usual hierarchy, a strange creature, and now a death!


    Wow! Well! Looks like I have no choice, if I don¡¯t finish this story, they might kill me! Haha!


    Very quickly, the hour passed, and it was time for everyone to extinguish the lanterns. Adam ignored the other sailors'' requests to continue the story and slipped into his hammock.


    He had strangely grown accustomed to this life.


    However, he could feel that the tension on the deck hadn¡¯t disappeared. A sadistic smile formed on his lips as he imagined the terrified sailors, checking to make sure no monster was crawling among them, hunting for easy prey.


    He had reached the part where the small, fragile creature had become a terrifying predator, killing the sailors one by one.


    Unfortunately, this story couldn¡¯t be exactly like the movie, since they weren¡¯t aboard a spaceship floating in space. Everything was happening much faster, and there were many more deaths.


    Tomorrow night, I¡¯ll finish this story. Which one should I tell next? Batman? Superman? Hmm, I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s a good idea. I¡¯ve already done The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Gladiator, and Cast Away.


    Adam looked at the hammock swaying above him, moving to the rhythm of a clock¡¯s pendulum.


    Hey, I could write books! I¡¯m sure I could get rich!


    The only problem was that writing a book wasn¡¯t within everyone¡¯s reach. He, for example, had no talent for it. He didn¡¯t have the patience to write more than a few pages. Maybe it was because he never built a plan¡ªhe never finished his stories. At best, he had a vague idea of the beginning and the protagonist, but that was it.


    Even by roughly copying the story of a great movie from his time, he wasn¡¯t sure he could make it readable. Without the music of great composers, without the actors¡¯ performances, without the quality of the set, he would have to describe everything with words¡ªhis words.


    That, he was incapable of.


    Ah, too bad I didn¡¯t land in the 80s or 90s, or even the 2000s! I would have invested in gold, Amazon, Microsoft, Apple! Or better, Bitcoin! Damn! Why the 18th century?! I still have some money, but I don¡¯t even know how or where to invest it?! Oil? Hmph! There aren¡¯t even cars! The gold rush?! Even less! I don¡¯t even know where that was! Trains?! Same as cars, they don¡¯t exist yet!


    Adam seriously thought about what he knew about the history of his country, but also of the world.


    1758¡­ I heard that the United States of America didn¡¯t exist yet. I could support them since I know they¡¯re going to win! Ah! But us? I mean, France, what were we doing? I think we helped them, didn¡¯t we? So, it¡¯s in the bag? Great, it¡¯s decided!


    Then, he suddenly realized just how insufficient his knowledge of history was.


    But when does their revolution start? I¡¯m sure it¡¯s 1800-something. Think, Adam, think! When was it and with whom? Lincoln? No, I think he wasn¡¯t there. In Assassin¡¯s Creed III, it was¡­ John¡­ Charles¡­ Charles Washington? No, George! Oh, idiot! George Washington! How could I forget that guy?!


    At that moment, he really felt like slapping himself in the face. It was such a famous name, even in France, and yet he had forgotten it.


    That¡¯s it! I need to get closer to that guy! But what if it¡¯s 1830 or 1840, what do I do? Wait, I¡¯m twenty-one right now. So in 1768, I¡¯ll be thirty-one, forty-one in 1778, and fifty-one in 1788. Damn, there¡¯s no point! Anyway, I¡¯ll be back in my time long before that.


    The young man shook his head with a slight snort. He crossed his arms over his chest and crossed his legs.


    The French Revolution starts in 1789, that I know! No way I¡¯m still here by then. If I can¡¯t go home at the end of this war, I¡¯ll stay in America to escape the guillotine. I really don¡¯t want to live through that period!


    An embryonic plan started to form in his mind.


    I¡¯ll have to take another nationality. The easiest would be to become English. Ah, that¡¯s funny. Today I¡¯m fighting them, and tomorrow I¡¯ll ask them for asylum. I¡¯ll live in New York, and when the time comes, I¡¯ll side with the revolutionaries! That¡¯s what they were called, right? Whatever. And then¡­ And then¡­ Oh, I know! I¡¯ll buy land! Lots of land! That way, when New York grows, it¡¯ll be worth a fortune, and I can sell it for millions¡ªno, billions of dollars! If not me, then my descendants! Mwahaha!


    A victorious smile formed on his lips, but it quickly froze and then vanished completely.


    Well, that¡¯s if I don¡¯t manage to get back to my time. The goal, for now, is to quickly end this war, return to Europe, go back to Hameln, and get my hands on that damn watch. And as for the method to get back¡­ I¡¯ll figure that out when the time comes.


    Eventually, he fell asleep peacefully, dreaming that he returned home, to his time. Curiously, without being too shocked by it, it was with this body that he returned to the 21st century.


    In his dream, his parents were panicked and struggled to believe him, but after a series of revelations, they finally listened and accepted the reality. Then, he was able to resume his life where he had left off. He even saw himself going to high school in his soldier¡¯s uniform with his trusty musket.


    "AAAAAH!"


    A loud scream suddenly rang out not far away, abruptly waking a large number of exhausted sailors.


    "Ah!"


    "What?!"


    "What¡¯s happening?!"


    "Th-the¡­ The¡­ The beast! It¡¯s on board!"


    "Oh, fool! Hey, it was just a dream."


    "SILENCE!"


    "Oh! QUIETER!"


    "SHUT UP!"


    Still partly lost in his dream, Adam woke up prematurely and watched the sailors stir in the dark, well before dawn. Realizing that one of them had had a nightmare, he laid his head back on the fabric, vowing never to tell scary stories again.


    They really weren¡¯t ready. Too bad, it would¡¯ve been fun to tell them Jaws or A Nightmare on Elm Street.

 Chapter 56: Louisbourg

    Summer.


    For many, it was the most important season, as numerous crops were harvested during this time of year. For politicians and military leaders, however, it was the season of war.


    As His Majesty Louis XV feared, Louisbourg was under attack by the formidable British army, backed by the Royal Navy. This was the second time since the start of the war.


    The previous year, the fortified town had been saved just in time, but this time, the situation looked truly grim.


    The King of England, George II, had sent an impressive force across the vast Atlantic Ocean, led by Major General Jeffery Amherst. He was a talented 41-year-old officer who had fought in the previous war as well as at the Battle of Hastenbeck alongside His Highness, the Duke of Cumberland.


    His mission was clear: capture Louisbourg, then move on to Quebec and Montreal. Without these three cities, all of northern New France would fall under British control, partially freeing their thirteen American colonies from a significant threat.


    This, of course, would allow them to expand further westward.


    For the British, the current situation was intolerable. Their destiny was to grow until they could rival the Spanish Empire. New France was the only obstacle in their path.


    To help him accomplish his mission, Major General Amherst was supported by numerous promising officers. Among them, though not without his flaws, was the brilliant young James Wolfe.


    Wolfe had not been convinced by the general¡¯s plan. Along with the other brigadier generals and Admiral Edward Boscawen, he had worked on a plan to land troops east of Louisbourg to swiftly and efficiently take the town. Unfortunately, this plan had not been adopted by the major general, who decided to land west of the city instead.


    Despite his opposition, James Wolfe did everything in his power to ensure the success of this plan. It went without saying, as it was in the higher and supreme interest of the Crown.


    The siege began with a swift attack from three different directions: the first came from the west via Comorandi¨¨re Bay, led by James Wolfe, Major George Scott, and Fraser¡¯s Highlanders; the second came from Pointe Plate, led by General and Governor of Nova Scotia, Charles Lawrence; and a third came from Pointe Blanche, near the town, led by Brigadier General Edward Whitmore.


    There had been a few skirmishes at sea, but the hostilities truly began on June 8, 1758.


    James Wolfe had landed on the first day with three barges carrying about a hundred sharpshooters. True to his reputation, he was the first to set foot on shore.


    That day, the waves crashed deafeningly against the black rocks, made as slippery as they were sharp by the weather and the relentless ocean. Despite this, encouraged by the boldness of their young commander, his men managed to cling to the rocks and climb them.


    A little further down, things had not gone as well. As not all had yet landed at Anse au Sable, an unbelievable deluge of lead rained down on them.


    The British generals quickly realized that the French were firmly waiting for them with a strong force, and that persisting at that location was futile. It risked becoming their graveyard. They then sought another landing point, choosing unguarded rocks considered inaccessible.


    Just to reach Louisbourg, proud England had paid a heavy toll: nearly four hundred British casualties versus two hundred French. However, all agreed that the first day could have been much worse if the French hadn¡¯t retreated so quickly for fear of being cut off from their withdrawal route to Louisbourg, or if they had waited a little longer before revealing themselves at Anse au Sable.


    There were no further attacks until June 12. The British took advantage of this lull to land a battery of ten mortars during the night of June 9 to 10, allowing them to bombard the town and its small harbor, which was perfect for sheltering a fleet, though incomparable to Brest¡¯s.


    ¡°General! Our scouts have returned from the Royal Battery! The French have abandoned it!¡±


    Major General Amherst, dressed in his fine scarlet uniform trimmed with gold, was inside his tent at that moment, surrounded by his officers. They hastened to locate the battery¡¯s position on an enormous map spread out over a large, dark wooden table belonging to the general.


    ¡°The Royal Battery? Ah yes, that one. The French also call it ¡®the Grand Battery.¡¯ A fitting name. How many guns does it have?¡± asked Charles Lawrence, stroking his freshly shaved chin.


    ¡°About ten, it seems. Maybe a dozen.¡±


    ¡°Well, gentlemen, it¡¯s fortunate our enemies decided to leave it for us. Perhaps we can turn their guns against them?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t dream, General Whitmore,¡± said Wolfe coldly, frowning. ¡°They¡¯ve surely sabotaged them or thrown them into the sea.¡±


    The general remained silent for a moment, studying the map of the region, which was so detailed one could easily believe it had been stolen from the French. Everything was meticulously noted to allow the officers to make the best decisions.


    Louisbourg was built on a sort of rocky promontory. To the north lay the harbor, which could easily be defended.


    Although its entrance was wide, it was very dangerous near the fortified town due to the presence of numerous islands, sandbanks, and rocks. On the central island, Battery Island, they had built a fortification and placed several large-caliber artillery pieces, which were very troublesome.


    To enter the harbor, one had to pass north of this island, the only place where the water was deep enough to navigate without the risk of running aground. But there were so many cannons and mortars there that it was practically suicide.


    Between the guns on Battery Island, the Grand Battery, and those of the few warships entrenched in the harbor, it was impossible to force a passage. That¡¯s why Admiral Edward Boscawen was content to impose a blockade.


    ¡°If the Royal Battery has indeed been abandoned by the French,¡± said Major General Amherst calmly, ¡°we have a fine opportunity to take control of the harbor. Brigadier General Wolfe?¡±


    ¡°Yes, General?¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    "You will take two thousand men and head to the Royal Battery to seize it. See what can be done to repair it. If that''s not possible, I will send you a few cannons."


    "I am at your command!" responded the young man with the sickly face and hair redder than a pure-blooded Scot.


    "I¡¯m not finished, the commander said, noticing the young officer already about to leave. You will then go to the lighthouse, across from Louisbourg, and establish a strong battery there. I want that port in our hands as quickly as possible. Your primary targets will be the warships in the harbor. Do you think you can do it, sir?"


    "Yes, General! Two thousand men will be more than enough!"


    Jeffery Amherst couldn¡¯t help but harbor some doubts. Despite his enthusiasm, James Wolfe was still quite young, only thirty-one years old. It was almost out of necessity that he had been given his rank of brigadier general. He knew well that Minister William Pitt greatly appreciated his impetuous temperament.


    Had it been up to him, Amherst would have chosen someone more experienced.


    "Very well. In that case, you may go."


    James Wolfe stiffly saluted and exited the large white tent of the general, greeted by a dazzling sun.


    A wide, fox-like grin spread across his narrow face.


    This will be easy, the young man thought. That must be why the general entrusted me with this mission. He knows I can¡¯t fail. If the French abandoned that beautiful battery facing the entrance to the port, it means they have no intention of defending it.


    The young Wolfe adjusted his blood-red coat and his black tricorn hat before turning toward the besieged town. His smile subtly changed. Rather than a fox¡¯s grin, one might now see the smile of a fierce wolf, full of impatience, watching with amusement as a prey slowly succumbed.


    This town is already lost. No matter how hard they fight, there¡¯s nothing they can do to save it. The defenders are only retreating, but soon enough, they¡¯ll have nowhere left to run. In a way, I¡¯m a bit disappointed. I expected more from them.


    As he expected, he encountered no resistance, and the Royal Battery fell into their hands. Unfortunately, the cannons there were completely unusable. A bit later, the lighthouse too came under their control.


    Two days later, on June 14th, a violent encounter occurred¡ªtoo large to be called a skirmish, yet too small to be called a battle. Unfortunately for Wolfe, he was not involved as he was stationed on the wrong side of the port.


    He was simply informed that several French officers had been wounded, one of them severely. To Wolfe, this was a sign that the French had realized that doing nothing was deciding to die in silence. However, in his opinion, it was still a futile effort.


    The British, though not as familiar with the area as the French, had a significant advantage over them¡ªtime.


    They could blockade the besieged for weeks, bombarding them without being disturbed. Since their arrival, the British had comfortably settled in the region and taken control.


    The day had thus passed peacefully on his side, and that evening, a thick fog descended around Louisbourg. It quickly became so dense that one couldn¡¯t see anything just a few steps ahead.


    "Stay vigilant!" he ordered his men. "Increase the patrols and keep your eyes wide open! The French might use this to launch an attack!"


    "At your command!"


    "I want five extra men stationed to the west and just as many to the north. Make sure the lanterns are always lit!"


    James Wolfe had good reason to fear a night attack, especially with such fog. The reason was simple: he wouldn¡¯t have hesitated to use these two elements to strike his enemy¡¯s throat by surprise.


    However, he made a slight mistake.


    While the French did take advantage of the fog, it wasn¡¯t to attack the besieging army but to slip through its grasp and call for reinforcements.


    In the darkest hour, L¡¯Ar¨¦thuse, a humble frigate, sneaked silently between the British ships without making a sound and managed to escape from Louisbourg¡¯s harbor. It wasn¡¯t the first time the besieged had attempted to flee, but unlike previous attempts, this time, the conditions were perfect.


    Furious, James Wolfe erupted with anger and frustration at dawn when he realized one of his prey had escaped. Unfortunately, it was far too late to have any regrets.


    The next two days were eerily quiet.


    You could feel a tension in the air, like the calm before a storm. Each army was preparing for a fierce battle.


    A little after dawn on June 16th, the situation in this remote corner of the globe changed entirely.


    "Attention! French ships approaching!" shouted a young English sailor at the top of the HMS Centurion¡¯s mast.


    "What?! How many are there?!"


    "T-twenty ships of the line and many armed flutes and barges, Captain! They¡¯re coming from the northeast!


    Immediately, bells rang aboard all of Admiral Boscawen¡¯s ships and soon throughout Louisbourg. Some sounded urgent, while others rang joyfully."


    ***


    It didn¡¯t take long for the great news to reach the officers aboard the French ships trapped in Louisbourg¡¯s harbor. There were six warships and ten frigates stationed there.


    "Raise the anchor! This is our moment! Hoist the sails, open all the gunports, and load those damn cannons!"


    "Vengeance!"


    "Death to the English!"


    With great agility, the sailors climbed into the rigging and got to work. Meanwhile, the gunners opened the gunports one by one, revealing the menacing muzzles of the formidable French cannons.


    "Load those cannons, and faster! Everyone to their stations!"


    On the deck of each ship, the sails unfurled majestically and billowed in the wind. Slowly, they began to gain speed and moved into formation.


    All of these ships then surged out of the harbor.


    They seemed so proud and joyful to be leaving their shelter at that moment! With the French ships that had just arrived, they now had more than enough to crush the few enemy vessels blockading the port.


    "Captain, where are all these ships coming from?"


    "Who cares! They¡¯re our comrades! More sail! Ahah! Today, the fish will feast on Englishmen!"


    "Poor bastards, hehe!"


    ***


    The new arrivals, led by the Foudroyant, sped ahead with a favorable wind at their backs.


    The English ships forming Vice Admiral Hardy¡¯s division, positioned to isolate Louisbourg and attack the vessels trapped there, suddenly found themselves caught between two enemies.


    ¡°Damn it! Do something! Tack the ship! Quickly!¡± cried the commander of the HMS Centurion, turning sharply to his subordinates.


    The HMS Centurion, a fifty-four-gun ship, was the first to come under fire.


    BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM


    The line led by the Foudroyant presented its cannons to the enemy while the Com¨¨te did the same from the entrance of the port.


    An infernal noise erupted, accompanied by the powerful stench of burning powder that lingered around the ships like an acrid fog. Through the thick gray smoke, faint orange flashes could be seen where the enemy¡¯s cannons fired.


    The air trembled, the wood creaked, the crew bled, and the ropes snapped in a strange harmony amidst thousands of flying splinters.


    The frigate Com¨¨te and its twenty-four guns didn¡¯t do much damage to the hull of the HMS Centurion, but one of its cannonballs struck a mast, weakening it significantly. It seemed to stay up by sheer miracle.


    The cannonball had bounced off the solid wood and veered in a strange direction, punching a clean hole through the mainsail.


    The Foudroyant then turned toward the HMS Vanguard, a superb seventy-gun ship, and unleashed a devastating broadside, this time causing significant damage and killing many sailors aboard, including its captain, Mr. Gramon, whose head was cleanly blown off.


    The Oc¨¦an, following behind, finished it off with a perfect broadside. In less than an hour, the few ships in the British vice-admiral''s squadron were either heavily damaged or sunk.


    All that remained of this squadron was Vice Admiral Hardy¡¯s flagship, the imposing HMS Royal William, which had stayed slightly further back.


    The rest of the British fleet, though large, was far off to the west, sheltered in Gabarus Bay.

 Chapter 57: The Battle Of Gabarus Bay (1)

    The powerful squadron of British Admiral Edward Boscawen was stationed in the spacious Gabarus Bay, to the west of Louisbourg. It was positioned about twelve kilometers from the harbor entrance and therefore from the naval battle itself.


    This squadron was considerable, numbering nearly two hundred ships, but most of these¡ªabout three-quarters¡ªwere merely transport vessels. Having fulfilled their mission of bringing Major General Amherst¡¯s army to this point, they were now practically empty.


    It wasn¡¯t only sailors on board, as the fall of Louisbourg had been deemed inevitable. Civilians had also been brought in from the port city of Halifax to begin colonizing the territory. On one of these ships, loud cries echoed, mixed with the wails of children.


    ¡°Waaaah! Waaaah!¡±


    ¡°Hurry! Get us out of here!¡± cried a hoarse old man, his eyes wide as he watched tall columns of smoke rising from Louisbourg''s harbor.


    ¡°We¡¯re all going to die!¡± panicked a woman as round as a balloon, her face contorted in terror.


    ¡°Sir, please, do something! My husband is still over there, at Louisbourg!¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± barked a sailor, clearly about to lose his temper. ¡°Get out of my way! I need to pass!¡±


    ¡°Waaaah! Waaaah!¡±


    ¡°And quiet that kid down, or I¡¯ll throw him overboard!¡±


    ¡°Waaaaaah!¡±


    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine. I-it¡¯ll be alright...¡± murmured the trembling mother, clutching her child wrapped in a thick blanket to her chest, warm tears trickling down her porcelain doll-like face.


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t the anchor raised yet?! Damn it! Faster!¡± an officer shouted from the deck.


    Of those two hundred ships, the admiral could only rely on forty-one warships to face this French fleet, which seemed to be led by a demon.


    From his flagship, Admiral Boscawen, who had already fought through three wars, observed his enemies intently while issuing orders in a clear and powerful voice.


    ¡°We have the advantage in numbers, gentlemen! Move forward! Raise the anchor and unfurl all sails! We must assist the HMS Royal William before it¡¯s too late!¡±


    ¡°Sir! We cannot move forward! Several cargo ships are blocking our way!¡±


    ¡°Order them to move aside quickly! There¡¯s not a minute to lose!¡±


    ¡°Admiral! Our other ships of the line cannot leave the bay for the same reason, and the wind is against us!¡±


    Despite the experience of his sailors and officers, it took considerable time to raise the anchor, unfurl the sails, and form up.


    The flagship, HMS Namur, one of the three three-deck ships in this fine squadron, was positioned in the middle of the large gathering of ships, resembling a flock of sheep at sea.


    It had to navigate through many smaller vessels to reach the battle, and it wasn¡¯t the only one in this situation.


    However, it had to proceed cautiously, as even the slightest collision could sink a cargo ship and drown dozens of innocent civilians.


    ***


    At the same time, aboard the French ships, a delicious meal was anticipated with relish.


    In front of them, the British ships, most of which were still at anchor or unable to maneuver, appeared as fragile as newborns.


    With a strong wind at their backs, they sped forward like birds of prey on a small animal. They seemed to slice through the sea, and at times, they appeared to fly alongside the sea birds dancing and singing around them. Their large square sails were so filled with the north wind that they looked ready to tear.


    ¡°Captain, all our cannons are ready! We await your orders!¡± said a thirty-something officer, with brown hair and jet-black eyes, standing beside the chief gunner, a short, stocky man with a crooked nose.


    ¡°Begin firing as soon as possible with the bow chasers,¡± replied Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville with an eerily calm voice, his eyes gleaming with an icy light.


    ¡°Hehe, at your orders!¡± responded the chief gunner with a predatory grin, echoed by his much younger officer.


    Shortly after, four cannons near the foremast opened fire. The gunners didn¡¯t need to aim, as the targets were numerous and clustered together.


    BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM


    Through his spyglass, the squadron leader discreetly observed his enemies, who were in great difficulty.


    They haven¡¯t formed up yet. This is our chance¡ªthey won¡¯t be able to respond effectively.


    ¡°Keep firing! Let¡¯s take advantage of this opportunity to avenge all our comrades who¡¯ve lost their lives at sea! For the King! For France!¡±


    BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM


    The bow and stern artillery pieces were of small caliber. Even at close range, they couldn¡¯t inflict major damage. However, the psychological effect on those subjected to the bombardment should not be underestimated.


    Even from this distance, the squadron leader could see them panic.


    They look like headless chickens. Good. Very soon, they¡¯ll taste my thirty-six-pounders!


    By comparison, the projectiles currently being fired weighed only eight pounds.


    Moving from the north, the long line, reinforced by the ships previously trapped in Louisbourg¡¯s harbor, slipped through a gap left by the English ships that had begun to move. Chaos reigned among the enemy. All the while, HMS Namur had barely moved.


    As soon as Michel-Ange Duquesne¡¯s ship reached the center of the enemy fleet, he gave the order to fire at will. There were no shortage of targets.


    ¡°Keep course! No mercy!¡±


    When a troop transport ship was in its way, Foudroyant pushed it aside mercilessly. Its cannons roared like fierce lions.


    Below decks, the sweating gunners worked quickly to reload their pieces, ignoring all the surrounding noise. In an instant, these trained men had almost simultaneously prepared their cannons and pushed them forward with all their strength.


    ¡°Ah!¡±


    A bit of coarse, sand-like black powder was poured on top of the cannon where the ¡°touch hole¡± was, and the men stepped back to let through the man holding a long pole tipped with a lit match.


    ¡°Haha! Greetings from France!¡±


    BOOM


    The cannon recoiled violently but not too far, as it was securely fastened with thick ropes.


    Otherwise, it would have crashed to the other side of the ship, crushing the gunners standing behind it.


    It was hard to describe the chaos in which the English fleet found itself. It took them some time to regain their composure and return fire.


    Little by little, the English defense improved, and some shots began to cause damage aboard Foudroyant.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ***


    A bit farther away, aboard Monsieur de Roquefeuille¡¯s ship, laughter erupted as the English suffered, unable to retaliate effectively.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± the captain of Hector said with dignity, ¡°our English friends are regaining their wits. It would be a shame to let them.¡±


    ¡°Captain? Do you want us to leave the line?¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Let¡¯s form a second column.¡±


    A shark-like grin appeared on the captain¡¯s face, full of determination.


    ¡°Turn to port! Leave the line, Mister Clermont!¡±


    ¡°At your orders, Captain!¡±


    From above, seagulls watched without understanding as a French ship veered left, soon followed by others.


    In an instant, a large group of ships flying the British flag with pride found themselves surrounded.


    Under immense physical and psychological pressure, a good number of British ships tried to flee the fight, pulling away from the deadly trap closing in on the unlucky vessels.


    ***


    Not far from there, in the main line, Oc¨¦an was busy firing on all the ships around it. Shrouded in a thick, gray fog filled with gunpowder residue, it resembled a ghost ship.


    Its cannons, now scorching hot from continuous firing, spewed iron balls almost without interruption, destroying everything in their path.


    From the upper deck, even though the noise was deafening, one could hear the cries of civilians calling for help if they listened closely enough. Several English ships were already sinking, slowly descending into the still-cold waters of the Atlantic.


    Some had even caught fire on the calm sea, as blue as the sky dotted with a few pure white clouds.


    Each shot made Oc¨¦an tremble.


    Inside the ship, Adam was doing his best to help in this massive battle, so different from the one at Ushant. As he helped reload his cannon, a beauty weighing nearly two thousand kilos mounted on an elm carriage of over three hundred fifty kilos, he cheered on his comrades with all his might.


    During these two months at sea, he had spent much time repeating these tasks.


    Since their departure from Brest, Marshal-Duke of Richelieu¡¯s soldiers had grown quite familiar with these terrible weapons.


    ¡°Fire at will! Aim for the rudder, the waterline, the gunports, and the masts if you can!¡±


    BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM


    One by one, the eighty cannons of this gigantic ship fired upon the enemies of the King of France.


    The soldiers wore neither their coats nor their red-and-gold jackets, as it was too hot on the lower deck. Besides, the garments would have only gotten in their way.


    ¡°Hahaha! They don¡¯t stand a chance!¡±


    ¡°Focus!¡± the lieutenant reminded one of his men, who had stuck his head out of the gunport to observe the enemy ship across from them, now riddled with holes.


    Good! All that training hasn¡¯t been for nothing. I¡¯m glad I¡¯m not in the rigging! I would have been useless!


    Out of the corner of his eye, through the thick smoke gently hovering around the warship, Adam glimpsed the ghostly silhouette of a small frigate with a battered hull. Yet, it still seemed seaworthy.


    That¡¯s because the hulls are designed to withstand heavy impacts! Damn! Their weaknesses are elsewhere!


    Adam was right.


    The rudder, for instance, was as fragile as it was crucial for navigation. Without it, the helmsman wouldn¡¯t be able to avoid obstacles or position the ship to make the best use of the wind. Nor could he position the broadside and its cannons toward the enemy. In other words, the ship would become a floating target.


    By destroying the masts, which the French traditionally aimed to do, it was possible to significantly slow a ship down or even immobilize it, making it easy to slip behind and annihilate it from the rear, unless one aimed to board it.


    As for the gunports, by definition, they were openings in the hull allowing the gunners to fire.


    Adam identified these openings as priority targets.


    ¡°Target the mouth of the cannons, Mister Clerc. You can do it!¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lieutenant!¡±


    The sergeant placed his eye close to the smoking cannon to estimate the shot¡¯s trajectory and signaled that the cannon was properly aligned.


    The enemy ship was so close that one could see the faces of the opposing gunners, filled with both hatred and fear.


    When the position was right, Adam approached with a long tool called a slow match, equipped with a fuse at its tip, and ignited the powder on the touch hole. In an instant, the flame traveled into the cannon.


    Under the pressure of the fire within the long tube¡ªabout two and a half meters¡ªthe shot was launched at high speed, hurtling straight toward the mouth of the English cannon.


    The cannon recoiled violently, narrowly missing Sergeant Clerc¡¯s foot. A massive cloud of smoke immediately formed in front of them, blocking their view of the outcome. There was an eerie silence, and then a voice rose from the group.


    ¡°The enemy cannon has been destroyed! We got it!¡±


    Really?! Hahaha! Yes!


    Adam restrained himself from jumping for joy, allowing only a small, satisfied smile.


    Not only had the cannon been destroyed, but significant damage had been inflicted aboard the ship. The enemy cannon had been suddenly thrown backward, violently spun, and killed several men nearby. The shot had then ricocheted off the ship¡¯s frame, sending countless wooden splinters flying in all directions.


    Several powder monkeys and gunners caught in the path of the splinters died without even seeing the danger coming.


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°Hurrah!¡±


    ¡°Well done, Sergeant! Let¡¯s keep it up, men!¡±


    ¡°If this keeps up, we¡¯ll annihilate their fleet!¡±


    ¡°Hahaha!¡±


    Morale was high on the ship, as similar damage had been done to the enemy from the other gun batteries. Victory seemed near.


    But that changed when an English shot struck the quarterdeck, shattering a wooden railing, one of its pieces¡ªabout the size of a hand¡ªlodging itself in the chest of Captain Louis Charles du Chaffault de Besn¨¦.


    ¡°The captain has been hit!¡±


    Damn it! Adam cursed inwardly, turning sharply toward the sailor who had just appeared. The scary guy is dead?!


    ¡°Who... cough, cough, who¡¯s in command?!¡± Captain Gilbert, exhausted by his illness yet still at his post, barked through a dry coughing fit.


    ¡°Lieutenant Louis Lenoir, Captain! He¡¯s requesting to see you!¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m coming, cough cough! Lieutenant Boucher, I¡¯m leaving the company in your hands for a moment. Cough!¡±


    ¡°Understood!¡± Adam replied as he noticed a young powder monkey, no older than fifteen, approaching with a new charge of powder.


    ***


    The deck was in disarray, littered with debris and stained with patches of blood in places. Captain Gilbert, as pale as the sails, spotted a large scarlet puddle where the captain had collapsed.


    ¡°C-Captain Gilbert!¡± Louis Lenoir called from his post, trying to hide the fact that his entire body was trembling. ¡°The captain is severely injured and has been taken to the surgeon! I¡¯m supposed to take command, but¡­ I don¡¯t know what to do! Normally, the second-in-command would take over, but he¡¯s on another ship!¡±


    ¡°Cough cough, I¡­ I know, I know. So, cough, first thing, calm down, kid. It¡¯s okay. You¡¯re not alone. We¡¯re all with you, got it? Right, for now, just focus on following the ship ahead of you. Foudroyant is leading the way; all we need to do is follow. Look.¡±


    ¡°Y-yes!¡± replied Ship Lieutenant Lenoir, a bit calmer now that there was someone more experienced by his side, even if he wasn¡¯t a sailor.


    Just as the young man had had many conversations with Lieutenant Fran?ois Boucher, he had also had numerous interesting discussions with his captain, Armand Gilbert. He held him in high regard and had been fascinated by his stories of war in Europe.


    ¡°Alright, now look around, cough cough, and if you have trouble seeing, use the tools at your disposal. What do you see?¡±


    ¡°P-plenty of ships, everywhere. The one to port is in very bad shape, and several of its cannons aren¡¯t firing anymore.¡±


    ¡°Good. The next ship will finish the job. On the other side, what do you see?¡±


    ¡°That ship, Borcas, it¡¯s trying to tack to block our path and is aiming at us with its cannons.¡±


    ¡°What can you do to stop it?¡±


    ¡°I-I could maybe slip in front of the damaged ship to port, fire, and join the other column?¡±


    ¡°That sounds like a good plan. Let¡¯s do that. Give your orders now.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t worry, cough cough cough, don¡¯t worry if they try to board us. We¡¯ll have no trouble crushing them. I¡¯ve trained my men well.¡±


    Reassured, the young man regained confidence and gave a long series of orders, which the sailors obeyed without hesitation.


    With Oc¨¦an upwind, they managed to complete the maneuver before Borcas, which took a powerful broadside to the bow. Its figurehead was shattered, and several major leaks appeared. Additionally, due to the height difference between the two ships, several shots devastated the upper deck. One of the cannonballs smashed the mat de misaine, or the mat de petit perroquet, which fell backward, damaging the mainmast.


    That ship was no longer a threat.


    Oc¨¦an then threaded its way between enemy and allied ships, skillfully slipping between C¨¦l¨¨bre and Bienfaisant, two sixty-four-gun ships that had been trapped in Louisbourg harbor just the day before.


    The gunners no longer had to worry, at least for the moment, about any threat to port. All their enemies were to starboard. With cannons and muskets, everyone aboard Oc¨¦an fired upon HMS Bedford, a large sixty-four-gun ship that had been rebuilt in 1741.


    It had already suffered from attacks by C¨¦l¨¨bre and Hector, and though its hull showed numerous signs of weakness, few cannonballs had managed to pierce its sturdy wood.


    HMS Bedford opened fire almost simultaneously with Oc¨¦an, and when the smoke cleared, an eerie silence fell.


    No one fired, no one spoke. Everyone seemed to be anxiously waiting for the smoke to clear.


    Finally, several unsettling sounds echoed through the air, though it was impossible to pinpoint their exact source. Creaking and threatening groans rang out in the deathly quiet, soon followed by a loud crash.


    When the smoke finally cleared, they saw that HMS Bedford¡¯s mainmast had fallen, dragging the mizzenmast down with it from the ship¡¯s stern.


    Once again, cheers erupted aboard the ship.


    ¡°Sir! The English ships are retreating!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re fleeing!¡±


    ¡°Hooray!¡±


    The sailors began to celebrate their victory.


    But it was too soon to declare triumph, for Admiral Boscawen hadn¡¯t given up yet.


    Indeed, from the deck of every French ship, the English ships could be seen heading out of the bay, forming a battle line.


    ¡°Watch out! They¡¯re coming back!¡±

 Chapter 58: The Battle Of Gabarus Bay (2)

    When Admiral Boscawen¡¯s warships had passed the islet of Grande Comorandi¨¨re at the southern tip of Gabarus Bay, he gave the order for Her Majesty¡¯s fastest ships to overtake him and form a line ahead. They were to head south and then loop back toward the enemy in order to confront them in more favorable conditions.


    All of this did not go unnoticed by the French officers and common sailors.


    But instead of feeling worried, they all felt a violent urge to fight to the death against this enemy who claimed to be the master of the seas and oceans.


    In the bay, amid broken masts and tattered flags, several tall columns of black smoke rose into the sky.


    Some ships were sinking into the waters. Meanwhile, the sailors and civilians who had managed to throw themselves into the sea were trying to climb onto something, anything, to escape death.


    Many were not so fortunate and disappeared with their ship or into the waves, dragged into the depths by the weight of their clothes.


    The French sailors could have rescued them, sent out boats, but a battle was ongoing, and their kingdoms were at war. They might have felt some sympathy for them, but in the end, they were still enemies.


    In times of war, everyone knew, people died¡ªnot just soldiers. It was inevitable.


    From their point of view, these people should not hold it against them. If they had any grievances, they could only blame fate and their officers, who had the brilliant idea of bringing them all here, into French waters¡ªtheir waters.


    Aymar Joseph de Roquefeuille, despite his stern demeanor, was not a cruel man devoid of feeling. How could he completely ignore those screams and cries for help? It was all the more difficult because, unlike his crew, he spoke English¡ªa natural thing, given that he had received a good education.


    He could understand all those cries and pleas for help.


    The count grimaced and looked away.


    He had seen a woman who could have been his own. She was holding a child in one arm, and with her free arm, she was struggling to stay afloat by clinging to a broken yardarm.


    ¡°Hold your course, Mr. Clermont. Head toward those ships,¡± he said as calmly as possible.


    ¡°At your command,¡± the helmsman replied in an almost somber tone.


    Through his spyglass, he looked off into the distance, as if trying to think of something other than those cries.


    He saw the HMS Namur, all its sails full, but being overtaken by its more agile and much faster allies.


    Hmm, they¡¯ve gained a good lead and are already starting to turn around. And they¡¯re adopting a classic line-ahead formation. They want a fair fight.


    He quickly glanced around and located his allies.


    We have enough ships, but¡­ I¡¯m not sure we can win. After all, this is the Royal Navy.


    While the officers of the Count de Roquefeuille were discussing the best tactic to adopt, a crazy idea began to take root in his mind.


    Seeing them lined up like that, Aymar Joseph de Roquefeuille thought about taking the strategy they had implemented at Ouessant and in this bay even further.


    If it works¡­


    ¡°Gentlemen, I have an idea that could get us all killed¡ªor worse, earn us the wrath of His Majesty¡ªbut if it works, it could revolutionize naval strategy and secure our place in the history books. Are you with me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±


    ¡°Naturally, we are at your command!¡±


    ¡°Give your orders!¡±


    Since the events at Ouessant, the captain of the Hector had gained a solid reputation aboard his ship and throughout the squadron. His officers trusted him, and none opposed the plan, even though they didn¡¯t yet know it.


    ¡°Thank you for your trust. My notebook, if you please. Here are the flags you will raise.¡±


    The officers obeyed the orders without question, and following the secret instructions in a small notebook, they raised the correct flags to communicate with the other ships.


    The Hector then surged forward, soon followed by the rest of Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s squadron.


    ***


    Aboard the Foudroyant, the flags raised above the Hector were quickly interpreted.


    I see, thought Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville. But isn¡¯t it a bit premature?


    ¡°Sir,¡± said the second officer, a seasoned man with a face covered in wrinkles and a large brown star-shaped birthmark on his forehead, ¡°isn¡¯t this too risky?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s risky, yes. But a conventional battle would cost us many men and take too much time. Hmm, I don¡¯t know why, but I feel like giving him a chance. Raise the flags. Tell all ships to follow the Hector.¡±


    ¡°At your command!¡±


    ***


    Count de Roquefeuille, standing at the stern of his ship, smiled as the squadron leader, Duquesne de Menneville¡ªfifteen years his senior¡ªaccepted his audacious plan.


    When he was just born, the very young Duquesne de Menneville had already been on his first campaign under his father. To be approved by such a man was an honor.


    ¡°Perfect. Mr. Clairmont, don¡¯t change a thing. Take us straight into the enemy!¡±


    ¡°M-mister.¡±


    In the mouth of the old helmsman, close to fifty, it sounded like a question. Nonetheless, he obeyed in silence and did not alter his course.


    Quickly, the French line almost came into direct contact with the English line, crossing perpendicularly.


    ***If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    When the British admiral saw that those damned French had finally decided to face him in a fair fight, he initially nodded in satisfaction.


    He was confident in his chances of victory, as each of his men was rigorously trained. There was no doubt in his mind that the glorious Royal Navy would emerge victorious, with one English gunner being worth two French ones. Moreover, he had excellent ships with him. The finest was, of course, his flagship, the magnificent HMS Namur, but there was also the formidable HMS Princess Amelia.


    Its only flaw, however, was its slowness.


    Before long, he found himself at the rear of the line.


    No matter. In the end, we shall triumph, and there will be nothing left of this squadron but broken planks. The survivors will be added to our fleet!


    He adjusted his orders accordingly so that the two lines could meet. The first ship changed course, as if trying to return to the open sea, and the others followed.


    ¡°Should we open fire, Admiral?¡±


    ¡°No, that wouldn¡¯t be honorable. Look, their lead ship hasn¡¯t fired its bow chasers. Wait for my orders.¡±


    ¡°As you wish, sir.¡±


    Logically, the lead French ship should begin to slow down to turn and align with Admiral Boscawen¡¯s line, but the more time passed, the more he began to doubt.


    Why isn¡¯t it turning?! Surely, he wouldn¡¯t dare break my line, would he?


    After over a century of tradition, it was hard to adapt to such a change in behavior. It was like facing an entirely new opponent.


    Oh no!


    ¡°Watch out! They¡¯re trying to break the line!¡±


    In this position, the English ships could do almost nothing.


    ***


    The Hector charged with force between the HMS Prince of Orange and the HMS Somerset, and as soon as it was precisely between the two enemy ships, it unleashed all its cannons.


    The HMS Prince of Orange attempted to turn to return fire, but its rudder was far too small to allow such a maneuver in such a short time. The Hector, however, managed to strike its bow and part of its left side. On the other side, the same happened with the HMS Somerset, whose rudder was reduced to splinters and whose stern was devastated.


    ¡°Magnificent broadside, gentlemen! Reload quickly!¡± ordered the count, his face transformed by the excitement of battle.


    After passing through the enemy fleet, the Hector turned to port to move away from the coast and its rocks.


    It then sailed up the British line on the right, knowing the enemy had not opened their gun ports on that side.


    It was a perfect situation for the French captain. In less than two minutes, the ship had reloaded all the port-side cannons.


    ¡°Sir, all guns are ready!¡±


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM


    The unfortunate HMS Somerset was just beginning to open its gun ports when, from stern to bow, thirty-seven cannons fired. A shower of wood, rigging, men, and equipment fell into the sea from the impact.


    The strike was so violent that the ship began to list to port, throwing off the balance of all aboard.


    Amidst the smoke, the French ship continued on its course as if eager to give way to the next ship in line and attack the British ship ahead of the HMS Somerset.


    When it was the C¨¦l¨¨bre''s turn to engage, the British line was largely in disarray.


    The HMS Prince of Orange now presented its side, which had not suffered much in the previous exchange. The French ship unleashed such a ferocious broadside that those aboard thought these contemptible Frenchmen were seeking revenge for the past week trapped in the port of Louisbourg.


    The HMS Somerset, now without its rudder, was a perfect target for the gunners. Unfortunately, it was too late for the Hector to deliver a second broadside.


    As he kept a close eye on the broken British line, Count de Roquefeuille observed what was happening behind him.


    Good, the officer sighed deeply in relief. So far, so good. The C¨¦l¨¨bre is turning to port, moving away from that big ship. Hmm, sixty-four guns, perhaps? he mused as he assessed the HMS Prince of Orange, which in reality had seventy guns.


    His gaze shifted to the next ship, the Oc¨¦an.


    It must have at least ten more guns than the other. That¡¯s good. I¡¯m glad we have that one with us.


    He then saw the Oc¨¦an take position and smiled as he watched it fire an elegant broadside against the HMS Prince of Orange.


    ***


    The Oc¨¦an was not just facing one, but two ships in reality, as the HMS Sunderland, which was positioned behind the HMS Prince of Orange, had caught up and begun to overtake it.


    Nevertheless, due to the evasive maneuvers made by these two ships, one was partially obscured by the other, so only a portion of the second ship¡¯s cannons could reach the French vessel.


    ¡°Fire!¡± ordered the master gunner.


    BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM


    To starboard, they fired on the HMS Prince of Orange and to port on the vanguard of Admiral Boscawen¡¯s fleet, which could not respond and was still trying to understand what was happening. The British admiral no longer knew what to do: maintain the line, split the formation, or make a new loop?


    The distance was still more than enough to cause serious damage aboard their ships.


    Adam, sweating from head to toe, stepped aside to let his comrades work. There were enough of them that each had a role to play. Out of curiosity, he glanced outside the ship, risking a peek through the gun port.


    It¡¯s so bright out there! Damn! I can barely see a thing! It feels like I¡¯m blind!


    After a moment of adjusting, he managed to see the hull of a massive enemy ship that was every bit as impressive as the Oc¨¦an. It was yellow and black with many golden decorations.


    The sea, being quite calm, perfectly reflected this ship in waters so deep blue one could easily believe they were in the Caribbean or the Mediterranean. However, many pieces of floating wood, peacefully drifting about, spoiled the view somewhat.


    Wow! The view from the main mast must be incredible! But there¡¯s no way I¡¯m climbing up there!


    While a few cannonballs ended their journey in the water, most reached their massive target.


    The HMS Lancaster was thus targeted. Meanwhile, the results were rather modest against the HMS Sunderland, which only had its stern exposed. The most impressive hits were once again on the HMS Prince of Orange.


    BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM


    Another shower of debris rained down on the calm waters of Gabarus Bay.


    The English line was already in bad shape, but it worsened when the French squadron decided to break through the British line at a second point, just as Count de Roquefeuille had proposed moments before the clash.


    The count¡¯s goal was to surround as many ships as possible and crush them under their fire, just as they had done earlier in the bay.


    ***


    The Juste, commanded by the Allouarn brothers, was the first to leave the line and form a new one. The formation was so chaotic that there was no shortage of targets.


    Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn pointed out a large gap between the British ships.


    ¡°Here!¡±


    Thick black smoke was billowing from the HMS Somerset, which was now doomed, so the Juste did not linger there. It sailed up the English line and positioned itself to attack the frigate HMS Shannon.


    ¡°Take cover!¡±


    Immediately, all the sailors on the deck of the Juste ducked, hoping that death would not come for them this time.


    The Duke of Richelieu did the same alongside the Allouarn brothers at the stern of the ship.


    Because their ship was coming head-on, as if trying to ram the HMS Shannon, the broadside was not very effective. Saint-Allouarn¡¯s ship silently endured the enemy¡¯s fire, and as soon as it passed behind the frigate, it turned to expose its side bristling with cannons.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the seventy-four-gun ship to overpower the frigate, which only had about twenty guns.


    A good broadside caused the deaths of many sailors.


    ¡°The enemy is on fire!¡±


    ¡°Hooray!¡±


    The fire that had started aboard the HMS Shannon, initially modest, quickly became uncontrollable. Soon, it spread to the sails, completely depriving the ship of its ability to maneuver. It could now only drift with the currents and be captured if the French won this battle. Of course, that was if it didn¡¯t sink first.


    ¡°Well done!¡± Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn congratulated his crew. ¡°Rosmadec, after the battle, double rations of wine for everyone!¡±


    ¡°Haha! Aye aye, captain!¡±


    The Juste continued its course and arrived alongside the HMS Princess Amelia, which had drifted out of the line, just as the Oc¨¦an arrived.


    This was an enormous three-deck, eighty-gun ship requiring several hundred men aboard.


    Fortunately for the Oc¨¦an, they were in the same class of ships. However, the British gunners aboard the Princess Amelia were much better than those aboard the French ship. Thanks to rigorous training, they could fire almost two shots for every one their adversaries fired!


    The presence of the Juste somewhat rebalanced the forces.


    ¡°They¡¯re launching grappling hooks!¡±


    ¡°Prepare to repel boarders!¡±

 Chapter 59: The Battle Of Gabarus Bay (3)

    "Prepare for battle! To arms!"


    Though the cannons had not yet fallen silent, the crew of the Oc¨¦an was already bracing for the next phase of the battle, which promised to be particularly violent in this area.


    The air had grown heavier, and sailors were running in every direction under Adam''s watchful eyes. Heavy crates were quickly brought up and unlocked, and as soon as they were opened, the young lieutenant realized they were about to distribute weapons to the entire crew. These crates were filled with boarding sabers, pistols, and small axes.


    ¡°Grab some weapons, come on! Don¡¯t just stand there! You, take this!¡±


    The boatswain and the sergeant of the Oc¨¦an, the man in charge of the marines, swiftly handed out weapons to everyone without taking the time for any checks.


    The soldiers of Marshal-Duke Richelieu, however, did not need these weapons, as they already had their own.


    ¡°Put on your gear and grab your muskets! Doesn¡¯t matter if your coats aren¡¯t buttoned! As soon as you¡¯re armed, head to the deck!¡±


    Adam, jostled around by his fellow sailors and soldiers, felt a cold bead of sweat run down his spine. Though it was sweltering here, his brain was telling him he was cold.


    As soon as the word "boarding" had been uttered, countless epic scenes from movies, TV shows, and video games flooded his mind. Courage was often glorified in such moments, but after nearly a year in this century, he knew it couldn''t possibly be that glorious.


    ¡°Oh shit! We¡¯re¡­ we¡¯re really going to do this?!¡±


    Alongside his comrades, he nervously put on his jacket and coat without bothering to button them, then jammed his tricorne firmly onto his head. Some of the others didn¡¯t go as far as he did; they merely grabbed a weapon and hurried up to repel the enemy.


    Fuck, my hands are shaking like crazy!


    He punched the side of the ship near the open gunport and noticed that his hands had stopped trembling.


    Good! That''s better!


    He then reached for a modest storage area and grabbed his weapons.


    I can¡¯t believe it¡­ My first boarding!


    Unlike when he was just a regular soldier, Adam no longer had a musket but a sword and a pistol. The same went for all higher-ranking officers. In both cases, his weapons were second-hand and of average, if not subpar, quality.


    Before embarking for Brest, like with his clothes, he had acted in a hurry, which had cost him dearly.


    With a firm hand, he gripped the hilt of his sword, which was incomparable to the ones carried by a count, duke, or prince. This would be the first time he used them in battle.


    The sword was very plain, with no decoration. To protect his hand, there was only a mostly flat piece between the handle and the blade, and a curved bar that extended from there to the end of the nut-shaped pommel. The grip, or fus¨¦e, was quite narrow and uncomfortable, simply wrapped in a long brown cord.


    The steel blade was equally simple and seemed to have served more than one person. It even had a few minor nicks, fortunately small, near the center of both edges.


    Quite broad at the base, it seemed sturdy, which was why he had bought it. The others that had been offered were either too expensive or looked too fragile.


    The entire weapon was a little less than a meter long, with the blade itself roughly seventy centimeters.


    It¡¯ll¡­ it¡¯ll be fine¡­ Yeah, it¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s just like a regular battle, but on a ship.


    He took his short but hefty flintlock pistol and tucked it into his belt like a pirate. At that moment, he regretted not having a mirror to admire himself in.


    I think I¡¯ve got everything. Let¡¯s go!


    Adam circled around his still-hot, smoking cannon and took his place in the line to reach the upper deck. Everyone was heading into battle, even the coq, the cook, armed with a long knife that must have been at least twenty centimeters long.


    The wooden stairs shook violently under the feet of the entire crew. It felt like there was an earthquake.


    Above him, he could hear countless shouts and gunfire.


    Shit, has the boarding already started?!


    ¡°Cough cough, are you alright, Lieutenant Boucher?¡±


    ¡°Captain!¡± Adam jumped as soon as he emerged from the lower deck. ¡°I should be asking you that! You¡¯re in no condition to fight!¡±


    Captain Gilbert didn¡¯t seem to be recovering, despite the weeks since he had caught a violent cold during their voyage through the terrible storm they had endured. He coughed constantly, sometimes so much it seemed he¡¯d cough up his lungs.


    More than once, Adam had seen him spit blood.


    ¡°As long as I can stand,¡± the officer replied with a weak smile, ¡°I¡¯ll continue to fulfill my duties as captain. Cough cough.¡±


    Despite his doubts, Adam said nothing. He simply stared in silence at his superior, whose face looked alarming and whose eyes were bloodshot.


    ¡°Is your weapon loaded?¡± Gilbert asked, nodding toward Adam¡¯s pistol.


    ¡°Y-yes!¡±


    ¡°Good. Then let¡¯s go give those damned English a good thrashing.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re gonna take them down, Assassin¡¯s Creed Black Flag style!¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Captain Gilbert looked at his lieutenant, who was brimming with strange determination, utterly confused as Adam drew his sword.


    ¡°If you say so, kid.¡±


    In turn, he drew his sword and pistol.


    The English had managed to board their ship and were fighting fiercely to secure a passage for their comrades.


    While the soldiers wore their traditional red uniforms, making them easily identifiable, the sailors wore ordinary clothes. There was nothing to mark them as enemies.


    Armed like them with sabers, muskets, knives, axes, and pistols, they injured and killed everyone in their path.


    ¡°Forward! Kill them all!¡±


    The noise was terrible, and the fighting was frightening, even for Adam, who had been through hell in Prussia, Saxony, and Hanover. There was no order, no discipline, no volleys here.


    People were just fighting to kill or avoid being killed.


    ¡°Aaaah!¡±


    To muster courage, he let out a primal scream and charged at an enemy soldier who had just discharged his weapon at a comrade.


    The Englishman, his face contorted with the rage to survive, only saw his attacker at the last moment as Adam raised his sword high. By reflex, he lifted his weapon to defend himself and successfully parried the blow.


    Adam could have easily used his pistol to shoot him, but he only had one shot, so he decided to save it for later, in case he was in grave danger.


    ¡°Die!¡± spat the soldier in English, with an accent so thick only an Englishman could recognize it.


    ¡°I will not die today!¡± Adam replied in the same language, his accent terrible, using his meager knowledge of a language taught to young Frenchmen since elementary school.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Adam used his left hand, the one holding the pistol, to strike the Englishman in the face and drove his sword deep into the man¡¯s chest.


    Huh?


    He was surprised at how easily his blade pierced the man¡¯s body, and soon they were almost in each other¡¯s arms. He could feel the man¡¯s breath near his ear and saw the tip of his sword protruding from his back.


    ¡°Damn!¡±


    Adam quickly stepped back, gripping the hilt of his sword, which came out just as easily. He watched as the soldier fell to his knees before collapsing onto the debris-strewn deck. The man was already dead.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there, kid! You¡¯ve got to fight! Don¡¯t stop!¡± shouted Michel Renier next to him, holding an axe covered in blood.


    The tall sailor, shirtless to show off all his tattoos, dodged a saber blow and struck a nearby enemy in the face. His axe had no trouble sinking into the enemy''s flesh, and the man collapsed immediately.


    Unfortunately, Renier couldn¡¯t avoid a musket shot fired from the HMS Princess Amelia. He was shot in the heart, and the brave sailor fell into a large pool of blood.


    ¡°Michel!¡±


    Disoriented by the clash of weapons, the shouts, and the smoke, Adam had no time to mourn his comrade as a tall, slender man attacked him with a boarding saber.


    Much thicker than his own sword, the blade of the saber looked very sturdy, built for combat. The hilt wrapped securely around the hand of its wielder.


    ¡°Raaaah!¡±


    Luckily, this man didn¡¯t seem much more experienced with the weapon than Adam was with his own. His movements, though quick, were wide and left plenty of openings.


    Keeping a reasonable distance between them, Adam patiently waited for the English sailor to make a mistake so he could strike.


    The man lunged forward, aiming for Adam¡¯s chest, but hit nothing but air. Adam seized the moment and managed to wound him in the arm.


    Slowly, a growing red stain appeared on the sailor¡¯s shirt. Though far from fatal, the attack allowed Adam to gain the upper hand and strike a second time.


    His blade accidentally slid along the English sailor¡¯s saber and embedded itself deeply somewhere between his shoulder and neck, severing several important nerves and veins. The man immediately placed a panicked hand on the wound to slow the bleeding.


    Adam used this moment to strike the man a third time, this time at the base of his neck. The wound was fatal.


    Lying on his back, the sailor did everything he could to stop the bleeding, but it was futile, and blood began to pour from his mouth like a crimson river.


    With all his willpower, Adam avoided looking into the man¡¯s eyes, who surely had a family back in England.


    Ugh! This is horrible!


    He looked around, and the same scene was playing out everywhere.


    Sailors and soldiers, whites and reds, were tearing at each other¡¯s throats, strangling, shooting, and stabbing one another. Nothing made sense anymore.


    It had become nothing but a bloody slaughter.


    ***


    On the other side of HMS Princess Amelia, aboard Le Juste, Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn witnessed this unprecedented outburst of violence. French and English seemed to be competing to see who could be the most savage. He did not forget his role.


    ¡°Everyone aboard the enemy ship! Board them!¡±


    The brave Bretons crossed from one ship to the other via large planks, taking advantage of the fact that the English were busy invading the deck of the French ship.


    Fran?ois and Rosmadec de Saint-Allouarn boarded HMS Princess Amelia, armed to the teeth. They each had more than one pistol on them to ensure they could take down enemies in rapid succession.


    Fran?ois held a pistol in each hand and had two more at his belt. As for Rosmadec, he had four pistols around his neck, like a necklace, in addition to the one in his left hand.


    BANG BANG


    Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn fired both pistols almost simultaneously at two English soldiers before dropping them like trash. He drew two new pistols, cocked them, and mercilessly shot two more soldiers who were advancing toward him and his brother, armed with long muskets.


    Rosmadec, like a god of war, slit the throat of an enemy with his saber and dispatched a young English officer who was as well-armed as he was. Like his brother, he quickly pulled out one loaded pistol, then another, and yet another until all he had left was his saber.


    Fran?ois and Rosmadec exchanged a knowing look and a smile amidst the screams and smoke.


    ***


    The English were very determined. Unfortunately for them, aboard L¡¯Oc¨¦an were several companies of well-trained soldiers who were eager to let off some steam after two months at sea.


    The English faced an extraordinary, astonishing resistance.


    Still holding a pistol in one hand and his sword in the other, Adam maintained a reasonable distance between himself and four enemies, one of whom seemed to be no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. They watched him, provoking him with their weapons and insults, but Adam didn¡¯t move.


    All of them were focused on the threatening pistol pointed at them.


    ¡°Aaaaaaaaaaaaah...¡±


    Boom!


    A man suddenly fell from the rigging and crashed just a few steps away from one of the men with a loud thud. Adam tried to attack but was quickly forced to retreat.


    Damn it, I can¡¯t get a single one! If this keeps up¡­


    Suddenly, a man dressed in blue and gold, far better attired than the others, emerged and aimed a long, shiny pistol in Adam¡¯s direction. Adam pointed his weapon back at him and squeezed the trigger first. The flint struck the pan, a bright spark appeared, and the shot fired almost immediately. The British officer, who couldn¡¯t have been more than thirty years old, fell backward, a large hole in his left cheek, just near his nose.


    As he died, he squeezed his trigger as well, and Adam barely heard the whistle of the bullet passing near his left ear.


    Holy shit! I almost got hit by that!


    His own pistol, purchased at a high price near Stade, fell heavily a few steps behind him. The smoking barrel of the weapon had exploded in his hand, leaving him in great pain.


    Fuck! I blew up my hand!


    A bit of blood trickled down his fingers where his skin had been torn. Fortunately, the injury wasn¡¯t too serious.


    ¡°Come at me if you dare, you sack of shit! I¡¯m waiting for you!¡±


    Still very inexperienced with his sword, he made large, awkward movements.


    An English sailor who got too close received a blow that left a deep, frightening gash on his right arm.


    Adam didn¡¯t even flinch and continued his erratic movements.


    ¡°Come on! Let¡¯s see who¡¯s the first to die! Raise your hand if you want to!¡±


    At that moment, the crew of Le Juste arrived to the rescue.


    The crew of HMS Princess Amelia quickly found themselves trapped between two crews and at least as many regular soldiers.


    They had no choice but to surrender.


    ***


    The capture of HMS Princess Amelia had a disastrous and unstoppable effect on the British fleet. More and more ships flying the British flag were retreating from the battle or surrendering.


    The admiral himself, who had civilians on board, ordered the HMS Namur to fall back.


    This battle was lost, which was all the more shameful for these proud officers since it was a naval battle, Britain¡¯s greatest strength.


    Admiral Boscawen realized he needed to completely reorganize his fleet if he wanted to defeat these French, who seemed to have turned into demons overnight.


    Perhaps by sending a ship to Halifax, he could hope for reinforcements before the situation worsened?


    Finally, after several hours of intense fighting, the French were able to shout victory.


    ¡°We¡¯ve won again!¡±


    ¡°Hooray!¡±


    ¡°Long live the king!¡±


    At the same time, aboard HMS Princess Amelia, the atmosphere was more than joyous¡ªit was euphoric.


    They had managed to defeat the mighty England on its favored terrain and had captured a splendid, almost brand-new ship that had been in service for only a year.


    Commodore Durrel, Captain Bray, and the crew raised their hands to the sky, their weapons at their feet. The gigantic three-deck ship was smeared with blood, covered with bodies and debris, giving a good idea of the violence of the battle.


    There was only one place where no one was laughing.


    Two men, with very similar faces, were supporting each other as they walked shakily toward the mainmast. Their breaths were short, and their steps unsteady.


    One of them, exhausted, collapsed onto the bloodstained deck, accompanied by his brother, who couldn¡¯t hide his tears.


    Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn leaned his back against a piece of wood and looked at the blue sky.


    It¡¯s a beautiful blue sky, he thought as he gazed above, his vision growing increasingly blurred.


    He then looked at his chest.


    His coat felt so heavy. The dark, almost black stain had grown larger.


    I¡¯m cold¡­ Ah, it¡¯s not so bad, but I would have preferred to be home in Brittany.


    ¡°F-Fran?ois!¡±


    ¡°W-what?¡±


    He could barely hear him. It was like having his head underwater. In fact, he could hardly hear anything. He saw colorful shapes moving everywhere, but all the sounds were muffled.


    ¡°Fran?ois! Stay with me!¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m here¡­ I¡¯m not going anywhere. I¡¯m¡­ fine, here.¡±


    A faint smile appeared on his colorless face.


    Rosmadec de Saint-Allouarn¡¯s heart shattered at the sight, and an unending flow of tears poured out like a fountain.


    ¡°We¡­ We¡¯ll get you treated, okay?! So¡­ So¡­ Hold on! My brother! Big brother!¡±


    ¡°Ros¡­madec¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to survive, you hear me! You¡¯ll be decorated! Received by the king! So, fight!¡±


    The loyal second squeezed his brother¡¯s hand tightly until he realized that Fran?ois was gone.


    ¡°F-Fran?ois?¡± Rosmadec said, looking through his tears at the peaceful face of his elder brother.


    Amid all the noise, it was the silence of Fran?ois de Saint-Allouarn that spoke the loudest.


    ***


    Adam, still standing but as exhausted as if he had run a marathon, had crossed onto the English ship and was helping Captain de Saint-Allouarn¡¯s men take possession of the vessel. Meanwhile, the rest of the squadron was trying to capture as many English ships as possible.


    Some were lost for good, but there were still many ships left in Gabarus Bay. Seeing their squadron defeated, they panicked and tried desperately to escape the bay, fearing they¡¯d be trapped like rats.


    The French ships, too few in number to stop them, could only capture a handful.


    As Monsieur de Roquefeuille had said, this naval battle marked a turning point in naval history and history in general. Over the next two centuries, many places, streets, and parks were named ¡°Roquefeuille¡± or ¡°Gabarus Bay¡± to celebrate this great victory.


    That day, not only did they avoid death, but they also entered history and memory.

 Chapter 60: Landing

    Aboard the Foudroyant, the Marshal Duke of Richelieu was not observing what was happening in Gabarus Bay, but rather the land.


    Hmm, let¡¯s see... It¡¯s one o¡¯clock in the afternoon. There are still many hours before nightfall, and the enemy must be in a panic. Louisbourg is under siege, and if what the captain of the Ar¨¦thuse said is true, British troops are surrounding the city. Ah... It seems we won¡¯t be able to rest just yet.


    "Mr. Duquesne de Menneville?" he said, turning to the naval officer busy overseeing the capture of English sailors and ships.


    "Your Grace?"


    "It¡¯s a great victory, but I fear the day is not yet over. I want to land my men and strike our enemies who are besieging Louisbourg before they have time to reorganize."


    "That¡¯s... Hmm, are you certain? It¡¯s not an easy task, and your men are spread across many ships."


    "I know that, but we have no choice. The longer we delay, the more our enemies will strengthen their positions. Right now, they are scattered around the city to prevent the inhabitants from fleeing. In other words, they are weak everywhere. Time is of the essence."


    The fleet commander was in charge of everything related to the ships, including the landing of the old Marshal''s troops. If he deemed it impossible or inadvisable, the Marshal could only comply. Insisting, or even forcing the commander¡¯s hand, would not be beneficial for their cooperation.


    "I understand. I will do my best. However, we have captured many ships and taken so many prisoners... Keeping them while also landing your men might be problematic. Can I count on your men to help us send them to Louisbourg?"


    The Marshal¡¯s face darkened, already imagining the time such a maneuver would waste.


    "Ah, very well," he finally sighed deeply. "But as soon as the prisoners are disembarked, you will land my men who are aboard your ships."


    "Of course, Your Grace. Thank you for your understanding. Gentlemen, send the flags! All our ships are to head for Louisbourg harbor!"


    "At your orders!"


    ***


    From the Lighthouse Point, located east of Louisbourg, on the opposite side of the harbor, with Louisbourg''s now empty port in view, James Wolfe saw a fleet of about thirty warships entering the harbor. Some looked so damaged they resembled floating wrecks. A few even had smoke rising from between their masts!


    With his spyglass, James Wolfe managed to make out the white flag with golden fleur-de-lis, symbolizing the French monarchy.


    "Impossible! What happened over there? How could they get into the port?!"


    This is a nightmare! It must be! Could it be that Admiral Boscawen was defeated?!


    "Sir, I believe I see one of our three-decker ships entering the port!" said a young officer in a trembling voice, standing to the left of the brigadier general.


    "Th-the HMS Namur?"


    My God, let it not be her! Not the HMS Namur!


    "I-I don¡¯t know, sir, but I don¡¯t think so. Our flagship can¡¯t fall into enemy hands like this!"


    James Wolfe gritted his teeth and watched the HMS Princess Amelia enter Louisbourg harbor like a hunting trophy.


    Yes, it can¡¯t be Boscawen¡¯s flagship. Knowing the man, he would rather set fire to the powder magazine and go down with his ship than surrender it!


    "It seems one of our finest ships has indeed been captured, Mr. Bell," James Wolfe articulated slowly, his voice as low as the grave.


    "They-they¡¯re disembarking people! I see redcoats! They¡¯re ours!" exclaimed a second officer nearby, as large in stature as in girth, with a pleasant face.


    "Calm down, Captain Gray. I see them."


    "Sir, they¡¯re being led inside the town," Thomas Bell added for the brigadier general''s benefit.


    "Hmm, indeed. Gentlemen, as soon as they finish and our men are far enough from those ships, we will resume firing."


    "Sir?! What about our ships?!" Bell choked, turning sharply to the young brigadier general who seemed determined to reduce everything within cannon range to ashes.


    "Too bad if we sink our own ships, Mr. Bell. Now that they¡¯re in enemy hands, it¡¯s better to sink them. At least," he said coldly, folding his spyglass, "they won¡¯t serve those dogs! Send someone on horseback to headquarters. I want to know exactly what happened and hear General Amherst''s orders."


    "Aye, sir!"


    Thomas Bell, General Wolfe''s aide-de-camp, tasked a skilled rider with heading to the camp on the other side of the siege area to gather more information about the morning''s events. Given the location, there must have been many witnesses.


    When he returned more than two hours later, the story he told seemed so unbelievable that it was considered greatly exaggerated. Unfortunately, a second soldier confirmed it. As implausible as it seemed, the French fleet had managed to rout the glorious fleet of His Majesty through one of the most baffling and violent strategies.


    However, General Amherst''s orders were to maintain the siege. He had indeed assessed that this squadron, given the limited number of troop transport ships, could not have brought with it more than a few thousand men. In his mind, it seemed impossible that these reinforcements could prevent the fall of Louisbourg.


    "Gentlemen, the situation is worse than we feared! We leave immediately!"


    "And abandon our position?! Sir, that¡¯s against the general''s orders!"


    "Fool! Don¡¯t you understand that our army risks being destroyed?! We must quickly reinforce the generals on the other side of the siege line before they are crushed one by one!"


    "General Amherst¡¯s orders..."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    "I know his orders, Mr. Bell, but underestimating the French is not just a mistake, it¡¯s a crime! We must urgently redeploy our troops to where our siege line begins!"


    James Wolfe¡¯s officers could understand their superior''s opinion, but disobeying an order from the general could have severe consequences for their careers and for the siege.


    "Sir," Wolfe¡¯s aide-de-camp hesitated, "what do we do if the troops entrenched in the city take the opportunity to launch a sortie?"


    "They will, for sure," the brigadier general admitted without shame. "But staying here will change nothing. However, if we manage to quickly repel these enemy reinforcements, we have a chance to resume the siege of this city! No, better than that¡ªwe will speed up the process because the French trapped in Louisbourg will then understand that they have no chance of victory. Go!"


    ***


    Marshal Richelieu, who had not played an important role until now, could finally deploy troops on the ground. The land was completely foreign to him, aside from what he had learned by studying some maps entrusted to him in Brest before their departure.


    Once the majority of the prisoners taken that morning had been handed over to the authorities in Louisbourg, he began to have his men loaded into boats for mass disembarkation.


    Wearing his fine silver cuirass, the old duke looked a bit like a valiant knight of old. Underneath it, he wore an elegant violet coat of original cut, bought at great expense from a renowned Italian merchant in Florence. Its golden buttons gleamed like small suns when a ray of light passed over them.


    One gloved hand rested on the pommel of his sword, a masterpiece that had taken months to craft by a renowned blacksmith, as he supervised the transfer of his troops, which was taking longer than expected.


    The scene was the same around all the squadron commander¡¯s ships. Every boat was being used to send as many men ashore as possible to increase their chances of success.


    Hmm, things went faster when we took Minorca. Why is this taking so long?


    Before them stood not the island of Minorca but Pointe Plate, still smoking after an intense bombardment.


    The British entrenchments, dug by the enemy to prevent a possible French landing while they laid siege to Louisbourg, had suffered greatly, yet the men stationed there, belonging to the glorious Royal Regiment, refused to abandon their positions.


    Their officers knew that this spot was a good location for a landing, which is why they had dug a long trench slightly elevated.


    They are stubborn. Very well. Let¡¯s see how long they can hold out against my soldiers.


    With great dignity, Richelieu crossed his arms over his cold cuirass and finally witnessed the arrival of the first boats on the shore.


    Soon, the first gunshots echoed across the pebble beach.


    ***


    The boat carrying Adam and some of his companions was a modest vessel, large enough to accommodate about thirty of them. They were packed so tightly that it was almost impossible to move.


    It was as if he risked getting elbowed every time the sailor to his left pulled an oar. He remained silent and simply observed what was happening in front of him.


    His comrades did the same, all wearing the same serious expression.


    I feel like I¡¯m living through the Normandy landing, Adam thought nervously, wiping his sweaty hands on the bottom of his coat.


    Slowly, the boat approached the shore.


    The waves, fortunately small, made a soft sound in the distance, even when they hit the nearby rocks.


    Finally, they heard the bottom scrape against the pebbles underwater. It was time to disembark.


    "Move! Everyone off, and make it quick!" barked a sailor at the soldiers.


    Despite his gruff tone, you could see in his eyes that he was genuinely concerned for them. He just wanted to prevent them from hesitating.


    Fortunately for all of them, their boat arrived shortly after the cove had been secured.


    Everything seemed so calm that the freshly disembarked soldiers began to feel uneasy.


    One by one, they jumped into the waves, which reached their knees, while the boats turned around to retrieve the remaining soldiers still aboard the Oc¨¦an. Their orders were simple: join those already ashore and kill any redcoats trying to stop them from advancing.


    Having been on board that large ship for two months, the French soldiers were eager to set foot on land. Adam barely held back tears of joy after so much time at sea. He was already imagining himself sleeping in a narrow tent he would have to share with three others¡ªa luxury compared to the hammocks slung above the cannons on the second deck.


    He was especially looking forward to finally eating decent food.


    Oh shit! This feels so weird! I¡­ I¡¯m not gonna throw up now, am I?"


    After so much time at sea, setting foot on solid ground was disorienting. He felt like he was drunk.


    Houlalala! Careful, careful!


    He felt like a tightrope walker, even though all he was doing was walking on pebbles that were round and slippery.


    "Watch where you''re stepping! It¡¯s really slippery!" someone said to his right before falling flat.


    Even though the beach was secured, that didn¡¯t mean all danger was gone. They quickly started running to reach the top of the pebble beach.


    Gunfire echoed from up above, and Adam saw a man die right in front of him. The man toppled backward and rolled down the smooth rocks shaped by the waves.


    "Take cover! They¡¯re up there!" warned a young captain Adam didn¡¯t recognize. "Keep your heads down and follow me!"


    The French were trying to eliminate these men, but they were in a much better position. They could easily shoot down at them without taking much risk. A shot kicked up small pebbles at the feet of the young lieutenant, who immediately looked around to see where it came from.


    "Lieutenant Boucher, cough cough, there you are!"


    "Captain Gilbert! We need to try to flank them! Maybe through those rocks," Adam suggested, pointing to large black rocks that looked like they had been stacked there by human hands.


    "Cough cough, we can try. Hey, we need some madmen over here! Follow us!"


    Adam and Captain Gilbert broke cover and dashed forward with a few men, moving quickly toward the rocks while trying not to trip over the pebbles. Carefully, they began to climb the large stone blocks, shaped by the elements, making sure their grip was secure.


    It was easy to see how high the tide could reach in this area. You only had to look at the barnacles and seaweed. When the tide was high, everything here was underwater.


    With some agility, likely honed by their time at sea, they didn¡¯t have too much trouble reaching the top. However, they were soon spotted, and an intense exchange of gunfire followed, ending in a fierce charge.


    Once the last enemy was taken down, the French finally had a moment to catch their breath. They had gained control of the immediate area around Pointe Plate.


    "The siege line of Louisbourg begins here," a captain remarked to Armand Gilbert.


    "Then we¡¯ll soon have new enemies, cough cough."


    Fortunately, the enemy general hadn¡¯t had time to reinforce this area much. He likely didn¡¯t want to weaken his line, which was already stretched thin to fully encircle Louisbourg.


    It was at this moment that Marshal Duke Richelieu, Colonel de Br¨¦hant, and several other high-ranking officers arrived. Now, the French had enough men to advance against their enemies, who were just as determined to secure victory for their side.


    There were numerous exchanges of gunfire, but under the leadership of the old marshal, surprisingly enduring for his age, they managed to push forward to the first enemy battery.


    This battery, perched on an artificial mound to increase the range of its guns, was defended by men from Hopson¡¯s Regiment. While they were quickly eliminated, it came at a high cost.


    "Turn those guns around! Aim for the other battery!" the marshal ordered, pointing to their target.


    While another company from the Picardy Regiment quickly prepared the cannons and mortars¡ªthanks to their experience at sea¡ªCaptain Gilbert¡¯s company worked to clear the path for the marshal-duke.


    Their intensive training, coupled with high morale, despite the exhaustion of each man, allowed them to do an excellent job. Following a narrow dirt path wedged between two marshes, which roughly followed the route of a stream, they arrived at a second battery, which was also captured.


    Then, a strong English force appeared.


    "Take cover! Cough cough! Pre... COUGH COUGH COUGH! Prepare your weapons!" Captain Gilbert shouted, doubled over from a violent coughing fit.


    "Captain, a troop is coming!"


    "It¡¯s... It¡¯s fine, lieutenant, cough cough! Those... those are our men."


    Adam looked closely and indeed saw that the soldiers approaching from the southeast were wearing the white coats of the regular French infantry.


    He was stunned when he recognized some of them.


    "Fran?ois?!"


    "Huh? Ah! Jean, Jules, P¡¯tit Pol! You¡¯re here!"

 Chapter 61: Hold At All Costs

    A broad smile lit up Adam¡¯s face as he saw his friends approaching. It was a genuine smile¡ªthey had been sorely missed. He hadn¡¯t seen them for so long that it felt as though at least a year had passed since their last meeting and conversation.


    This is crazy! I feel like I¡¯ve known them forever! Haha! Should I be worried about that?


    Their faces, though radiant with happiness at reuniting with their friend, had changed a great deal since they had set sail. All except for Jean looked exhausted. Jean, in fact, seemed to be in great shape, even more muscular than two months earlier.


    ¡°W-wait! Where... where is Louis?¡±


    Immediately, a knot of anxiety formed in his throat. His fear was as real as the joy he felt at seeing his friends again. Naturally, he imagined the worst. Fortunately, that feeling didn¡¯t last.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Fran?ois. He¡¯s coming. He was just helping a wounded man on the beach. What¡¯s going on here?¡±


    ¡°Redcoats, a hundred toises away¡± (about two hundred meters), he said, pointing to the north.


    The newcomers naturally placed themselves under Armand Gilbert¡¯s command, as he seemed to be leading locally despite only holding the rank of captain. For reasons they couldn¡¯t quite grasp, all the officers of the same rank treated him with respect, almost as if he were a colonel.


    Under his orders, they formed a long line, three ranks deep.


    ¡°Cough cough ! Gentlemen, wait until they get closer.¡±


    Aren¡¯t they close enough already?!


    ¡°Wait for my command!¡±


    There are so many of them!


    ¡°Hold on!¡±


    Fuck! How many of these bastards are there?!


    ¡°Captain! They¡¯ve started shooting at us! They¡¯re taking position!¡±


    ¡°Now! Fire!¡±


    Bang bang bang bang bang!


    A deafening sound like a hundred loud cracks in a cathedral echoed in this place where there was absolutely nothing notable¡ªnot even a tree or a distinctive rock.


    The enemy, who had fired first, hadn¡¯t done so in an organized manner, which significantly reduced the effectiveness of their volley. Normally, they should have waited until they were all in position to fire as one and cause greater casualties among their opponents. Even so, their accuracy managed to take down several Frenchmen, including a lieutenant and a sergeant.


    Unlike the English, who were too eager to kill Frenchmen, the French had returned fire as one. A long gray cloud immediately formed in front of their exhausted faces.


    I¡¯ve gotten used to this smell, it seems.


    Adam felt his right arm tremble after firing his new pistol, which he had picked up on the deck of HMS Princess Amelia. Just by its appearance, he could tell it was of much higher quality.


    This is a good pistol, thought Adam as he admired it briefly. Ah, crap! This isn¡¯t the time! Quickly, before they finish reloading! Damn it! They¡¯re still so many! I feel like we haven¡¯t done anything!


    He hurried to reload his weapon, which wasn¡¯t much harder or different than reloading a musket.


    As soon as he was done, he aimed it toward the enemy lines without really targeting anyone¡ªafter all, it wasn¡¯t a precision weapon. With this kind of gun, you could miss a man in a duel!


    Just a hundred meters away, several redcoats had fallen, just like some of their own men, but every gap in the line had been immediately filled. That¡¯s what gave the terrifying impression that their volley had been completely ineffective.


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    Bang bang bang bang bang!


    It was as if a string of powerful firecrackers had been lit.


    Ears ringing, Adam lowered his pistol. The shot hadn¡¯t gone off, a much more frequent occurrence than one might imagine. Next to him, the muskets were being reloaded quickly, just like in training.


    ***


    The exchange of fire, which somewhat resembled a polite conversation, was brief but cost the lives of many brave men on both sides. Bodies littered the ground amid the wild grasses and flowers¡ªsome clad in red coats, others in white.


    It was easy to see where the lines had been drawn.


    This conversation ended when the fearsome grenadiers of the Marine Regiment intervened. With bayonets and sabers, they charged the enemy, commanded by the former governor of Nova Scotia, Peregrine Hopson.


    This officer, who had entered his sixties two years earlier, looked quite dignified and noble in his fine red coat, with a red sash across his chest. The old man, however, seemed a bit tight around the waist, as he loved food, especially dishes with rich sauces, a little too much.


    ¡°Damn it, not now!¡± he muttered, rubbing his eyes vigorously.


    His eyes were red and stinging. It felt as though someone had poured lemon juice generously into both. He had started to cry uncontrollably. One hand pressed against his face, he staggered, trying not to alert his subordinates unnecessarily.


    He wasn¡¯t surprised by this attack, as it wasn¡¯t the first time it had happened.


    Unfortunately for him, this one was severe and struck at the worst possible moment. It led to his downfall, as during the charge, he was stabbed in the side by a bayonet, causing him to collapse heavily on his back. A second blow to the chest killed him swiftly, without him ever seeing the face of the man¡ªactually, more of a boy¡ªwho had ended his life.


    When this troop, still five hundred men strong, lost its commander, it descended into chaos.


    Before long, some began to fall back or even run for their lives, accelerating its collapse. In this sector, the French held a strong numerical advantage, but across the battlefield, the overall advantage was clearly on the side of the English.


    One unit after another, the British were being devoured.


    ***


    When General Webb¡¯s regiment, numbering over a thousand men, finally arrived, it was already too late to link up with Peregrine Hopson¡¯s regiment, which had nearly ceased to exist.


    ¡°Get back in the fight! The general is counting on us!¡± he shouted with all his might, trying to rally Hopson¡¯s men, who were fleeing like rabbits.


    Damn it! If we don¡¯t do something, our artillery is likely to fall into enemy hands! That would be a disaster! We need¡­ we need to buy some time!


    ¡°We have to hold off these damned Frenchmen! Reform the ranks! You there, sound the drums!¡±


    Daniel Webb, mounted on a fine gray horse that had made the journey with him from England, waved his silver sword overhead to rally his men.


    ¡°Three ranks! Close ranks! They must not advance any further, even if it costs us our blood!¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Despite his calls, many men chose the safer option, the easy way out¡ªthe option of cowardice.


    By the blood of Christ! The cowards! They¡¯re fleeing!


    Fortunately, not all of them were like that. Many, mostly survivors from Hopson¡¯s regiment, had returned to help their comrades push back the French. They were coming in from all directions, hands firmly gripping their muskets.


    Webb was moved and relieved to see that there was still hope. Little by little, his line grew and stretched.


    ¡°Our allies will be here soon! We just need to hold a little longer! If we buy enough time, we¡¯ll see those miserable worms fleeing into the sea to return to their ships!¡±


    Though the situation looked bleak at the moment, the battle was far from lost. General Amherst had brought nearly fifteen thousand men for this siege! Even though they had since lost many to death, injury, or illness, they still had more than enough to fend off the enemy reinforcements.


    Among the allies Daniel Webb awaited anxiously was the regiment commanded by Brigadier General Edward Whitmore. With the additional thousand men he¡¯d gain with this young officer, he was confident they could hold back the tiny French army long enough to shift the balance of power.


    God, let them arrive in time, or we¡¯ll all die here! No retreat!


    More than anyone here, Daniel Webb was ready to give his life for the Crown. His reputation was too tarnished to take another blow. It was only thanks to his connections that he had been able to secure such a high position in this army.


    They won¡¯t be able to call me a coward this time! If I must die, let it be with a sword in hand!


    ¡°Fire! Death to the French! No one retreats!¡±


    ***


    The plains surrounding Louisbourg were a mix of marshes and scrub. There was very little elevation and no trees for cover.


    Bang bang bang bang bang!


    The English occupied the high ground, or at least the highest point in this sector. However, they were only about ten meters higher than their opponents.


    This position offered a slight advantage to the defenders, but an advantage nonetheless.


    Bang bang bang bang bang!


    Marshal Richelieu¡¯s troops, continuously reinforced by those disembarking from Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s ships, formed a long line, three ranks deep, and had engaged in a traditional European-style battle. With no cavalry or artillery, the tactical options of both commanders were limited.


    Bang bang bang bang bang!


    On both sides, trumpets, flutes, and drums rang out as the flags of each kingdom and its regiments fluttered in the wind.


    Whenever a soldier fell, he was immediately replaced, but gradually, holes began to appear in the formations. When the marshal judged that his army had inflicted enough losses on the enemy, he ordered the flanks, where the grenadiers were positioned, to charge. The center followed suit shortly after, with a calculated delay designed to crush the opposing formation.


    The companies of Gilbert and his two old comrades, Albert Fontaine and Andr¨¦ Louis, moved as one body. This showed how accustomed they were to drilling together. The soldiers knew each other well enough to want to stay and support their comrades, even under the greatest pressure.


    Thanks to their rigorous training, stricter than in other companies and almost as intense as that of the grenadiers, under the influence of Fran?ois Boucher/Adam, they covered the distance to the enemy faster than the others.


    Unlike what usually happened, the enemy did not abandon their position. This was highly unusual, but it sometimes occurred when the defending force had no choice but to hold.


    But just before the clash, only a few dozen meters from the enemy line, they stopped and took up firing positions. The English, who had prepared for hand-to-hand combat, were caught off guard, and the French opened fire. At that range, they wreaked havoc.


    Before the smoke could even dissipate in the wind blowing in from the sea, they resumed their charge against a shocked and severely weakened enemy.


    The drills and combat simulations paid off, as the enemy front quickly collapsed in that area. The three companies then moved behind the left wing to encircle as many adversaries as possible.


    They could have stayed engaged, but the enemy still had superior numbers. They risked being flanked or attacked from behind. So, they created some distance between themselves and the enemy and reloaded their muskets.


    ¡°COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH ! Fire!¡±


    Captain Gilbert¡¯s condition seemed to deteriorate visibly. Despite his coughing fit and the powerful migraine that made him want to bash his head against a rock, he persisted in trying to lead his men.


    Victory seemed near.


    ¡°Captain,¡± Adam firmly whispered into his ear, ¡°you need to take care of yourself, or you¡¯ll collapse from exhaustion!¡±


    ¡°I can¡­ COUGH COUGH . Damn it! COUGH COUGH COUGH !¡±


    The officer loudly cleared his throat and spat a slimy, blood-filled substance onto the dry grass.


    ¡°Ah¡­ I can still hold on a little longer, lieutenant,¡± he resumed weakly, wiping his mouth. ¡°Move the men a bit farther north and reform the ranks. That¡¯ll relieve our other wing and force the enemy to retreat toward the marshes.¡±


    Just then, a new enemy force, fresh and rested, appeared behind the companies of Gilbert, Fontaine, and Louis.


    Damn it! This never ends!


    The enemy reinforcements quickly formed a long line and began marching toward them at a fast pace.


    ¡°Look out! Enemy approaching! Quickly, finish routing these ones!¡± Adam shouted with all his strength. ¡°Reform the ranks! Tight formation!¡±


    Most of Webb¡¯s men were fleeing, but a few refused to give up any ground. Led by Webb himself, wounded in the arm, they managed to hold their position until Whitmore¡¯s men arrived. However, their collapse was imminent.


    Whitmore quickly assessed the situation but realized he couldn¡¯t fire from this side¡ªthere was too high a risk of hitting his allies from behind.


    This constraint threw off the British officer, who decided to advance his men from the other side, where Adam was positioned.


    Meanwhile, Adam had succeeded in pulling his men back and reforming a solid line. Reinforced by other companies and grenadiers, he now faced an enemy force easily twice their size.


    They look like a brick wall!


    Taking the place of Captain Gilbert, who had finally relinquished command to his lieutenant, Adam gave the order to assume firing positions.


    The enemy is within range!


    ¡°First rank, fire!¡±


    Bang bang bang bang bang!


    A long series of shots rang out, and a thick cloud of smoke formed in front of the first rank of soldiers, preventing the men in the second and third ranks from seeing the enemy and thus aiming properly. If the first rank barely inflicted any damage, it was worse for the other two.


    Seeing the problem, Adam decided to modify his orders.


    This time, I¡¯ll have them all fire together, even if it means we won¡¯t be able to retaliate for a while.


    Once the line that had just fired finished reloading, almost at the moment the enemy opened fire, Adam gave the order to aim, then lowered his arm, gripping his long sword tightly.


    ¡°FIRE!¡±


    ¡°FIRE!¡±


    ¡°FIRE!¡±


    ¡°FIRE!¡±


    Several French officers shouted simultaneously.


    With a loud crash filled with the familiar, powerful scent of burnt powder, nearly two hundred small lead balls flew toward the enemy line. After one or two seconds, Adam saw several red-coated men fall onto the grass, yellowed by the sun.


    Many of the small lead balls had hit nothing, as the range of these weapons was as pitiful as their accuracy, especially compared to modern arms, but the objective was achieved.


    A large number of redcoats had fallen, far more than the British officers and soldiers had expected.


    This sowed chaos in their ranks.


    On the contrary, it encouraged the French.


    ¡°Quickly!¡± Adam barked, surprising himself with his firmness. ¡°Prepare your weapons! Open the pan! Take the cartridge! Tear the cartridge! Prime! Close the pan! Left arm to the side! Cartridge in the barrel! Take the ramrod! Ram down! Withdraw the ramrod! Replace the ramrod! Present your weapons! Prepare your weapons! Shoulder arms! FIRE!¡±


    The steps for reloading a musket were listed and carried out quickly and efficiently by Gilbert¡¯s company, just as with the others. Gilbert¡¯s company was even a little faster.


    In less than two minutes, their weapons were ready to fire again.


    During that time, the enemy had managed to fire and hit a few brave French soldiers.


    In response, an infernal rain of lead fell upon the redcoats.


    In less than five minutes, several hundred shots were fired on this small patch of the battlefield.


    After the thunder and smoke cleared, Adam could see the effects of the impressive volley. It had caused even more damage to the enemy than the previous one.


    AHAHAHAHA! We got you good! Fuck you! Bastards! We¡¯re going to¡­


    Internally, Adam was exulting, cursing the enemy soldiers like a salty old sailor, even though they had done nothing to him personally. He didn¡¯t know their names or their faces. But in his mind, they were the enemy to be brought down. After all, isn¡¯t that the very definition of an enemy: a man to be killed?


    Reinforced by the other companies that had finally routed Webb¡¯s men, the order was given to charge the enemy with bayonets. Adam drew his sword and charged with his comrades at an enemy that had already begun to retreat.


    ¡°ARGH!¡±


    A sudden pain in his thigh caught him by surprise during his charge, almost causing him to fall in front of all his men.


    Ah, shit! It burns! Ah, it hurts like hell!


    ¡°Lieutenant! You¡¯ve been hit!¡± Sergeant Laroche on his right called out, noticing Adam¡¯s pain.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m fine, Sergeant Laroche. I can still charge.¡±


    Despite the searing pain, as though he¡¯d been struck by a red-hot iron, Adam straightened up and continued his charge.


    In the end, numerical superiority prevailed, and Whitmore¡¯s force was repelled. His men and Webb¡¯s survivors scattered, most heading north where the rest of the army was.


    Marshal Richelieu¡¯s troops were then able to seize the enemy artillery located just nearby and aimed it northward, where long columns of soldiers, resembling red snakes, could be seen approaching.


    The French soldiers lined up the cannons, which the English hadn¡¯t had the time or presence of mind to sabotage during their retreat, and loaded them quickly.


    ¡°FIRE AT WILL!¡±


    Seconds later, large brown patches rose into the bright blue sky amidst the ranks of Forben¡¯s and La Celle¡¯s regiments. They had hit their target on the first shot. Soon, they also targeted the second American battalion under Colonel Robert Monckton.


    Altogether, this enemy force numbered nearly two thousand seven hundred men.

 Chapter 62: James Wolfe

    For the British, this day had turned into a nightmare. Their fleet had been defeated to the point of having to retreat in the morning, and throughout the afternoon until late in the evening, they were defeated one after another on land!


    This is a disaster! A young British officer with a youthful face thought nervously, biting his nails.


    The encirclement of the fortified city of Louisbourg had weakened this army, once renowned for its strength and iron discipline, everywhere.


    From Pointe Plate, a French force of about five thousand men had moved north, defeating one by one the units sent piecemeal by the general. The latter had sought to preserve his forces to avoid breaking his siege formation. The result: by around six o¡¯clock, the French had reached the British headquarters.


    To make matters worse, Hopson and Webb are missing, and Whitmore had been seriously wounded! What should we do? Ah! If only the general had listened to me!


    As James Wolfe had anticipated, the soldiers defending Louisbourg had made a sortie in the afternoon to join Marshal Richelieu¡¯s troops, and they had literally crushed everyone wearing an English uniform.


    The troops of La Celle and Forben had been obliterated by cannon fire before they could even respond with their muskets¡ªa fate the second American battalion of Monckton had narrowly escaped, as they were positioned further back.


    Robert Monckton had witnessed the slaughter in front of him and had decided to move east to hit the artillery, their own cannons now turned against them, from a blind spot.


    To do so, they had to cross a marshy area, difficult to traverse even in this season and swarming with mosquitoes.


    Alas, it went badly, as the French from Louisbourg joined their rescuers at that very moment. With an enemy to the east and another to the west, few managed to escape.


    Monckton was one of those few, managing with great difficulty to rejoin the regiment of Hatvey, Braggs, Austraher, and the one commanded by Valbertonne. With Monckton¡¯s survivors, they formed a force of just twenty-five hundred men.


    This was far too few to stop the French, now numbering nearly twelve thousand!


    "Don¡¯t slow down! Keep the pace!" James Wolfe, who had no choice but to return to his post on the general¡¯s direct orders, was forced to march back to their headquarters once it was directly threatened.


    He had marched his roughly eleven hundred men part of the afternoon around the small Havre Bay, where British ships were still being brought in as prisoners. Slowly, all captured soldiers, sailors, women, children, and elderly were being locked up in the fortified city.


    Behind him, another eight hundred men who had been stationed further east, near his original position at Lorembec, were also advancing quickly. They had been placed there in case of a French landing in that area.


    They covered the six kilometers to their objective at a forced pace, but, unfortunately, they arrived too late.


    "Sir¡­"


    "I know, Mr. Bell. Let the men rest. I need to speak with these gentlemen. But have the men ready to move out again."


    "Understood!"


    In this area, there were three important regiments. The first was commanded by Charles Lawrence, who held the same rank as Wolfe for this expedition, the Scottish regiment led by Colonel Fraiser, and finally, a special regiment composed of woodsmen without uniforms and Iroquois, commonly referred to here as "savages," commanded by a man Wolfe knew only by name, Quennedy.


    Since arriving in the New World, Wolfe had seen a few of these savages. Everything about them seemed primitive to him. It was as if they had chosen not to evolve over the centuries.


    He had concluded at first glance that this was why Europeans had been able to impose themselves on this continent and build a colonial empire.


    Unfortunately, it was these people on whom the British had to rely for peace in the New World. This powerful Indian tribe called "Iroquois" was actually a confederation of six distinct tribes. The primary purpose of this confederation was to prevent wars between the member nations.


    The name "Iroquois" had been given by Europeans, who hadn¡¯t even bothered to call them by their true name: the Haudenosaunee, meaning "the people of the longhouse." Wolfe had learned this while passing through during his journey to this forest-covered continent. This name represented much more than their place of residence: it symbolized where the original five tribes had gathered, with a sixth joining the confederation in 1722, to form this powerful union. It was where the Iroquois met to discuss peace, justice, and governance.


    The longhouse was thus the symbol of their community and peace. If everything Wolfe had heard was true, these poorly dressed and uneducated people saw their six tribes as one longhouse.


    This confederation dominated a vast region south of the Great Lakes, bordering Britain¡¯s northernmost colonies like New York and Pennsylvania.


    In reality, it would be more accurate to say that they were caught between two powerful colonial empires. When war broke out between France and Britain, the Iroquois had to choose a side, helped along by the actions of the French and their colonists.


    The Iroquois chose the British, more out of hatred for the French and their allies than sympathy for the English. Conversely, all the other tribes in the region sided with the French, their old allies and trade partners.


    To the soldiers, especially those newly arrived in the New World, the woodsmen were closer to savages than to Europeans. These were travelers, traders, and diplomats who maintained close relations with the Indians.


    Wolfe trusted neither these men nor the Indians any more than before.


    There had been several violent clashes between colonists and Indians throughout history, and many things were said about them all the way to London, most often negative. However, since his arrival in these hostile lands, he had to admit that they were very useful for tracking and fighting in such terrain.


    James Wolfe immediately headed into a tent where a certain commotion was taking place.


    "Abandon?! Flee with our tails between our legs?! I''d rather die than return to England sullied by such humiliation! I would a thousand times prefer to die in battle!" exclaimed a man with a bulldog face, spitting as a large vein bulged from his forehead.


    "Tsk! You can die if you wish," replied a young man with a proud chin, calmly, "but that¡¯s not my intention! If we persist, we will all die in vain!"


    "So what, Mr. Lawrence?! We retreat quietly to Halifax and then launch another assault on Louisbourg? By the time we get there and make preparations, winter will have begun. And in case you''ve forgotten, we¡¯re on a bloody island!"


    "Ah, James! I sent a messenger for you earlier, but it seems you¡¯ve come to join us before that."


    "Charles, Mr. Quennedy, tell me everything. What¡¯s our current situation?"


    "Bad. Very bad, in fact. So much so that we¡¯re debating whether to retreat or continue fighting."


    "Is it that bad?" replied the young brigadier general, raising a thin eyebrow.


    "Yes, it¡¯s that bad," sighed his colleague, of equal rank, with a deep breath. "The French who landed have linked up with the soldiers from Louisbourg who made a sortie. They now have nearly twelve thousand men. To say they¡¯re a threat would be an understatement. We are being crushed regiment after regiment without the French being seriously threatened."Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "That¡¯s exactly what I feared," the young officer sighed heavily. "That¡¯s why I tried to warn General Amherst. I¡¯ve come with all my men. I¡¯ve brought eleven hundred, and eight hundred more will arrive shortly."


    "Good! Counting all our troops and those of Fraiser, who should arrive soon, we have about five thousand men. We¡¯ll go far with that!" Quennedy remarked sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.


    "Is that all we have left?!" James Wolfe choked, having expected a much higher number. "From our entire army?!"


    "Well, between our losses, the wounded and sick at the general hospital, those trying to fight on their own, and those who¡¯ve fled¡­ yes."


    "What a failure," the officer sighed once more, disgusted by this dramatic turn of events.


    "Indeed."


    "That¡¯s why we¡¯re trying to agree on the best course of action. Young Wolfe, tell me, what do you think of the situation now?"


    The two men looked at him, not expecting a miracle.


    After a moment of reflection over a map of the region, his verdict came.


    "The longer we stay here, the heavier our losses will be, which means our chances of victory in New France will only grow slimmer. Bringing troops over from England is too difficult and requires too many resources. We¡¯ll mainly have to rely on the regiments already present on the continent, knowing that the more we take from elsewhere, the weaker those places will become. However, it is crucial that we keep this key position for the future of our operations. Therefore, we must preserve as much of our forces as possible if we are to hope for revenge one day from this humiliation."


    The two men slowly nodded because everything Wolfe said made sense.


    "It¡¯s pointless to expect any mercy from the French. They only speak of humanity when they¡¯re in desperate situations, but never when it¡¯s the other way around. We can only rely on ourselves to get back to British soil. I therefore propose we contact all officers who still have control over their troops, to warn them of the danger and our decision. Finally, to prevent the French from achieving a total victory, I suggest we sabotage as many of the artillery pieces as possible that we¡¯ll have to abandon here, ideally by dumping them into the sea. After all, it¡¯s always possible to repair a cannon whose touch hole has been plugged. That¡¯s my opinion on what we should do."


    The two men, their expressions so grave that one might easily mistake this for a wake, remained silent for a long time.


    "The Scots are proud and brave," Charles Lawrence articulated slowly in a grave voice. "Will they follow us?"


    "For their sake, I hope so. Otherwise, may God have mercy on their souls."


    The three officers could easily imagine these hot-blooded men preferring a heroic, albeit futile, death over the shame of retreat.


    Their reputation was so solid that it wasn¡¯t hard to anticipate their reaction. Even stripped of their uniforms and weapons, they would likely still be ready to fight if they believed it was their duty.


    Even far from their homeland, they were proud sons of Scotland. Descendants of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace. Many words could describe them, but "cowards" was certainly not one of them.


    Fortunately, James Wolfe¡¯s and Charles Lawrence¡¯s concerns were unfounded.


    When Colonel Fraiser arrived a bit later with his regiment of Scotsmen, they unanimously approved young Wolfe¡¯s idea. It was thus decided to retreat to Halifax, the nearest major British town to Louisbourg.


    It wouldn¡¯t be easy, as the region was wild, full of dangers, without roads or signs to show them the way. They would have to chart their own course and find a good route to leave the area.


    After they had destroyed all the cannons north of Havre Bay, the troops took everything useful without overloading themselves and headed west until they reached a small river that flowed into the bay. There, they changed direction and began to follow it upstream.


    They went north for a while before turning west again. The sun was still high, yet it would be night in just a few hours.


    Led by the Iroquois, the British army arrived where they had landed a week earlier. At that time, they thought their victory was assured, and nothing could stop the fall of Louisbourg. The Crown had deployed such great resources to achieve it, and yet they had failed.


    This French force and their fleet had ruined everything.


    Louisbourg would remain French for at least another year, but James Wolfe swore he would bring it down the following spring.


    They marched for a long time, almost until the last light of day, and set up a very rudimentary camp a little north of Anse au Sable. Most of the soldiers slept no more than a few hours, fearing they would be attacked during the night and killed in their sleep. Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened. There was no raid that night.


    The next morning, before the sun even appeared between the branches and the bright green leaves, the young brigadier general adjusted his officer¡¯s uniform and his tricorne before packing up his few belongings. It didn¡¯t take long, as most of his equipment had been left at their former camp near the lighthouse facing Louisbourg.


    Having anticipated the worst, he had ordered his men to bring food from their original camp at Anse Gauthier. Thus, unlike some soldiers, his men did not resume their journey on empty stomachs.


    Some soldiers, driven by hunger, stopped to eat as many wild berries as they could, attracted by their bright colors. But their knowledge of plants was poor, unlike that of the Indians and the woodsmen. Several of them fell ill with stomach cramps and vomiting. Among them was Wolfe¡¯s aide-de-camp, young Thomas Bell. Out of sheer curiosity, he had made the mistake of tasting a round, purple fruit that looked a lot like some berries found along field edges in England.


    "Aaaaargh... My stomach hurts so much!"


    He groaned in pain, constantly clutching his stomach. The young man was as pale as a sheet and so weak that he could barely walk.


    "It feels like my intestines are being twisted!" he said, bent over and leaning against a large tree that had clearly been rubbed against by a very large animal.


    A barely-dressed man, an Iroquois with a strange, colorful headdress, handed the young man a handful of leaves, which he eyed with a grimace.


    The man uttered a few words in his language, which neither Wolfe nor Bell understood. It sounded more like an ancient curse than anything else, and it was a woodsman who translated what the dark-skinned man had said.


    "He says to chew these leaves. They¡¯ll ease the pain and flush out the toxins," said the man, probably in his fifties, sporting a thick red beard.


    The Indian continued speaking in his language, which sounded nothing like any of the languages James Wolfe knew.


    "He also says," added the woodsman, "not to eat those little dark berries. They¡¯re bad."


    The man pointed to a bush covered in small, almost black berries, which, to Wolfe¡¯s eyes, looked edible.


    Thomas Bell accepted the leaves and, after a brief hesitation, shoved them all into his mouth and began to chew.


    James Wolfe turned to the woodsman to ask how to say "thank you" in the Iroquois language.


    Surprised that an English officer, clearly from a respectable bourgeois family, would want to learn the Indians'' language, the woodsman complied with a discreet smile. James Wolfe repeated what the man had said, addressing the Indian, but the man merely nodded before walking away.


    The troop continued their journey, following the coastline for a while before veering inland.


    In the days that followed, the men did nothing but walk through the woods, skirting lakes and crossing rivers of clear water. Over time, this ragged troop gradually approached the western tip of Cape Breton Island.


    Most of the soldiers were now as filthy as the woodsmen or Indians.


    James Wolfe had, of course, left his toiletries at the camp and now sported a light beard as red as his hair. His beard, however, was the least of his worries, as his health was once again deteriorating.


    He had always been in fragile health, but in recent years, he had endured painful episodes that sometimes confined him to bed.


    Leaning against a tree, his legs trembling, he tried to urinate without too much pain, all the while pleading with God for help. Despite his efforts and prayers, only a few drops came out, more red than yellow.


    ¡°Haaa!¡±


    ¡°Are you all right, sir?¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯ll be fine, thank you, Mr. Bell. C-continue on, I¡¯ll catch up.¡±


    James Wolfe rebuttoned his breeches and shakily closed the bottom of his uniform. That¡¯s when he noticed unusual activity among the men.


    He approached one of them and asked what was going on.


    ¡°Sir, the woodsmen have spotted a fleet anchored nearby! It¡¯s our fleet! The one that managed to escape from Gabarus Bay!¡±


    The young officer immediately understood the reason for their joy. If they could contact those ships, hopefully still under Admiral Boscawen¡¯s command, they could return to Halifax without trouble!


    An hour later, they arrived at a high vantage point overlooking a sheltered body of water, where, indeed, the remnants of the fleet lay: about twenty warships and frigates. They made their way down the steep slope to the sea with some difficulty and lit a large fire to attract attention.


    It worked, for the admiral soon sent a small, single-masted vessel that had been used to transport troops to Louisbourg. The captain was very surprised to find the remnants of His Majesty¡¯s army and took as many men as he could aboard, promising those who couldn¡¯t fit that he would return for the others.


    James Wolfe decided not to board right away, choosing to stay with the soldiers until the end and board only the last boat.


    He boarded the HMS Pembroke, which had suffered greatly during the Battle of Gabarus Bay, under the command of Captain James Simcoe. The man who helped him aboard was a very young officer with a sharp look in his eyes, who introduced himself as James Cook.


    Contrary to what he had expected upon returning to Halifax, they were hailed as heroes simply for making it back alive.

 Chapter 63: Welcome To New France

    Marshal de Richelieu had considered pursuing the fleeing troops, but seeing the pitiful state of his soldiers, he changed his mind. His men had gone far beyond their limits after a long sea voyage and were collapsing from exhaustion like dominoes.


    They had all worked hard and deserved to rest for a few days.


    He himself was not in his best shape, as commanding an army required intense concentration over a long period. But there was still so much to do!


    The most important tasks were to meet with the authorities of Louisbourg and to handle the large number of prisoners captured in just one day. He also needed to gather all the equipment abandoned by the English. Not counting the prisoners taken in Gabarus Bay, there were nearly five thousand of them, including Major General Amherst and several high-ranking officers.


    It is worth noting, however, that half of them had been captured in the field hospital.


    To the great satisfaction of the French officers, all the artillery pieces had been left behind! What a shame that the enemy had had time to sabotage so many of them before retreating! Several had been thrown into the harbor, but in many cases, that hadn¡¯t been possible, so they resorted to another, almost equally effective, method.


    The simplest way to render a cannon unusable was to block the vent, the small hole at the rear of the cannon used to ignite the powder inside the tube. A simple nail was enough, and that¡¯s exactly what they had done.


    Fortunately, this method wasn¡¯t permanent, as all it took was drilling a new hole through the nail. Indeed, it was impossible to extract it.


    Despite the flight of many English soldiers, this day was definitely a great victory.


    At the gates of the city, marked by the intense bombardments of recent days, Marshal Richelieu¡¯s soldiers were warmly welcomed by Madame Aubert de Courserac, the wife of Louisbourg¡¯s governor, Augustin de Drucourt. She was an exceptional woman, adored and respected by all the soldiers of the city. One by one, without missing a single one, she greeted each soldier who had come from the Old Continent to aid them.


    From the first day of the siege, this incredible woman had not hesitated to come to the rampart each day to fire two cannon shots to keep the troops'' morale high.


    Adam, who had reunited with his friends, including Louis, was surprised by this welcome. The young man smiled foolishly as he thanked the governor¡¯s wife, and she returned the smile before moving on to the next soldier.


    When he saw her, he immediately thought she must be the kindest of nurses or the most patient of teachers. He had met a woman who looked very much like her when he was very young. In his memories, she was very tall and always wore a small scarf around her neck. Every day, she would come with a different scarf, depending on her outfit and her mood. However, he had forgotten her name over time.


    As it was getting late and it would not have been wise to scatter his army, the marshal decided to send small groups of light cavalry to patrol the entrenchments surrounding the city. He feared that if the abandoned camps were left unguarded, a large amount of equipment would be stolen.


    Meanwhile, the rest of Richelieu¡¯s army set up an impressive camp around Louisbourg. Most of the materials used to house these five thousand men came from the former camp of Major General Amherst.


    For the locals, it was impressive, especially after nightfall, to see so many tents set up under the city¡¯s walls. For Richelieu¡¯s soldiers, it was nothing compared to what they had experienced in Hanover, where their numbers were ten times larger.


    There was not a single able-bodied Englishman left outside the city. The only ones who hadn¡¯t been sent there were those found in the field hospital. Among them were many sick men. The governor, understandably, did not want them in his city.


    The other prisoners had joined, under heavy guard, those captured during the naval battle and were imprisoned in deplorable conditions, crammed together. The irony was that their prison was a structure they had built during their previous occupation of the city.


    While the Duke of Richelieu was conferring with the governor and the city¡¯s other notable figures, Adam was finally able to rest properly.


    He felt so exhausted that he wanted to sleep for several days. That evening, after a light meal, he collapsed onto his straw bed inside a tent identical to those produced in French military factories for the soldiers of Louis XV.


    As soon as he laid his head on his coat, which served as a pillow, he fell asleep, but even in his dreams, work did not leave him in peace.


    He saw himself fighting at sea, landing, and fighting on land. Then he dreamed that he was ordered to dismantle the camp only to set it up a little farther away, then dismantle it again to set it up once more in another place.


    He then dreamed that he was tasked with inventorying all the equipment abandoned by the English. There was so much of it that it made his head spin. Just when he finished in one place, he realized there was even more elsewhere.


    ***


    At the same time, in the governor¡¯s residence, the most important personalities of the city and Marshal Duke of Richelieu¡¯s army were gathered. This imposing building was slightly elevated above the rest of the city and was protected on one side by a glacis and on the other by the King¡¯s bastion. It looked more like a military building than a true residence.


    A very large rectangular table, decorated with seasonal flowers, had been set up in the middle of the room. The room itself, although modest, had been very carefully decorated and furnished, making it feel like a charming provincial manor.


    In front of the guests, who were seated with great care, numerous steaming dishes had been placed, each emitting a different but highly appetizing aroma.


    The officers had been able to wash and change into new uniforms to look presentable. On the other hand, the civil authorities had chosen their attire with great care to make a good impression.


    Monsieur the Governor had opted for a silver waistcoat, an apricot-colored jacket, and breeches decorated with silver embroidery. His wife, on her part, had chosen to wear a charming mimosa yellow dress adorned with small royal blue bows. She wore only a simple bracelet of white pearls, which seemed to come from the same place as the ones dangling from her ears and neck.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    It was hard to believe, seeing them all gathered around such a fine meal, that they had just come out of a siege.


    In the corner of the room, a few people were playing music to ease conversation and help the guests think of something other than war. Yet, it was impossible to avoid the topic.


    ¡°Monsieur Marshal, on behalf of the inhabitants of Louisbourg, I wish to thank you once again for your help. Without you and your men, this fortress would have surely fallen into enemy hands.¡±


    ¡°Monsieur Governor, please. I was only doing my duty. His Majesty commanded me to come, knowing that the English would attempt something. His orders were to assist his loyal subjects in his colonies in the New World, and we simply fulfilled his will. No matter the distance that separates us from Versailles, we are all faithful subjects of His Majesty. Naturally, he did not want this stronghold to fall under English control. Now that we are liberated in Europe, we have the means to defend ourselves wherever necessary and to take the war directly to English soil!¡±


    ¡°Marvelous!¡± Governor Drucourt applauded joyfully. ¡°I must admit, Monsieur Marshal,¡± he added, raising a beautiful Venetian glass, ¡°that we were very afraid here, as in Montreal and Quebec, that His Majesty had decided to abandon us, seeing that the fur trade was no longer as profitable as in the past.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, yes, there is a profitability issue,¡± the marshal agreed, aware of this fact, though he knew very little about the New World. ¡°But, Monsieur Governor, New France is like an estate: without proper maintenance and resources, it cannot prosper. Instead, it will deteriorate until it becomes a ruin.¡±


    ¡°Well said, sir!¡± a young man dressed more lavishly than the governor exclaimed enthusiastically.


    The marshal looked at him for a moment, trying to figure out who this child pretending to be an adult could be, but paid him no further attention. For the young noble, however, that brief moment had been intense. For a fraction of a second, he felt as if he had been face-to-face with a massive wolf, ready to tear out his throat at any moment.


    ¡°Now, tell me, what is our real situation?¡± asked the duke, turning his attention back to the governor. ¡°I must admit I know very little about these matters, as it is my first time in these lands.¡±


    ¡°It would be an honor, my lord! New France is an immense territory, as you know, stretching from Louisiana to Hudson Bay, which is controlled by the English. Yet, we have almost no settlers! This vast territory is empty and underutilized! The few settlers we do have are concentrated in specific areas. In the north, it¡¯s around the Saint Lawrence River.¡±


    The marshal nodded slightly. That was part of common knowledge¡ªabout all he knew of New France was contained in those few words.


    ¡°That¡¯s why we maintain good relations with the Indians, except for the Iroquois. Hmm, they are a tribe, or rather a confederation of Indian nations, allied with England. You may have seen some during the battle? They were there. In any case, we are very few, and the Indians help us control this territory for His Majesty. The English, however, are numerous in the New World, and they regularly receive reinforcements from England, Scotland, and Ireland. They can muster large numbers of soldiers and ships, whereas we cannot.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Richelieu said, savoring the fine wine he had been served. ¡°How have you managed to hold out until now, then?¡±


    ¡°Ahem! You must understand that here, it¡¯s not the Old Continent,¡± the city commander replied with some embarrassment. ¡°The kings are far away, my lord, and the armies are smaller, as are the resources and the size of our towns. We also wage war differently, at least differently from the English. We engage in what we call ¡®petite guerre.¡¯¡±


    Petite guerre? What is that?


    As if reading his thoughts, the governor explained.


    ¡°It consists of conducting small skirmish battles with very few soldiers mixed with coureurs de bois and Indians, attacking the enemy by surprise. In this way, we inflict modest damage but also suffer few losses. That¡¯s why the English here hate us so much. Added together, these small victories cause significant problems for our enemies.¡±


    As soon as he heard the governor¡¯s explanation, the old marshal thought back to his experiences in Hanover. Ferdinand of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg. That man had caused him so many problems that he never wanted to hear his name again.


    Luckily, that¡¯s Soubise¡¯s problem now. I wonder if he¡¯s handling it? That man is truly slippery.


    ¡°I understand. Even if these methods may seem dishonorable to some, they are, in certain circumstances, the only ones that can be employed to win. I suppose engaging in a conventional battle is impossible?¡±


    ¡°It would be a massacre, I fear. Numbers aren¡¯t the only issue; there¡¯s also discipline. The men who serve here are not like those you¡¯ve commanded in Europe, my lord. Holding a formation is difficult for them, but they are very mobile and capable of taking initiative.¡±


    They spoke at length over a warm meal and a glass of fine wine, refilled many times. It wasn¡¯t just any wine either, but the one the enemy commander had offered as a gift to the governor at the beginning of this siege.


    Monsieur de Drucourt sought to be as thorough as possible in providing the marshal with the most accurate picture of New France while highlighting their needs. He didn¡¯t dodge a single question posed by the marshal, answering honestly each time.


    ¡°Well,¡± the duke said, placing his hands flat on the table. ¡°I believe I¡¯ve understood the situation well. I will draft a letter to Versailles requesting support to protect His Majesty¡¯s interests by emphasizing the advantages of retaining New France. In this letter, I will include a detailed report on the events since my departure from Brest, particularly this battle, which I am sure will be greatly appreciated by our king.¡±


    ¡°Thank you so much, my lord!¡±


    ¡°Lastly, I will compile a complete list of our prisoners as soon as possible, so that we may send a request to His Britannic Majesty for ransom for his men.¡±


    ¡°Naturally, naturally! We should also draft a letter to Monsieur de Montcalm and de Vaudreuil to inform them of your presence. The first has been appointed by His Majesty as commander of the armed forces in the New World, and the second, as you surely know, is the governor of Montreal.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I will do that as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°Excellent! In that case, I am reassured! For the other matters, we can discuss them later. On behalf of all the inhabitants of New France, I welcome you!¡±


    ¡°Welcome to New France!¡±


    Once the meal was over, Marshal Duke de Richelieu made his way to the barracks where Major General Amherst and his officers were being held. It wasn¡¯t grand, but at least they had rooms and didn¡¯t have to endure the conditions of the thousands of prisoners captured that day.


    Two guards stood in front of the door, which had originally belonged to a city officer.


    Though he was thousands of kilometers from Europe and the splendor of the grandest courts in the world, Richelieu was committed to upholding the tradition of treating prisoners well, especially officers. Even in the midst of battle, it was not uncommon for two enemy officers to meet, converse, and share a meal.


    Thus, he didn¡¯t find a broken man in the room but rather an English gentleman in his officer¡¯s attire, savoring a cup of tea while reading a book, a collection of poems.


    ¡°Monsieur le Duc de Richelieu, it is an honor,¡± said the British general in perfect French, gently closing his book.


    ¡°The honor is mine, but I am surprised you recognized me so easily. Could it be that we¡¯ve met before?¡±


    The duke took a seat on the vacant chair across from the general, who served him a still-steaming cup of tea.


    ¡°I was at the Battle of Fontenoy, on May 11, 1745. I was then aide-de-camp to General Ligonier.¡±


    ¡°Really? That was some time ago, though at times it feels like only yesterday. The years fly by so quickly... What a coincidence to meet here. Are you being treated well?¡±


    ¡°I have no complaints, but certainly, I would prefer to be elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, I can imagine.¡±


    ¡°Tell me instead, Your Grace, what has become of my army? How many dead and wounded?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re still counting, but early estimates suggest around seven thousand dead. We¡¯ve taken nearly five thousand prisoners, many of whom were in your hospital. The rest managed to escape into the woods.¡±


    The general¡¯s face paled at hearing those staggering numbers.


    So many prisoners, and worse, so many dead in this one battle! At Fontenoy, they had an army four times the size of this one, but here he was being told he had suffered twice the losses! His military career was surely over, and his name would forever be remembered in disgrace.


    Though they were enemies, Marshal de Richelieu felt sympathy for him.

 Chapter 64: Quebec

    The day after the battle, they began loading the prisoners onto ships captured from the enemy. These ships would be sent to France in the coming days.


    Since the news of the victory at Louisbourg would take time to reach Europe, the French could pass these ships off as British vessels.


    Their destination would be Brest, as they could claim to be heading for the English Channel until the very last moment.


    Major General Jeffery Amherst, defeated but still dignified, was brought aboard the HMS Princess Amelia.


    Soon, the prisons of Louisbourg were emptied. However, it was neither possible nor of much interest to transport all the prisoners to France. Priority was given to healthy military personnel, starting with the officers.


    The wounded and sick were left behind to avoid complications during the long voyage. If they died en route, they could not be exchanged for ransom or for French prisoners held by the English. Worse yet, if they returned dying prisoners to old King George, it might start a vicious cycle of mistreatment, with France receiving back useless human wrecks in return for their own captives!


    The port of Louisbourg buzzed with activity. Slowly, in groups of ten, prisoners were led into the depths of these imposing ships and locked up like the worst of criminals. Meanwhile, Louisbourg began to tend its wounds.


    There was so much to do that both civilians and soldiers didn¡¯t know where to start. It was impossible to allow the brave French soldiers to rest or enjoy any leisure time.


    Mainly, they were asked to gather and bring to the main camp anything the enemy had left behind around the city, from Pointe Plate to the lighthouse.


    Adam, sent to the other side of the Louisbourg harbor, silently searched a large tent where nearly everything had been left as it was. There was a simple bed, a large travel trunk, a small table, a chair, and a few books. It was as if the owner had just stepped out for a moment and would soon return.


    Ah, it feels good to sit down! thought the young man as he tested the modest bed, which was far superior to his meager straw mattress.


    His eyes fell on the trunk, and he pulled it towards him. It was made of wood covered in brown canvas, just under a meter long, fifty centimeters wide, and sixty centimeters tall. On either side were large varnished wooden handles and two silver clasps on the front.


    CLACK CLACK


    He opened it, not expecting to find treasure, and discovered a few clothes and other personal effects. What immediately caught his attention was a long, thick, red-and-gold coat. An officer''s coat.


    The quality was nothing like his own coat. It was like comparing a small, license-free car to a sleek Ferrari.


    I really want to try it on. No one should mind.


    He glanced at the entrance of the tent, and seeing no one, he began to take off his white coat. With surprising care, he slipped into the English uniform and stood before a tall mirror on the other side of the bed.


    Hmm, too small. The owner must not have been very tall, Adam guessed, stretching his arms out in front of him to see how far the sleeves reached. Yes, far too small. The guy must not have had any muscles.


    He immediately took off the coat and examined the label embroidered on the collar. The same name was written on the trunk.


    "James Wolfe..."


    Never heard of him.


    Even though the uniform was very nice, it didn¡¯t fit him at all. He felt very cramped in it, but even more so, it was an English uniform. Since arriving in this time, he had learned to deeply despise them.


    He carelessly tossed the coat onto the bed and looked at himself again in the mirror, as such opportunities were rare.


    He was tall and had a good face. But it was clear this year had taken a toll on him. Despite his young age¡ªhe had turned twenty-one during the voyage¡ªhe already had a few wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead. His fingers brushed over the long scar above his eye, which disappeared under his nearly red hair.


    While he no longer felt any pain, seeing it still gave him a little pang in his heart.


    Hmm, let¡¯s continue searching this place.


    He quickly went through the books, boxes, and suitcases, and when he was done, he loaded all the valuable or useful items into a large cart that was already quite full. As soon as it was filled, they returned to the camp, where a hot meal of thick porridge flavored with rich bacon and an egg was being served.


    ¡°Fran?ois! Over here!¡±


    Adam found his friends near a campfire, close to the artillery and the few horses that had made the journey with them. Unloading them had been quite an adventure, as they had to be hoisted into rowboats and kept still until they reached the pebble beach at Pointe Plate.


    ¡°How are you, friends?¡±


    ¡°Doing okay. Just tired. How¡¯s your leg?¡±


    ¡°No problem. The wound wasn¡¯t deep at all. It¡¯s just a bit tender.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear!¡±


    Adam had been wounded the day before, but in the excitement of the moment, he had completely forgotten about it. He had helped dismantle the enemy¡¯s camp and reconstruct it in front of Louisbourg before seeing the surgeon. He had waited a long time because his case wasn¡¯t considered urgent.


    He had stood in a corner for what felt like ages until the man was available to remove the bullet, which he did quite roughly, as if he were extracting a simple splinter from his finger.


    While he was enjoying his meal, a young soldier with hair as black as his eyes interrupted them and asked Louis to follow him. What surprised Adam was that Louis did so without protest, and what surprised him even more was Jean¡¯s strange reaction.


    He had such a peculiar expression on his face that Adam almost burst out laughing, like a child who had eaten a chili pepper thinking it was a very sweet fruit. Despite his questions, the soldier refused to say anything about the matter. All Adam learned was that his name was Pierre.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    A little later, the group was interrupted again, this time by Captain Gilbert. He looked a bit better than the previous day, likely thanks to a good night¡¯s sleep in something other than a hammock.


    ¡°Captain Gilbert? What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Boucher, I¡¯ve been looking for you everywhere for the past hour, cough, cough! You should be with the company. Anyway, cough, cough, we have new orders.¡±


    Immediately, Adam and his friends'' faces became serious.


    ¡°What¡¯s the mission, Captain?¡±


    ¡°His Grace the Marshal wants to send a ship and some men to inform the Governor of New France of our arrival. We must board the Ar¨¦thuse immediately.¡±


    ¡°Immediately?! Captain, I need a little time!¡±


    ¡°If you had stayed with the men, you would have had an hour to prepare. Now, it¡¯s too late. The captain is waiting for us.¡±


    Adam let out a discreet sigh and stood up.


    ¡°Is it just our company?¡±


    ¡°No, there are seven others, all from the Second Battalion. I¡¯ve been given command. Come.¡±


    ¡°At your orders. Sorry, friends. No choice.¡±


    ¡°When you have to go, you have to go,¡± Jules said with sympathy, saluting his friend.


    ¡°Good luck!¡±


    ¡°Thanks! Say goodbye to Louis for me!¡±


    Once again, Jean made a strange face, blushing as he imagined what Louis was probably doing with Pierre in some corner of the camp.


    The ship they boarded was light and fast. It was a frigate, the one that had managed to escape from Louisbourg¡¯s harbor while it was still under siege, Ar¨¦thuse.


    While the Oc¨¦an was a true floating fortress, a sturdy and heavy behemoth requiring an army of sailors to navigate, this ship was sleek, graceful, and rather simple, with none of the heavy gilded decorations at the stern. Being aboard such a ship was like going to the countryside after experiencing the bustle of a large city.


    Despite its profile favoring speed and its large sails, the Ar¨¦thuse couldn¡¯t fully spread its wings due to the contrary winds. It was those very same winds that had allowed Duquesne de Menneville¡¯s ships to arrive so quickly at Louisbourg and surprise Admiral Boscawen¡¯s fleet. Now, however, they were a hindrance.


    Slowly, the beautiful frigate sailed northward.


    Although the journey might seem short on a map, the distance was similar to traveling from New York to Charleston or from Dublin to the Spanish coast. It took a week to make this journey.


    ¡°Reef the mainsail!¡±


    Are we slowing down? Where are we?


    The captain of the ship, an old man with a thick but well-groomed gray beard, stood at the stern, watching the maneuvers. His arms crossed behind his back, he resembled a grand general who missed nothing. Adam saw Captain Gilbert approach him, and curious to hear what they had to say, he moved closer.


    ¡°Captain, are we still far? Cough, cough, cough!¡±


    ¡°We are entering the mouth of the St. Lawrence. Quebec is at the end.¡±


    This is the estuary of a river?! It looks like a lake! It¡¯s huge!


    ¡°Though wide, the St. Lawrence River is treacherous. You need to know it well to navigate it with a ship of this tonnage. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve ordered us to reduce sail. We wouldn¡¯t want to run aground on a sandbank, would we?¡±


    Looking closely at the river, Adam noticed buoys positioned at regular intervals on both sides, forming a corridor. They marked the areas to avoid in order to reach Quebec City safely, the heart of New France.


    The farther the Ar¨¦thuse sailed, the narrower the river became until it was no wider than a typical river found in this region. The transition was so seamless that the young man soon felt claustrophobic amid the stunning landscapes.


    Standing near the bowsprit, he admired the wild scenery around him, which reminded him a little of Westphalia. But here, the landscape was far more imposing, with cliffs on either side of the river that seemed almost impassable. There were so few places suitable for landing that the area was extremely secure.


    Wow! It¡¯s so beautiful! It feels like nothing has changed since the discovery of America!


    As his gaze rested on the trees, they seemed so immense and numerous that he found it hard to believe a city could be nearby. Still accustomed to modernity, he had expected to see vast fields and patches of woods, remnants of a landscape altered by mankind.


    It¡¯s so wild! Incredible! I¡¯m sure there are deer, bears, and wolves! Is it... is it like this in the United States? Or rather, the future United States?


    As the ship slowly sailed along the majestic river towards one of the largest cities in New France, a shout came from the rigging that small boats were in sight and approaching. Immediately, all the soldiers rushed to identify the newcomers and, as a precaution, prepared their weapons.


    Captain Vauquelin addressed the soldiers, who had just arrived and were likely quite nervous.


    ¡°Everything is fine! They are our Mi¡¯kmaq allies. Do not point your guns at them and try not to stare too much.¡±


    The men, including the company captains, all swallowed at the same time. It would be a first for them, as although there were veterans of the War of Austrian Succession, none of them had ever seen Native Americans.


    Adam, because he came from another time when it was easy to meet and speak with people from all over the world, seemed perhaps the least worried. Not a single emotion was visible. However, inside, he still felt a twinge of apprehension. He knew nothing about these ¡°Mi''kmaqs.¡± Even their name was unfamiliar to him.


    It sounds like the name of a burger... Shit, now I want a huge hamburger with lots of cheddar and fries! Ah, this isn¡¯t good, my cheeks hurt so much! I feel like I can smell the meat cooking! C-can I even make that in this era?


    Captain Gilbert glanced furtively in his direction and, unaware of Adam¡¯s strange, nostalgia-filled thoughts, nodded softly. He was very pleased with his reaction.


    As envoys of the Marshal and officers, they had to maintain a good appearance and appear calm at all times. From his perspective, his lieutenant¡¯s face was like a calm lake.


    The small boats with their distinct appearance, five or six in total, quickly approached them and surrounded the Ar¨¦thuse as if they were about to scale the hull and kill them. From one of the boats, a tall, strong Native man dressed in a large red coat addressed the captain.


    No one understood anything, and they all turned to the captain. The old man then responded in the same language as the warrior-like Native, which raised an eyebrow of surprise from all the passengers.


    Monsieur Vauquelin did not speak the language of these indigenous people fluently, but he could make himself understood. Here, he explained with very simple words that they were French friends on their way to Quebec to see their chief.


    Under the attentive gaze of the soldiers, the canoes cleared a path, allowing the frigate to continue its journey.


    Once again, the soldiers raised an eyebrow in surprise. It made one wonder who truly held power in this region.


    After passing a large island in the middle of the river, the frigate finally arrived in Quebec.


    Its location was excellent: perched on a rocky plateau, it needed no fortifications on that side. With no place to dock, the frigate dropped anchor in the middle of the river.


    Rather than disembarking all the soldiers, it was decided with the other captains to send only Captain Gilbert and his lieutenant to meet the Governor of New France. Of course, they would be accompanied by a few soldiers for protection. It was also a matter of prestige.


    The captain, who seemed to be struggling to suppress another coughing fit, and his young lieutenant thus disembarked literally at the foot of the city with six soldiers.


    They quickly arrived in a small built-up area known simply as ¡°Lower Town.¡± There were a few houses, warehouses, batteries to defend access to the city, and a church. They passed by the church and, via a sort of ramp, accessed the Upper Town.


    This is¡­ it¡¯s much cleaner than I imagined. In fact, it¡¯s quite¡­ normal? I was too harsh, thought Adam as he curiously observed this town that would become a beautiful city of more than five hundred thousand souls two centuries later.


    For now, it only had a population of eight thousand four hundred.


    Hmm, it¡¯s more orderly than I feared. I expected to see muddy streets, miserable people living in filthy houses. Well, it¡¯s not Versailles, but it¡¯s not so bad.


    Looking at the locals, he sensed a kind of natural determination. Perhaps it was something necessary to survive in these lands so far north?


    There were clearly more men than women, many children, a few Natives, but even more shocking was the sight of a handful of Black people. He had only seen three, and it was very clear they were not ordinary subjects of His Majesty, but slaves.


    ¡°Is there a problem, Lieutenant?¡± asked Captain Gilbert, looking around without seeing anything out of the ordinary when he noticed Adam had stopped in the middle of the street.


    ¡°No, um¡­ it¡¯s nothing,¡± Adam replied, averting his gaze.


    Instead, he fixed his eyes on the massive building they were heading towards.


    It stood proudly to his left, like an old stone soldier, watching over the river and the town. This star-shaped fort, known as Fort Saint-Louis, housed, among other things, the offices of the Governor of New France.

 Chapter 65: The Governor De Vaudreuil

    The building housing the residence and workplace of the Governor of New France stood elegantly above the lower town, stretching out with a combination of simplicity and charm. At first glance, it was clear that much energy had been invested in its construction.


    However, it wasn¡¯t the only beautiful building in Quebec. If Adam and Armand Gilbert took the time to explore the city, they could discover others, often featuring lovely French-style gardens. It was as if they had sought to bring a small piece of France to this remote place.


    The building, with its two stories and a few rectangular windows, had four small projections facing a charming paved courtyard. Naturally, the white flag adorned with golden fleurs-de-lis proudly fluttered in the wind above the fort.


    They were quickly intercepted by two French soldiers wearing uniforms slightly different from their own. They looked so similar in face and stature that Adam immediately suspected they were brothers.


    ¡°Halt! No one passes without authorization!¡± said the first, tightening his grip on his musket.


    ¡°Yes! State your identities and the purpose of your visit!¡± continued the second, in a voice equally similar.


    ¡°I am Captain Armand Gilbert of the Second Battalion of the Picardy Regiment, commanded by the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, and this is my lieutenant, Fran?ois Boucher. We have come to meet the governor to deliver a letter of utmost importance by order of Marshal de Richelieu.¡±


    Immediately, the two guards, who seemed as disheveled as they had been the previous winter, straightened up, showing serious expressions.


    ¡°If it¡¯s just to deliver a letter¡­¡± said the first guard hesitantly.


    ¡°But it¡¯s of the utmost importance, Bernard!¡±


    ¡°Well, ¡®utmost importance¡¯ is relative, Bertrand.¡±


    ¡°Relative? What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s when something is important to you, but it might not be important to the other person.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right! Like when I got a letter from my cousin telling me to rush to the farm because there was a problem with his cow, but it was just because the calf had a different color and a weird spot on its forehead!¡±


    What are these idiots talking about? Are they doing this on purpose or what?


    ¡°Are you two finished? I said I need to meet Governor de Vaudreuil immediately!¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, he might be busy. Do you have an appointment? If he¡¯s not informed of your visit, he might not be able to see you.¡±


    Captain Gilbert, growing more impatient by the second, was turning dangerously red and starting to resemble a beetroot. Yet the two guards didn¡¯t seem to notice, as they were too engrossed in their conversation, debating whether to let them through.


    Shit! They¡¯re really stupid! The captain¡¯s going to explode!


    Finally, an officer with the rank of lieutenant arrived at the fort gates and defused the situation by apologizing to Captain Gilbert.


    This lieutenant, Andr¨¦ Petit, of medium height and in his forties, with particularly thick eyebrows, led them toward the entrance of the grand building and guided them inside. Walking confidently, he led them up a large stone staircase to the upper floor, to the right wing, where the governor¡¯s office was located.


    KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK


    The lieutenant knocked three times, and a tired but firm voice responded from inside.


    ¡°Enter.¡±


    ¡°Governor, sir,¡± said the soldier, opening the door, ¡°Captain Armand Gilbert of the Picardy Regiment has arrived with his lieutenant at the fort and requests a meeting.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me? The Picardy Regiment? What is¡­ Ah, let them in. I¡¯ll see them immediately.¡±


    When the captain and the lieutenant entered the governor¡¯s office, they found an old man seated behind an imposing desk covered with books and papers filled with fine writing.


    Pierre de Rigaud de Vaudreuil de Cavagnial, Marquis de Vaudreuil, was a man in his sixties, his face rounded with age, wearing a large powdered wig as was the fashion. From his strained features, it was clear he was very troubled and hadn¡¯t slept well for several days.


    Contrary to what one might think upon hearing his full name and titles, he had been born in the colonies, in Quebec specifically. He knew his region, its people, and its problems very well. Before becoming Governor of New France, he had been responsible for Louisiana.


    Though the climate was different, most of the problems were similar, whether in Quebec or New Orleans. The king didn¡¯t seem concerned with their situation and preferred to leave them to fend for themselves.


    From his desk, he did his best to improve the daily lives of the settlers, maintain friendly relations with the Indigenous people, and help the colony prosper. He sincerely hoped that one day Versailles would finally recognize the importance and potential of this continent.


    ¡°Captain Gilbert? Good morning. I am Governor de Vaudreuil. How may I help you?¡± Cough cough!


    ¡°Good morning, Governor. Sorry to interrupt your work. I am Captain Armand Gilbert of the Picardy Regiment,¡± he said, bowing respectfully. ¡°And this is my lieutenant, Fran?ois Boucher. It¡¯s an honor to meet you. We have just arrived cough cough in the New World under the command of Marshal Richelieu. The marshal ordered me to present myself to you to inform you of our arrival. Under his command, we embarked with as many troops as could be transported after Prussia and Hanover were defeated. We left Brest two months ago and arrived in Louisbourg on June 16th. Cough cough! As we arrived in the New World, we surprised our enemies as they were besieging the city.¡±


    At these words, the old governor jumped, nearly spilling ink all over his desk.


    "What?! What are you saying?! Louisbourg is under siege?!"


    His voice, face, and gestures clearly showed his shock.


    "Rest assured, sir. We managed to inflict a heavy defeat on the English. The Marshal-Duke has, cough cough, entrusted me with a letter intended for you, and I also have one for Mr. de Montcalm, who commands the King¡¯s armies in New France."


    The old man had lost all his composure upon hearing this officer. That they were sending a troop was already extraordinary, but that there was a Marshal of France¡ªthis was unbelievable! A wonderful dream from which he didn¡¯t want to wake! When he heard that Louisbourg had been under siege, he had immediately imagined the worst.


    "How many men came with you, sir?!"


    "Uh, around five thousand. They¡¯re currently in Louisbourg, helping repair the damage caused by the battle. Cough cough! I¡¯ve only come with my company and seven others, about three hundred men."


    "Oh..."


    The man seemed a little disappointed. That said, upon reflection, it made sense: Louisbourg had just been attacked, and it would have been risky to immediately move the entire force here, while the English might still be lurking around, waiting for an opportunity to harm His Majesty¡¯s interests.


    He accepted with a slightly trembling hand the letter Captain Gilbert handed him and read it with the utmost attention, as if it had been written by the King himself. As he read the lines, he slowly regained his composure, nodding several times. The content was quite simple and confirmed what this man had just said.


    "I see, I see. Very well," he said, looking up at the two men standing before his desk. "It says here that the Marshal has exceptionally entrusted you with the command of seven companies in addition to your own, and that you are now at my disposal and that of Mr. de Montcalm once you¡¯ve completed your mission. Ah, but he¡¯s not in Quebec at the moment."


    "The Marquis is not here? Cough! That¡¯s unfortunate," Gilbert replied, furrowing his brows slightly, somewhat embarrassed.Stolen story; please report.


    Governor de Vaudreuil crossed his fingers over the unfolded letter on his desk and thought for a moment.


    "Well, sir, in a way, that¡¯s a good thing, because you¡¯ll be able to deliver this letter to him and assist him at the same time."


    "Ah? Assist him? Is there a problem? What can we do?" asked Gilbert, expecting to receive a difficult mission.


    The Marquis de Vaudreuil nodded slowly, running a tired hand over his face to wipe away his fatigue.


    "According to our information, the English are on the move. It seems they planned to attack us on two fronts. It¡¯s fortunate that the Marshal arrived to break their assault on Louisbourg."


    "Yes, sir. We were lucky. Do we know their target?"


    "We have a fort south of Montreal, Fort Carillon. It¡¯s quite remote and roughly marks the limit of the territories we control. Mr. de Montcalm left nine days ago to block their way with nearly all our men, but it may not be enough. He¡¯ll need as many soldiers as possible, Captain. Despite all our efforts, he could only take 3,600 men with him. While we don¡¯t yet know how many troops the enemy has brought, we know they will be considerable. How did you come to Quebec, sir?"


    "On board the Ar¨¦thuse, Governor. A frigate."


    "Very well. In that case, she will return to Louisbourg to inform the Duke of Richelieu of the situation and request more men to reinforce Mr. de Montcalm. It is imperative that the road leading to Montreal and Quebec be protected. In the meantime, you and your men will head upriver to join Mr. de Montcalm."


    "Will we arrive in time? We¡¯ll also need guides to help us."


    "I hope so. From here, it will probably take you about ten days. Hmm, you¡¯ll likely be faster in canoes. As for the guides, naturally, we¡¯ll find someone. Lieutenant Petit?"


    They discussed for a little while longer, and then the two officers left the fort and returned to the lower town.


    As soon as they set foot back on the deck of the Ar¨¦thuse, Captain Gilbert repeated everything he had learned to the ship¡¯s captain and the other infantry captains.


    The soldiers were quickly disembarked. With the help of the Mi¡¯kmaq Indians, the frigate was turned around on the great river, and as it unfurled its sails to head east, a guide arrived with some Indians. Lieutenant Petit was also present.


    "Gentlemen, good day. I¡¯m Lieutenant Petit. Let me introduce Damien Lebl¨¦, who will be your guide. He¡¯s certainly one of the best hunters in the region. And here are the men who will accompany you."


    "Hello! Yeah, as the lieutenant said, I¡¯m the guide, so follow my instructions closely. We¡¯re not on the Old Continent here. Everything here can kill you. Right, let¡¯s start with the boats. This isn¡¯t a rowboat, not a longboat; it¡¯s a canot or a canoe, if you prefer."


    Adam raised an eyebrow upon seeing their guide. He had an odd way of speaking and, most notably, an unusual outfit. He also carried a long musket, a small axe, and a very large knife at his belt. Due to these three intimidating features, no one dared to smirk at him.


    Rather than linger on these small details, Adam stepped forward to listen to what he had to say. He also took the opportunity to examine the canots or canoes more closely.


    Some were very small, limited to a few passengers, while others were much longer and wider, easily accommodating a dozen people.


    As their guide, a coureur de bois dressed almost like the Indians surrounding them, had said, while these canoes looked quite rustic, a closer inspection revealed just how well-made they were.


    Hmm, it looks like they put a lot of effort into making them.


    With apprehension, the soldiers began boarding these vessels one by one, which seemed so unreliable to them.


    Damien climbed into his canoe, large enough to accommodate ten other people. Adam boarded another, slightly smaller one, which had a few painted decorations on the sides.


    Oh wow! It¡¯s... hmm, narrower than I thought. It feels like a long wooden hammock.


    If they all thought they would have trouble handling the canoes or that they would sink due to their weight¡ªAdam included¡ªthey were pleasantly surprised. Not only were these strange boats easy to navigate, but they were also very stable and sturdy. Despite the heavy load, the canoes glided across the water gracefully.


    "Alright, gentlemen, I¡¯m leading the way," said Damien Lebl¨¦ from his canoe, placing a strange hat on his head, with a peculiar orange and brown fluffy tail sticking out. "Follow my instructions, and everything will go smoothly."


    A few Indigenous people, Mi''kmaq, dressed in unusual attire, with dark skin and black hair, accompanied them. They were spread out across different boats to ensure the journey went without incident.


    Adam was very glad they were there to guide them, as the splendid landscapes were unfamiliar and barely touched by human hands. Despite the paths, they would have most likely gotten lost in the wilderness and probably wandered to their deaths on this vast continent.


    One of the Indigenous men, particularly tall, stood at the rear of the canoe in which Adam was seated. He was very imposing, and he would have certainly made an excellent basketball player in the 21st century. He had long black hair, deep eyes, a hooked nose, and a sharply angular face, as if it had been carved from stone with a hammer.


    He wore very simple animal skin clothes, somewhat reminiscent of a trapper, over which he had thrown a large poncho the color of eggshell.


    The discomfort, fear, and mistrust lingered for a while. Whether in their canoe or in the others, everyone remained very quiet, occasionally glancing at these strange individuals who resembled neither the French, Germans, English, Italians, nor Spaniards. After some time, curiosity took over.


    The Frenchmen tried to converse with the Indigenous people, who fortunately spoke a few words of French. In the canoe with Adam, it was he who initiated the conversation first.


    Adam and the Indigenous man struggled a bit to communicate, but with patience, they managed to introduce themselves. The Indigenous man gave his name, but Adam couldn¡¯t pronounce it correctly.


    His comrades, encouraged by their lieutenant, in turn sought to learn more about this man, his culture, and his way of life.


    Adam smiled and looked at the scenery. The river was calm, and the water was so clear that despite its depth, they could see the bottom.


    It was impossible to reach Fort Carillon in a single day, as they would soon learn that there were nearly four hundred kilometers of river to travel upstream to get there. Taking into account breaks and the time each man needed to sleep, they could only make progress for about ten hours a day, which still amounted to, barring complications, around fifty kilometers per day!


    It took them no less than two and a half days just to reach the nearest town, Trois-Rivi¨¨res!


    That evening, after a modest fire was lit, the Indigenous man who had shared Adam¡¯s canoe offered a strange piece of meat to one of the French soldiers. The meat was flat, dark, and dry¡ªdried and smoked for preservation.


    The soldier, a young man from Adam¡¯s company who had ended up in a different canoe, with a square jaw and a look of arrogance, suddenly became angry and violently slapped the Indigenous man¡¯s hand, causing the meat to fall to the ground.


    Immediately, all eyes turned to the two men.


    "Don¡¯t come near me, savage! You can keep your shit! No way am I eating that! Hey, do you want me to turn into a savage?!"


    Adam immediately flew into a rage, jumping to his feet even before Damien Lebl¨¦ could smash his fist into the young fool¡¯s face. With a quick stride, under the surprised eyes of his comrades, including Captain Gilbert, he slapped the soldier so hard he fell onto his backside. Stunned, the soldier touched his burning cheek.


    A deathly silence fell over the group. Everyone held their breath, especially those who knew Adam. It was the first time they had seen their lieutenant in such a state.


    "Fool! Is the air these people breathe wild just because they breathe it? Is their water wilder than ours? There is no such thing as wild food!"


    Fucking racist bastard!


    With that, Adam picked up the dried meat and ate it in front of everyone. He then addressed the Indigenous man.


    "Please excuse my subordinate¡¯s behavior. Your meat is very good."


    "He¡­ angry?"


    "No. Not angry¡­ Fear. He doesn¡¯t know¡­ you."


    Using large gestures, Adam tried to communicate with the Indigenous man, which made the woodsman sitting in the corner smile a little, holding an enormous knife with a piece of dried meat on the tip, identical to the one offered by the imposing Indigenous man.


    This man, named Tjenopitoqsit, was the son of a Mi''kmaq woman and a French settler from New France. That¡¯s why he spoke their language as well.


    If Adam had understood correctly from the stories Tjenopitoqsit had told him over the past few days, his father was a well-known hunter in the region. As fur-bearing animals, one of the most valuable resources to Europeans in this part of the continent, became increasingly scarce due to overhunting, he had to venture farther and farther to continue his trade. This is why he often went away for weeks, returning only to sell his pelts.


    Tjenopitoqsit had made significant efforts to learn elements of this strange language and their customs, although many things still escaped him.


    The next day, a little before reaching Montreal, the Indigenous men signaled them to turn onto a river to their left that flowed into the main river. By following it, they would head directly south and reach Fort Carillon in a few days.


    It was disconcerting to go from such a wide river to such a narrow one. However, the canoes could still move forward without having to form an endless column. Indeed, the river was nearly a hundred meters wide at this point.


    Due to the trees surrounding them, casting large shadows over the water, it was difficult to navigate. Adam, like the others, no longer knew whether they were heading south, east, or in some other direction. They had no choice but to trust these Indigenous guides.


    All they could do was count the days, paddle, and admire the view. They only stopped at the end of the day to sleep and rest their aching bodies from staying in the same position and using their arms continuously.


    One morning, they noticed that the river was beginning to widen. Adam and the others had no idea whether to call this place a river, a stream, or a lake. At its widest point, over fifteen kilometers separated the two banks!


    This place was teeming with life: birds, frogs, insects, beavers, deer, bears, fish. It was impressive to witness such a rich ecosystem.


    They crossed this wide body of water without disturbing it, and at the far end, Adam realized the terrain was becoming more challenging. There was a difference in height between this part of the river and the upper section. Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t to the extent of having to scale a cliff with a waterfall in the middle. The river simply flowed peacefully between moss-covered rocks, making a soft, comforting sound.


    "We can¡¯t go any further. Bring the canoes ashore; we¡¯ll disembark here. We¡¯ll need to walk for a bit," said the guide, vigorously scratching the thick beard that covered half his face.


    The group followed the instructions and returned to dry land. They were then forced to carry the canoes for a while, being careful not to drop them, until the river became navigable again.


    Damien Lebl¨¦ led the group through the trees and rocks, occasionally observing the animal tracks. He found some bear prints, two adults and three cubs. To avoid any trouble, he took the group on a slight detour.


    This cost them an entire day.


    Finally, on June 30th, they arrived at Fort Carillon. It had taken them much less time than expected to get there, but the journey had still taken a week. Thanks to their efforts, they arrived just a few hours after the Marquis de Montcalm, who had traveled by land.

 Chapter 66: The Marquis De Montcalm

    The Marquis de Montcalm was not a native of New France, unlike Monsieur de Vaudreuil. He had only been there for a few years, and it wasn¡¯t out of joy.


    His Majesty had offered him a promotion and a generous pension for his family, who remained in the south of France, in exchange for taking a post that no one wanted.


    Indeed, the nobles of the kingdom saw this position as practically a punishment.


    It required crossing an ocean to live for years in a muddy, nearly wilderness area, surrounded by savages and wild beasts, far from the lavish parties held at Versailles and other castles. On top of all these discomforts, officers stationed on this continent were unlikely to distinguish themselves by achieving great victories, as they only had a few thousand men under their command.


    This was simply incomparable to the grandeur of Europe: while in Europe battles were fought with tens of thousands of soldiers, here they had to make do with the equivalent of a regiment, made up of beggars equipped like soldiers and often behaving like savages.


    The day after his arrival, as if the old British enemy had been waiting for him, war was declared between France and Great Britain. From what he had seen so far, and with his fears growing more justified each day, New France was likely to fall into enemy hands.


    Their only hope was that Versailles would suddenly realize the importance of this vast, underutilized territory and send massive reinforcements¡ªor at least a few thousand disciplined troops. For the Marquis, the British presence on the eastern part of the continent was reason enough not to abandon New France but rather to strengthen it, as Britain''s misfortune would be France''s fortune.


    Despite the small number of men and limited resources at his disposal, he had achieved some notable successes early in the war.


    His military approach was entirely different from Vaudreuil¡¯s.


    While the governor of New France favored guerrilla warfare, a disgraceful method for a respectable soldier to achieve modest results, Montcalm wanted to conduct war properly, as it was done in Europe. His methods were so different from Vaudreuil''s and his predecessors'' that he surprised the British in August 1756.


    With only three thousand men, a mix of regulars, militiamen, and Indians, he captured Fort Oswego, commanded by Colonel Mercer, and took nearly fifteen hundred prisoners.


    The following year, in August 1757, he attacked Fort William Henry, defended by the Lieutenant Colonel George Monro.


    It was an impressive and well-built fort, located on the frontier, south of Lake Champlain. Fortunately, that day he had three thousand regulars, as many militiamen, and two thousand Indians under his command.


    When the enemy commander surrendered, Montcalm granted him the honors of war, allowing him and all those in the fort to leave with their weapons and colors and head to Fort Edward.


    Unfortunately, things didn¡¯t go well after that, as the Indians, who didn¡¯t understand the subtleties of European warfare, attacked the convoy, which also included many civilians.


    Despite his efforts to stop the massacre, even at the risk of his own life and those of his men, about five hundred English were killed. Of course, the British spread the word everywhere that this slaughter had been ordered by the terrible and despicable Marquis de Montcalm.


    This incident further widened the already significant gap between Montcalm and the Indians, who, to his great disgust, scalped the wounded and killed prisoners. This had become common practice among them because Governor Vaudreuil encouraged it by paying them generously. A dead Englishman was one less enemy for New France.


    Montcalm, having experienced captivity and being sensitive to the rules of war, was particularly shocked by this practice, one of many points of contention between him and the governor.


    This time, to defend Fort Carillon and the river route leading to Montreal, Trois-Rivi¨¨res, and Quebec, he had fewer than three thousand regulars, four hundred militiamen, and three hundred Abenaki Indians.


    As I suspected, thought the Marquis, observing the terrain near the fort, this ground is much better suited for defense. Yes, this is where we¡¯ll attempt to stop the enemy¡¯s advance!


    A bit further west, there was difficult terrain that could easily be transformed to significantly slow down an invading force.


    The British will have to pass through here to reach the fort. We¡¯re at the junction of several important waterways. You could say Fort Carillon is surrounded by water. There¡¯s only this side, but here, there are swamps. Only the center is passable. It¡¯s the ideal spot to build an abatis and palisades!


    As soon as they arrived, the Marquis de Montcalm had all available hands digging a deep trench, cutting stakes, and felling trees. Although they weren¡¯t as numerous as hoped, there were enough to modify the terrain and make it even more difficult for the British, who were expected to arrive within a week.


    The calm of the forest was soon disturbed by the sound of trees being chopped down and earth being dug.


    Everyone worked hard, even the Indians, which greatly reassured the officer, who feared they might leave at any moment. Though he didn¡¯t like them, he knew how dangerous they could be.


    These savages¡­ If I had more regular soldiers, I wouldn¡¯t need them. That said, they make excellent scouts and very good fighters.


    With the battle looming, he needed every available hand, even those of these savages and the semi-savages known as the coureurs de bois.


    They work hard, but¡­ Ah, if only I had more men. In Europe, I would have had three times the resources I¡¯ve been given. If we can¡¯t repel them, if we all die here, who will defend Montreal? Who will defend Quebec?


    It was then that he was informed of the arrival of canoes from the north.


    "Sir! About thirty canoes are approaching! I see regular soldiers!"


    ¨CWhat?"


    Where could they be coming from?!


    He was quite surprised to see so many white coats, as he thought he had already taken command of nearly all the regulars at his disposal for this operation. He left his observation post and went down to the river to meet the soldiers.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    As soon as he got closer, he recognized them as being from the Picardy Regiment. They were easily identifiable by the color of their waistcoats, the side pockets on their coats, and the number of gold buttons on them.


    They look exhausted, thought the Marquis as he greeted the newcomers.


    "Gentlemen, I am the Marquis de Montcalm, commander of His Majesty''s troops in New France. Who are you? Who is your commanding officer?"


    "My Lord, cough cough, I am Captain Armand Gilbert, of the Picardy Regiment. I¡¯ve been entrusted with the command of these men. Cough cough cough! We arrived in Louisbourg with a force of five thousand men under Marshal de Richelieu nearly two weeks ago and prevented the city from falling to a large-scale enemy assault. Marshal Richelieu sent me with these men to inform you and Mr. Vaudreuil of our presence and to place us at your service. There are about three hundred of us. COUGH COUGH COUGH!"


    A violent coughing fit forced the captain to stop talking for a moment. His health had worsened from sleeping outdoors.


    "Cough! P-please excuse me. I¡¯ve been sick since our ocean crossing. Cough cough! The frigate that brought us to Quebec has already returned to Louisbourg to request reinforcements from the Marshal to help you defend this fort."


    "Really?! You truly came with five thousand men?! Magnificent! Ah, it¡¯s a shame they didn¡¯t come with you! I hope Marshal Richelieu will be here before the English arrive. It¡¯s only a matter of time before they do. How many men did you say you brought?"


    "A little under three hundred, sir. My company and seven others, cough cough."


    "Hmm, it¡¯s not much, but every man and every musket counts. Remove your coats and join the others. As for the Indians¡­ Hmm, it would be better if they returned to Montreal to wait for the Marshal. He¡¯ll need those canoes to get here. By land, it would take him weeks."


    "And what about me?" asked the guide, scratching his cheek lazily. "Can I leave too? Because I¡¯ve got work. It¡¯ll take me two weeks to reach the area where I hunt. And I¡¯ve got furs waiting for me in my cabin. I can¡¯t stay away from my camp too long."


    "You, sir, will stay. As I said, every man counts. Your musket will be useful."


    "Huh? You didn¡¯t hear what I said? I can¡¯t stay!"


    "And yet, you will. If you refuse, I¡¯ll have you shot."


    "To hell with it! I should never have said ¡®yes.¡¯ That¡¯ll teach me to help anyone!"


    Ignoring the complaints of the woodsman, who resembled a grumpy bear disguised as a man, the officer, dressed in an elegant blue and gold coat over a stylish sand-colored waistcoat with silver buttons, continued addressing Gilbert.


    "I¡¯ll show you what we¡¯re doing. Follow me."


    The Marquis led him to a tent that had just been set up behind the works and came out almost immediately, holding a rather rudimentary map of the region under his arm. He used two soldiers to hold it upright so everyone could see it.


    "Gentlemen, we are here, west of Fort Carillon. As shown on this map, there is an elevation at this location that can be easily defended, even more so with a few adjustments. We¡¯re standing on it. Around us, to the north and south, there are swamps, so the redcoats will have to come through here to besiege the fort. That¡¯s why we¡¯re consolidating this position."


    While they were speaking, soldiers, militiamen, and Indians were busy turning the area into a veritable fortress. The fortifications would stretch for about three hundred meters.


    There was so much activity around them that it felt like a lumberjack camp. When a tree fell, it made a terrible noise.


    "The felled trees are being laid one on top of the other to form a barricade, and to further impede the enemy¡¯s progress, we¡¯re also planting stakes into the ground. All the branches are left in front of the fortifications to slow the enemy as much as possible. The longer they take to cross, the more time we¡¯ll have to eliminate them. Any questions?"


    Since there were none, the Marquis put the new arrivals to work.


    ***


    Adam had abandoned his uniform and traded his musket for an axe. Standing in front of a huge tree, so wide that two men could barely wrap their arms around it, he swung hard, trying to hit the same spot each time.


    Bark flew, and the intoxicating smell of fresh wood filled the hot, dry evening air.


    His forehead glistened with sweat, and a few wet strands of hair fell into his eyes. As for his body, it had never been so taxed. His arms, legs, back, and neck¡ªall ached. His hands, especially, were a mess.


    "Stop, you''re doing it all wrong," came a deep voice from behind him. "Look at how you''re moving; let me show you."


    Damien Lebl¨¦, the woodsman, who had tucked away his peculiar fur hat, stood beside him and took an odd stance. He began chopping at the tree, twisting and contorting as he did.


    "That¡¯s you. Now, watch this."


    The man adjusted the position of his legs and hands on the axe.


    WHACK WHACK WHACK


    "See? It¡¯s much easier, and I¡¯m not hurting myself."


    "Oh, okay. I mean, I get it. Like this?"


    "Better, but spread your feet and hands a bit more. You¡¯ll be more stable and have more power. No one ever taught you to chop wood?"


    "No?"


    Can you learn that? To me, it¡¯s just¡­ obvious, isn¡¯t it?


    "Really, youngsters these days¡­," the hunter grumbled. "Didn¡¯t your father teach you anything? You''re from a city, right? There are four things a man must know how to do in life: find food, make fire, find his way, and build shelter. Ah, you¡¯ll never survive in the wild. Here¡¯s a tip, kid: master these few skills, and at least you won¡¯t die like an insect. Everything else is crap. Money, women, art¡­ it¡¯s just distractions. You can¡¯t live on distractions and pleasures."


    He then pulled out a small flask from his jacket, and a strong smell escaped like a genie from its lamp.


    "Of course, it¡¯s important to know how to distract yourself from time to time."


    GLUG GLUG


    "A life without distractions, without pleasure¡ªis that even a life? Ah, that hits the spot. Want a taste?" he said, offering the flask to the young lieutenant.


    Adam smirked slightly and accepted the offer. In one year, he had drunk more alcohol than in his entire life before. Hesitantly, he sniffed the liquid and grimaced.


    GLUG GLUG


    What the hell is this crap?! It¡¯s disgusting! Horrible!


    "COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH! Damn! That¡¯s strong!"


    "Not bad, huh? I make it myself, hehe!"


    "My throat¡¯s on fire!" Adam croaked.


    "There¡¯s nothing better in winter, trust me. When you¡¯re caught in a snowstorm and all alone in a shelter about to collapse, a good swig will perk you right up!"


    It feels like I just drank gasoline¡­ Adam lamented inwardly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol descend into his stomach.


    It was like molten lava.


    "Alright, kid, back to work. As I said, a life of pleasure isn¡¯t a life. You gotta work hard, even if it¡¯s not fun."


    The man picked up his axe and got back to chopping. Adam, thoughtful, watched him for a moment before joining in.


    "Mister?"


    "Hmm?"


    "You speak the Indians¡¯ language, right?"


    "The Indians¡¯ language? Hahaha! What makes you think they all speak the same language? There are lots of tribes, you know? There are the Hurons, the Algonquins, the Abenakis, the Caughnawagas who are Iroquois, the Innu, and the Ottawas. It¡¯s like asking if I speak ¡®European.¡¯"


    "The Iroquois?"


    They¡¯re the only ones I know from that list. They were so annoying in Civilization V! They kept attacking me! Every time!


    "That¡¯s more of a nickname than their real name. Apparently, it comes from Basque fishermen or something, meaning ¡®killers.¡¯ The Algonquins have a similar word, Irinakhoi. It means ¡®Rattlesnake.¡¯"


    "Are they really that cruel?" Adam asked as he resumed chopping.


    "Cruel? Yes, they are. But then, they¡¯re not all like that. Other tribes can be just as cruel to their enemies. When we say Iroquois, we¡¯re really talking about several tribes that banded together. Some are more violent than others. Overall, they all hate us. The Caughnawagas are a bit different. They¡¯re converted Mohawks."


    "They hate us? Why?"


    "Well, it¡¯s because we¡¯ve fought often in the past. Every time they go to war against one of our Indian allies, we step in. So, they hate us too. A lot of blood¡¯s been spilled, and that¡¯s not easily forgotten. I suppose it¡¯s the same with the English."


    Adam remained silent, pondering the matter.


    He didn¡¯t hate the English. Why would he? France and England had been allies in two world wars. But ever since he traveled back in time, he¡¯d been surrounded by people who deeply hated the English. Despising and hating them wasn¡¯t just normal¡ªit was a duty.


    Adam, a stranger to this era, had been forced to fight against them and had killed several. He had also lost several comrades and a few friends as well.


    Should he resent the English?


    No. That¡¯s stupid.


    "One day," Adam whispered almost to himself, "this hatred will disappear. It just needs the right conditions."


    "Haha, you say that, but you don¡¯t know anything, kid."


    CRRRRRRR BAM


    The tree finally toppled over, crashing down with a loud snap of branches and leaves. The massive trunk lay flat on the ground like a fallen giant. It had lived for so long, survived so many storms, and grown so high into the sky. Yet here it was, leveled to the ground.


    Soon, it would lose all its branches to serve in a construction that probably wouldn¡¯t last more than a year.

 Chapter 67: Goodbye

    Three days had passed in the blink of an eye.


    All the soldiers, militiamen, and Indians had done was fortify their position in anticipation of the enemy attack. Although their numbers were still unknown, they had learned that their commander was a man named James Abercrombie, an influential old politician who hadn¡¯t truly earned his rank of general.


    This had somewhat lifted the spirits of the French, but they were aware that such an operation required a good strategist and that he would surely be advised by someone competent, while he would likely be just a puppet. Moreover, the difference in strength would remain unchanged.


    Montcalm estimated that the redcoats could gather up to ten thousand men.


    Everyone was mentally preparing for the battle. But in the meantime, another battle was taking place within Fort Carillon itself¡ªa silent battle that would never make it into the history books: Captain Gilbert¡¯s health was deteriorating rapidly. By the morning of July 4th, everyone in the company was preparing for the worst.


    That morning, as hot and dry as the previous days, Captain Gilbert was receiving all the captains under his command in his room within the officers¡¯ barracks.


    Lieutenant Fran?ois Boucher, Adam, waited in tense silence in the hallway, standing still as a statue before the closed door. His back against the solid stone wall, he vainly tried to calm his mind.


    I¡­ I can¡¯t believe this is happening. It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s so sudden! Well, not that sudden, but¡­ I really hoped he¡¯d get better! I still have so much to learn! And the captain is still so young!


    The wooden door opened, and one by one, the seven company captains chosen by the Marshal to go to Quebec under Gilbert¡¯s command came out. All were very silent, wearing the same serious expression.


    Adam¡¯s throat tightened at the sight of them.


    Has he¡­?


    Captain Fontaine, a friend rather than just a colleague of Captain Gilbert, approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Certainly, he wanted to offer comfort, but instead, he only intensified Adam¡¯s worry.


    ¡°You can go in,¡± he said quietly.


    Adam nodded weakly, unsure if he had even reacted, and watched as Fontaine left with the other officers. Then, after a brief hesitation, he stepped into the room, which was partially shrouded in darkness.


    There was only one window, and a thick curtain was half-drawn to avoid blinding the dying man. The light from outside was so bright that half a window was more than enough to illuminate the bed and the tired features of the man lying there.


    A strange smell filled the room¡ªa mix of sweat, old wood, dust, and something else the young man couldn¡¯t identify.


    Under a thick woolen blanket, a blend of red and purple, Captain Gilbert was almost unrecognizable. He looked so old and so tired that Adam had trouble recognizing him. He was the complete opposite of the man Adam had met eight months earlier.


    As soon as Adam saw him, tears welled up in his eyes. The time they had spent together might be brief in the span of a lifetime, but they had gone through many trials together.


    They had hunted the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg¡¯s men all winter, fought Prussian General von Zieten¡¯s army, narrowly escaped death in the English Channel, fought the English off the coast of Brittany, crossed the Atlantic Ocean, survived a terrifying storm, and defeated the English again at sea before repelling them on land at Louisbourg. Finally, they had made it here, deep in the heart of New France, far from everything.


    To Adam, it felt like they had known each other for ten years.


    ¡°L-Lieutenant, kid,¡± Captain Gilbert murmured weakly, ¡°are you there?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t turn his head to see the young man approach.


    ¡°Yes, Captain. I¡¯m here. The other captains have left.¡±


    ¡°Good, good. Cough, cough. I wanted¡­ cough, to talk to you a bit before I go.¡±


    He could barely open his eyes, and his breathing came in labored, wheezing gasps. His skin had grown so pale from illness that the large scar running from his chin to his mouth seemed even more pronounced.


    His arms lay stretched out along his sides, his fingers clutching at the blanket. The simple act of moving them seemed like a superhuman effort for the sick man, grimacing in pain as he struggled to turn his face to see Adam one last time.


    Adam took another step toward the small bed, positioning himself in the light filtering through the curtain. The captain¡¯s head was slightly propped up by two pillows. From this new angle, the young man could see his face more clearly.


    My God! I hardly recognize him! He looks so old!


    It was as though ten years had passed in a single night. The skin around his eyes was as dark as the blanket; his lips had dried out and looked like cardboard; and his cheeks, covered by a dark beard, had become so hollow that Adam felt as if he were looking at a skeleton wearing a mask. As for his dark hair, which had begun to gray with age, it now looked like straw, unkempt and draped over his shoulders.


    ¡°Lieutenant¡­ No, Fran?ois, I feel my time has finally come. Today, I will die.¡±


    ¡°¡®Finally,¡¯ Captain? Why do you say that?! You shouldn¡¯t talk like this, especially not now!¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s true. Cough cough! I¡¯ve waited for this moment a long time, but¡­ Ah¡­ I didn¡¯t expect it to come like this. Cough cough.¡±


    Captain Gilbert even struggled to cough, and every time he managed it, it seemed to cause him great pain. His thin, trembling hand reached for his chest, and from under his shirt, he pulled out a small golden chain, from which hung a cross and a simple golden ring.


    ¡°You were waiting for this moment? I don¡¯t understand! How many times have you spoken to me about your wife?! Think of her! She¡¯s waiting for you back home! Remember!¡±


    As soon as Adam mentioned the captain¡¯s wife, his expression changed, and a faint smile appeared on his face. It was clear that he was picturing her face, her smile, her hair. He might even have been able to hear her voice.


    This gave Adam some encouragement.


    "How can you want to die when you love someone?!"


    "Isabelle..."


    "Yes! Think of her! She¡¯s waiting for you! So..."


    "I¡¯ve made her wait so long... She¡¯s waiting for me... with our son."Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Huh? What? A child?


    It was the first time Captain Gilbert had ever mentioned a child. Though he had spoken at length about his wife during their endless voyage aboard L¡¯Oc¨¦an, he had never mentioned a son.


    "I... I lost them both nearly twenty years ago now... Isabelle... My sweet wife, she died in childbirth... and our child didn¡¯t survive. Cough, cough."


    A tear slowly rolled down the man¡¯s dry skin, disappearing into his tangled hair.


    "She was so beautiful, so young... If... If only you had seen her... I died that day too, but only inside, cough, cough. And I didn¡¯t have the courage to... to end my life. So I... I found another way. I joined the king¡¯s armies to die... but God is so cruel. He didn¡¯t want to call me to His side. Cough, cough, cough! I lost many men, but I survived. Cough! They even rewarded me for my bravery, kukuku!"


    Even though the captain laughed, splitting the fragile skin on his worn lips, his eyes still wept.


    "In this war too... English, Hanoverians, Hessians, Prussians... Not one of them would let me join, cough cough, my sweet Isabelle... and my son, Joseph. He... he would¡¯ve been your age."


    Adam realized, belatedly, that he was crying. He hurriedly wiped his tears, but it was futile, as more kept coming.


    "Kuku, isn¡¯t it funny? Don¡¯t you think? I try to die, but God refuses to accept me, and when I finally find a reason to live, He strikes me with illness. Cough, cough, cough, cough!"


    W-what did he just say? He...


    "The time we spent together," continued the captain, his voice growing weaker, "wasn¡¯t so bad." He turned his gaze toward the window that looked out over the parade grounds.


    Adam said nothing, but inside, he was shaken. He thought back to the past, and indeed, they weren¡¯t bad memories. They had spent so much time together that it had been ages since he stopped counting the hours of intense lessons aimed at preparing him for the rank of lieutenant.


    More than just a superior, he saw Captain Armand Gilbert as a demanding but kind teacher, always ready to answer his questions.


    "Fran?ois..."


    "Y-yes, my captain?" Adam stammered, his vision so blurred he could no longer clearly make out the man¡¯s features just in front of him.


    "I¡¯ll have to leave the company to you. It won¡¯t be easy, but... Cough cough cough! I¡¯m confident. C-consult with Captains Albert Fontaine and Andr¨¦ Louis... if you ever have questions. They... They like you a lot, you know? They¡¯ll be glad to... Ah... to help you."


    "I-I will," Adam replied, his face drenched with tears.


    "It¡¯s... It¡¯s selfish of me, but... just once... Just once, can you call me ¡®Father¡¯ and... cough cough, tell me that everything will be alright?"


    Adam froze, not expecting this request. His lips trembled, and he hesitated. He had a father, even if he wasn¡¯t born yet. Fran?ois had a father too, even if he now inhabited this body and had never spoken to that man.


    But the more he thought about those long evenings spent studying military hierarchy, strategies, units, equipment, punishments, formations, reviews, drills, the more he wondered: hadn¡¯t he been a sort of father to him?


    "E-everything¡¯s alright," Adam whispered, his face wrecked by sadness. "Everything will be alright, Father."


    A smile, a sincere one this time, appeared on Armand Gilbert¡¯s lips. It was so beautiful, so natural, that it seemed to eclipse the sunlight.


    "Thank you... my boy."


    Captain Gilbert then closed his eyes, still wearing that smile.


    His chest stopped rising, and the room became as silent as a crypt.


    Adam placed a hand over his mouth and began to weep more loudly. At that moment, he was no longer Fran?ois, but Adam, still a child, confronted by the death of someone he had been with for so many months and had spoken with countless times.


    "Ah... Ah..."


    Strange sounds, almost like gasps, escaped from Adam¡¯s open mouth as he struggled to keep from screaming.


    I... I hurt! I hurt so much!


    Staggering, he moved to a wooden chair near the bed where Armand Gilbert lay and collapsed into it. One hand clutching his long white coat near his heart, he made an immense effort not to disturb the eternal rest of this brave man among brave men.


    Ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks and falling onto the hand still pressed against his mouth, he stared at the lifeless body of his officer and teacher. In his left hand, the officer still held the chain and wedding ring of his wife, who had also died far too soon.


    W-why? Why does it hurt so much?!


    Adam suddenly felt very alone, like in those first weeks after arriving in this era.


    He... He¡¯s been dead for over two hundred years, technically, like everyone here, so... why am I hurting like this?!


    The truth was, they had grown very close. He owed so much to the captain.


    He stayed there, motionless, for several minutes before deciding he couldn¡¯t leave him like that. He rose and gently positioned the captain¡¯s hands over his stomach, one on top of the other. Then, he left the room.


    In the parade ground, in front of the entrance to the building, the seven captains formed a circle, speaking in low voices. They were undoubtedly discussing the command of the company.


    All of them turned their heads in his direction when Adam stepped outside.


    Adam looked at each of their faces. Even those who didn¡¯t think highly of him wore the same expression.


    There was no need to say anything. He shook his head, and they all understood that brave Captain Gilbert was no more.


    "We... we¡¯ll light some candles and keep vigil over Captain Gilbert," said Captain Albert Fontaine.


    "Go inform Monsieur le Marquis."


    "Yes, sir," Adam replied in a lifeless voice before walking away.


    Albert Fontaine placed a warm hand on his shoulder and returned to join his comrades and the youngest among them, a fifteen-year-old boy named Martin Morrel de Lusernes, to bid farewell to their friend.


    A few hours later, the entire garrison of the fort had assembled in the parade ground, fully dressed and in position to salute Captain Gilbert one last time. The silence was almost palpable. Thankfully,


    Adam no longer had any tears left to shed, allowing him to maintain a neutral expression.


    The sky had clouded over, though it hadn¡¯t yet begun to rain¡ªnot yet, anyway. The wind had grown noticeably cooler.


    Then, Captain Gilbert¡¯s body, carefully prepared by his comrades, was brought out.


    Laid on a modest stretcher, partially wrapped in a shroud¡ªa simple sheet in reality¡ªhe had been dressed in his uniform, clean-shaven, and his hair tied back.


    The captains tasked with carrying him placed him gently next to a very rudimentary wooden coffin, hastily constructed during the vigil. A grave had also been dug for him outside the fort.


    Slowly, they placed him in the coffin, a simple wooden box, and laid his sword on top of him.


    Adam watched as Monsieur le Marquis de Montcalm stepped forward, exchanged a few words with the chaplain and the captains, and then the coffin was lifted to the slow, mournful sound of the drum. The soldiers of Fort Carillon began to march behind it, their heads lower than if they had been defeated in battle.


    It wasn¡¯t long after they left the fort, crossing over the drawbridge, that they arrived at the grave.


    The rectangular hole, dug to fit the coffin, seemed terribly deep to Adam.


    The drum fell silent as the chaplain began the service. Adam, not knowing a word of Latin, understood nothing, but he showed no sign of it. His expression had been the same since he had said his final goodbye to his teacher and officer.


    The priest then asked the soldiers to join him in an Ave Maria. Soon, the voices of all the men present echoed around the grave, between the trees and the rivers.


    Ave Maria, Gratia plena


    Maria, Gratia plena


    Maria, Gratia plena


    Ave, ave dominus


    Dominus tecum


    Benedicta tu in mulieribus


    Et benedictus


    Et benedictus fructus ventris


    Ventris tui, Jesus


    Ave Maria


    When silence returned to the small cemetery outside the fort, the Marquis de Montcalm, dressed in his ceremonial uniform, began to speak, following a speech he had written to honor the memory of the man they were now saying goodbye to.


    "Armand Philippe Olivier Gilbert, born on the 3rd of February, 1716, in Lille, left us today, July 4th, 1758, at the age of forty-two. He was a man of great courage, as demanding of his men as he was of himself. Loved and respected by all, he leaves us for a better world, one without war, hatred, sickness, or suffering. Having joined the armies of our good King in 1740, he fought in every battle for the glory of France, never hesitating to lead the charge himself, in the face of enemy cannonballs and bullets. He was a brave man, and he leaves us at the worst possible moment, with the enemy at our gates. May he serve as an inspiration to us all. You can rest now, Captain Gilbert, for you have well earned it."


    Finally, the coffin was closed and lowered into the grave, fortunately without incident. One by one, the soldiers sprinkled a handful of earth over the coffin after it had been blessed by the chaplain.


    When it was Adam¡¯s turn, he thought he might start crying again. Thankfully, he managed to swallow his grief. Like the others, he made the sign of the cross and stepped aside to allow the next soldier his turn.


    At last, after a final prayer, the soldiers were dismissed.


    Goodbye, Captain Gilbert. I don¡¯t know when we¡¯ll meet again¡ªperhaps in two centuries¡ªbut I¡¯ll have so much to tell you. I¡¯ll take good care of the company for you.

 Chapter 68: The Battle Of Fort Carillon

    The day after Captain Gilbert¡¯s burial, French scouts discovered a sizable British force on the other side of Lake George, near the ruins of Fort William Henry. It took them two days to cross. The French commander was informed that the boats used by General Abercrombie¡¯s soldiers covered Lake George.


    It was estimated that there were between sixteen and twenty thousand men, including more than six thousand regular soldiers. Upon hearing these alarming numbers, Montcalm turned pale.


    France can never field such numbers! The difference in strength is too great!


    This force was advancing toward them via the rivers, closely monitored by a few nearby troops. Such a dangerous enemy had to be closely watched to avoid missing any movement. With such a difference in strength, even the slightest mistake could cost the lives of hundreds of men.


    On July 5th, on the orders of Colonel Fran?ois-Charles de Bourlamaque, a veteran of the War of Austrian Succession who had been the commander at Fort Carillon before the arrival of the Marquis de Montcalm, a group of 350 men was sent near the lake. The mission was entrusted to a simple captain named Tr¨¦pezet, a brave but stubborn man.


    The order he received was to observe the enemy and, if possible, prevent them from landing. Colonel Bourlamaque greatly underestimated the recklessness of his captain. Thrice he was ordered to retreat, as the enemy was too powerful, and thrice he refused, leading his Indian guides to abandon him.


    To protect the fort and the rest of his army, Montcalm ordered the destruction of the makeshift bridges that Tr¨¦pezet could have used to retreat.


    Alone and without guides, Tr¨¦pezet and his men wandered through the dense forest between Lake George and Lake Champlain, trying to reach Fort Carillon. It was then that they encountered a small unit led by none other than the second-in-command of the British army, George Howe.


    These men had set out to scout enemy positions in preparation for the imminent battle and were returning to inform General Abercrombie of what they had seen when they were ambushed.


    The exchange of fire was brief but intense. George Howe, who had not expected to encounter such a large enemy force so far from the French lines, was killed by a musket shot to the chest. It was a true tragedy for the entire British army.


    Though Abercrombie was the figurehead commander, Howe had been the de facto leader. The fact that they had managed to assemble and equip such a large force was due to his abilities.


    The gunfire quickly attracted other British troops, and half of Tr¨¦pezet¡¯s men were killed in a short time. As for the captain, gravely wounded, he managed to escape by swimming with only fifty men.


    Howe¡¯s death so early in the campaign forced General Abercrombie to choose a new second-in-command. His choice fell on Colonel Thomas Gage, a man close to forty and experienced, having served as aide-de-camp to the Earl of Albemarle at the Battle of Fontenoy during the War of Austrian Succession and at Culloden when the Scottish rebellion was crushed.


    However, he did not remain in this position long, as he was far from Howe¡¯s level. Lieutenant Colonel John Bradstreet soon became the second in command of this army.


    ***


    On the evening of July 7th, Major General Abercrombie was confident.


    Their camp had been set up in front of the French entrenchments, and even though he did not have his artillery, he knew the enemy was vastly outnumbered. He also knew that his adversary had not had time to finish his preparations.


    Tomorrow, our flag will fly above that fort, and within a month, Montreal and Quebec will fall. Pitiful French. Despite all your efforts, you stand no chance against the might of our armies!


    A proud smile crossed his rosy lips as he stared at a map of New France. He could already visualize his conquests. If he managed to capture those two great cities, all of New France would fall under British control. Meanwhile, General Amherst would still be stuck before Louisbourg.


    I will go down in history as the one who brought down New France. My name will never be forgotten. It will be celebrated for centuries! No one will be able to say I didn¡¯t deserve my rank! My detractors will have no choice but to remain silent and fade away!


    Although he had suffered losses, they were minimal compared to the size of his army. But more than the few hundred men, the loss of George Howe was the real problem.


    Though he did not like having a subordinate so competent that he overshadowed him, Howe¡¯s absence was quickly felt. The morale of the men had dropped somewhat, though Abercrombie attributed it more to the previous night they had spent in the woods near Lake George.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s time to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.¡±


    July 8th, to his great relief, dawned dry. The sky was partially cloudy, but a gentle breeze blew, soon to scatter the gloom. It was tinged with lovely orange hues as dawn approached.


    His army was already waking up and preparing for battle.


    In a few hours, everyone was in position facing the entrenchments held firmly by the enemy, whom they could barely see. Despite the little time they had had, he had to admit that the French had done a good job.


    Between them and the long barricade of wood and earth, there wasn¡¯t a single tree left standing. The terrain was clear, ideal for allowing the defenders to hold their position. However, they had left numerous obstacles in the way, especially thick branches.


    Well, well. It looks like they¡¯re ready to fight to the death. That¡¯s fine with me, but it¡¯s pointless. There can¡¯t be more than a few thousand of them. Even if the Chevalier de L¨¦vis arrived with reinforcements, nothing will change.


    He knew that the opposing commander, the infamous Montcalm, had asked for his help a few days earlier. He thought L¨¦vis would arrive the next day or the day after with three thousand men, but he had come with only four hundred regulars. It was so ridiculous he wanted to laugh.


    Since they want to die here, so be it.


    "Lieutenant Clerk?"


    "General?" the military engineer responded, stepping forward.


    "You confirm that our infantry alone will be enough to take down this barricade?"Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Absolutely, sir! I¡¯ve done new reconnaissance! Even though our artillery would certainly save us time, this barricade can definitely be taken by the brute force of our soldiers!"


    "Good, that¡¯s all I needed to know. Lieutenant Colonel Bradstreet?"


    "General?" the officer replied, also stepping forward, hesitating to share his concerns with his superior.


    "Contact Mr. Gage and the Rogers¡¯ Rangers and tell them to launch the assault as planned, along with the New York and Massachusetts provincials. Let our regulars wait a bit before acting."


    "At your orders."


    In the end, he decided to remain silent, at least for now, not wanting to get on his commander¡¯s bad side right after being promoted.


    ***


    Montcalm, at the center of the defensive line, watched the redcoats start moving to the sound of flutes and drums. Long lines of men advanced step by step across the open terrain, doing their best to ignore the obstacles in their path.


    He had expected nothing less from such a disciplined army. The only thing that surprised him was the enemy commander¡¯s decision to attack head-on. If it had been him, he would have tried to flank this barricade by any means necessary. That¡¯s why, in recent days, he had had additional lines built.


    "Fire!"


    The marquis¡¯s order rang out along the defensive line, and several thousand musket shots echoed at the same time. Immediately, a long wall of smoke formed above the roughly hewn log barricade.


    In front of them, nearly two hundred meters away, a few redcoats, tangled in the branches, fell.


    The enemy attack was not all-out, because with such a large number of soldiers, they would get in each other¡¯s way. Abercrombie had thus only sent a wave of soldiers against them, more to test the enemy than to crush them in one blow.


    Mr. Montcalm, armed with his spyglass, observed his enemy doing the same. Despite the first losses, the general didn¡¯t seem particularly shaken.


    He doesn¡¯t seem surprised by the quality of our defenses. Let¡¯s see what state he¡¯ll be in an hour from now¡­ if we¡¯re still standing.


    Adam and his men, now reduced to thirty-three due to the losses they had suffered at Louisbourg, were positioned slightly to the left, between the companies of Andr¨¦ Louis and Albert Fontaine. The other companies that had followed Captain Gilbert were all gathered there, between the Languedoc Regiment and the Royal Roussillon.


    Albert Fontaine, being the most senior captain, took command of the eight companies of the Picardy Regiment.


    Since it wasn¡¯t possible to form ranks as in a traditional battle, he organized his troops differently. He asked each captain to organize three teams: one was tasked solely with firing while the other two were responsible for reloading the muskets.


    Adam placed himself in the first team and traded his pistol for the standard soldier¡¯s weapon, as it had three times the effective range. Everything was set up so that he only had to reach out to grab a loaded musket. That way, he and his comrades never had to stop firing to reload.


    Since firing was exhausting and very repetitive, the teams rotated regularly. After an hour of relentless firing, Albert Fontaine blew a whistle, and the first team switched to reloading.


    Adam quickly glanced down. Many bodies lay in the tall grass and between the broken branches. From a distance, one might have thought it was a field of poppies.


    My God! It¡¯s a massacre! I... I think we can do it! We can win!


    ***


    Montcalm and Abercrombie were both very surprised by such heavy fire from where the soldiers of the Picardy Regiment were stationed. The redcoats were falling like flies, covering the ground.


    Major General Abercrombie, more disappointed than angry, gave the order around two in the afternoon for his men to charge in a second wave, still convinced that no matter the quality of the defenses, sheer numbers would eventually prevail. This second assault was even larger than the first.


    The English soldiers had to show courage while avoiding stepping on the bodies of their comrades. Some, merely wounded, anxiously waited for the firing to ease up so they could emerge from their hiding spots and receive aid.


    Meanwhile, Montcalm, still at his post, a sword in one hand and a smoking pistol in the other, shouted orders to encourage his troops, assuring them that reinforcements were on the way, that they had to hold at all costs, and that they must not let a single Englishman through.


    "Hold on! Stay strong! We are the bulwark protecting Quebec, Trois-Rivi¨¨res, and Montreal!"


    He had not stopped rallying his men, and yet he showed no sign of fatigue. This greatly inspired the regular soldiers. The militiamen were doing very well too, as they were fighting to defend their homes and families. As for the Indians stationed at the barricade, Montcalm couldn¡¯t find fault with them either, as they were fighting like lions.


    Every man who managed to scale the defensive line quickly died under their merciless blows.


    It was at that moment that word came the English had finally brought their artillery up the river to speed their advance. But they had made a grave mistake: they were now within range of their own cannons, perched on the solid walls of Fort Carillon.


    "Idiots! To our gunners, aim for the enemy artillery!"


    Quickly, heavy detonations echoed through the air thick with gunpowder, and large splashes disturbed the surface of the water. One barge was hit, and several men sank along with the cannon aboard. Shortly after, a second boat went down.


    This horrific sight forced the remaining barges to retreat.


    Around 3:30 p.m., it was Adam¡¯s team¡¯s turn to fire again. The enemy kept coming despite the losses. The opposing general persisted in believing that sooner or later, the French would break, and then everything would fall apart quickly. But hours passed, and the barricade still held strong.


    Adam quickly grabbed a musket handed to him the second he needed it, aiming at a British soldier trying to climb the palisade by leaning on a stake. He hit him between the eyes, and the man fell backward, joining the others.


    The young man had lost count of how many people he had killed, but he was convinced that here, more deaths were happening than anywhere else. Montcalm had noticed this too, as he came to congratulate them and urge them to keep going.


    Everyone grew increasingly confident in their chances of victory. No matter the strength of the waves, they always inevitably broke against the defenses.


    At five in the afternoon, Major General Abercrombie lost his patience and sent in the 42nd Highland Regiment, the famous Black Watch. Half an hour later, they finally began to breach this obstacle that seemed increasingly insurmountable.


    They were so fierce that the French could only fall back. They fought like demons! With musket and saber, these enraged men in kilts cut down everyone in their path. Often, they managed to hold off two or even three adversaries at once!


    Unfortunately for them¡ªand for the major general¡ªthis small victory was short-lived, as they were massacred by the bayonets of the Berry Regiment, which was no less formidable than this regiment filled with Scotsmen.


    ***


    The losses were becoming too great for the British. Thomas Gage, wounded, returned to the general, one hand bloody and limping on one leg.


    "Sir, it¡¯s a massacre! I beg you, order a retreat!"


    "Not yet! Look! We¡¯re almost there!"


    "Our men are dying in too great numbers! This is dangerous!"


    "I know, but if we take this barricade, it won¡¯t be in vain!"


    It wasn¡¯t until around 7 p.m. that the general realized there was no hope left for victory. He had underestimated the strength of the French and mistakenly believed that the reports he had received were exaggerated.


    Demoralized, he gave the order to fall back as the sun quickly disappeared behind the tall trees of the region. In reality, his men had not waited for him and had already begun retreating in complete disarray.


    ***


    As soon as the redcoats began retreating en masse, loud cries of joy echoed along the defensive line while the last Scots of the Black Watch were finished off.


    Adam, trembling with exhaustion, began laughing like a madman, relieved to have survived another day. He raised his tricorne in the air, just like all his men, showing how overjoyed he was to be alive.


    Immediately, the Marquis de Montcalm had large barrels of beer and wine brought out. All the soldiers, as tired as Adam, rushed to the barrels and drained them in an instant.


    It was a tremendous victory, even though it was too early to estimate the losses. Strangely, there had been almost no deaths at the barricade. Most of the French who had lost their lives here were from the Berry Regiment, as they were the ones who had faced the terrible 42nd Highlanders.


    What was certain was that the redcoats had paid a heavy price without achieving anything. The bodies lying and writhing in agony in front of the long wooden wall were so numerous that their number could only be roughly estimated.


    For the British officers, it had certainly been a terrible day, but it wasn¡¯t over yet, as they still had to find a safe place to rest.


    Monsieur de Montcalm would have liked to pursue them, but he was aware of his own forces. He knew his men no longer had the energy to fight. Most importantly, he had achieved such a result because he had the advantage of the terrain.


    Beyond his shelter, he wasn¡¯t certain he could crush his enemy without suffering heavy losses.

 Chapter 69: Distraction

    While the soldiers were relieved not to have to fight at night or the day after the battle, dissatisfaction slowly began to grow within Fort Carillon.


    Instead of pursuing the fleeing enemy like a beaten dog, the Marquis de Montcalm''s orders were to remain at Fort Carillon and strengthen their position in case General Abercrombie decided to attack again. He believed the chances were high since, despite the losses inflicted, the enemy still had numerical superiority.


    Before the battle, they were outnumbered four to one. Nothing had really changed.


    No, that wasn¡¯t quite true. Morale was now much higher among the French. An intense flame burned in everyone''s eyes.


    After a few days of rest, if it could be called rest, the French soldiers found themselves eager for a fight without having an enemy to vent their frustration on. It was very frustrating, but the Marquis remained firm.


    For him, the best course of action was to defend their position as they had the advantage of the terrain. If they left now, they would face a demoralized but reorganized enemy, likely ready to defend. The British would then have the advantage of numbers and terrain. In his view, a battle under those conditions would inevitably lead to defeat.


    After five days, the Marquis de Montcalm had a clear idea of the toll of the July 8th battle: ninety-three killed and nearly two hundred fifty wounded. This didn¡¯t include Captain Tr¨¦pezet and his men, with the officer himself succumbing to his wound on the night of July 7th. In total, Montcalm had lost close to three hundred soldiers.


    As for the redcoats, it had taken time to gather and count all the bodies. They had found one thousand two hundred eighty-eight corpses in total. This did not include the skirmish between Howe¡¯s forces and Tr¨¦pezet¡¯s men. Although no enemy bodies were recovered, it was roughly estimated that Abercrombie had lost another hundred men.


    The conversations around the campfires gave a good sense of the soldiers'' mindset. Most shared stories of the battle, heroic feats, and fallen comrades, but one dangerous question was on everyone¡¯s lips: ¡°Why not finish them off?¡±


    Adam, still a lieutenant but having to act as captain in place of Armand Gilbert, shared this frustration as well. He had been watching his men closely. Whether veterans or young recruits, they were at their peak, galvanized by victory and hungry for revenge.


    Keeping them confined within the fort¡¯s walls was like locking a pack of hungry wolves in a tight cage, with a piece of meat dangling above, ready to fall. Any small incident could ignite the powder.


    That night, as he made his way to the Marquis¡¯s office after inspecting the guard, he crossed paths with Captain Jean-Baptiste Gauthier, one of the most senior captains of the Picardy regiment, after Albert Fontaine and Andr¨¦ Louis. Stocky and broad-shouldered, he had distinct features that made him resemble a bulldog.


    He was just leaving the room. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and as he passed, Adam thought he heard a tongue click.


    Adam turned, but saw nothing but the bulldog-headed captain¡¯s back.


    Tsk, what was that? Why doesn¡¯t he like me? What did I ever do to him?


    The young man turned back and knocked on Montcalm¡¯s door. A voice responded from within, and he opened the heavy wooden door, resembling a dungeon door. Montcalm was examining a map, quill in hand. He looked tired, but his upright, imposing posture betrayed no hesitation. He gently nodded and placed his quill back in its pink marble inkwell.


    ¡°Marquis,¡± Adam said as he entered, ¡°I¡¯ve come to report after inspecting the guard. Everything is in order, but tension is rising among the men. They want to fight.¡±


    Montcalm barely lifted his eyes from the map.


    ¡°I am well aware, lieutenant,¡± he replied calmly, before locking eyes with the young man standing before him.


    He knew exactly who he was. He was Captain Gilbert¡¯s lieutenant, the one who had died of illness just before the battle. Captain Gilbert had mentioned him briefly, but most of what he knew about this young man with the large scar above his eye came from the other captains. He was a commoner who had bought his commission with the money received for the ransom of the Prussian king and his younger brother.


    Purchasing commissions was very common, so Montcalm showed no reaction when he learned how Adam had obtained his rank. However, he preferred experienced soldiers, which was quite natural. To him, this young man was not far from being a child, like Captain Martin Morrel de Lusernes, though the latter was only fifteen years old.


    The only difference between these two was their blood. While Adam was a commoner, Martin was of noble birth. Lower nobility from the provinces, perhaps, but nobility nonetheless.


    If he was to make Adam a full captain, he first needed to prove that he was worthy. Nobility was not a prerequisite for this rank, so it was possible, but command couldn¡¯t be handed to just anyone, even in wartime.


    In other words, this young man needed time to gain experience and opportunities to distinguish himself.


    As he thought about this, Montcalm decided to test the young lieutenant a bit.


    ¡°The soldiers are restless and want to fight, that¡¯s one thing. But you, lieutenant, what do you think? Should we fight?¡± he asked calmly, looking him straight in the eyes.


    Adam hesitated, and it must have been visible in his trembling eyes.


    What? Is he really asking me? Wait, he¡¯s a marquis, right? Not just anyone! Should I tell him what I really think or what he wants to hear?


    He took a deep breath.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°With all due respect, sir, if we wait too long, the enemy will reorganize or even receive reinforcements. But I think it¡¯s too late now, even if they haven¡¯t received additional troops. If we move now, we¡¯ll simply lose our advantage. At the same time, they must still be treating their wounded, and their morale must still be low.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, you¡¯re just weighing the pros and cons. You haven¡¯t answered my question.¡±


    Adam swallowed hard and thought faster.


    "I think... we could harass our enemies with small attacks, but keep the bulk of our army here in case they decide to attack us?"


    Montcalm crossed his fingers on his desk, studying his officer. Internally, he was conflicted because this was likely the kind of proposal Monsieur de Vaudreuil would suggest. While he considered it a perfectly viable option, it felt so distasteful, so unworthy of a respectable man like him, that he didn''t want to implement it.


    "Do you think that would be enough to calm the men, lieutenant? Do you think we''re capable of withstanding another assault? Attacking now a defeated and humiliated enemy is the best way to provoke a violent reaction. And our enemy can''t be so foolish as to simply charge like a mad dog at our defenses. He will bombard us and try to flank us," the marquis replied gently, but with a note of reproach in his voice.


    Adam felt ashamed and immediately wished he could turn back time to give a different response.


    "Forgive me, sir! I lacked foresight!"


    The marquis ignored the boy''s apology and leaned back in his chair.


    "Let me ask you a question, Lieutenant Boucher. What would you prefer? A dazzling victory today and a possible humiliating defeat tomorrow, or a solid defensive position that could guarantee us a lasting triumph?"


    Adam clenched his jaw, searching for words. Before he could respond, Montcalm continued.


    "We''ve won a fine victory, but the war is far from over. Believe me, Abercrombie will return. Him or another. And when he does, we must be ready to face him, here, on this terrain that we know better than he does. For that, we need to further consolidate our position so that our enemy can find no weakness."


    Silence fell in the room, illuminated only by a few candles. Adam realized then that, despite his firmness, Montcalm carried the weight of every decision like an invisible burden. He couldn¡¯t simply give in to the soldiers'' impulses. He had to think about the survival of the entire French military force.


    Are we really that vulnerable? I... I thought we could push them back again, maybe two or three more times.


    "I understand, my general," Adam finally said. "But if we are to stay here, we will need to channel the men''s rage, or it could turn against us."


    Montcalm nodded slowly.


    "You''re right. Go find Captain Fontaine and prepare an intensive training for the troops tomorrow. I will give the same order to Colonel Bourlamaque. The others will be used to reinforce patrols in the forest and to improve our defensive lines."


    Adam saluted the officer respectfully before leaving the room, torn between relief and apprehension. He wondered if the men would understand the importance of restraint, or if the growing frustration might cause an explosion.


    Outside, night had fallen. There was only a faint orange glow in the distance behind trees darker than ink. The sounds of the fort, mixed with the cries of nocturnal insects, seemed heavier, almost oppressive.


    In the distance, in the darkness, the woods seemed more mysterious than ever. Every shadow became a potential enemy, every sound a warning signal. The enemy might still be there, waiting for the right moment to strike at their throats.


    At dawn, a thick fog enveloped the surroundings of Fort Carillon, like an intangible grayish blanket. It clung to the trees, the abatis, the guards, and the buildings like a miser hoarding his gold.


    The first light of dawn barely pierced through the damp mist. The calls of the changing guard could be heard, along with the unsettling sounds of the forest animals.


    Adam was already awake, despite the short night, because he had much to do. He wondered how Captain Gilbert could manage to think of everything and accomplish in twenty-four hours all that needed to be done.


    The young lieutenant had woken up with his mind troubled by the previous evening''s exchange with Montcalm. Even though he kept telling himself he had done what was expected of him, a part of him kept replaying the conversation, trying to figure out what he could have said differently to get the best response.


    He joined the other officers in the courtyard, discussing in low voices the training ordered by Montcalm. The soldiers were eating something light, as food was scarce at Fort Carillon. It had been true before they all arrived, and it was worse now. Slowly, they formed ranks, their impatience barely concealed.


    Captain Fontaine greeted Adam as soon as he saw him arrive.


    "Lieutenant Boucher, we were just finalizing the exercise we''re going to put them through. But... what is that under your right arm?"


    Adam looked at his creation. He wasn''t very proud of the result, but it was the best he could manage with his limited skills. It looked like a roughly sewn leather ball, and it was fairly heavy.


    "It''s a trial... for today''s exercise."


    All the captains looked curiously at the brown ball Adam was holding, even Captain Gauthier with his bulldog face. The very young Captain Morrel de Lusernes seemed the most interested.


    "I don''t understand," he said, touching the ball. "What are you going to do with it?"


    "Captain Fontaine asked me to find a way to exhaust the men to the point of making them forget that our enemies are so close, so I made a ball."


    "A ball?" repeated the captains in unison, still not understanding¡ªhow could they¡ªwhat their young colleague had in mind.


    "I''m going to make them chase this ball, and, hopefully, they won¡¯t think about fighting anymore."


    "Ridiculous!" barked the bulldog-faced captain. "It''s a waste of time, gentlemen! Let''s resume where we left off."


    "W-wait, Captain Gauthier! I... I want to know more! I mean, we can give it a chance, can''t we?" said Captain Morrel de Lusernes, increasingly intrigued.


    "I''m rather curious as well," said Captain Louis, running a few fingers through his fledgling beard.


    "Me too," added Captain Fontaine with a sly smile.


    "Tss! Do as you wish!" growled Captain Gauthier, likely unaware that his reaction made him look even more like a dog.


    Captain Fontaine watched him walk away and winked at Fran?ois/Adam.


    "So? How do you want to do this?"


    "First, we''re going to need space. A lot of space. We''ll head out of the fort and position ourselves between Fort Carillon and the abatis. Plus, it''s relatively flat. That''ll be perfect! Next, we¡¯ll need to form two teams. Fifteen on each side with substitutes. The objective is simple: get the ball into the other team''s camp, but there''s a catch: you can''t pass the ball to someone ahead of you. It has to be carried by hand, though you can kick it to make it move faster. And... um, oh yes! The most important thing, you can tackle the person carrying the ball, but only that person!"


    "That¡¯s... uh, that''s a lot of rules, isn''t it?" Albert Fontaine said hesitantly.


    "Not at all! It¡¯s really simple! A child could play it! Though it might get a bit violent..." Adam said, recalling the matches he¡¯d seen on TV and in person.


    "I think it''s interesting! What do you call this exercise?"


    "It¡¯s called rugby!"


    Quickly, they roughly marked the boundaries of a field and gathered the players... the soldiers, for a new exercise. The soldiers were unenthusiastic but approached and listened to the increasingly strange instructions.


    In his corner, Captain Gauthier frowned, arms crossed, teeth clenched tighter than ever. A true bulldog face.


    Half an hour later.


    "RUN, YOU IDIOT! RUN! PASS THE BALL! TO THE RIGHT! NO! NOT HERE! THE OTHER ONE! HE WAS OPEN! MORBLEU!" Captain Gauthier erupted from the sidelines, his face redder than a British uniform.


    He turned to a soldier getting ready to enter the field.


    "Hey, you. I''m going in at the next try."


    "B-but it¡¯s my turn!"


    "That¡¯s why I¡¯m telling you," the bulldog-faced captain growled, already removing his coat and tricorne.

 Chapter 70: Rugby

    Seven captains and a lieutenant were gathered in the study used by the Marquis de Montcalm.


    Always dressed in the most elegant manner, he stood out in this plain room, devoid of gilding or fine paintings.


    His thick, dark eyebrows were furrowed, highlighting the wrinkles on his broad forehead. The rest of his face remained impassive, and his breathing seemed calm.


    It was hard to tell just how angry he was after the scene that had unfolded earlier.


    On his desk, the infamous ball looked like a piece of evidence. It was misshapen after an hour and a half of play, with stitches torn in several places, revealing the old fabric ball beneath the leather covering.


    "Gentlemen, may I know who came up with this idea?"


    "It was my idea, sir," Adam answered in a falsely calm voice, hesitating to meet the commander''s eyes.


    "So, this was your work, Lieutenant?" the marquis growled, focusing his gaze on the young man.


    "Sir, as a captain and the one responsible for¡­" Captain Fontaine began before being cut off.


    "Silence. You will speak when I permit it. Is that understood?"


    "Y-yes, sir."


    The marquis shot a glare at Captain Albert Fontaine before turning his attention back to Adam, who trembled at the consequences of his actions.


    "Order, discipline, honor, and dignity, Lieutenant Boucher, are the elements that distinguish regular armies from militias, regardless of the nation. Last night, I gave you a mission. My orders were to design exercises for the men and exhaust them. But what I saw this morning was simply unacceptable! Our men playing and shouting, running after this ball, and rolling in the grass and mud! It''s a disgrace!"


    The more he spoke, the more the marquis seemed beside himself. The captains, some of them more green than white from all the tackling and being tackled, flinched, not daring to respond to their officer.


    ¡°If His Majesty learns what has happened here, you can kiss your careers goodbye! What on earth were you thinking, lieutenant?! Have you lost your mind?!¡±


    ¡°Sir, if I may, these values are clearly present and honored in the game we organized this morning,¡± Adam replied, mustering all his courage.


    Immediately, all the captains looked at him in surprise, as for them, it was just a game meant to tire out the soldiers. It seemed unlikely that a mere game could honor order, discipline, honor, and dignity. Especially dignity, because they had to admit, they had completely forgotten their rank and duties during that short time.


    ¡°Really?¡± the marquis said in an icy tone. ¡°I¡¯m listening, lieutenant. How are our values promoted in your stupid game?¡±


    ¡°Sir, order is defined by specific rules that must be followed. In a society, like in an army, that¡¯s called laws. Here, we had rules too, and they were clearly laid out from the start. And they were respected by our soldiers with enthusiasm for the proper conduct of the game. They understood and even ensured that every rule was followed, not just for themselves but for their team. Discipline, sir, is a person¡¯s ability to set limits beyond the rules. Even though certain actions were technically possible, the soldiers made sure not to hurt themselves or their comrades. They exercised judgment before, during, and after the match.¡±


    Since the marquis didn¡¯t seem to want to respond, Adam continued passionately, developing his arguments.


    ¡°Honor, sir, is what sets us apart from animals. It¡¯s also what allows us to look ourselves in the mirror without shame. Our soldiers, even though we couldn¡¯t be everywhere to ensure the game¡¯s rules were followed, did everything they could to play by the rules, without trying to cheat or fake fouls. On the contrary, they showed great dignity, and that¡¯s the last point. Whether they won or lost the match, all the players shook hands at the end and exchanged compliments about the game. Their clothes may not have been presentable, it¡¯s true, but they had the dignity of officers, all of them without exception!¡±


    The marquis, not expecting such a solid defense, was left speechless, as were the other captains. You could see respect and even admiration in their eyes.


    It wasn¡¯t easy to stand up to an officer.


    The marquis stared long and hard at Fran?ois/Adam and let out a short sigh.


    ¡°You¡¯ve prepared well, I see. What you¡¯re saying... makes sense.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±


    Shit, I thought I was going to run out of air! I forgot to breathe!


    The marquis sat back in his chair and picked up the ball, or what was left of it, in his hands. Curious, he examined it more closely.


    ¡°You made this yourself?¡±


    ¡°Yes, General. Last night.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been through a lot,¡± he remarked, turning it over in his hands as if to evaluate it.


    ¡°It¡¯s just that I¡¯m not very skilled at needlework. I used my meager talents acquired in Hanover to mend my worn-out shoes from all the marching.¡±


    The officer, whose expression had softened considerably, nodded and turned to Colonel Bourlamaque, who had remained silent in a corner of the room.


    ¡°Colonel, what¡¯s your opinion on this game, particularly its virtues and its negative effects on the soldiers?¡±


    ¡°General, the atmosphere inside the fort has greatly improved, and the other soldiers are eager to try this game. Although it may seem primitive, it makes the men run a lot, which is good for their endurance and helps them relieve built-up tension. Most importantly, it forced the men, not just the officers, to devise strategies, whether for attack or defense. This happened quite naturally, and talents were revealed among those who were fast, those who were agile, those who were strong, and those who had good judgment. Overall, the effect has been quite positive.¡±


    ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°But we must ensure that this game does not interfere with our mission. If our men slack off during the day or are too tired to stand guard at night, it could become a problem. In my opinion, the benefits outweigh the disadvantages. We just need to ensure that discipline isn¡¯t disrupted outside of the game.¡±


    ¡°I see. In that case... I will authorize this game, this... rugby, is that correct?¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Y-yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°However, the rules must be clearly written. There must not, and I stress this, be any disorder. If I see that this game causes problems, I will put an immediate end to it. Is that clear?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!¡±


    ¡°One last thing. The men must not wear their uniforms while playing. I want to see white uniforms at reviews, not green and brown. We are not savages. And make a sturdier ball than that. Your stitching is really poor.¡±


    ¡°At your orders!¡±


    As soon as they were outside the room, the seven captains turned to Adam, looking at him with stars in their eyes.


    ¡°You, though!¡±


    ¡°You were incredible!¡±


    ¡°I thought he was going to throw you out the window! I can¡¯t tell if you''re brave or just crazy! Haha!¡±


    ¡°Gilbert kept quiet about you having a silver tongue! You sneaky devil! You were hiding your game well!¡±


    ¡°Well done, kid! Quick, we need to make a new ball!¡±


    Adam''s gaze then fell on Captain Gilbert, the only one who had remained silent.


    ¡°Not bad at all, kid. You¡¯ve got guts. But don¡¯t think that means I like you, got it? You¡¯re still a brat.¡±


    ¡°Uh, okay?¡±


    ¡°J-just hurry and make a new ball, all right? I... I didn¡¯t stay on the field very long.¡±


    Adam looked at the bulldog-faced officer, more embarrassed than he had ever seen him. It took him a few seconds to respond.


    ¡°O-okay, I¡¯ll do my best.¡±


    When they left the building, they were surprised to find their companies gathered on the parade ground, fearing the marquis had made a harsh decision. They all had that strange look, something quite similar to what a child might show when discovering the taste of a delicious treat, but unsure if they would ever get to taste it again.


    Their clothes were so dirty that one could believe they had just returned from the battlefield. No. Even there, they wouldn¡¯t have gotten this dirty. The shirts, breeches, and stockings were so green and brown that one might think they were prototypes for a uniform designed to camouflage troops in the forest.


    ¡°C-captain Fontaine, what... what did the commander say? Can we play another match?¡±


    It was amusing in a way to see all these soldiers acting like this. It was very clear that they were all worried.


    ¡°The marquis, in his great wisdom, has given his approval.¡±


    ¡°YES! HOORAY!¡± shouted all the soldiers at once, both those who had played and those who had only been able to watch the first match.


    ¡°But we¡¯ll need to make a new ball, and you¡¯ll need to find new clothes so as not to dirty your uniforms. We¡¯ll also have to write down the rules of the game.¡±


    These small constraints did not dampen the men¡¯s spirits, who were already planning another game.


    Adam felt relieved. A huge weight had lifted from his shoulders. Smiling, he looked at his comrades, full of energy.


    Captain Fontaine, still shaken by the intensity of the previous scene, patted Adam¡¯s shoulder with a broad grin.


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t taken a good look at your ball, but... the marquis is right: we¡¯re really going to have to teach you how to sew, lieutenant.¡±


    Captain Gauthier, still gruff but visibly satisfied, sniffed loudly.


    ¡°Hey, we¡¯ll take care of the ball. You, write down those rules! I want my revenge!¡±


    The bulldog-faced captain couldn¡¯t help but smile in anticipation of the next match, a rare sight for the other captains who knew him. As a veteran of the previous war, he had been through many trials and as many battles as Captains Gilbert and Fontaine.


    He had also lost many comrades, to the point where he no longer bothered to memorize his soldiers'' names, knowing that in an instant, they could all be killed.


    Without delay, Adam and the captains set to work, gathering pieces of leather and tools to create a sturdier ball. Around them, the soldiers were already discussing teams for the next match. Some were planning their strategies, others sharing memories of the first game, laughing out loud as they recalled spectacular tackles and heroic tries.


    The excitement in the air was palpable.


    The space around the fort, which just a few hours earlier had been nothing more than a muddy training field, now seemed infused with new energy. It was hard to believe that just a few days ago, a hundred meters away, they had risked their lives defending the fort against an army four times their size.


    Well! I knew they¡¯d like it, but not this much...


    Adam knew that ball games already existed, but none that even remotely resembled rugby. Although this very popular game from his original time had just arrived in this remote part of the world, he could now see that it was surpassing the level of mere entertainment.


    What he had said to the marquis was now spreading throughout the fort.


    Well, as long as they enjoy it! Sports are a great way to bring men together, to give them a moment of respite. And if they can forget about the war for a bit..."


    Adam smiled as he saw the expressions on the soldiers¡¯ faces. Rugby had brought a bit of joy to Fort Carillon, a feeling they had rarely had the chance to savor in recent months.


    He himself felt an intense urge to chase after a ball, zigzag between opponents, score points, and share a moment of happiness with others.


    His heart tightened as his thoughts once again turned to Captain Gilbert. When he remembered the image of the captain, lifeless and cold in his bed, he felt tears welling up in his eyes again.


    ¡°Hey, Fran?ois¡ªI mean, Lieutenant?¡± shouted Captain Albert Fontaine from outside the room where he was working. ¡°Have you finished writing the rules?¡±


    ¡°Almost! I¡¯m trying not to forget anything and put them in a good order.¡±


    Finally, he wrote the final point and lifted the precious document.


    His handwriting was very different from before. He had had to relearn how to write because the shape of the letters was sometimes quite different from what he knew. For example, some ¡°s¡± looked like ¡°f.¡± But most of all, everything was written in cursive! He had quickly lost the habit of separating his letters as if trying to mimic printed text.


    Outside, there was laughter around the new ball. The general atmosphere was excellent around the field. Soldiers from their companies, as well as from other regiments, had gathered, eager to watch the next match.


    Soon, the kick-off was given, and the surroundings of the fort were filled with shouts, applause, and bursts of laughter.


    If the English had seen this scene, they would have spat blood, because their atmosphere was the complete opposite.


    ***


    At the same time, south of Lake George, the British army, once proud and confident, had turned into a broken force.


    They had left the ruins of Fort William Henry to retreat further south to Fort Edward, now that they had regrouped and the first aid had been given to the many wounded.


    They formed a long, sad, and pitiful column, the opposite of what they had been a week earlier.


    General Abercrombie, who had once been so sure of victory, had lost his swagger. Even his mount seemed weighed down by the burden of defeat.


    With slumped shoulders, he pondered the words he would use to report his failure to His Majesty and his minister, William Pitt, one of the main architects of this grand operation. There was no doubt that all the blame would fall on him, but depending on how he presented things, he might be able to save face or at least minimize the consequences of his failure.


    It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s not entirely my fault, is it? I was misinformed, that¡¯s it! I based my decisions on the observations of that damned Clerk! It¡¯s his fault! And besides, not all is lost, is it? We¡­ We can still take that fort! Winter is still far off, and my army is still large!


    His officers, also affected by the decisive defeat, were talking quietly among themselves, and Abercrombie could only imagine what they were saying.


    Miserable lot! I¡¯m sure they¡¯re plotting to make sure I¡¯m the only one to fall! They¡­ They¡¯re going to throw me under the wheels of the carriage!


    Abercrombie was aware of his mistakes. He had been impulsive, seeking a quick victory when he could have started with a bombardment. He could have also tried to outflank the enemy.


    Mathiew Clerk! Curse you! And curse you all who disobeyed my orders to cover yourselves in glory! It¡¯s because of you that we¡¯re in this mess!


    His gaze fell on the Highlanders of the Black Watch, the only ones in this army who had truly distinguished themselves in this battle. They had been heroic, living up to their reputation. But even they were dragging their feet along the dusty path between the trees and impassable bushes.


    They had lost half of their number, making this regiment the most affected by the defeat. They had lost many friends, all from the Campbell clan, and Major Duncan Campbell of Inverawe seemed on the verge of joining them. His arm had been severely wounded, to the point where the bone was visible, and the wound had turned black.


    General Abercrombie had accidentally overheard a strange story about this man.


    In the 1740s, during a rebellion in Scotland to restore a Stuart to the throne, Duncan Campbell of Inverawe had turned over to the authorities a man who had sought refuge in his home, for the fugitive had been a murderer¡ªthe murderer of Inverawe¡¯s cousin, no less. This man had reportedly told Campbell of Inverawe that he would see him again at Ticonderoga (Carillon) and had appeared to him in a dream, covered in blood, the night before the battle.


    From what he had understood, Major Campbell of Inverawe had never heard of Ticonderoga before arriving in front of that fort.


    It was very mysterious and disturbed not only the remains of that regiment but also the rest of the army. Everyone expected him to die within the next few hours.

 Chapter 71: Hierarchy

    On July 10th, a splendid sun warmed the fragrant air of New France and made the La Chute River, linking Lake George to Lake Champlain, sparkle like a string of pearls.


    While some stood guard around and above Fort Carillon, others were having fun chasing an olive-shaped ball, determined to drive it into the opposing camp. Their shouts and cheers could be heard from afar, so full of energy and motivation were the soldiers.


    From the noise, it was easy to tell whether there had been a tackle, a foul, or a score.


    Since discipline had not collapsed¡ªin fact, it had improved since they began organizing daily matches¡ªMarquis de Montcalm allowed his men this recreation. However, he remained vigilant, ensuring that no lapses occurred, and regularly received reports on enemy movements.


    The British had retreated to nearby forts, particularly Fort Edward, located just twenty kilometers southeast of the southern tip of Lake George. Since the destruction of Fort William Henry, it had become the most significant British stronghold in the region.


    It was their base of operations and an important storage site for military supplies and food. Of course, Abercrombie¡¯s army had passed through there to attack.


    That morning, just before noon, Marquis de Montcalm was set to receive a distinguished guest. He had been informed a few days earlier by a mounted messenger.


    With some anxiety, he watched as the guest approached with his army.


    Marshal Richelieu. I¡¯ve never met him, but I¡¯ve heard many rumors about him. I hope everything goes well.


    His army advanced slowly, for the old marshal had been told that the danger had passed.


    ***


    By the time he arrived, the rugby match had ended, and all the players had changed into their uniforms. That included Adam, who sported a handsome bruise on his left cheek from a solid elbow blow.


    Captain Gauthier had apologized more than once, and naturally, Adam had accepted, as he more than anyone else here knew how common injuries were. He had seen teeth fly, arms dislocate, bones break, and much more.


    It was a sport he loved to watch on TV and had played a little in secondary school.


    He had immense respect for professional players, whether they came from South Africa, England, Ireland, Scotland, Australia, New Zealand, France, or elsewhere. For him, more than in any other sport, you could truly see the determination of the players. Even injured, they continued to play for the honor of their jersey.


    Quickly, the officers gave their orders, and all the soldiers lined up outside the fort, as the parade ground wasn¡¯t large enough to accommodate everyone.


    Adam, as commander of Gilbert¡¯s company, though not officially holding the rank of captain, stood at the front, sword in hand. He then saw the marshal-duc arrive, riding a magnificent horse with a gleaming coat.


    Monsieur the Marquis de Montcalm and Colonel de Bourlamaque came to meet him, dressed in ceremonial attire as splendid and brilliant as if they were presenting themselves at the French Court.


    ¡°Marshal, it is an honor to have you at our side!¡±


    ¡°Good day, you must be the commander of the New France troops, Monsieur de Montcalm?¡±


    ¡°Indeed, His Majesty entrusted me with this post,¡± replied the man, bowing respectfully to the marshal''s title.


    ¡°I see. His Majesty sent me with troops freed in Europe after the capitulation of his enemies in Hanover, Brunswick, and Prussia. Though those enemies have been defeated, England remains a great threat.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. Fortunately, you were able to rescue Louisbourg in time, and we were also able to repel them here.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Alas, we are threatened all over the world, and His Majesty needs a large number of soldiers to protect our coasts, as well as our trading posts in Africa, India, the sugar islands, and of course, New France as a whole. I have already sent a letter to His Majesty upon my arrival in Louisbourg, after being briefed on New France and its challenges. Perhaps His Majesty will be kind enough to lend an ear to my requests.¡±


    ¡°I sincerely hope so, for the salvation of New France, because despite this great victory, the enemy remains very powerful and can strike us anywhere. I have also written a letter to His Majesty to inform him of what happened ten days ago. You must have met my messenger.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. He briefly explained the situation. Ah, Marquis, you have worked hard and covered yourself in glory, but the enemy remains powerful. Therefore, we must weaken them as much as possible. Please, tell me, what do you plan to do next?¡±


    Marquis de Montcalm flinched at the marshal¡¯s words and suddenly had a bad feeling. However, he did his best not to show it.


    ¡°Sir, the Ohio Valley and the region around the Great Lakes cannot be defended, and there is nothing of real value there. The settlers are in the Saint Lawrence Valley, around Montreal, Trois-Rivi¨¨res, Quebec, and Louisbourg. All those forts are no more than pinheads on a map. We placed soldiers there, telling them to protect trees, rocks, and rivers. Our men are dying for trees, rocks, and rivers, and can easily be bypassed or isolated. Therefore, I propose that when the enemy returns in large numbers, we abandon these forts and regions to concentrate our meager forces where they truly matter, so we can face the English with a chance of victory.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Adam, who could hear everything clearly, winced and saw the marshal-duc¡¯s expression change. His muscles moved so subtly that it was hard to notice a shift, but to him, it was clear that what the marquis had just said had angered him.


    ¡°Monsieur de Montcalm,¡± the marshal said slowly and coldly, ¡°we are in New France here, are we not? So we are in France, on the King¡¯s lands, correct?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Yes, of course.¡±


    ¡°Imagine for a moment that you are in charge of troops on the continent and struggling to defend a sparsely populated, unprofitable border region for the king. Would you hand over your region to the enemy on a silver platter? Would you write to His Majesty and his ministers, ¡®I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t defend all this land, so I will focus on a few towns¡¯?¡±


    ¡°No, of course not, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then,¡± the old marshal spat, his anger increasingly visible in his voice and on his face, ¡°why would you want to abandon and offer land to the enemy?¡±


    ¡°That¡­ That¡¯s not¡­¡±


    ¡°Marquis, just because we are in the colonies doesn¡¯t mean I intend to defend them any less than Versailles. All the king¡¯s lands have the same value, which means we, the king¡¯s soldiers, have a duty to do everything in our power to preserve them. We can lose battles, we can die, but we cannot betray the king, the kingdom, and its subjects.¡±


    Montcalm had had similar discussions with the governor several times, and they had never been able to agree, not even on how to conduct the war. According to Vaudreuil, the wealth of New France, meager though it may be, lay in the fur trade, and without the Great Lakes, it was impossible to make what was left of New France profitable.


    The marquis of Montcalm let out a deep sigh.


    ¡°So, what do you propose, Your Excellency?¡±


    From that point on, the hierarchy between the two men was clear. Proud though he was, Montcalm knew he was nothing compared to a marshal.


    In any case, it was only a matter of time before he would be informed that he must fall under the authority of the Duke of Richelieu. It didn¡¯t matter to him and could even be a good thing, as it might allow him to return to France, far from this mud and these savages, and reunite with his family and his estate in the south of the kingdom.


    ¡°It¡¯s very simple,¡± the marshal said, regaining his calm with surprising ease, ¡°we will continue to attack. From what I understand, your victories stem from the fact that your methods differ from those of Monsieur de Vaudreuil. But if your small troops face a regular army on open ground, they will be decimated. The ambushes you conduct here are effective against numerous and organized enemies because they are too rigid, too accustomed to pitched battles. I believe, marquis, that this is why Scotland has often been a problem for the English in the past. Therefore, their effectiveness should not be dismissed.¡±


    The marquis grimaced but quickly swallowed his displeasure. He remained silent, letting the duke speak as he quickly reviewed the troops. He passed a few steps from Adam, who stood motionless like a statue.


    ¡°Their only problem,¡± he said, stopping in front of Captain Gauthier before turning to look at Montcalm, ¡°is that they are only small victories, and small victories are forgotten over time. You burn one camp, another is rebuilt. It wastes the enemy¡¯s time and energy, but that¡¯s all. They remain strong and firmly entrenched where they are.¡±


    He nodded and walked past the Berry, La Sarre, and Reine regiments, all carefully lined up like toy soldiers.


    ¡°Therefore,¡± he continued, ¡°I propose practicing both methods at once. Carry out skirmishes of various sizes, but also large-scale attacks. Do you know where these English come from?¡±


    ¡°Where they come from? From Fort Edward, Your Excellency. It¡¯s six lieues from Fort William Henry.¡±


    ¡°Fort William Henry? Ah, yes, the fort you destroyed. Good! The battle took place on July 8th, and it¡¯s now the 18th. Their vigilance must have relaxed, and they are likely still occupied with tending to the wounded.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡±


    The marquis couldn¡¯t finish his sentence, interrupted by his soldiers. Behind Adam, they had begun stomping the ground in rhythm with their muskets, which surprised him since no order had been given.


    Yet it seemed premeditated.


    BOM BOM BOM BOM BOM BOM BOM


    The marshal smiled, never taking his eyes off his increasingly dismayed interlocutor. The men¡¯s morale was so high that even Adam realized it was now impossible to dissuade them from going into battle. He even thought they were capable of assaulting a fort or even an enemy town.


    The marquis could only submit.


    Later, as the new arrivals rested outside the fort and prepared to set up camp, the seven captains and lieutenant of the Picardy regiment were received by the marshal and Monsieur de Br¨¦hant, who remained their superior.


    All were praised for their actions and bravery in battle. Surprisingly, but perhaps due to the scene earlier in front of Fort Carillon, the two officers seemed fully aware of Adam¡¯s situation, including Captain Gilbert¡¯s death. They even seemed aware of the rugby game.


    He knows too much. With what happened earlier, it¡¯s clear¡ªone of them has been corresponding with the marshal and the colonel. It¡¯s not a big deal, but... it¡¯s unsettling.


    During the discussion, the marshal and the colonel officially informed him that while he remained a lieutenant with the duties of an infantry captain for now, he would obtain that rank fully in time or if he distinguished himself further in future campaigns. He might even be mentioned in reports to be read by Louis XV and receive generous rewards.


    The young man, shocked and full of ambition, thanked the old marshal and his colonel profusely, assuring them he would do his best to stand out and win great victories for the King in New France.


    This¡­ This is crazy! But why am I so happy?! Do I really want a promotion that badly?! My hands are shaking, and my heart¡­ it¡¯s about to explode!


    Adam thought back to his previous promotions and what he had felt when he was able to buy a lieutenant''s commission. The feeling that had taken hold of him then was joy. Pride. Satisfaction. Recognition.


    And even though he had no interest in staying here, in this time, he burned with ambition.


    Why am I like this? Have I always been this ambitious, or¡­ is it because of Fran?ois?


    The more he thought about it, the more it seemed plausible to him. After all, he had gained, without knowing how, his fascinating ability to learn languages. As for his fear of heights, he wasn¡¯t sure if it came from him or from Fran?ois, since he had never been confronted with great heights in his previous life.


    It¡¯s possible, but not certain yet. It¡¯s not something easily noticeable through dreams.


    He still had them, playing out Fran?ois¡¯ life like a chaotic film, from his childhood to his fall at Hanstenbeck. The most recent one had been four days earlier, the day after the first rugby match in the world.


    He had learned something interesting about the father of the original owner of this body: he too had served in the King¡¯s armies. He had seen, or rather had seen Fran?ois, very young at the time, rummaging through a chest hidden under his parents¡¯ bed.


    He had expected to find treasure, but what he discovered was military gear.


    Fran?ois had been so young then that he likely hadn¡¯t understood what he had found, but to Adam, who had battlefield experience, it was clear. A British grenadier¡¯s hat, a bayonet engraved with ¡°Madras ¨C September 21, 1746,¡± a powder horn, a small dark red wooden box with hand carvings, a cross, a medal celebrating the capture of Madras, and an old pair of shoes so worn out they would stir pity in anyone.


    Before waking up, he had seen Fran?ois¡¯ father enter the room, catching the child red-handed and giving him a good scolding. Just before Father Boucher entered the room, little carefree Fran?ois was holding the bayonet by the blade with his soft hands.


    Surely his father had been terrified seeing him holding such a dangerous weapon.


    What allowed Adam to not forget this dream and the memories it contained was a sensation of pain in his rear. He had naturally concluded that the memory of the spanking Fran?ois had received that day had been deeply imprinted on this body.

 Chapter 72: The Ruins Of Fort William Henry

    Two days after the arrival of the Marshal-Duke of Richelieu, the French army set off.


    The terrain was particularly difficult, far wilder than Prussia or Hanover, with significant elevation changes. It was decided to use boats to cover the distance between Fort Carillon and the ruins of Fort William Henry with minimal effort.


    However, the few canoes at their disposal were not enough to transport the army commanded by the Duke. After all, their strength had now reached nearly six thousand men! During those two days, they built large, sturdy wooden rafts.


    Adam was on one of them, along with about sixty men, sitting still to avoid any accidents. Next to him were the very young Captain Martin Morrel de Lusernes, the Micmac Indian Tjenopitoqsit, and the fur trader Damien Lebl¨¦, who was very displeased to be once again mixed up in soldiers'' business when he should have been hunting and selling his furs.


    They chatted peacefully amongst themselves, observing the scenery and the canoes slowly towing them on the water. The surface of Lake George resembled an immense mirror, reflecting the trees, mountains, and sky perfectly, since there was not a breath of wind. The air was warm without being stifling, which was fortunate.


    Still, all Adam wanted was to strip off his clothes and dive into the lake for a swim.


    Such clear water... What a shame! he lamented inwardly, letting his fingertips glide off the edge of the raft.


    Around their raft floated numerous boats, also towing large rafts, some carrying one or two artillery pieces. They were heading to the same place, but not quite the southern tip of the lake.


    ¡°Tell me, is it really that dangerous here?¡± asked Martin Morrel de Lusernes, eyeing the trees.


    ¡°Dangerous, yes,¡± said Tjenopitoqsit, crossing his arms over his chest, revealing well-developed muscles.


    ¡°You have no idea, kid,¡± confirmed Damien. ¡°In fact, since we left Fort Carillon, we¡¯ve entered contested territory. This isn¡¯t New France, but it¡¯s not the British colonies either.¡±


    ¡°The colonies...¡± murmured Adam, imagining lands seized by the English, which didn¡¯t extend much farther than coastal cities like New York and Boston.


    ¡°With an army as large as the one we pushed back two weeks ago, these forests must be crawling with patrols. Not to mention the Iroquois, who are allied with the British.¡±


    ¡°Them... more dangerous than the English. Them bad,¡± Tjenopitoqsit grumbled, baring his teeth. ¡°Eat enemies.¡±


    ¡°WHAT?!¡± Martin and Adam exclaimed in unison, drawing the attention of the soldiers, both anxious and eager to fight.


    ¡°Bah, that¡¯s probably just stories to scare children,¡± said the fur trader, pulling out a flask of his vile liquor. ¡°But it''s true that they¡¯re much more troublesome. For all we know, our efforts to stay unnoticed might be in vain.¡±


    Adam declined the liquor offered by the fur trader, and Martin quickly realized¡ªthough too late¡ªwhy.


    ¡°Good heavens! What on earth is this horror?!¡±


    ¡°This horror? Boy, that¡¯s real liquor! If you drink it, you¡¯ll have a beard in no time!¡±


    Martin Morrel de Lusernes looked hesitantly at the flask, but declined, as his throat was already on fire.


    ***


    Due to the heavy load, it took them no less than twelve hours to reach their destination. Yet they were far from the southern tip of the lake. About sixteen kilometers remained to be covered.


    Slowly, very slowly, the canoes approached the shore on their right, the western shore of the lake.


    There was a large, teardrop-shaped island, but more importantly, a good place to disembark the marshal¡¯s army and all their equipment.


    The area was hostile, and the sun was about to set. The remaining hours of daylight were used to patrol the landing area and set up a camp among the tall trees in the region.


    Marshal Richelieu was quite satisfied with this progress, as he was in no particular hurry. He preferred to do things properly, moving his men step by step to avoid detection by the enemy.


    That¡¯s why, the next day, they wouldn¡¯t board the boats again. It was obvious that the British had left men south of the lake to watch the surface and sound the alarm if they spotted any suspicious movement.


    By giving the order to continue on foot so far to the north, he minimized that risk, as it was unlikely that anyone with a spyglass could have seen them arriving.


    While they watch the lake, we will circle around to the west through the woods. Certainly, they won¡¯t expect that.


    The old man, dressed in his dark cuirass as if already on the battlefield, imagined their surprised faces and frightened eyes. A cruel smile formed on his lips.


    By the time they notice us, it will be too late.


    They then set up a modest camp, concentrating the tents as much as possible, and gave the order not to light any fires, no matter the reason.


    The night was cool, but quickly, thanks to the soft rays of the sun filtering through the leaves, the air warmed. The lake seemed to steam, and a light mist floated in the air. These woods seemed full of mysteries and secrets. It was a very strange feeling that made all the men remain vigilant.


    Even the old marshal was not immune to this magic.


    With his ears sharp, he listened to everything happening around him, trying to pinpoint the slightest sound. He watched the trees and bushes, frequently believing he saw the menacing silhouette of a savage, with bloodshot eyes and murderous intent.


    It was an exhausting ordeal for all bodies, even the youngest, and it considerably slowed them down.


    Additionally, they had to contend with the complexity of the terrain. While there were no major obstacles like cliffs, they still had to ascend slopes that were sometimes quite steep. Combined with the particularly dense vegetation, every step required significant effort.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Finally, the artillery also slowed down the entire group. Even though they had brought only six pieces, transporting them required complex logistics. There was the cannon itself, the carriage on which it was mounted, the equipment for loading and cleaning it, the projectiles, and of course, the gunpowder!


    It took them no less than twelve long, grueling hours to cover the miserable sixteen kilometers that separated them from the southern tip of Lake George. Normally, on favorable terrain and at a good pace, they could have done it in three hours!


    It wasn¡¯t difficult to spot the ruins of the British fort on the southern shore of the lake. It was quite simple: just four thick walls designed to absorb cannonball impacts, with a bastion at each corner to eliminate blind spots.


    Though it had been abandoned, not enough time had passed for nature to reclaim it.


    Hmm, maybe one day. If we don¡¯t let them rebuild it. Oh? As expected, I see a few redcoats. Only a handful, seemingly light infantry. And a few horses. Good, the marshal said, lowering his spyglass before handing it to Colonel de Br¨¦hant, who stood beside him, dignified as a general.


    ¡°This is Fort William Henry, Marshal,¡± remarked the Marquis de Montcalm, staring at the ruins, likely reflecting on the past. ¡°The English base of operations in the region until last year.¡±


    Indeed, there wasn¡¯t much left. A few walls and the deep ditch that surrounded them, now overgrown with weeds and brambles.


    ¡°I see that. So you said the nearest fort is called Fort Edward, is that right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. Since it¡¯s getting late, I suggest we set up camp here, on the heights surrounding the ruins of this fort. The area seems safe and easy to defend.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, it¡¯s a shame it was destroyed rather than occupied. It¡¯s a good location. Although... I¡¯m sure it¡¯s possible to destroy it completely from where we stand or higher up.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, sir, but that wasn¡¯t the option I chose at the time, as the garrison was too small to bother placing cannons that high. I set up my cannons and mortars there,¡± the officer said, pointing to a clearing slightly further north, near the lake, overlooking the fort¡¯s northern fa?ade.


    ¡°That¡¯s also a good spot, though it doesn¡¯t have the advantage of height,¡± the marshal commented somewhat blandly before turning away from the ruins.


    Thus, they set up camp once more among the trees, and once again, they were strictly forbidden from lighting any fires. They even went so far as to forbid candles. Fortunately, the moon illuminated the clear sky, allowing the sentries to see fairly clearly, even in the middle of the night.


    Early in the morning of July 23, 1758, Marshal Richelieu¡¯s army quietly folded up their tents and advanced like a ghost toward the ruins of Fort William Henry.


    Contrary to the Marquis de Montcalm¡¯s suggestion, they employed the Indians and their techniques to silently approach the redcoats tasked with monitoring the lake. Regular soldiers also participated in the operation, but with strict orders to use their muskets only if absolutely necessary.


    The men took great care to perfectly surround the ruins and the few men inside. Without realizing it, these redcoats had been trapped in a deadly vise.


    As the old marshal had wanted, the redcoats didn¡¯t notice their approach and died without being able to alert anyone. While there were a few gunshots, they were lost in the wind, the rustling of leaves and branches, and the melodic birdsong.


    By eleven in the morning, it was all over, and the southern shore of Lake George had fallen under French control.


    There, it¡¯s done. Now, only the big game remains.


    ***


    Even without the Indians, they had no trouble following the trail the British army had used to besiege Fort Carillon. All they had to do was trace it back to reach Fort Edward.


    However, the general¡¯s army veered slightly to avoid potential British patrols. They headed almost due south until they reached the wide Hudson River, which was likely between one and two hundred meters across.


    It meandered naturally between the wooded hills, drawing wide, graceful loops in this idyllic landscape. Deadwood had accumulated in some spots, making it a perfect playground for small mammals.


    Adam spotted a small group of beavers and otters playing or working in the water and near a large tree-covered island in the middle of the river. He felt himself melt at the sight of such beauty and cuteness.


    The view would have been perfect if he weren¡¯t surrounded by soldiers reeking of sweat.


    ¡°They¡¯re so cute!¡± he finally said, watching the little balls of fur interacting with each other.


    ¡°Hmm? Cute?¡± Damien Lebl¨¦ chuckled. ¡°I guess they are. But they¡¯re not much use. Just their fur. Oh, and their meat, though it¡¯s not nearly as good as venison. It¡¯s pretty close to rat, actually. Here, well, it wouldn¡¯t even be worth hunting them. They¡¯re too small. Better to wait for them to breed.¡±


    Adam said nothing and stared in horror at the fur trapper, who had put on his strange fur hat. He scratched his head vigorously and continued on his way, lazily holding his musket over his shoulder.


    The young lieutenant then heard a familiar voice behind him, causing him to turn around.


    ¡°Jean?!¡±


    ¡°Fran?ois?!¡±


    ¡°And Jules! Little Pol! Louis! Charles! I¡¯ve missed you all so much!¡±


    ¡°You were here?! But where did you go?! We searched everywhere for you!¡±


    "Ah! Sorry, I¡¯ve been so busy since my captain¡¯s death! I¡¯ve had to take care of the company in his name, even though he¡¯s no longer with us! But, Jules... You¡¯ve been promoted?! Ahahaha! Congratulations!"


    "Thanks! Haha, I¡¯m a corporal now!"


    "Two promotions at once?! Wow! That¡¯s impressive!"


    "Not as much as you, my friend! Let¡¯s just say I got lucky."


    "Don¡¯t say that, Jules!" exclaimed Little Pol. "You earned that promotion! He stopped a breakout, you know?! It was a few days after you left for Quebec. He noticed a soldier acting strangely, and with just a few questions, he realized it was an Englishman in disguise!"


    "Really?! That¡¯s incredible!"


    "Isn¡¯t it? He pretended to be a wounded man from the Battle of Louisbourg, so he wasn¡¯t sent to France with the others. And at the first chance he got, he attacked one of our men, stole his uniform, and tried to escape!"


    "And that¡¯s not all, look," said Charles proudly, showing his arm. "I¡¯ve been promoted too. Now I¡¯m an anspessade, hehe!"


    "Congratulations!"


    I¡¯m so happy for them! It¡¯s great they¡¯ve been promoted! I hope Little Pol, Jean, and Charles will get promoted soon too!


    ***


    Slowly, Richelieu¡¯s army moved eastward along the calm river, following the current. The flow was neither weak nor strong, but a few clues suggested that during floods, the water level could rise quite high.


    As the afternoon wore on and evening began, scouts emerged from the trees and informed the marshal that Fort Edward was near.


    "Let the men rest in silence. Naturally, no fires. I¡¯m counting on you, gentlemen, to punish anyone who disobeys. Keep watch on the road leading to the ruins of Fort William Henry, but no gunfire. We must not alert the enemy to our presence. Meanwhile, I¡¯ll go observe their positions. How far are we from the fort?" the marshal asked, turning to Damien Lebl¨¦.


    "About a lieue, maybe a lieue and a half," (around 3 or 4 kilometers).


    "Good. Monsieur de Montcalm and de Br¨¦hant, come with me," Richelieu said calmly.


    Guided by a few Indians and the woodsman, the three French officers approached Fort Edward as closely as possible, moving through the trees like serpents with eyes gleaming with deadly intent.


    At a certain distance from the fort, all the trees had been cut down to prevent them from hiding troops. It was also to give the cannons on the high wooden walls of the fortress a clear field of fire.


    Basic, the old marshal thought as soon as he reached the edge of the forest and raised his spyglass.


    Hmm... Let¡¯s see what our enemy looks like.


    As soon as his eye settled on the fort, he was surprised by the quality of the fortifications. There was the main fort, but it was accompanied by a defensive structure on a large island in the middle of the river, called Rogers Island.


    This was a camp used to house and train a very special unit, the Rogers''s Rangers. Highly mobile, they had been rigorously trained in combat styles far removed from what was typically done in the regular army. It wasn¡¯t wrong to say these men were closer to woodsmen than line infantry.


    In addition to this camp, there were small wooden watchtowers around the fort.


    Finally, the fort was accompanied by another wooden bastion on the other side of the Hudson River. It was just a small square fort with two small bastions on either side of the central building, all surrounded by a simple palisade and a ditch. Yet, Richelieu sensed that this fort, though small, could cause a lot of trouble if neglected.


    He turned his gaze back to the main fort and began devising a plan of attack.


    A fort made up of three distinct parts... This will be difficult.


    "Sir, if we attack the main fort, the other two will have time to prepare," the colonel and Marquis de Br¨¦hant said seriously.


    "That¡¯s certain. We¡¯d need to attack from both sides simultaneously while isolating the island so they can¡¯t assist each other. But they¡¯ve built some fairly solid bridges..."


    Indeed, the three forts were connected by two bridges. The first connected Fort Edward to Rogers Island, and the second linked the island to the small fort called Royal Blockhouse. There was a third bridge that crossed the entire Hudson River south of the fort, but it was protected by bastions.


    Let¡¯s take the time we need and bring down this fort in one blow.

 Chapter 73: Sentence

    The air was still warm in London despite the late hour, and there was barely a breath of wind, making the air hardly more breathable than during the day.


    At least, thought William Pitt, resting his chin in the crook of his hand and vaguely watching the cityscape pass by the carriage window, everyone has gone home. I thought we wouldn''t be able to attend tonight''s performance.


    Until the last moment, he doubted he could go to the theater as his wife had planned, hoping to distract him. London had been particularly restless for almost three months now, ever since Admiral Hawke''s arrest, but other concerns kept the people of London in a constant state of agitation.


    There wasn¡¯t a day that went by without the people deciding to express their discontent. In Hawke¡¯s case, it was either to demand his head or to save it.


    More than during Admiral Byng''s time, it seemed to Pitt that the people were divided.


    Perhaps that is because I myself am divided.


    Pitt despised weakness and incompetence. Watching British army and Royal Navy officers display these two traits filled him with disgust. An officer should be, on the contrary, inflexible, brave, competent, and always in control of the situation.


    Hawke had failed miserably, though the disaster at Ouessant was not entirely his fault.


    He had failed to keep his officers in check, costing many sailors their lives and losing several warships. Moreover, he hadn¡¯t been clever enough to track the movements of the French ships, which allowed them to quietly return their precious vessels to Brest and later sail out unchallenged.


    If one word could describe the situation, it would surely have to be invented, because ¡°humiliation¡± would be too mild.


    The minister Pitt was still furious. Fortunately for Hawke, most of that anger was directed at the captains who had openly disobeyed his orders, rushing at the French but only managing to wreck their ships on rocks and sandbanks.


    Ah, and now I have a headache again...


    William Pitt closed his tired eyes, worn from lack of sleep, and ran his long, thin fingers over his face. It was something his wife would sometimes do to relax him, but it had been a long time since he could spare even a few minutes to rest and talk with her.


    Going out with Esther Pitt tonight to clear his mind was truly an exception.


    He no longer slept more than a few hours a night, and often spent them in his office to avoid wasting time crossing the capital, whose narrow, filthy streets often resembled a labyrinth.


    Ah¡­ Prices are rising, discontent is brewing, Hawke¡¯s trial is coming to an end, we need to maintain our advantage at sea, hold onto Saint Louis in Senegal against the French, who will surely try to take it back, the Spaniards threatening us in the southern colonies, the slaves constantly revolting on the islands, our African partners always wanting more wealth and arms, or they¡¯ll sell their slaves to others, Portugal doing nothing, our coffers emptying, new taxes...


    "William?"


    "Hmm? Yes, my dear?" the minister replied tiredly, turning to his wife, who sat beside him.


    "You''re thinking about work again."


    William Pitt couldn¡¯t help but smile and looked into his wife¡¯s face.


    "Sorry."


    "Don¡¯t push yourself too hard. You''ll end up collapsing, and then you¡¯ll be forced to rest for weeks."


    "In that case, may God protect the kingdom."


    "That¡¯s why," she said, gazing deeply into his eyes, her affectionate hand resting on his left hand, "don¡¯t think about anything. You¡¯ll see, it feels good. Oh, we¡¯ve arrived."


    William Pitt looked outside in surprise and saw that they had indeed arrived in front of the grand Royal Theatre in Covent Garden. He hadn¡¯t noticed the journey pass, so lost had he been in his thoughts.


    He wasn¡¯t sure, but it seemed to him that he hadn¡¯t uttered a word throughout the ride, even though it wasn¡¯t short. A sense of guilt washed over him as he looked at his wife, who smiled at him. She seemed to read him like an open book.


    "Are you coming?"


    "Yes, I¡¯m right behind you, my dear. Hmm, it¡¯s still early, but there¡¯s already so many people?"


    "Of course, fufu! It¡¯s clear you haven¡¯t been out in a long time."


    Strange. Our coffers are emptying, people are complaining about market prices, yet here they are in such numbers for a mere play. Very strange.


    Indeed, in front of the grand theatre, one of the finest in the kingdom if not the world, the crowd was bustling with activity. A long line had formed at the entrance, illuminated by numerous lanterns.


    Quickly, the wealthy spectators were ushered through first, naturally including Minister Pitt and his wife, Lady Hester.


    For the occasion, Pitt had dressed smartly. He wore a new suit¡ªcoat, waistcoat, and breeches¡ªplum-colored with a rather original cut, and silver-buckled shoes so polished they gleamed under the enormous chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.


    Lady Hester, for her part, wore a delicate azure blue gown that perfectly highlighted her fair, delicate skin. Her dress was richly adorned with azure lace, but in a slightly darker shade to enhance the fabric.


    Though Pitt knew nothing of fashion, he had to admit that the dress suited her perfectly.


    The halls of the Royal Theatre were simply sublime, worthy of a palace. They followed a long, wide red carpet embroidered with gold thread, keeping a polite distance from the other spectators, all heading to the private boxes from which one could enjoy the performance with some privacy.


    Guided by staff members, Pitt and his wife arrived at a dark wooden door adorned with golden moldings.


    Is this our box?" Pitt asked, quickly surveying the space as they entered.


    Hmm, a good choice. We won''t miss any of the show from here. By the way, what are we seeing tonight? I think Hester told me once or twice, but I can¡¯t remember. Ah, she¡¯s right, I work too much. But the interests of the Crown must come first!


    Pitt furrowed his brow slightly.


    "Is something wrong?" asked Esther, delicately holding her husband''s arm as they approached the deep red and gold seats.


    "Oh, no, it''s nothing. I was just thinking..."


    "Stop thinking for a bit, my dear husband, and enjoy the evening. Sit here."


    The minister silently obeyed and settled into a comfortable armchair that rivaled the one in his office. It was so important to have a good chair¡ªnothing was worse than working in poor conditions.


    Most people paid the same attention to their beds, as a good night¡¯s sleep was essential.


    Goodness, I hope I don¡¯t fall asleep during the show. Hester would be disappointed. She arranged everything so we could have a pleasant evening.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    From their seats, they had a perfect view of the stage, several meters below. For the moment, only thick red curtains were visible, drawn tightly shut.


    William Pitt then noticed they weren¡¯t alone in the box. An old man with long white hair, so hunched over he looked as though he was bowing, was sitting just a few steps from the couple.


    Hmm? Since when was he here? I didn¡¯t see him come in... Was he here from the start?


    The man seemed to be in his last months, perhaps days. His trembling, wrinkled hands¡ªlike an overripe apple¡ªpulled a kind of horn from a small bag, an instrument to help him hear better.


    The old man began to hum softly. It sounded more like a long creak or lament, a little tune Pitt couldn¡¯t identify.


    Perhaps it¡¯s just a series of random sounds strung together?


    Then, a young man rushed into the room, his face covered in sweat and his clothing slightly disheveled. He was tall and as thin as the minister, but his eyes were full of energy. He seemed very nervous and a little clumsy.


    "Oh, sorry! Excuse me. My apologies, a thousand apologies. I... I believe this is my seat. Right. Oops, I knocked over your cane, sir. No, no, please, let me pick it up!"


    William Pitt furrowed his brow deeper and did his best not to watch the ridiculous scene unfolding right before his eyes.


    Hester sensed her husband¡¯s tension and placed her soft, warm hand on his cool, dry one.


    Soon, the lights began to dim, and the curtains opened. Characters appeared on stage as an orchestra played a gentle melody.


    Pitt, unsure of what to expect, tried to follow the plot.


    Ah, I see... A comedy. Hmm, the actors aren¡¯t bad. Is that rotund man dressed like a colorful fool supposed to be a ¡®nabob¡¯?


    Indeed, the main character was what they disdainfully called a ¡®nabob¡¯¡ªa Briton returning from India after making a fortune there, but lacking in elegance and social graces. In short, he was a boor trying to integrate into the highest circles of society, acting the fool, ignorant of etiquette, and making a spectacle of himself wherever he went, all while flaunting his wealth.


    Soon after the play began, the first bursts of laughter echoed from the audience.


    Pitt, who unfortunately had encountered such characters, found it difficult to laugh. He had seen people, though exaggerated here, return to England suddenly wealthy from India by exploiting the work done by His Majesty''s soldiers, convinced they had become the equals of the highest nobles of the kingdom in just a few years.


    To him, they were nothing more than clowns who didn¡¯t know their place, wrongly believing that money could turn a commoner into a true noble.


    This play clearly criticized that, but it also portrayed the English nobility¡¯s anxiety about the emergence of such characters, multiplying to form a new social class. That anxiety was real.


    Esther had once told him of an absurd situation at a tea party hosted by Lady Fox. The wife of a ¡®nabob¡¯ had been invited and shamelessly announced that her husband had bought the estate of a young nobleman from an illustrious family, even though it didn¡¯t date back to the Wars of the Roses!


    Burdened with debts thanks to his father and grandfather¡¯s poor investments, he had no choice but to sell a property passed down through generations!


    William Pitt, who was not a noble and had no desire to become one so he could keep his freedom and the love of the people, could fully understand the old nobility¡¯s anger and fear. These nabobs were disrupting the social order, and perhaps one day they would wield real power.


    The thought of these upstarts, whose only merit was having invested at the right time and place, sitting in Parliament and making decisions that would determine the fate of the kingdom, enraged him.


    Another burst of laughter startled William Pitt as his thoughts began to wander.


    Ah, the nabob accidentally tore the baroness¡¯s dress. And here comes the husband, of course.


    The play wasn¡¯t very original, but it was well-acted. It echoed many concerns within society, not just among the old nobility. Everyone in British society feared being displaced by the rise of these new rich.


    Pitt then heard a door open and close behind him, and a man discreetly approached the minister.


    The figure, cloaked in darkness, slipped between the seats like a vengeful ghost, silent as death, and settled into the empty chair behind Pitt.


    Who is that?


    Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the clumsy young man watching him intently, but it lasted only a fraction of a second.


    That look... Ah, now I remember seeing it before! Tsk, I see. So that¡¯s how it is.


    "Minister," murmured the man behind him, so close to his ear that Pitt could feel his warm breath.


    "Please, let me enjoy the evening," he said so softly that one had to strain to hear him.


    "It''s about Admiral Hawke and Captains Evans, Speke, and Geary. The court has ruled. They are all sentenced to death. Their sentence will be announced tomorrow morning, and a petition for clemency will be sent to His Majesty for these four men."


    William Pitt remained silent for a few seconds, then leaned slightly to the side, though from this position it was impossible for him to see the face of his interlocutor.


    "The Royal Navy," he said in a voice clearly audible, "needs its officers now more than ever. We must remain masters of the oceans. If the petition is rejected by His Majesty as it was for Admiral Byng, I fear it will send a terrible message to all our officers. Executing Admiral Byng was already a mistake, but if His Majesty decides to apply the death penalty to all officers who fail, there is a risk they will all behave like kittens. I could understand Byng. His death might have even encouraged our officers to be brave, but four more officers, including an admiral... no, it''s too much! We must do our best to protect them! After all, everyone can make mistakes."


    "Very well, sir."


    "This can wait until tomorrow. Enjoy the play. It¡¯s entertaining, and it feels good. I now understand why so many people came tonight. It¡¯s important to laugh sometimes and not think about anything."


    Pitt then saw out of the corner of his eye the young man sitting to the left of his wife, a row behind, rise and leave hurriedly. William smirked slyly and leaned again towards the man behind him.


    "The leech is gone," he whispered. "Do we know who he belongs to?"


    The man immediately understood the question.


    "It¡¯s the man we spoke about, sir. He has been watching you for some time now. He appears to serve the Duke of Newcastle. He is very suspicious of you."


    "And I of him. An amusing alliance, don''t you think? But seriously, I want the heads of Messrs. Evans, Speke, and Geary to roll. They disobeyed a direct order from their admiral. The failure at Ouessant is largely their fault."


    "And Admiral Hawke?" the man asked in a flat voice, devoid of any emotion.


    "Mr. Hawke... well, I hesitated a lot about him. It only takes one error in judgment, one hesitation, and a well-laid plan can collapse. I¡¯m afraid he must also pay the ultimate price, for his own mistakes and those of his subordinates."


    The man sitting behind the minister remained silent, digesting his employer¡¯s words. In the darkness, it was impossible to see his expression. He was just a shadow in a room plunged into darkness.


    "Since this tragedy, no, even before it, I¡¯ve questioned Newcastle¡¯s decision to sacrifice Byng. His motives weren¡¯t good, but... I must admit there were results. Our officers are more daring. Before Byng, I¡¯m not sure Evans, Speke, and Geary would have charged the French ships with such rage as they did."


    "Sir?"


    "I don¡¯t excuse them, but I appreciate their thirst for blood. If they hadn¡¯t destroyed their ships, maybe they would have been hailed as heroes? Who knows? What the Royal Navy needs are fierce lions, not mad dogs. Hawke and the others... don¡¯t meet these conditions."


    "W-what are your orders?" the man asked in a grave voice.


    "Circulate new testimonies about the Battle of Ushant by tomorrow afternoon. Let the public¡¯s anger focus on the captains, and highlight the admiral¡¯s errors in judgment. Emphasize his hesitations and the visible and potential consequences. Officially, I will take no sides. The decision rests with His Majesty."


    "Very well, sir."


    With that, the man left, even though the play wasn¡¯t over.


    ***


    When the lights came back on, after the actors'' bow and a fine round of applause, William and Hester Pitt rose and left their box.


    Soon, only the old man remained, eyes closed, hunched over as if searching for something on the floor.


    Slowly, he straightened and opened his eyes. His back cracked, but his expression didn¡¯t change.


    His eyes were calm and cold as ice. He put away his hearing horn and adjusted his coat.


    Well, that was interesting, thought John Ingham as he grabbed his cane.


    The theater was almost empty, as everyone had been eager to leave after the performance.


    This will certainly interest the Duke. He won¡¯t be reassured, I think, but that¡¯s not really my problem. He¡¯ll pay me generously.


    ***


    The next morning, at ten o¡¯clock, Captains Thomas Evans, Henry Speke, Francis Geary, and Admiral Edward Hawke were informed of the decision of the military court presided over by Vice Admiral Thomas Smith. All were sentenced to death.


    Soon, the news spread from Plymouth, then from town to town across England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and the continent.


    As in the time of Byng, the news stirred passions. The people of London took to the streets as if the price of bread had multiplied by ten, and made their voices heard all the way to the windows of old King George II.


    Almost every day, new testimonies emerged, incriminating the captains. It was like pouring oil on an already out-of-control fire. London seemed on the verge of revolution, much to the dismay of the king and Parliamentarians, who wanted nothing more than peace within the kingdom to better conduct the war outside it.


    On the afternoon of July 26th, George II received the kingdom''s most prominent figures to hear their advice.


    Some insisted on being uncompromising, but above all consistent. According to them, you couldn¡¯t have an admiral shot one day and merely slap another on the wrist the next for an equivalent humiliation.


    The Duke of Newcastle, however, suggested sparing Hawke to avoid setting a precedent. On the other hand, he was relentless with the captains.


    Without their actions, as he forcefully declared, the battle off Brittany would have certainly turned in their favor, and the severely damaged French squadron would have been forced to seek refuge¡ªor rather, imprisonment¡ªin the Brest roadstead. Hawke¡¯s decision to withdraw to reorganize his ships and care for the wounded, as well as the survivors of the stranded and sunken ships by Captains Evans, Geary, and Speke, was at least understandable, in his view.


    As for Pitt, he remained neutral, claiming that they should wait for the consequences of this tragedy, once they knew where exactly the squadron had gone and what it had done since.


    The king listened to each of them but made no decision that day, for the lives of four men were at stake.

 Chapter 74: Fort Edward

    In the heat of the afternoon, even though it was almost August, the temperature at Fort Edward barely reached twenty degrees Celsius. As soon as the sun began to set, the temperatures quickly dropped. This feeling of cold was heightened by a constant cool breeze from the north and large gray clouds sweeping across the sky.


    The fort was as bustling as in previous days, which was natural given the number of soldiers present. However, their numbers had become more manageable over the last few days, since half of them had been sent to Fort Miller, a bit further south along the Hudson River. This was to avoid overburdening the fort and depleting the food supplies.


    Moving that many soldiers wasn¡¯t too risky, as it only took half a day¡¯s march to cover the distance between the two forts¡ªalmost double the distance from Fort Edward to the ruins of Fort William Henry.


    This way, the sentinels would have enough time to alert both Fort Edward and Fort Miller, and the soldiers could easily reinforce either fort before any enemy arrived.


    Of the six thousand men at Fort Edward, nearly five hundred were wounded, with some in no condition to be moved. A few were still fighting for their lives, despite the days that had passed. The rest of the injured had been sent to Fort Miller for treatment.


    Morale was low, but gradually the shock of the defeat at Fort Carillon was wearing off, being replaced by anger. However, according to John Bradstreet, it would take time before they could organize a new expedition. He himself wasn¡¯t fully recovered from the wound to his arm. The bullet had been removed, and his arm sewn back together, but it still caused him pain. In such a state, it would be difficult for him to wield a pistol, let alone a sword.


    John had a clear idea of their next target, but discussing it now would be premature. No one would listen, let alone follow him.


    I think they''ll be ready to listen to me by early August. Colonel Haviland and Gage will likely be in favor. For now, we need to regain our strength!


    The fort he wanted to attack was a secondary target due to its location and its role in the operation of New France. Its name was Fort Frontenac. It was located over two hundred kilometers west of Fort Edward and Lake George, along the Saint Lawrence River, on the shores of the impressive Lake Ontario.


    It will be an easy victory, very different from Fort Carillon, he thought, taking a deep breath of the evening air.


    If they managed to capture this fort, the British army could sever the connection between New France and Louisiana, making conquest easier. Furthermore, it was lightly defended. Taking it would require no more than a few days and two to three thousand men¡ªnot to attack it head-on as General Abercrombie had attempted at Fort Carillon, but to encircle it.


    We need a victory, even a small one, to restore this army¡¯s spirit. In these conditions, we can''t do anything, despite our numerical superiority.


    As he headed toward the northernmost bastion to inspect their defenses, John came across a man he didn¡¯t want to see, even from a distance. It was the young Captain Robert Rogers.


    Rogers had formed the special ranger company, commonly known here as Rogers'' Rangers. He was a 27-year-old man with a boyish face, of average height, with red lips as delicate as a woman¡¯s and beautiful blue eyes. But one must not be deceived¡ªthis man was no simpleton.


    Bastard! What¡¯s he doing here?


    John clenched his teeth and avoided Rogers'' piercing gaze, which reminded him of a large lizard¡¯s.


    This man cared little for rules and propriety. Despite the authority the army had granted him, particularly to enlist and train his men, to John Bradstreet he was nothing more than a mercenary. If he weren¡¯t paid by the Crown, John would have treated him as a bandit and had him hanged.


    "Good evening, friend! Lovely evening, isn¡¯t it?"


    Damn you, don''t act like we''re close!


    His ever-present smile exasperated John to no end, giving him the impression that Rogers was mocking him and the regular army. John also had the distinct impression that Rogers had no respect for officers.


    The more Rogers smiled, the more John wanted to throw him off a wall or drown him in the river. Naturally, John didn¡¯t respond and continued on his way as if nothing had happened.


    Rogers didn¡¯t take offense and, still smiling, headed back to what he considered HIS island. That¡¯s where his men lived and trained.


    Recognizing them wasn¡¯t difficult: they were the only ones wearing green uniforms. Their equipment was military-grade, as were their drills. They went beyond regular training, honing their skills to track and kill targets in any terrain.


    Like the Native Americans, they specialized in hit-and-run attacks. They would locate a target¡ªsay, a French village¡ªstrike, burn everything, and disappear. They were very skilled at this, John had to admit, and he was greatly relieved the French didn¡¯t have someone like Rogers to make their lives miserable.


    Enough! It¡¯s not worth thinking about anymore!


    John greeted the guards, encouraging them to keep up their good work despite their low spirits, and lingered at the bastion facing the road to Lake George. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Everything was silent and peaceful.


    Are we really in summer? Damn, it feels more like autumn is coming!


    His gaze shifted to the surroundings of the fort. Beyond the cleared area dotted with a few watchtowers, the forest stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a sea of trees. The colors varied slightly, as did the species and heights, but the fact that it was a hostile environment remained unchanged.


    An army wishing to move efficiently through the region had to use the road¡ªa simple path cutting through the trees.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    These trees, towering like the legs of ancient giants, covered everything, making the Hudson River seem like an old scar in the landscape that might otherwise be beautiful. The river had carved the land with the precision of a sword slash. In places, the high hills seemed to have been sliced in two.


    Nothing to report today either. Good. If the French could stay in their corner for a month¡ªno, two¡ªthat would be perfect. It would give us time to burn Fort Frontenac to the ground and come back.


    "Lieutenant Colonel Bradstreet, what are you doing here?"


    Snapped from his thoughts, the man turned around to see someone a little younger than him by only a few years but with a higher rank: Colonel. He had a kind face full of dignity, with deep eyes and thin lips. Unlike Robert Rogers, his face inspired trust.


    "Colonel Haviland, I didn¡¯t hear you approach."


    "Oh, I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to startle you."


    "No problem. I was just doing a round of the ramparts, greeting the guards. Eventually, I got lost observing the scenery."


    The colonel smiled and approached, crossing his arms over his chest to keep warm.


    "That sunset is truly beautiful. And so is the landscape. Are you from England, by any chance?" asked Colonel Haviland.


    "Not at all. Nova Scotia. A small fishing port named Annapolis Royal."


    "Sorry, I don¡¯t know it," admitted the colonel, shaking his head.


    "Don¡¯t be. Honestly, I would¡¯ve been surprised if you had. It¡¯s a really small village."


    "And yet here you are, with the rank of lieutenant colonel. That¡¯s remarkable."


    "Thank you, though I could have risen higher. Forgive me, I didn¡¯t mean to complain about such small things when our situation is so difficult. Pretend I didn¡¯t say anything."


    An awkward silence settled between the two officers, standing still before the beauty of the landscape. The colors in the sky were so vivid they could have inspired painters worldwide.


    "And you?" Bradstreet finally asked, realizing he hadn¡¯t posed the question to Colonel Haviland. "Where are you from?"


    "Ireland. I joined the army at twenty-one, but it feels like yesterday."


    "Oh? Me too! Do you miss it? Ireland, I mean."


    "With its violent winter storms, frequent showers, ear-piercing music, ridiculous legends, and awful food? Oh, yes."


    The two men smiled, and as the atmosphere between them started to feel strange, they parted ways. Soon, it would get cold.


    ***


    Adam shivered in the darkness, rubbing his hands vigorously while trying to stop his teeth from chattering. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was the cold that came with the nightfall or the fear of the impending battle.


    They were all gathered in an endless line at the edge of the forest, waiting for the order to attack.


    There wasn¡¯t a single lantern to light their way. Luckily, the moon was still visible in the partially clouded starry sky. Even though only a quarter of the moon was showing, it gave off enough light to reveal the threatening silhouette of Fort Edward and the watchtowers that surrounded it.


    They were quite simple, but each could be considered a small fortress. Underestimating them could lead to the deaths of many of their own.


    Good, it must be past midnight. So, it¡¯s the 28th of July. One year. It¡¯s been a year since I¡¯ve been stuck in this damn era.


    He wasn¡¯t saddened by the passing of time anymore, but resigned. Pitying himself hadn¡¯t helped, and it wouldn¡¯t help him that night either.


    Come on! You¡¯ve been through this before! Everything will be fine!


    A man approached in the darkness. He recognized him late, realizing he was one of Colonel de Br¨¦hant¡¯s men. His face was long and gaunt, like someone just rescued from a deserted island.


    "The assault is about to begin," the man said calmly. "No gunfire until we reach the fort."


    "Understood."


    "Your men will take care of that tower, as agreed."


    Adam¡¯s throat tightened, and he nodded silently. Fortunately, in the night, no one could see him trembling.


    Yes, everything will be fine. We¡¯re well-prepared, he thought, watching out of the corner of his eye as his men approached with ladders.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Richelieu¡¯s army began to move.


    "Forward," Adam ordered, taking the first step out of the forest.


    Tjenopitoqsit and his Indian comrades went ahead and soon reached the watchtower. They quickly located the few half-asleep sentries.


    "Hey, Andrew, you got your deck of cards? (in English)


    "You want to play another game? I¡¯m gonna humiliate you again, you know?"


    "Doesn¡¯t matter. As long as it keeps me busy. Huh?"


    "What?"


    "Hmm, nothing. Must be the wind."


    "Behind y¡ª"


    In an instant, both men fell, their skulls split open and their throats cut, without making a sound. When Adam finally arrived, their warm blood was silently flowing from their wounds, staining their fine uniforms.


    Similar scenes played out all around Fort Edward, and also at Royal Blockhouse, on the other side of the Hudson River. With disconcerting agility, the Indians climbed the palisades, even though ladders had been prepared, and eliminated the sentries one by one until only those inside the buildings remained.


    They offered no more resistance than the sentries, and when the first gunshot finally echoed through the silence of the night, the French soldiers, militiamen, woodsmen, and Indians were already climbing the walls of Fort Edward.


    ***


    John Bradstreet was jolted awake by the sound of a gunshot, but groggy from sleep, he doubted whether it was real. A second and third explosion fully roused him, and shortly after, he heard what he immediately recognized as cannon fire.


    ¡°We¡¯re under attack!¡±


    ¡°Damn it! Quick!¡±


    ¡°To arms! Everyone up!¡±


    ¡°The French! The French are attacking us!¡±


    Outside, it was pitch dark, and men were running in all directions. Bradstreet, swallowed up in the throng of soldiers at the center of the fort, was wearing only his scarlet jacket trimmed with gold, which he hadn¡¯t bothered to button up. In his right hand, he held his sword, searching for the enemy.


    ¡°They¡¯re on the walls! Look out!¡±


    At that very moment, the French soldiers who had managed to set foot on the ramparts opened fire on them all at once.


    Unable to organize, unable to take position, the English began falling under the enemy¡¯s bullets.


    ¡°Form a square! Form a square!¡± Haviland shouted from about a dozen meters away.


    By the time they managed to organize, more enemies had climbed the palisade using wooden ladders. Meanwhile, the sound of cannon fire echoed continuously, but it was coming from outside the fort.


    Where is it coming from?! Where are they firing from?!


    Although the French cannons could clearly be heard roaring, there was no damage to the fort itself. It was as if they were missing all their targets or firing blanks.


    No, that¡¯s not it. They aren¡¯t aiming for the fort! But what are they aiming for?!


    ¡°Colonel Haviland! Colonel Haviland!¡± shouted a man who had barely been seen since they arrived at Fort Edward.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, General!¡± the officer called back to Abercrombie, who, like the others, had been roused from sleep.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming!¡±


    The stout man laboriously pushed his way through the mass of soldiers, who were too tightly packed to organize in such a small space. Bradstreet did the same to reach the two men.


    ¡°Sir, we need to take back control of the walls! The longer we delay, the greater the danger we¡¯re in!¡±


    ¡°I know! But they¡¯re holding the stairs! We can¡¯t get through!¡±


    A bullet whistled past Haviland¡¯s ear and struck the fat general in the left eye, killing him instantly as he collapsed backward.


    ¡°The general¡¯s dead! The general¡¯s dead!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t panic! Form a square, for Christ¡¯s sake, or we¡¯ll all die here!¡±


    ¡°Colonel! I¡¯ll try to force my way to the west staircase! With me!¡±


    John Bradstreet gathered a few men and led an effective assault on the west side of the fort, where there were fewer enemies. Once a path was cleared, he began to organize a counterattack.


    Then the French cannons roared once more. This time, he could see what their target was.


    They... they¡¯re aiming for the bridge connecting us to Rogers Island! Bastards!


    The cannon shots found their mark, and the bridge was split in two, completely preventing the men on the island from reinforcing the besieged fort.


    Damn it! We¡¯re on our own now!

 Chapter 75: In Gods Hands

    Adam, already out of breath, inhaled and exhaled steadily under the strain, though all he had done was run toward the fort and then climb it.


    Once he reached the top of the palisade, he realized the fort wasn¡¯t that impressive. Behind the large tree trunks forming the outer walls, there was just a thick earthen rampart and a few buildings organized around a small rectangular parade ground.


    BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!


    Gunfire echoed through the night, enveloping the fort in a thick gray fog laced with the familiar smell of burnt powder. The French and their Indian allies were targeting the English below, who were trying to organize an effective defense.


    Several officers were barely distinguishable in the darkness. Orders were shouted in English, which Adam vaguely understood amidst the chaos.


    Their general is dead?! Then we¡¯ve nearly won! he thought, drawing his pistol.


    Nervously, he cocked it and aimed at a tall man leading several redcoats trying to chase them off the fort¡¯s walkway.


    That must be an officer! His uniform is different, and he¡¯s got a sword!


    They were advancing quickly toward him and his comrades, all busy firing or reloading their muskets.


    "Watch out! On the right!"


    Tjenopitoqsit, who had just reloaded an older musket, took aim at a redcoat and fired without hesitation. The man, who looked to be in his twenties, took the bullet in his chest and fell backward as if he had slipped on ice, not getting up again.


    The officer, clearly already wounded, raised his pistol to fire when he caught sight of a bare-chested Indian charging at him, a large tomahawk decorated with colorful feathers raised overhead.


    The man sprinted along the walkway at breakneck speed and leaped toward the lieutenant colonel.


    At the last second, the officer changed targets and shot the Indian in the face, killing him instantly.


    The force of the shot sent him tumbling out of the fort.


    Adam watched as the officer dropped his spent pistol and grimaced in pain. He decided to try something.


    "Surrender! There¡¯s no hope!" (in English)


    Adam¡¯s English was simple, his accent thick, but perfectly understandable.


    "Never! We¡¯d rather die than let you have this fort!"


    Adam pointed his pistol directly at the officer¡¯s forehead, who had stopped, as did the men behind him, seemingly caught in a wild momentum. If he didn¡¯t break this momentum, they would all likely die here.


    "I insist. Surrender! Your death won¡¯t change anything."


    Lieutenant Colonel Bradstreet bit his lower lip hard. From the corner of his eye, he saw that this young officer, apparently just a lieutenant, had managed to sow doubt among his men. Worse still, he had made him doubt.


    He had only one life, and though he was ready to give it for the glory of Great Britain, that didn¡¯t mean he would sacrifice it in vain.


    Adam silently watched the officer hesitate. From his eyes and barely perceptible movements, he could see how tormented he was. He was clearly weighing the pros and cons, but a shot rang out somewhere, and the undeclared truce shattered.


    Both sides opened fire, and Adam ducked as fast as his body would allow. His finger squeezed the trigger without aiming at anyone in particular, and the bullet flew straight at the British officer, who had no time to react.


    In a second, over fifteen men fell in a thick cloud of smoke.


    The young lieutenant, fortunately still alive, charged the enemy, sword in hand, before they could get into position. With a swift movement, he deflected a bayonet from his face and punched a soldier taller than him square in the face before running his sword through the man¡¯s body.


    Tjenopitoqsit, on his right, struck another Englishman in the throat with a knife that had a short, but wide and solid blade.


    Together, they took down another soldier, paralyzed with fear, unable to defend himself. Quickly, he collapsed under their attack, joining the other bodies, including Bradstreet¡¯s, whose left lung had been hit. Blood trickled from his mouth as his lifeless eyes seemed to gaze up at the moon and stars.


    ***


    At the same time, in another part of the fort, Louis, Jean, Jules, P¡¯tit Pol, and Charles finally stepped inside Fort Edward.


    The comrades who had stormed the fort before them had managed to open the northern gate.


    With each passing second, more and more French soldiers flooded into the fort, but there wasn¡¯t enough space for a traditional battle.


    There was so little room it felt more like a fight in the heart of a town.


    From inside the buildings, the central square, and the bastions, shots were fired at anyone wearing a white uniform. In turn, targets were plentiful, and bodies began to pile up on the ground.


    "Fire!" commanded Colonel de Br¨¦hant, not far from the third rank, which was slowly forming at the fort¡¯s entrance.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    A long series of shots shook the air, and many more men in red fell.


    Though the forces seemed relatively even, it wouldn¡¯t take much to turn the tide in favor of one side or the other. The British had lost several officers, including the deeply unpopular General Abercrombie, and now the Union Jack, representing the union of England and Scotland, was being lowered.


    This detail didn¡¯t escape the redcoats, and soon the first surrenders began.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Laying down their weapons and raising their hands to the sky, more and more of them ceased fighting what seemed a lost cause.


    Yet, in a few places, the fighting still raged on. This was the case in one of the buildings, fiercely defended by a sizable group of Englishmen. They held the doors and windows, preventing anyone from approaching.


    ¡°Jules, Jean! Over here!¡± Charles shouted while reloading his musket, sheltered behind a low wall.


    ¡°We''re here!¡±


    ¡°There are several inside!¡±


    Bang!


    ¡°Do we know how many there are?¡± Jules asked, raising his voice to cover the infernal noise of gunfire ringing like a military drum.


    ¡°No idea, but there are enough to keep us from lifting our heads! Watch out! Stay covered!¡±


    Bullets whistled around them like angry hornets. Those who had tried to get closer now lay in puddles of blood on the dusty ground.


    The building where a strong group of British soldiers had taken refuge resembled a haunted house. It seemed wrapped in a thick, opaque mist that refused to dissipate. It was reinforced every time a shot was fired from one of those windows.


    No enemy was in sight. It was barely possible to see the muzzles of the muskets in the gloom and suffocating smoke.


    ¡°What if we set it on fire?¡± asked a soldier with a drooping nose.


    ¡°No! The orders are to take this fort intact, or as much as possible! Everything here is wooden! Imagine if the fire reaches the powder store!¡±


    Immediately, Louis froze in horror at the thought of the gigantic explosion that would surely occur if that were to happen. They would be scooping up their remains for days!


    Diable! What to do?!


    ¡°Louis!¡±


    ¡°An¡­ Um, Pierre! You¡¯re here! Are you okay?!¡±


    Anne-Sophie, alias Pierre, smiled at seeing this young man worry so much for her. A warm feeling grew in her heart, and she nodded gently.


    Louis let out a small sigh of relief, as he didn¡¯t want anything to happen to her, especially since they had begun to grow intimate. No one, except Jean who firmly believed they were homosexuals, suspected that they had feelings for each other.


    ¡°Louis, we can¡¯t stay like this.¡±


    ¡°We can wait until they run out of ammunition, can¡¯t we?¡±


    But the young woman in disguise shook her head.


    ¡°I doubt it. I think this is their arms and ammunition depot.¡±


    ¡°W-wait, what?!¡±


    ¡°The other buildings seem to be housing and common quarters, so¡­¡±


    ¡°Damn!¡±


    Louis peeked out but saw nothing unusual on the fa?ade of the long wooden building riddled with bullets.


    Good grief! Is there a chance that the building could explode from our shots?! And¡­ What if they decided to blow themselves up when they ran out of options?


    ¡°We need to assault it, Louis. There will be casualties, but the building will be under our control before they do something stupid.¡±


    The young soldier with wheat-blonde hair, which had become a bit shinier since their arrival in the New World, bit the inside of his cheek. Then he suggested the idea to his comrades. Even though it was risky, it was impossible to kill them all. If they died, it would be a matter of luck or misfortune.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±


    Louis, Anne-Sophie, and the others emerged together from their hiding places like devils out of a box and charged like enraged bulls at the wooden building.


    Several gunshots rang out at the same time, and several white-clad men collapsed. Louis stepped over one of them and rushed after Jean, who roughly matched the size of the door. They found a dozen terrified redcoats that they quickly massacred.


    It was a horrific sight, an act of rare violence that no words could ever describe.


    The means used to neutralize these few soldiers far exceeded their danger, as they had all discharged their weapons on the French while they were running toward them.


    They had shot at them, struck them, and stabbed them repeatedly. The wooden floor was covered in blood, red as their uniforms, slick and gradually becoming sticky.


    Behind them, they left only bodies and countless red footprints.


    As Louis cast one last glance at the building''s door, his gaze vacant, almost dead despite his thoughts being disturbed by what he had just seen and done, he was surprised to see Anne-Sophie sitting in a corner, holding her side.


    Immediately, his body froze, and a cold shiver ran through him like lightning.


    Oh no!


    ¡°Anne-Sophie!¡±


    Everyone heard his cry and turned to see Louis rushing toward an injured soldier. They all wondered why he had called her that, but the sharper ones began to understand when they saw how this young man was acting.


    ¡°H-hang on! It¡¯s going to be alright!¡±


    ¡°L-Louis¡­¡±


    ¡°Y-yes! Tell me!¡±


    ¡°Y-you¡¯re too loud.¡±


    Anne-Sophie was terribly pale and bleeding profusely.


    With his hands smeared in warm blood, the blood of the one he loved, Louis was desperately trying to stop the hemorrhage. It felt like her warmth was slipping away. His whole body trembled, and his emotions were more chaotic than a battlefield.


    ¡°Hang on! Hold on! You¡¯re going to make it! Jean! I need your help!¡±


    ¡°M-me?¡±


    ¡°Help me carry her to the field hospital! Jules, clear the way! Quick!¡±


    ¡°Louis¡­¡± Anne-Sophie groaned near his ear as Jean easily lifted her.


    ¡°D-don¡¯t talk! You¡­ need to save your strength, okay?¡±


    She smiled gently at him and squeezed his hand. Her hand felt colder than snow.


    Quickly, the group left the fort, crossed the open ground, passed a watchtower, and reached the first trees. There, a series of tents had been set up in anticipation of the battle and a swift influx of casualties. Several people were already lying down, moaning and calling for their mothers.


    An old man with a hollow face approached, a gray apron stained with blood cinched around his waist. He knelt down as a young assistant brought over a lantern, for it was still very dark.


    Without any embarrassment or hesitation, he opened Anne-Sophie¡¯s coat and vest and tore her shirt, now red where she had been shot. Quickly, fair skin, a slim waist, and a chest compressed by fabric bandages appeared.


    The surgeon looked up and met Anne-Sophie¡¯s exhausted gaze. The man, sporting a few days'' worth of gray beard as gray as his apron, sighed deeply and opened his bag filled with all his tools.


    He had worked for the army for decades. He had removed bullets, amputated, and stitched up wounds in all conditions, even the most surprising.


    To do it under these circumstances, so close to a besieged fort on the verge of being captured, was just another dash in what he had done throughout his life. That the wounded was a woman changed nothing about his mission.


    ¡°Bring the lantern closer, Gabriel. I can¡¯t see anything. Hmm, the bullet hasn¡¯t gone through. The wound is clean. I¡¯ll need to remove it, mademoiselle. It¡¯s going to hurt. A lot,¡± he said in a low tone meant to be reassuring.


    ¡°Is she going to make it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    The surgeon began by roughly cleaning the wound, then took a specialized pair of tweezers designed to extract bullets and inserted it into the wound. Anne-Sophie gasped and opened her eyes wide, but was unable to scream. Her fingers clenched violently around Louis''s arm, so hard that it felt like it was about to break.


    Yet he didn¡¯t tremble and didn¡¯t make a sound, not even a grunt.


    He endured in silence and held the young woman¡¯s arm against him, as if he feared they would take her away. Meanwhile, Jules, Jean, Charles, and P¡¯tit Pol stood still around the victim as if they had been hypnotized.


    Finally, the surgeon removed his instrument and dropped a small lead ball into a metal dish.


    ¡°You were lucky, mademoiselle,¡± the old surgeon whispered softly. ¡°The bullet didn¡¯t fragment. And it didn¡¯t hit any vital organs either. However, you¡¯ve lost a lot of blood.¡±


    Despite the many wounded around them, the man did not rush his work. He carried it out to the end, deploying all his knowledge and skills before moving on to the next soldier. He finished by giving a generous dose of alcohol to help the young woman endure the pain.


    Whether she survived or not was no longer his concern; it was now the will of God. But even if she pulled through, she would have to face serious consequences, for now everyone here understood her true identity.


    Even Jean, though it took the surgeon calling her ¡°mademoiselle¡± twice for it to sink in.


    Gradually, the number of gunshots decreased until only the sound of cannon fire remained. They were bombarding Rogers Island and the bridge connecting it to the west bank, where the fort known as Royal Blockhouse stood.


    Above this fort, the French flag was already flying.


    Alas, at dawn, it became clear that somehow a large number of rangers who had found themselves isolated on Rogers Island had managed to escape.


    The marshal showed no emotion and completed the capture of the fort and all its resources. The prisoners were kept outside the fort for the rest of the night, closely watched by regular soldiers and even more by the Indians, who seemed to be waiting for just one good reason to scalp them before being taken at first light to Fort Carillon.


    Among the prisoners was Colonel Haviland. He had fought with honor and bravery to defend their flag but had ultimately surrendered after hours of fighting when it became clear that there was no hope of victory.


    As for the light cavalry sent from Fort Miller to see what was happening, they were all chased off by cannon fire.

 Chapter 76: The Marshal鈥檚 Decision

    Marshal de Richelieu and Colonel de Br¨¦hant stood still as statues to the left of Anne-Sophie¡¯s pallet.


    She, very weakened but alive, was so pale she could have been mistaken for a corpse. This only made her dark eyes and hair, as well as her red lips, stand out even more.


    Under the tent, no one spoke, which was both distressing and uncomfortable.


    The stares of the duke and the marquis were so cold, so piercing, that the young woman regretted not dying during the attack. The pressure was unbearable.


    It was even worse than the terrible pain she felt from where she had undergone emergency surgery.


    Alas, Louis was not there to support her.


    She needed support now more than ever, as her secret had been discovered. Unfortunately, neither the surgeon nor the other soldiers, excluding Louis¡¯ friends, had managed to keep silent about her true identity.


    Though still dressed in her uniform, Anne-Sophie could no longer pass as a man. She had thus dropped the mask and stopped having the look and voice that had been hers since enlisting in Mr. de Br¨¦hant¡¯s regiment.


    Marshal de Richelieu pinched his lips and furrowed his brows.


    ¡°And so,¡± he finally said in an icy voice, ¡°what is your real name?¡±


    ¡°A-Anne-Sophie Vernais, Your Excellency,¡± the young woman answered meekly, her voice barely audible.


    ¡°Date and place of birth,¡± the duke continued in a flat tone, leaving no room for emotions.


    ¡°October 7, 1736, in Saint-Menges, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°Father and mother?¡±


    ¡°J-Jacques and Ren¨¦e Vernais.¡±


    ¡°Are they still alive?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, Your Excellency.¡±


    Anne-Sophie noticed a subtle change in the duke¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Do they know that you enlisted in the King¡¯s army disguised as a man?¡±


    ¡°No, Your Excellency!¡± she replied with renewed energy, full of anxiety.


    The marshal hesitated, but as he had no proof, he nodded and continued in a voice devoid of warmth.


    ¡°Your marital status.¡±


    ¡°S-single.¡±


    The duke quickly calculated and shook his head.


    ¡°Then you are still under your parents¡¯ authority. Why did you do this?¡±


    ¡°Your Excellency, my parents earn little despite working very hard. I thought I could ease their burden by joining His Majesty¡¯s army and sending them part of my pay.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so they knew.¡±


    ¡°No, Your Excellency! Th-they thought I had gotten a job in another city! They didn¡¯t know anything!¡±


    Richelieu turned to Colonel de Br¨¦hant, who was very embarrassed by the situation.


    ***


    A woman disguising herself as a man, acting like a man, living among men, fighting alongside men. It is unacceptable and shameful!


    The old marshal was furious.


    This shame wasn¡¯t just for the woman; it tarnished the company, the regiment, its colonel, himself, and His Majesty.


    For society to function, everyone must play their role. That had always been the case. Men kept society running, women kept it alive by caring for homes and children. This had worked perfectly since the dawn of time. It is the natural order!


    Even though there had been exceptions, allowing women on the battlefield was unthinkable. This was part of common sense. Everyone knew how precious their lives were. Without women, there would be no children, and without children, a state would perish.


    That¡¯s why it was up to men to take the risks. They could be replaced.


    Even if only a handful of men remained, they could preserve the kingdom from decline and even help it flourish!


    The marshal cast his gaze back to the wounded woman and sighed again.


    ¡°You understand, Miss Vernais, that your situation is very delicate. Naturally, we will handle this matter discreetly. There is no need for this to be widely known, as it would only cause more problems, especially for His Majesty, who seeks to improve the image of his armies. Therefore, you will not be beaten, humiliated, or imprisoned. We cannot erase you from our records entirely, as everything must leave a trace, but it will come close.¡±


    The marshal once again consulted the file of Soldier Pierre Louvet from the Picardy regiment.


    What a waste. His... Her record wasn¡¯t bad. If only she had been a man... There¡¯s no use thinking about that, the duke thought as he looked back at the bedridden young woman.


    "After much reflection, I have decided not to dismiss you with dishonor, out of respect for your acts of bravery and the good work you did as Pierre Louvet. You will simply be released from your obligations to the army and will only receive payment for the period of your service. Understand that this is a very generous act. For a less remarkable soldier, I would not have hesitated. This way, you will not be left penniless and will not have to endure the shame of being dismissed before your peers."


    The old marshal could see a hint of relief in the young woman''s eyes. She could be described as beautiful with her dark eyes and captivating lips.


    How did she manage to pass as a man for so long? The more I look at her, the stranger it seems. Were her comrades idiots, blind, or complicit?


    "Of course," he continued in a firm voice, "you will be sent back to France. You will return to your village, to your parents, and do what your parents and the King expect of you. Find a husband, help him in his work, start a family, and make them proud."


    As soon as he finished, he saw despair growing on the young woman''s face, but he showed no more empathy. The fact that she was getting away with such a mild punishment was already exceptional.


    She should consider herself lucky that this matter isn¡¯t going any further. No whip, no beating, no prison. I can do no more.


    With that, the marshal and the colonel disappeared from the tent, and Anne-Sophie placed her cold hands on her face. Stifled sobs echoed inside the tent, guarded by two soldiers from a regiment other than Mr. de Br¨¦hant''s to avoid any incidents.


    ***


    Louis wanted to see Anne-Sophie. He wanted it so much that his body ached from not being able to do so. His helplessness tormented him, and the thought of what the woman he loved must be feeling at that moment only worsened his state.


    Every second away from her was like a torture session.


    His friends wanted to help, of course, but the orders of a marshal and a colonel could not be bypassed without paying a price.


    However, they couldn¡¯t just stand still while their friend needed help.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Jean, Jules, Charles, and P¡¯tit Pol presented themselves in front of the tent and asked the guards if they could pass, and of course, they were refused, as expected. They then started talking amongst themselves, just in front of the guards, to divert their attention.


    Meanwhile, Louis circled the tent and stopped by the pallet where Anne-Sophie lay.


    He couldn¡¯t see her, but he could hear her breathing behind the canvas.


    She... she¡¯s crying.


    His heart tightened to the point where he thought it would be crushed. Louis cautiously slipped a trembling hand under the canvas and ran his fingers through Anne-Sophie¡¯s hair, causing her to gasp in surprise.


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± he whispered. ¡°Louis. A-are you okay?¡±


    ¡°L-Louis?!¡±


    ¡°Keep it down,¡± whispered the young man without withdrawing his hand. ¡°Jean, Jules, Charles, and P¡¯tit Pol are distracting the guards, but it won¡¯t last long. I can¡¯t stay.¡±


    ¡°Louis¡­ They... they¡¯re going to send me back to France. I... I don¡¯t want to leave! I don¡¯t want to leave without you!¡±


    He could feel her body trembling, but he couldn¡¯t take her into his arms.


    ¡°Where exactly are they sending you?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re sending me back to my village, to my parents. Louis, I... I don¡¯t want to go! I want to stay here, with you!¡±


    ¡°Your hometown... Saint-Menges, near Sedan...¡±


    Though he couldn¡¯t see her, he could hear her crying and feel the warmth of her skin. She had taken his hand in hers and placed it against her tear-soaked cheek.


    ¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I? Aboard the Foudroyant, I told you that you wouldn¡¯t be alone, even if you were discovered.¡±


    ¡°Louis...¡±


    ¡°Even if they send you to the ends of the earth, I¡¯ll come and find you. When... when the war is over, I¡¯ll go to Saint-Menges, so... wait for me, okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I will,¡± the young woman said in a barely audible voice, holding tighter to that hand that felt so broad and reassuring. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll wait for you!¡±


    ¡°I have to go. Anne-Sophie, please, take care of yourself.¡±


    ¡°You too!¡±


    Slowly, the hand the young woman held slipped away and disappeared under the tent¡¯s canvas. She was alone again.


    ***


    Adam had naturally heard about Anne-Sophie¡¯s situation, but unlike his friends, he wasn¡¯t shocked to learn that a woman had taken up arms disguised as a man.


    He was too used to seeing female soldiers to feel the slightest discomfort. That his friend was in love with this woman didn¡¯t surprise him either, but he was deeply saddened to learn that they were going to be separated, as the woman he had fallen in love with was going to be sent back to France.


    From his point of view, it was stupid.


    They could have let her stay here, couldn¡¯t they? And they must have noticed that a female soldier wasn¡¯t a problem, right? Tsk!


    However, he kept his opinions to himself and did his best to comfort his friend, who seemed to be in the depths of despair. Unfortunately, they were interrupted by new orders.


    They were to move out and march toward the nearest fort, Fort Miller. As for Anne-Sophie, she would likely remain a few days at Fort Edward before being taken to Quebec.


    Even though the French had suffered many casualties in the previous battle, the marshal didn¡¯t seem willing to give the British any respite to reinforce their front line, which had just been breached.


    The young lieutenant could understand the duke¡¯s thinking, even if it wasn¡¯t very prudent. Fortunately, their army lacked nothing except rest.


    By taking Fort Edward, they had secured a large amount of food, fodder, alcohol, and black powder. There was no doubt this fort would soon become their base of operations for the future.


    Their marching pace was quite fast, and it wouldn¡¯t take long for this army to cover the eleven kilometers separating them from their next target. This was because, this time, they weren¡¯t cutting through the woods but faithfully following the road along the Hudson River.


    Adam and his men were in the middle of the column, while the Indians and coureurs de bois were at the front, serving as scouts. They were excellent in this role, as they had proven time and time again since their departure from Fort Carillon.


    The only problem was their practices, which disturbed both Marquis Montcalm and the regular soldiers. Those who had followed Marshal de Richelieu had the hardest time tolerating it. Whenever they saw an Indian scalp a British soldier, they had to restrain themselves from stopping it or even turning on their ally.


    Yet, the marshal let them do as they pleased, as if this was a small price to pay for their assistance.


    Adam struggled with it as much as his comrades and did everything he could to avoid watching, even though he was used to seeing horror films.


    At both Fort Carillon and Fort Edward, they had gone around the corpses to collect their scalps. Seeing it up close, Adam had vomited everything in his stomach, thinking he might die from witnessing such an atrocity.


    A few shots rang out a few hundred meters to the north, startling some small birds.


    Hmm, I guess it was a good idea to send them into the woods¡­ You can hear the gunfire, Adam thought as he gazed at the trees lining the road to Fort Miller.


    The column didn¡¯t stop or slow down until they reached the fort, which couldn¡¯t compare to Fort Edward.


    It was more of a waystation used in the war against the French and their allies.


    Not being directly threatened, it had been minimally fortified, surrounded by only a palisade and a ditch, with protection on one side from the Hudson River.


    The army began deploying and digging trenches, as well as building embankments for the few artillery pieces they had brought along.


    They were quite numerous, despite having sent units in all directions along the way, as the duke had kept the bulk of his army on this side of the river. The reason was simple: he had obtained valuable intelligence at Fort Edward regarding enemy forces stationed at Fort Miller.


    From what Adam had understood, there were about six thousand men there, but like the marshal, he doubted that this number was accurate or that they were all in fighting condition.


    Indeed, several prisoners had admitted that most of the wounded had been sent there.


    From his position, Adam could distinctly hear the exchanges between the duke and his officers.


    The place seemed indefensible, just as the old Marshal-Duke de Richelieu had expected, but since it was a waystation for His Majesty¡¯s army, he hoped to find something useful for his troops.


    Adam, positioned in the center of the formation, watched as the duke pulled out his gleaming, gold-like spyglass and exchanged a few words with his officers about the siege. He seemed very confident.


    The young man looked more closely at the fort. It seemed much simpler in design and smaller than Fort Edward. Several red uniforms could be seen atop the wooden palisade.


    Strange... This time, I¡¯m not afraid. Why am I so calm?


    ***


    The highest-ranking officer at Fort Miller was Colonel Thomas Gage, wounded at the Battle of Fort Carillon.


    Leaning on a crutch, with one arm in a sling, the thirty-nine-year-old officer stood silently with his subordinates on the rampart, observing the enemy as they prepared to lay siege. His dark eyes scanned the troops, trying to assess their strength.


    He hadn¡¯t been surprised to see them in the late afternoon.


    During the night, he had heard cannon fire for hours. He had immediately understood that Fort Edward was under attack, yet he had done nothing. He hadn¡¯t sent his men because he had been informed that the enemy numbered several thousand, perhaps seven or eight thousand.


    That was more than he had, but the biggest problem was that it had happened in the middle of the night. He knew that by the time they arrived, the sun would already be up, and his men would be exhausted. The French army would have made short work of him.


    He had hoped that General Abercrombie would hold out or even repel the attack, but it was clear he had failed.


    Fort Miller, Gage knew all too well, wasn¡¯t a strong fort. It wasn¡¯t built to withstand a siege. Very little investment had been made here, as it was too far from Lake George, which roughly marked the boundary of His Majesty¡¯s control, thanks to the army.


    The Crown had invested in Fort Edward because Fort William Henry had fallen, but there had been no question of doing the same here, a mere storage facility.


    They didn¡¯t even have enough space to accommodate everyone in decent conditions.


    Even before the first cannon shots hit the rampart, Thomas Gage had understood that this fort would fall. Then hell rained down upon them.


    The palisade splintered, followed by the gates and the northern bastion. The flagpole, atop which their flag flew, was hit by a cannonball and crashed heavily onto three tents, then a mortar shell fell on the right wing of the barracks where nearly eight hundred wounded men had been crammed, most lying directly on the floor.


    Pale, he observed the French cannons thundering in front of the fort, his fingers clenched on the wooden parapet as if trying to crush it. His eyes remained fixed on the enemy, unwavering.


    Meanwhile, his men were dying and doing their best to help those who had been buried alive under the rubble.


    Gage, doing his best to maintain his dignity, let out a deep sigh. At that moment, he no longer wondered if they would all die here, but how.


    "Gentlemen, there¡¯s no point in insisting. We are numerous, indeed, but under these conditions, we cannot defend ourselves. We don¡¯t even have artillery to retaliate. And we have so many wounded. We can either die in vain or choose to surrender. Raise the white flag."


    ***


    The Marshal-Duke showed no emotion, and nothing changed when he saw a man in red waving some sort of white handkerchief. He raised a gloved hand and gave his order.


    "Cease fire. The enemy seems to want to negotiate."


    The artillery fell silent, and the marshal, clad in his beautiful cuirass that made him look like a grand warrior of old, approached the shattered palisade.


    A medium-sized man with a large belly emerged from the fort through the ruined gates, holding an improvised white flag above him.


    The discussion was brief, and when he returned, great cries of joy erupted from the French army. He had just won another victory without losing a single man.


    The Indians, already with their bags full of scalps after the Fort Carillon episode, did not oppose leading these prisoners to Fort Edward, where a few companies remained stationed.


    Marquis de Montcalm approached as the fort was being evacuated, his face surprisingly somber and serious.


    "Sir Marshal," he said, "we are deep in enemy territory, and our supply and communication line is very stretched."


    "Between Montreal and here, you mean? Yes, it is. That¡¯s why Fort Edward is of utmost importance. We must make it a major relay point so we don¡¯t have to fall back several days just for supplies. We should make the river navigable between Fort Carillon and Lake George by barge or canoe."


    "I''m afraid significant modifications are necessary, sir. It will take time and a lot of manpower, which we don¡¯t have at the moment."


    "We won¡¯t wait for the end of the season, when hostilities slow down, to complete this project, but within a month or two."


    "So soon? Is that even possible?"


    "We just need to further reduce the threat. Destroying this fort is not enough."


    The marquis¡¯ face darkened further. It was evident he had something to say, but with so many men around, it wasn¡¯t easy to voice an opposing opinion. It would be best to be alone or with just a few officers.


    "What are your orders for this troop, sir?" he finally asked softly.


    "Hmm, what¡¯s the nearest town?" the marshal asked, placing a hand on the golden pommel of his splendid sword.


    "The-nearest town? It¡¯s Albany. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if General Alcombie¡¯s army came from there. Don¡¯t tell me you plan to besiege the city with only our six thousand men!"


    "Not directly, but I do plan to shake the tree to see what falls out."

 Chapter 77: Albany鈥檚 Response

    The city of Albany lay just sixty kilometers from Fort Miller. Like this fort and Fort Edward, it was located along the Hudson River. In the opposite direction, two hundred kilometers away, stood the imposing city of New York.


    With only 1,500 residents¡ªnothing compared to New York¡¯s 13,000¡ªAlbany could still be considered important in the region. It was charming but isolated from the coast, which slowed its growth. Proximity to French and Indigenous territories further hampered its development, as settlers were hesitant to come here and buy land to farm.


    Since its founding, Albany¡¯s inhabitants had harbored a constant fear of attacks by the French and their ruthless allies. Over time, this fear became as natural as that of living near a volcano. Unable to thrive in constant dread, the city had been fortified, with forts constructed to the north and west at regular intervals.


    The forts along the Hudson were especially critical, as British officers knew this river could be used against them.


    Due to its location, redcoats often passed through Albany, most often to relieve or supply the forts. Occasionally, a larger force assembled here to launch attacks on New France. No one missed the sight of the 10,000 men led by Major General James Abercrombie.


    They had spent some time preparing in Albany, and their departure to the north with such a force made the townspeople feel, for the first time in years, that they were making real progress.


    They believed that with such strength, they could not fail and that the French threat would soon be eliminated.


    Unfortunately, Abercrombie¡¯s army had brought an unwelcome gift that Mayor Sybrant van Schaick, a peaceful businessman in his fifties with a round face and a warm smile, would have gladly done without: an epidemic was disrupting the city¡¯s regular activities, with an ever-growing number of citizens falling ill.


    On the morning of July 16, the mood in town shifted entirely as news of their defeat at Fort Carillon reached the people. Mayor van Schaick had tried to prevent this information from spreading to avoid widespread panic, but his efforts were in vain.


    By the 16th, it hadn¡¯t taken long for the residents of this modest town to learn that General Abercrombie had suffered heavy losses and fallen back to Fort Edward. As days passed, rumors grew increasingly alarming.


    Mr. Mayor, as concerned as his fellow citizens, hoped the general would quickly regain control of the situation and launch a second attack to destroy the French fort once and for all. He had reason to trust Abercrombie: even with the loss of a thousand or two thousand men¡ªa staggering number¡ªthere should still be enough troops to bring down that fort.


    Alas, on the evening of July 28, a rider from Fort Miller thundered through Albany to announce that Fort Edward was under attack by an army of seven or eight thousand men. Worse still, the general himself was stationed at the fort.


    Once again, rumors spread quickly through Albany. The population became frantic, and several families even decided to evacuate, moving south to Kingston, some eighty kilometers away.


    Things worsened the next day when people claimed to see smoke columns rising to the north. The French army seemed unstoppable, like a scourge of God.


    Van Schaick and Brigadier General Stamoise, charged with keeping the city secure, sent several scouts to gather more information. They returned with grim news: a small French force, no more than a few hundred, had burned Fort Winslow along with Montressor¡¯s outpost and its barracks. These sites were barely a day and a half¡¯s march, at most two days, from the city!


    That same day, July 30, the mayor¡¯s wife found him in Albany¡¯s German Reformed Church, kneeling before a simple crucifix, praying with rare fervor. The crucifix, plain but crafted with visible care to depict Christ faithfully, rested in the church¡¯s silence.


    All that could be heard was the murmur of his prayers and the energetic steps of his wife, crossing the stone floor with a sound like a whip crack. The church was spare, with no gilding, no glistening objects, no large stained-glass windows or majestic organ, and not even saintly statues. Without the altar and crucifix, it could almost be mistaken for a courthouse.


    It was an ideal place to seek inner peace. It was in this same church that he and his wife had married twenty-three years earlier.


    Mayor van Schaick opened his eyes and turned to face the source of the noise. Without turning, he knew it was his wife¡ªhe could recognize her distinctive step. After so many years, he could identify her by the sounds she made walking, sleeping, or eating.


    Alida... She looks angry. What did I do this time? Did I forget something?


    ¡°Sybrant,¡± she said forcefully, as if they were in a marketplace rather than a church, ¡°you must pull yourself together! The people of Albany are counting on you, our children and Albany¡¯s children are counting on you! When they see you like this, they worry even more!¡±


    Her voice rang out like thunder, reverberating easily within the austere walls. It took a few seconds for the silence to return.


    Alida, he replied in a voice so heavy that she was taken aback, ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do. I¡¯m lost.¡±


    The woman, who had lost her beauty many years ago, looked coldly and silently at her husband, placing her hands on her wide hips.


    ¡°Really? And what have you done so far?¡± she asked in a slightly gentler voice, though still sharp.


    ¡°I¡­ With Brigadier General Stamoise, we sent a message to New York and Kingston, but who knows how long it will take for reinforcements to get here? The French army is practically at our doorstep! We¡­ We have no choice but to fight them alone, this army that¡¯s already defeated a general and the greatest force ever seen in the New World!¡±


    Mayor van Schaick¡¯s rough voice resonated through the sober house of God, much like the sober citizens of this town. He looked directly into his wife¡¯s strangely calm eyes. A faint ray of sunlight shining through the narrow windows illuminated her, and for a moment he thought he saw her glow like an angel.


    ¡°And yet,¡± she said in a clear voice, ¡°we will fight, because we have no other choice. What matters now is how we will fight.¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Sybrant looked at his wife in surprise, as if seeing her for the first time. He hadn¡¯t expected to see such strength in her.


    ¡°Hmm, yes, certainly. But what concerns me is the brigadier general¡¯s decision. He wants to take all our soldiers and call for volunteers to face the French elsewhere. We could also hold a siege here, behind our own wall, even if that means facing bombardment.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯ve already made up your mind.¡±


    Sybrant van Schaick smiled faintly and took his wife¡¯s hands in his own.


    ¡°It seems we have little choice, do we? We must keep the people of Albany out of danger by facing the French elsewhere. But the brigadier general won¡¯t be able to convince everyone, and he knows it. He wants me to speak. To convince as many men as possible to join him. These men¡­ If they die, it will be partly because of me.¡±


    ¡°Sybrant, that¡¯s the burden every officer must carry.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m not a soldier. I¡¯m a businessman.¡±


    ¡°And the mayor of Albany. People are counting on you to make decisions, now more than ever.¡±


    The man remained silent for a moment, gazing down at his wife¡¯s hands, then up at the face of Christ on the cross.


    Alida is right. Now is not the time to hesitate. We must be strong and drive out the threat, eliminate our enemies while they¡¯re scattered!


    ¡°Let everyone know I¡¯ll speak in front of the fort at noon.¡±


    ¡°Now that¡¯s the man I married!¡± said Alida van Schaick affectionately, leaning close to her husband. Despite the years, the couple loved each other as much as on the first day, and nothing, not even an army of a million men, could change that.


    The man squeezed his wife¡¯s tired hands tenderly, a slight smile on his lips.


    ***


    That day, exactly at noon, in front of Albany¡¯s fort gates and beside Brigadier General Stamoise, Mayor van Schaick delivered a remarkable speech with great clarity. He hid no details about their dire situation, but he spoke with courage, calling on the citizens¡¯ honor, pride, bravery, and their role as protectors in times of need. His words helped the townspeople lift their heads and face the challenges with boldness.


    At the end of his speech, he was met with applause, even if a fair number of citizens were not fully convinced.


    Nevertheless, many young and old alike volunteered to stop the French right there and protect their neighbors, friends, and families. His speech and call reached far beyond Albany, and their numbers grew, even doubling over the days that followed.


    Many came from nearby villages, driven by a fierce will to defend their homes. Some had already fought the French, whether in the old world or here.


    The mayor of Albany, surprised and moved, watched their force grow until they numbered 2,500 strong.


    This unusual group, most of whom wore no uniform, set out northward on Wednesday, August 9, 1758, led by Brigadier General Stamoise.


    Following the road to Fort Winslow, Fort Hardy, Fort Edward, and farther north to the remnants of Fort William Henry along Lake George, they continued to gather volunteers, only turning away those too old or weak to keep pace.


    But as they neared the village of Schaghticoke¡ªmeaning ¡°the place where the waters meet¡±¡ªwith its great tree symbolizing friendship between English and German settlers and the Mohicans, the Albany volunteers, as they called themselves, came face to face with an enemy unit.


    ¡°S-sir, they¡­ They¡¯re burning the village! They¡¯re¡ªthey¡¯re laughing!¡±


    Brigadier General Stamoise, his face so tense it was almost unrecognizable, listened as the young volunteer, dressed in civilian clothing, described what he had seen. As he spoke, fury grew among the men.


    Soon, the group arrived near the village, which seemed lost in the woods, with a dark column of smoke visible from afar. Not a single building appeared untouched.


    With merciless precision, the French emptied every house before setting it ablaze. So much effort had gone into building this village to house just a few hundred settlers, yet that meant nothing to the vile French.


    The dogs! Wretches! Bandits! Cowards! You¡¯ll all burn in hell for this! thought the officer, his eyes as red as his uniform as he watched the men in white set fire to the church of Schaghticoke.


    The blood of the militiamen and soldiers alike boiled, and at that moment they were spotted by the French. As the confrontation seemed imminent, the men alongside Stamoise watched the French flee like frightened children.


    ¡°Death to the French!¡±


    ¡°Vengeance!¡±


    ¡°May God¡¯s wrath strike you down!¡±


    Brigadier General Stamoise didn¡¯t have the time or strength to give his orders before his hastily recruited volunteers charged forward, chasing down the fleeing enemy.


    No! Stop! We have to stay together!


    ¡°Damn it! All men, forward! We can¡¯t leave them without officers or protection!¡±


    The regular soldiers of Albany obeyed and sprinted after the volunteers, who had charged ahead like raging demons. They ran so swiftly through the trees they might have been mistaken for Native Americans. Some stumbled over the wide roots covering the ground, but most sped along like the wind.


    The redcoats and Brigadier General chased after the unruly volunteers, weapons in hand, and soon arrived at a narrow road winding between the trees, which allowed them to run even faster. The dry dirt road was ideal for a swift advance in this season.


    Not far ahead, the regular army found the volunteers struggling to cross a large obstacle behind which the small French group had taken refuge. The officer immediately sensed danger upon seeing it positioned squarely in the road.


    ¡°W-watch out! That¡¯s¡­ clearly a¡­¡±


    Alas, once again, the officer was too late. Just as he was about to say ¡°trap,¡± a terrifying barrage of gunfire erupted from both sides of the path.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    My God! I knew it!


    ¡°A-ambush! Fall back! Quickly!¡±


    A thick cloud of white smoke engulfed the volunteers like an avalanche, and amidst the gunfire, cries filled the air.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    The shots came so fast that Stamoise realized what had happened at Schaghticoke was merely a ruse to lure them here, where a larger force lay in wait. And they had marched into the trap like sheep.


    An ambush was always hard to face, but even more so with so many hastily armed, inexperienced civilians. The volunteers and Stamoise¡¯s men immediately attempted to disengage, turning their backs on the enemy to seek shelter.


    With the enemy scattered in the woods surrounding the path, they naturally took the way they had come.


    In moments, those who had lagged behind found themselves at the head of this disordered retreat. Chaos ensued, and they began running for their lives, feeling pursued by their own comrades.


    Terrified footsteps and panicked breaths echoed behind them, along with the unceasing gunfire of the French. Tears streaming down their faces, they ran from death itself.


    Their horror grew when they encountered three cannons and several men in white uniforms blocking the path!


    ¡°NO!¡±


    ¡°Cannons!¡±


    ¡°Stop! Turn back! Argh!¡±


    But driven forward by those behind who hadn¡¯t seen the danger, they could do nothing. The lead volunteers were only a few meters from the menacing mouths of the French cannons.


    Stamoise, among the unfortunate ones, didn¡¯t understand French, yet he could easily guess what they were saying.


    Damn.


    ¡°FIRE!¡±


    BOOM BOOM BOOM


    The French fired mercilessly, but instead of cannonballs, they used what was known as grapeshot¡ªhundreds of small lead balls flying in all directions with deadly speed.


    These merciless projectiles had one sole purpose: to inflict horrific injuries over a large area.


    ¡°ARGH!¡±


    It was a massacre beyond description. To the volunteers, it felt like facing a firing squad.


    Stamoise took several of these lead balls in his chest, legs, and neck and lost his life like so many others, even before hitting the ground, surrounded by his men and the volunteers.


    The awful noise, screams, and smoke allowed the French to reload. As soon as the three cannons were ready, they fired again.


    BOOM BOOM BOOM


    Once more, it was a massacre, though many volunteers managed to reach the woods.


    Just two grapeshot volleys and a few musket salvos were enough to decimate the force. It took only minutes to annihilate them.


    In the history books, years after these events, this was not recorded as the Battle of Schaghticoke but as the Schaghticoke Massacre.


    During a woodland walk with their dog in September 1844, young Alexander and John Adams accidentally discovered Brigadier General Stamoise¡¯s remains among countless others.


    The mingling of bones prevented clear identification of his remains.


    After great effort, all the skeletons were reassembled and buried in Albany Cemetery on July 13, 1847, following an impressive and moving ceremony.

 Chapter 78: Prisoners Of War

    Adam cast a glance at the long pile of corpses lining the road to Albany, showing nothing more than a slight grimace. The sight was truly gruesome, with countless mutilated and blood-covered bodies. He could even see a few stunned faces and glazed eyes, already being swarmed by large flies.


    He had seen too much death over the past year to feel anything more than simple pity and a touch of sadness at such a waste of life.


    This time, however, the feeling was a bit stronger, as it was the first time he had witnessed a nearly one-sided battle. It had been a genuine slaughter, especially in areas where a few cannons had been positioned.


    Seeing the bodies piled up, Adam could really grasp what they had done, but it was war. People died, often without achieving anything.


    Here, that was truly the case¡ªthey came and died. That was all.


    What a waste, really. That¡¯s why we undergo rigorous training and don¡¯t play at being heroes.


    During the battle, he had positioned himself with several other companies among the trees, waiting for the enemy to arrive¡ªor rather, to charge blindly without seeing anything beyond the bait dangled in front of them at the village of Schaghticoke.


    Everything had gone according to the marshal duke¡¯s plan.


    For hours, they looted the bodies, which was far less amusing than in video games. Adam took part, because not doing so meant leaving any valuables for others to find.


    Part of how armies survived was through such spoils, given that pay was truly paltry.


    In a year, he hadn¡¯t become rich, but he had managed to put a bit of money aside. This time, though, the spoils were very slim.


    Hopefully, we can fill our pockets in Albany, Adam thought as he watched the numerous prisoners¡ªmostly militiamen¡ªbeing taken to Fort Edward.


    Soon, they would join the other prisoners captured between Fort Miller and that village he didn¡¯t know the name of, now silently burning. They¡¯d also join the villagers who, contrary to appearances, had not been massacred.


    That¡¯s a lot of prisoners of war, isn¡¯t it? What¡¯s going to happen to all these people? Surely they¡¯re not going to become slaves, are they?


    The somber thought furrowed his brow. Despite experiencing the horrors of war since arriving in this time period, he remained, at heart, a person of the twenty-first century. Naturally, he abhorred such cruel and dehumanizing practices.


    If that¡¯s the case, I couldn¡¯t just stand by and do nothing. Yes, I¡¯d fight to ensure they were treated humanely! No one deserves to be treated like an animal or, worse, as an object. But if I¡¯m the only one¡­ Ah, no use thinking about it now. Maybe nothing will happen?


    Adam still had much to learn about this world and era.


    For centuries, rules had been established regarding the conduct of war, though they were less strict than in his own time. One of the main principles concerned the treatment of prisoners.


    Granting the honors of war was an act of both generosity and respect. But even in a century where reason was increasingly valued among individuals and communities, commanders were not required to take prisoners.


    The main reason was that prisoners represented a heavy responsibility for the victorious commander, who had to escort them to the nearest fort or allied town¡ªa difficult task when troops were scarce, as was currently the case. Then came the need to house, monitor, potentially treat, and, most challenging of all, feed them.


    The value of capturing as many officers and soldiers as possible was that they could be ransomed or exchanged for one¡¯s own soldiers held by the enemy. Thus, treating prisoners well was in one¡¯s best interest, a fact he understood well.


    A commander who didn¡¯t want to be burdened with prisoners had two options: the first, as had been done at Fort William Henry (albeit poorly), was to release the defeated soldiers. They could then return home, provided they swore an oath not to take up arms for a negotiable period.


    The second option was to massacre those who couldn¡¯t be taken along. Though seen in the past, such actions were thankfully rarer in these progressive times.


    For these civilians, the most likely fate was deportation to prevent their return to the British colonies, along with forced labor in extended captivity. Eventually, they might be fully integrated into New France as subjects of His Majesty Louis XV.


    While these prisoners were taken north, the duke¡¯s army began its march southward, unhurried, along the road to Albany.


    Naturally, the townspeople had already been informed of Stamoise¡¯s defeat and the loss of their volunteers. Although the duke¡¯s army moved slowly, it reached the city in a day, shocking everyone. Their surprise doubled upon seeing how methodically the columns of men positioned themselves around the town.


    Those living beyond the city walls, especially to the north along the road to Fort Edward, hastily sought shelter. Once the last of them entered through the northern gate, it was closed.


    The old marshal, his face calm and devoid of emotion, let them be and quietly formed his men into position, visibly setting up his few cannons.


    ***


    At the top of a small wooden tower near the gate leading to Fort Edward, Mayor Van Schaick was so pale he looked as if his soul had left him. It was clear to all that he leaned against the palisade¡¯s parapet to keep from collapsing.


    Yet, what he was thinking remained unreadable. Probably, his mind lingered on his eldest son, Goosen, who had departed with the Albany volunteers alongside Brigadier General Stamoise.


    Sadly, he had not yet returned, but hope was not yet entirely lost.


    Mayor Van Schaick¡¯s eyes were wide open and fixed, unable to look away from the soldiers vastly outnumbering them, each step raising clouds of ochre dust. Arming the women and children would make no difference.


    Drums and flutes resonated across the plain, flags fluttering proudly in the wind, while at home, everyone remained silent. Bayonets and gilded buttons glinted in the August sun.


    He then saw a few Frenchmen advance under a white flag¡ªnot to be confused with their kingdom¡¯s colors.


    They¡­ want to negotiate?


    The mayor swallowed and looked at the men around him. Some, though ill, had gathered here to witness the enemy army with their own eyes. Only a handful of soldiers, still traumatized by the Schaghicoke massacre, remained in the town.


    It was barely enough to operate two or three cannons. They were alone, to say the least.


    No illusions here. They want our complete, unconditional surrender. This is not a negotiation; it¡¯s a summons.


    Trembling, the mayor descended the few wooden steps to the walkway, trying to hide his shaking hands as best he could. Slowly, he looked at the townspeople under his care, mainly women whose husbands had departed for Fort Carillon or to face the French with Stamoise, but had not returned.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    His heart heavy, he lacked the strength to lie and reassure them that everything would be fine. He nodded to the men guarding the gate, and without a word, he took one step, then another, beyond the town.


    Sybrant Van Schaick couldn¡¯t help but look back. All that remained of Albany¡¯s people seemed to have gathered here.


    His gaze met that of his wife, Alida, her eyes red from weeping. She had forbidden their children to come, yet he found them among the crowd. His second child, Ryckje, held tightly to Maria, their youngest daughter still alive.


    She was only ten and wept, perceptive enough to understand that something terrible had happened and that perhaps something worse was yet to come.


    My children, if I do not return, please, be strong and take care of your mother. Ryckje, if¡­ if your brother doesn¡¯t come back, you''ll have to help your mother and take charge at home. I trust you.


    He went forward alone.


    Sybrant Van Schaick felt a ball of fear in his stomach and throat, making it impossible to focus. Mechanically, he advanced between the houses lining the road and stopped a safe distance from the French army¡¯s representatives.


    They were three, each wearing a breastplate over splendid uniforms adorned with golden embroidery and colorful ribbons.


    ¡°G-gentlemen, I-I am the mayor of Albany. D-do you speak English?¡± he stammered, his forehead beaded with sweat, despite feeling chilled.


    ¡°I speak it well enough,¡± the eldest of the three replied calmly. ¡°I am the Duke of Richelieu, Marshal of France and loyal servant of His Majesty King Louis the Fifteenth. Here with me are the Marquis de Montcalm and the Marquis de Br¨¦hant.¡±


    The man flinched upon hearing the second name. He knew nothing of the marshal or the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, but the infamous name of Montcalm¡ªthe butcher of Fort William Henry¡ªwas well-known to him.


    ¡°I-I suppose you crossed paths with Brigadier General Stamoise and the militia that accompanied him.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. They were defeated, as you must have guessed.¡±


    The mayor fell silent, clenching and unclenching his fists as if holding something invisible. His eyes, like his body, which felt increasingly cold, trembled.


    ¡°D-do you¡­ know how many died?¡± he asked, closing his eyes, trying to steady his heartbeat and calm his breathing.


    ¡°We counted about seven hundred bodies.¡±


    ¡°My God¡­¡± sighed the large man, on the verge of tears for his missing son. ¡°I-I see. May they all rest in peace. Their deaths weigh on my conscience, as I was the one who convinced them to take up arms and meet you. A-are there¡­ many survivors? D-do you have a list of prisoners?¡±


    "Nearly three hundred. They will be well treated. As for the list, none has been made yet. Are you missing a loved one, sir?"


    The marshal¡¯s voice seemed full of empathy, yet the deeply shaken mayor doubted its sincerity. He nevertheless answered truthfully.


    ¡°My eldest son. He is only twenty-one, almost twenty-two.¡±


    ¡°There were indeed many young casualties. It is sad, but that is the way of things,¡± the marshal replied, shaking his head before looking at Albany¡¯s walls. ¡°Are you willing to withstand a siege? If so, I fear much blood will be shed in the coming days. Our cannons are in position.¡±


    Of course, Mayor Van Schaick had seen them. All placed in one spot, there was no doubt that targeting a specific part of the wall would quickly create a breach.


    ¡°Soldiers pass through Albany but never stay long,¡± sighed Sybrant Van Schaick. ¡°Its garrison is small. Most soldiers stationed here in recent weeks have been killed or are in retreat after your victories in the north. The rest, you have fought and decimated. Only women, old men, children, and the sick remain here. We cannot withstand a siege. I¡­ I am prepared to surrender the city¡­ but not at any price.¡±


    The marshal and the Marquis de Br¨¦hant showed little reaction, though the Marquis de Montcalm raised an eyebrow, surprised that in his view, this town was in no position to negotiate. His thoughts were interrupted by the marshal.


    ¡°What are your terms?¡±


    ¡°That no harm come to the people of Albany and nearby villages; that our homes not be destroyed, damaged, or occupied; and that our belongings be safe from plunder.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­ I might accept your terms, though in reality, I don¡¯t intend to keep this town. It can¡¯t be defended, neither by you nor by me, so I don¡¯t plan on staying.¡±


    ¡°What? What are you going to do, then?¡±


    ¡°I will leave the town intact, as you request, placing you all under my protection by making the entire population of Albany our prisoners. You may bring along your personal belongings so they will be protected too.¡±


    ¡°Y-you want to¡­¡± Sybrant Van Schaick¡¯s eyes widened, staring at the French commander. Seeing that he wasn¡¯t joking, he lowered his gaze.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s your right. Is there truly no way for us to rally at Kingston?¡±


    ¡°No, I regret to say, that isn¡¯t in our interests. We will escort you to New France, where you¡¯ll be dispersed between Montreal, Trois-Rivi¨¨res, Quebec, and Louisbourg. Nevertheless, I give you my word of honor that you will not be mistreated or separated from your loved ones. We will make sure your families remain together. Do you accept these terms?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I must discuss this with the people. Please, give me a bit of time.¡±


    ¡°Very well. You have one hour. If you do not return to convey your agreement, I will consider it a refusal and assume you prefer a siege. Then, we will commence bombardment.¡±


    Terrified by the threat, the man quickly returned inside the town and explained the proposal multiple times. Death on one hand, refusing the French terms and enduring a siege with so few soldiers; or deportation on the other.


    Most Albany residents identified as Dutch colonists. Their houses and names bore witness to their origins, which were also the origins of this town, which, like New York, had not always been English.


    These residents, along with others weary of living in a town constantly disturbed by passing soldiers, were prepared to accept the offer. However, others argued that their men, brothers, cousins, and sons had left to face the French to prevent just such a fate, and surrendering now would betray them.


    Besides, it wasn¡¯t impossible that an officer had managed to gather forces after the defeat of Major General Abercrombie¡¯s army¡ªenough to push the French back. Perhaps if they held out just a few more days, reinforcements might come from Kingston.


    Finally, as the last quarter-hour approached, it was when the French artillery began moving in agitation outside the town that they decided to open the gates to the enemy.


    ***


    The population was allowed to gather their belongings, knowing they¡¯d have to transport them to their destination. A unit was placed at each gate to prevent any attempts at escape. Meanwhile, the rest of the army busied itself with seizing resources from the town¡ªof which there were plenty!


    Because expeditions northward started here, Albany had no shortage of grain, forage, or ammunition. The trickiest task was getting down the cannons from Fort Frederick, perched atop a high mound overlooking the town.


    The operation was complex and perilous, given there were around twenty cannons.


    The men under Adam¡¯s command¡ªhalf the maximum strength for a company in the New World, about fifty men¡ªhad to lower a massive thirty-two-pounder cannon. A heavy caliber, the likes of which were reserved for forts and the lower batteries on English ships. In France, cannons rarely exceeded thirty-six-pounders.


    The cannon alone weighed more than two and a half tons, not counting the carriage it was mounted on.


    With no time to construct a crane atop the fort to lower it safely, they looped ropes under the cannon and hoisted it by sheer manpower.


    The process was particularly hazardous on the stairs, but thankfully, there were no incidents.


    Once at the bottom, the company loaded the cannon onto an ox-drawn cart before retrieving the carriage¡ªa reinforced wooden platform on small iron-rimmed wheels. Moving it was no easy task, given it weighed over seven hundred kilograms!


    ¡°Lieutenant, the cart won¡¯t support the carriage¡¯s weight!¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll load only the cannon,¡± Adam replied tersely, ¡°and move the carriage manually!¡±


    ¡°But, sir, it¡¯s too heavy!¡±


    ¡°Use your head, Corporal! There are wheels, aren¡¯t there? So use them to roll it. We just need to reach the river! We¡¯ll load both onto rafts!¡±


    It was madness, but what else could they do? A cannon like this wasn¡¯t designed for long-distance transport. Fortunately, there was a river! It would spare them many troubles.


    With the utmost care, they loaded the cart, praying the wheels and axle wouldn¡¯t break. Otherwise, they¡¯d have to haul the cannon across town as they¡¯d done to get it down from the bastion.


    Through everyone¡¯s efforts, the loading succeeded.


    One man climbed into the driver¡¯s seat and prodded the ox with a branch to get it moving. Behind the cart, they rolled the cannon¡¯s carriage, which groaned and clanked each time a wheel struck a stone or dipped into a pothole.


    The streets were congested and bustling. On either side, other carts were loaded¡ªoften beyond reason¡ªto leave nothing for the enemy. Soon, they reached the river, where large rafts made from nearby trees awaited.


    Soldiers were already busy loading them, and Adam got a sense of the challenge of the operation.


    Damn, we¡¯re going to a lot of trouble for just a few cannons. I hope none of them end up in the water!


    These rafts, built in haste, could support the weight of these massive cannons. Some carts hadn¡¯t survived the short journey from the fort to the river, collapsing under the weight of their load. These cannons had to be moved another way.


    Once the cannons and carriages were aboard the rafts, they were towed by beasts along the banks. The soldiers were also needed to ensure the weight didn¡¯t slow them down too much.


    The marshal¡¯s troops thus never strayed far from the river. Between two columns of soldiers were the people of Albany and nearby villages. Everyone looked downcast, eyes red.


    In some places, the river was too turbulent to leave the cannons on the rafts, so they were brought ashore until the obstacles were cleared.


    Finally, the troops arrived at Fort Edward, where they could finally rest. Along the way, they had not encountered a single enemy, to their great relief.


    Unfortunately for some, the task wasn¡¯t over, as they now had to escort the prisoners to Montreal. Fortunately, Adam and his men were spared and allowed a breather. Thus, he found himself under the command of the Marquis de Montcalm, who also had to stay at Fort Edward to strengthen the fort and defend it if necessary while the marshal returned to the St. Lawrence Valley.


    Sadly, Adam was once more separated from his friends. Only Louis found solace, as Anne-Sophie was no longer at Fort Edward. He clung to the slim hope of seeing her again, even for a few seconds, before she departed for Europe.

 Chapter 79: Cherbourg

    While the British were facing major setbacks in North America, important events were unfolding in Europe.


    Minister Pitt, more determined than ever to bring the Kingdom of France to its knees by crushing it, had proposed a series of raids along the French coast. His proposals were accepted, partly because this approach had allowed them to easily capture the French trading post in Africa known as Saint-Louis of Senegal.


    However, this was no easy task, even though everyone knew Great Britain had the best navy in the world. It required skilled officers, numerous blockades, countless soldiers and sailors, and substantial funds.


    They had attempted a raid on Rochefort, 120 kilometers north of prosperous Bordeaux, the previous autumn. Unfortunately for them, this operation had been a resounding failure.


    The objective at that time was to assist the King of Prussia and allow Parliament and the elderly King George to renegotiate the Treaty of Kloster-Zeven.


    In June 1758, they made another attempt, this time against Saint-Malo, often called ''the city of corsairs.'' Alas, despite their efforts, they again faced failure, as the city remained undamaged. However, many merchant ships and privateers were destroyed, which partially encouraged the government to continue with this strategy.


    Unusually, for this expedition, Prince Edward Augustus, son of the late Prince of Wales, who died in 1751, and grandson of King George II, was granted permission to participate. It hadn¡¯t been easy due to his status, but thanks to his eloquence, he managed to convince the elderly king of the importance of introducing him to warfare early on.


    His interest in military affairs was no secret.


    The young prince, nineteen years old, was very handsome, with large blue eyes and hair blonder than wheat. It was often said he bore a strong resemblance to his father at that age.


    Among his brothers, Prince William Henry, four years his junior, resembled him most, sharing his interest in military command. However, those who knew the two princes knew how different they were. In simple terms, William Henry neither had the temperament nor the physical condition to be a great officer.


    Although young Prince Edward Augustus was intellectually and physically superior to his younger brother, this did not mean His Majesty was ready to entrust him with the command of a troop or a fleet.


    This time, their objective was Cherbourg in Normandy, more accessible as it lay in the English Channel. Again, Prince Edward Augustus requested his illustrious grandfather''s permission to embark and participate in the attack, which was granted.


    The embarked forces were placed under the command of Lieutenant General Thomas Bligh, while the squadron was led by Commodore Richard Howe.


    The first, an old man who had spent his entire career in the army, had distinguished himself during the War of the Austrian Succession. The latter, much younger, in his thirties, had been in the navy since he was thirteen. He had quickly distinguished himself with his ability to lead men, making him a strong candidate to turn this operation into a turning point in the war.


    He didn¡¯t know it yet, as news traveled very slowly back then, but his brother had died at Fort Carillon a month earlier.


    Thus, they embarked at the end of July and arrived off Cherbourg on August 7, at one o''clock in the morning. The night sky was clear, and the sea was calm. If nothing changed, the conditions would be ideal for a landing.


    The sea was as black as ink, reflecting the gentle glow of the lanterns on the countless ships around them. These lights reflected on the water¡¯s surface, resembling majestic golden pillars. Although all this darkness might have been unsettling, to the prince, it was magnificent.


    By focusing carefully, one could hear the sound of waves crashing on the distant rocks. Under the prince''s fascinated gaze, a few shells were fired at the town where the inhabitants had taken refuge, but to little effect, which was a slight disappointment. The shells seemed to hit their target.


    Is that it? No flames? No collapsing walls? Why aren''t we firing more bombs?


    The old lieutenant general, over seventy years old, approached the prow of the flagship, his hands clasped behind his back. Despite his age, his mind seemed as sharp as ever. This was evident from his eyes, sharp as arrowheads.


    "Do not worry, Your Highness," he said calmly as he reached the prince¡¯s side. "The siege is just beginning. Look how vulnerable it is. It doesn¡¯t even have a rampart, only a few remnants. It will soon burn entirely."


    The prince didn¡¯t respond immediately but nodded gently.


    I¡¯m not worried. With so many men and good ships, failure is impossible. This town will fall; it¡¯s a certainty. But why did we choose this town as a target? I don¡¯t understand.


    "Sir," Prince Edward Augustus said, "forgive me, but is this town truly important to the French? It doesn¡¯t appear so."


    The lieutenant general smiled and leaned on a sturdy railing to relieve his tired legs.


    "Important, Your Highness? Any town is important. Strategic, not particularly, which is why we dare to target it. The more strategic a port, the more heavily defended it is. It¡¯s only natural. Parliament and His Majesty desire a victory at a lower cost. If we target one of their arsenals, we risk failure or winning a costly victory."


    "But even if we win a decisive victory, nothing will change, will it?"


    What¡¯s the point of destroying a town that plays no role in the kingdom''s functioning? To my knowledge, there is no significant shipyard here. There are basins and a port, but¡­ This is not where the King of France builds his ships of the line."


    The old man¡¯s smile deepened at the prince¡¯s innocence.


    ¡°Your Highness, in your opinion, what would happen if a small coastal town, not Plymouth or Bournemouth, were destroyed by a French fleet and army?¡±


    ¡°The¡­ The people would be very worried. And angry.¡±


    A simple rumor already throws the people into turmoil. Just look at what¡¯s happening with Admiral Hawke. People fear he¡¯ll serve as an example to other navy officers, and rightly so. His Majesty should simply pardon him to ease public unrest.


    ¡°Precisely, Your Highness,¡± the officer replied, unaware of the young prince¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Then what should His Majesty do?¡±


    ¡°Position more ships in the Channel so this doesn¡¯t happen again!¡± the prince answered immediately, as if it were obvious.


    ¡°And position more troops along our coasts to reassure the people. That¡¯s what we aim to do. France doesn¡¯t have as powerful a navy as ours. She can¡¯t be everywhere at once unless she¡¯s weak everywhere. If this kingdom¡¯s coastal towns are threatened, then His French Majesty will have to keep a substantial part of his army and navy immobilized, leaving us free to act elsewhere, be it in the New World, Africa, or the East Indies.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°I understand! It¡¯s brilliant!¡±


    The old lieutenant general smiled even more, keeping to himself the fact that this idea was vigorously defended by William Pitt, whom his grandfather despised but had to tolerate.


    ¡°You should go rest, Your Highness. We¡¯ll keep bombarding this town from time to time to deprive them of rest, but we won¡¯t do much more for now. We¡¯ll likely only land tomorrow or the day after, so the men can rest.¡±


    The ships commanded by Commodore Howe continued shelling the town with bomb ketches until ten in the morning, though without causing major destruction. However, morale in the town plummeted as residents feared for their homes.


    At eleven, the flagship fired a cannon, signaling the ships to head west to carry out a landing.


    Two coastal villages lay there: Querqueville and Nacqueville. Here, using specially designed landing boats, a few units began to disembark. The frightened villagers quickly retreated.


    They still had to face a few troops tasked with guarding the French coasts, but these were quickly eliminated.


    Shortly after, Prince Edward Augustus set foot on the white sandy beach, seemingly wedged between two large piles of black rocks.


    The powerful waves crashed at his feet and then withdrew only to return. He followed the many footprints left in the wet sand and immediately found the commander busy giving orders.


    Many soldiers, dressed entirely in red, could be seen at the top of the beach, most carrying heavy wooden crates with military supplies.


    ¡°General, Your Highness! French soldiers are approaching!¡±


    ¡°W-what?! Already?!¡± the prince gasped, his face turning as pale as the commander¡¯s.


    We¡¯re not ready yet! There are still many soldiers to disembark!


    ¡°All is well, Your Highness. This was expected. According to our intelligence, it¡¯s the regiment of Orion. They must have deployed two battalions. There¡¯s likely also a battalion of the Lorraine regiment, some dragoons, and a corps of Irishmen.¡±


    ¡°That many?! Sir, you¡¯re not reassuring!¡±


    Even if we came with eight thousand men, I¡¯m not sure we can repel such a powerful enemy!


    The commander then smiled, revealing very white teeth.


    ¡°They are likely as numerous as we are, but you forget we have ships. Each one has dozens of cannons! Hehe, let them come if they dare!¡±


    The prince looked at the officer in surprise and couldn¡¯t help but smile at such courage and confidence.


    Yes, that¡¯s how it should be. I want to be like this man someday.


    Edward Augustus exhaled deeply, though his heart showed no signs of calming. With clammy hands, he watched as the French soldiers appeared and took position.


    Then the English cannons began to fire. Even if they did little damage at this range, partly due to the angle, the noise alone was enough to panic the horses of the Languedoc regiment.


    The sound was indeed terrible, carrying well with the light sea breeze. The prince felt as if he were standing right next to those many artillery pieces. It was an infernal symphony that resonated down to his bones.


    On the other side, they had to dismount, as a charge was impossible under such conditions. Yet, no attack came. It was very strange.


    Both enemies seemed to be at a standstill.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t they attacking, General?¡±


    ¡°Their commander doesn¡¯t seem willing to expose his men to our cannons. It¡¯s a bit disappointing.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± said a brigadier general standing as straight as a young tree, ¡°the enemy seems restless. It appears their officers hold opposing opinions.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s provoke them a bit. Pillage and destroy everything you can. Maybe it will help them make a decision they¡¯ll later regret.¡±


    ¡°At your orders!¡±


    Despite Lieutenant General Bligh¡¯s orders, the French commander, Count de R¨¦mond, did not give the order to attack. On the contrary, perhaps sensing a trap, he ordered a retreat to the Mont-¨¦pinguet castle, nine kilometers from the town, then to Valognes, seven kilometers further.


    The French officers under his command were furious, but they could do nothing without risking exemplary punishment.


    This allowed the British to attack Cherbourg and ultimately capture it.


    The shame was immense for the French.


    Slowly, the gates of the city opened, and trembling men appeared at the entrance. The man who seemed to be their spokesperson radiated no strength. His charisma was so lacking that one could easily forget his presence, even though he stood before everyone.


    Lieutenant General Blight regarded this man, slightly younger than himself, with impressive, disdainful coldness. It was as if he were looking at an insect.


    Shame was visible in the man''s lowered gaze as he bowed deeply, forced into humility.


    ¡°G-General Blight, it is an honor to meet you,¡± said the man, bowing even lower, followed by the city and judicial representatives. ¡°You have brought glory to your name with this resounding victory. O-our defeat is total, and we acknowledge the superiority of your army and majestic fleet.¡±


    The lieutenant general looked with contempt at this tall, slender man, likely in his sixties, whose broad forehead was covered with deep wrinkles. From the corner of his eye, he saw a much younger man holding a large, dark but well-maintained key.


    He ignored him for the moment and stopped the older man from continuing his hollow flattery.


    ¡°Superiority, you say? You should have acknowledged it earlier. This siege and this war would not have taken place. We would not have needed to remind you.¡±


    Gulp!


    Prince Edward distinctly heard this man and all those with him swallow hard at the same time. Outwardly, he showed no emotion, but inside, he rejoiced in seeing the enemies of his people so weak and pitiful.


    ¡°P-please, sir, allow me to hand over the keys to the city.¡±


    The general accepted the keys and took a half-step back. He then presented them to the young prince, under the astonished eyes of the spokesperson, who could not know who this elegantly dressed young man was.


    ¡°Your Highness, please accept this gift and sign of submission from the city of Cherbourg.¡±


    ¡°On behalf of His Majesty, I accept this gift and sign of submission.¡±


    The spokesperson¡¯s face, along with those of the dozens of men behind him, immediately crumbled. As if they were beautiful marionettes with their strings cut, they all prostrated before the grandson of George II, second in line to the throne after his brother George William Frederick.


    ¡°Your Highness, forgive us! W-we did not know who you were! Your presence honors us!¡±


    The prince made a small gesture with his hand, and all the men rose. However, it was clear their minds were very unsettled. None of them had expected a member of the British royal family to come here.


    ¡°Your Highness, my lord, there are many poor people here. In the name of humanity, I beg your clemency; do not plunder Cherbourg!¡±


    ¡°I regret to say, sir, that we do not wish to make war on the people of this country, but our duty is to punish His Most Christian Majesty. Cherbourg must serve as an example and a warning so that there may never again be war between our two kingdoms.¡±


    ¡°We¡­ We can certainly come to an arrangement! Mr. Pivert, come forward!¡±


    A small, fat man, trembling with fear, approached and held out a massive pouch filled with gold.


    ¡°I-it¡¯s not much, but perhaps you could consider it compensation for your journey and losses?¡±


    Though there hadn¡¯t been many losses, the pouch looked indeed quite plump and heavy. However, it was not enough.


    ¡°I regret to say this will not be sufficient to spare your city.¡±


    ¡°W-we¡­ We can perhaps¡­ Yes, I¡­ I think we can certainly gather a little more gold, but please, restrain your men.¡±


    The general remained silent for a moment and then turned to the prince, who subtly nodded. This did not go unnoticed by the spokesperson or the men who had come to represent the city.


    ¡°Very well. I will do everything in my power to prevent looting. However, you will hand over all your cannons and mortars, as well as the bells from your churches and abbeys. We will remain in your city for several days. I expect you to properly house my men. They should lack nothing. I do not want any religious services held for the duration of our stay.¡±


    The priest of Cherbourg, named Paris, shed a tear but was prevented from speaking to defend the places of worship.


    ¡°Finally, and this is non-negotiable, all ships in Cherbourg must be burned.¡±


    Lieutenant General Blight and his army remained until August 16.


    During this time, they did their best to destroy what little defenses the city had, though there was almost no looting. However, there were some condemnable actions against the town¡¯s priests and women.


    Thanks to Father Paris, the most important bells of Cherbourg''s church were preserved. He only took the less significant ones as trophies, unless they were turned into currency or cannons.


    The sixty-four ships unfortunate enough to be in Cherbourg at the beginning of August 1758 were all destroyed by fire, along with all the buildings in the port and the bridge.


    They returned to England crowned with glory and with pockets filled with gold.


    In his great generosity, General Blight left the poor people of Cherbourg the sum of four thousand two hundred pounds, which he entrusted to Father Paris. In reality, he didn¡¯t spend a pound, as he used the money that Cherbourg had handed him ¡ª forty-four thousand pounds.


    With their holds heavily laden, they arrived in England on August 19. However, the soldiers and sailors were not permitted to disembark. In their absence, terrible news had arrived, requiring a strong and immediate response.

 Chapter 80: Consequences

    Just a few days earlier¡ªAugust 10, 1758.


    CRACK


    The quill held by Minister William Pitt snapped cleanly between his fingers, spilling black ink across his hands and the documents spread out on his desk.


    Immediately, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. The man standing across from his desk shuddered visibly, unconsciously holding his breath.


    The minister looked him straight in the eyes, but from the perspective of the young man, a humble clerk named Mr. Blackwood, it was as if he was staring down a tiger. And indeed, a tiger might have been less frightening; this man held an influence capable of crushing another to the point of making one envy those who¡¯d merely met a tiger.


    ¡°Where is that captain at this moment?¡± demanded the minister in an icy tone.


    ¡°...S-sir, he is being received by His Majesty at Saint James¡¯s Palace.¡±


    ¡°Have my carriage prepared. I¡¯m leaving at once.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±


    The young assistant dared not contradict the minister and bolted from the office like a convict who had just finished his sentence.


    William Pitt was left alone and looked at his ink-stained right hand. Black ink was smeared everywhere, even on his sleeve. His hand trembled with anger, and that poor quill had been its first victim.


    BANG!


    Without warning, he slammed a furious fist into the sturdy wood of his desk, though only he felt the pain. Yet it wasn¡¯t enough to calm him.


    BANG! BANG!


    Pitt struck the desk twice more, each blow fiercer than the last. His knuckles were scraped raw and bloodied in some spots. Still, he felt no pain¡ªhis anger was too overpowering for that.


    So, Louisbourg has not fallen, and our army has been defeated¡­


    BANG!


    Ah, damn it! That¡¯s a bit better. Now I must learn just how grave the situation is.


    Pitt passed a hand, veined with pulsing purple tendrils, over his tightly pursed lips. His muscles were so tense that he could feel them twitching beneath his skin.


    If he could, he would lift his desk and hurl it through the window.


    The room fell eerily silent. Even the footsteps in the hallways seemed to fade away.


    -----------------------------------------


    Not long after, he was informed that his carriage was ready. He climbed in quickly, commanding the coachman to set off. The whip cracked, and the carriage lurched forward.


    Fortunately, the palace wasn¡¯t far. But here, that wasn¡¯t necessarily an advantage, as the minister hadn¡¯t had time to calm down.


    He had no trouble passing the guards at the entrance and was swiftly guided through the familiar corridors. His footsteps echoed like musket fire in the silence. He was only mildly surprised to find the Duke of Newcastle already waiting outside His Majesty¡¯s study door, standing despite the abundance of chairs nearby.


    The duke resembled a palace guard, motionless as a marble statue. His back was lit by the bright light streaming through tall windows, highlighting a few stray hairs missed by the servant who tended his clothing.


    The Duke of Newcastle wore a light violet breeches and jacket embroidered with silver thread. As usual, a large, heavy, white wig of the finest quality rested upon his head, partially draping over his shoulders.


    ¡°My lord duke,¡± greeted Minister Pitt a bit coolly.


    ¡°Mr. Secretary of State,¡± the principal minister replied in kind.


    ¡°Should I be surprised to find you here before me, considering I am responsible for the Southern Department? Unless, of course, another matter brought you here.¡±


    ¡°I think we are here for the same reason. What do you know?¡±


    ¡°Almost nothing, only that the expedition was a failure, once again.¡±


    ¡°Is that all? Then we are equally informed.¡±


    The white-and-gold door between the two men opened silently, and a narrow, angular face appeared, almost skeletal. The man had a long, hooked nose like a bird of prey¡¯s beak and deep-set black eyes. If one had claimed he was Death itself, Pitt might have believed it.


    ¡°His Majesty will see you now, my lord duke and Mr. Secretary of State,¡± he announced, his voice reminiscent of a crow¡¯s caw or chalk scraping on a blackboard.


    The two men entered and were ushered into George II¡¯s study, where a man of average height with broad shoulders and a solid neck was already waiting. He seemed quite intimidated, as was only natural, holding his hands firmly in front of him like a prisoner.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re here. Perfect. This is Captain Rous, commander of HMS Sutherland. Gentlemen, this is our principal minister, the Duke of Newcastle, and the Secretary of State for the Southern Department, Mr. Pitt.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± the two statesmen said in unison, bowing slightly.


    ¡°Captain, repeat to these gentlemen everything you just told me. Leave out no detail.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty!¡± stammered the sailor, who seemed older than his fifty-six years. ¡°I¡­ I am Captain John Rous, and as His Majesty has said, I command the HMS Sutherland. I accompanied Admiral Boscawen¡¯s squadron to Halifax, then Louisbourg. The¡­ the operation was a disaster. His Majesty¡¯s troops, led by Mr. Amherst, quickly encircled the town, taking all strategic points. Some ships were trapped in the harbor, but our vessels prevented them from escaping or counterattacking.¡±


    The man paused briefly to catch his breath, reflecting on what he had seen and thought then.


    ¡°On June 16, everything changed,¡± he continued, his voice now graver. ¡°A French fleet appeared out of the north like a phantom and swept us away, freeing the vessels trapped in the port. Taking advantage of our ships and cargo being at anchor, they attacked us with almost demonic ferocity, using disgraceful tactics! Several of our ships were sunk or captured. The admiral is safe and retreated to Halifax, but the enemy managed to land a sizable force that promptly assaulted our men on land.¡±


    William Pitt and the Duke of Newcastle wanted to interrupt, but a discreet gesture from the king silenced them.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°General Amherst¡¯s troops were spread so thoroughly around the city to isolate it that the French had no trouble crushing them, unit by unit. They finally captured our headquarters and took the general prisoner. Fortunately, Brigadier Generals Wolfe and Lawrence, Colonel Fraiser, and Mr. Quennedy managed to organize a retreat through the woods, saving a large number of our soldiers.¡±


    Slowly, King George II extended two letters from mid-June, signed by Admiral Boscawen and Brigadier General Wolfe. The handwriting was very different but precise. While the words varied slightly, the message was essentially the same.


    What is this¡­ Oh, my God!


    ¡°These are their reports and casualty figures from the battle.¡±


    The two politicians remained locked in a heavy silence, which seemed to stretch endlessly¡ªquite improper, yet the old king took no offense. He, too, had needed time to process the information.


    Finally, the two men straightened and looked at each other silently before turning back to the old king.


    ¡°Do you understand the situation? The Crown needs your counsel. We await your recommendations.¡±


    The Duke of Newcastle was the first to speak.


    ¡°Your Majesty, this outcome is nothing short of catastrophic. It¡¯s more than the public can bear. We must prepare for the worst.¡±


    ¡°Are you advising that we lie to the people? To report more acceptable figures?¡±


    ¡°At least figures that are more tolerable, Your Majesty. And we should frame the events in a way that gives the public something to hold onto.¡±


    ¡°For instance?¡±


    ¡°Make heroes of these men¡ªWolfe, Lawrence, Fraiser, and Quennedy. Praise their bravery.¡±


    ¡°Even though they fled?!¡± Pitt burst out. ¡°They let the headquarters fall and General Amherst be captured! They abandoned their commander and turned their backs on the enemy!¡±


    The Duke of Newcastle shook his head and sighed lightly.


    ¡°I understand that young Brigadier General Wolfe isn¡¯t one to back down easily from the enemy. Wasn¡¯t that why you pushed for his promotion on this expedition? If he deemed retreat was necessary, he must have had a good reason. We need a bit of heroism, Mr. Pitt.¡±


    William Pitt, fuming, forced a smile and stepped back to avoid making a scene before the king and this captain.


    ¡°Very well. In that case, we¡¯ll downplay our losses and celebrate these four men for their bravery in retreating from Louisbourg. Let laudatory accounts be published in the newspapers. All operations against New France will be put on hold, and Admiral Boscawen will be ordered to return to England.¡±


    ¡°It will be done as you command, Your Majesty!¡±


    ¡°Mr. Pitt, you¡¯re currently organizing new expeditions against France, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty. His Royal Highness Prince Edward Augustus, accompanying General Blight, should return shortly.¡±


    ¡°Good. Let our soldiers and ships prepare to set out again as soon as they return. Strike the French coasts, make them pay for this disgrace. Let French blood flow, let their homes burn, and their ships litter the seabed!¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± the minister replied energetically, bowing deeply while hiding a satisfied smile.


    ¡°Ah, we nearly forgot. Although we need heroes to cover the shame of Louisbourg, someone must still be held accountable. This,¡± the king said, presenting a folded document, ¡°is a pardon request for Admiral Hawke.¡±


    Before their surprised eyes, King George II tore the document in half and then in half again, letting the pieces fall onto the polished floor.


    To the Duke and the Secretary of State, it was like watching an executioner¡¯s axe fall on a condemned man¡¯s neck.


    ¡°This disaster,¡± the king said coldly, ¡°would never have happened if Admiral Hawke hadn¡¯t let those ships leave Brest. He shall be executed alongside Captains Evans, Speke, and Geary. We want it reported in the papers that all of this was the result of their weakness and hesitation. Now go. We wish to be alone.¡±


    The three men left the room in silence, and as the duke prepared to leave, he couldn¡¯t resist asking Minister Pitt.


    ¡°Between us, are you satisfied?¡±


    ¡°How could I be? Louisbourg still stands, meaning it will take another year to bring down Quebec. Even if Fort Carillon falls and Montreal is taken, it will take considerable time and resources to topple all of New France. A two-front assault was critical to the success of the campaign.¡±


    ¡°I meant about Admiral Hawke.¡±


    ¡°Admiral Hawke¡­ It¡¯s unfortunate, of course. I would have liked to defend him, but under these circumstances, it¡¯s impossible. And I cannot go against His Majesty¡¯s orders.¡±


    ¡°But you told him you would defend him.¡±


    ¡°Until his sentence is known. But the destruction of our invasion army in New France¡­ This consequence is far too great to ignore. His Majesty is right; someone must be held accountable. Unfortunately, General Amherst is not in our hands.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, would you have asked for his head as well? Interesting. You are frightening, sir. With you, it seems death is the only punishment possible in the face of failure. I wonder if they¡¯ll ask for your head if one of your expeditions fails.¡±


    ¡°If my incompetence is proven, I will bring it to His Majesty myself. Sir, I still have much work to do. I wish you a good day.¡±


    The minister crossed the hallway, feeling the duke¡¯s gaze on his back until the very end.


    My head, I am prepared to sacrifice it for the good of the kingdom. But you, Duke, are you willing to do the same?


    William Pitt thought back to His Majesty¡¯s wise words, which had warmed his heart. His hatred for the French finally seemed to have been reignited. He was no longer as hesitant as before, a good thing, in his view.


    His Majesty will be more inclined to accept my plans. Let¡¯s begin with the essentials. Mr. Howe¡¯s squadron will return in a few days¡ªa week at most. That gives me a bit of time, though it may not be enough.


    His gaze fell briefly on a painting depicting a massive battle in Europe involving tens of thousands of soldiers and thousands more on horseback.


    France¡­ If only they didn¡¯t have so many soldiers at their disposal, we wouldn¡¯t have to worry. We must keep them all on alert, including those still in Hanover. Prince of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg¡­ I didn¡¯t expect him to hold out so long alone against so many enemies.


    A satisfied smile crept across the minister¡¯s face as he passed a gleaming suit of armor, adorned with countless engravings and holding a massive sword he wouldn¡¯t even be able to lift.


    That man is impressive. Now there¡¯s a real man. If all our officers fought with such energy, we would be unstoppable on every continent! What a shame he wasn¡¯t born in the right century¡ªhe would surely have built himself a kingdom!


    Before he realized it, William Pitt arrived before his carriage, and without a word, he climbed inside. He remained silent for a moment, and the coachman awaited his instructions.


    ¡°Take me back to the office.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    I will grant him a few additional credits. If he can keep the French suffering in that miserable heap of mud for a few more months, it would be perfect. Prince de Soubise isn¡¯t a serious threat, but I fear his men. Place them under another commander, and our situation could worsen further.


    His gaze drifted outside the carriage. Nothing seemed to have changed, but the reports he received daily indicated that the tension had not eased in the city.


    Most frequently, they complained of prices being too high.


    Money is truly at the heart of everything. Why, despite all our efforts, are the coffers not filling? How many new taxes will we need to create to remedy this situation? Bah, at least we¡¯re not the only ones affected. From what I hear, nearly every day brings signs of unrest in France. Ha! If they could suffer a good famine, that would be ideal!


    As soon as he arrived in his office, he summoned young Blackwood, who was surprised to find his employer in good spirits after earlier resembling a furious demon.


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Blackwood, bring me a new quill and several sheets of letter paper.¡±


    ¡°I took the liberty of bringing one and have tidied your desk. I¡¯ve placed all the ink-stained documents on this side.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Blackwood, you¡¯re adorable when you wish to be. Leave me for a moment, please. I¡¯ll call you when I¡¯m done.¡±


    ¡°Very well, sir.¡±


    Let¡¯s start with the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg. Then, all my agents in France. I want them to sow chaos in Paris, Rochefort, Saint-Malo, Le Havre, Brest, Marseille, Toulon, and Bordeaux. I can promise them all the money they want; it matters not. Even if the odds are slim, they should be able to drive that degenerate old wretch completely mad. If just one of them manages a major coup, then it will not have been in vain.


    As he wrote, he envisioned a magnificent scene. Like Rome under Nero, he imagined one of his agents succeeding in setting fire to a major French port. He could almost smell the wood burning and feel the heat of the flames on his skin.


    Of course, he envisioned his agent getting caught, but with the entire port ablaze. The fire, out of control, would reach the warehouses, ropewalks, and ships under construction and repair.


    What a splendid spectacle that would be, he thought with an ever-widening smile. Now there¡¯s a show worth watching. I¡¯d pay fifty thousand pounds for a seat! Ah, if only that could happen, then nothing would please me more! No matter if all my agents are caught and hanged!


    His mad gaze settled on a map of Europe, and he even imagined a perfect world. A world where all of France would be in flames. Cities, fields, churches, forests.


    Then, we would truly be safe. We could spread our wings and conquer the entire New World, beginning by expanding our colonies westward! We¡¯d take India, then drive the Spanish and Portuguese out of America. Finally, Europe would be forced to bow to our power and recognize us as their master. Peace would reign at last within a British Empire over which the sun would never set.


    ¡°But first, France must die.¡±

 Chapter 81: La Pompadour

    Hello! Here¡¯s a new chapter!


    But first, I need your input. As you read, you¡¯ll likely see the direction I want to take with this story. I''m considering stepping away from the main character to depict this war from different fronts, which I feel is important for understanding the ending. I don¡¯t want information to appear out of nowhere, as if pulled from a magician''s hat, so I''m taking the time to focus on secondary characters. This approach may appeal to some, but not to everyone. Naturally, I want this story to resonate with as many readers as possible, so I¡¯d love your opinion.


    Should I:


    A) Focus on the main character and leave aside what happens elsewhere


    B) Continue as I am, developing secondary characters


    C) Either option works for you


    -----------------------------------------


    On August 17, 1758, in the late afternoon, King Louis XV of France had not left his palace in Versailles. The heat outside was unbearable, so he hadn¡¯t gone hunting that day.


    Members of the court sought coolness, cautiously stepping out to stroll by the vast fountains and canals.


    Unusually, the king had left his powdered wig on his desk, wearing only a simple white shirt¡ªquite far from the extravagant attire of grand occasions. He lay peacefully on his side in his grand bed, absorbed in reading police reports on recent events in Paris.


    Hunting, spending time with his mistresses, and reading these reports were his favorite activities. Madame de Pompadour, his favorite, listened to him recount one such sordid tale, seated on the left side of the grand bed, where rumpled sheets betrayed their recent activity.


    ¡°And so,¡± concluded the king, setting the paper down on the sweat-dampened sheets, ¡°the murderer was caught that very night as he attempted to sell the stolen goods.¡±


    "Well, Your Majesty, that was certainly the least entertaining case you¡¯ve told me about. I thought there would be some twists."


    "No exciting stories today, it seems. Maybe tomorrow?"


    "Maybe, haha! Sire, what are you doing? You''re tickling me!"


    The king smiled, letting his fingers wander over the soft, warm skin of his mistress¡¯s back before trying to pull her closer to him. Although they had made love a few hours earlier, the King of France wasn¡¯t fully satisfied.


    He wanted more.


    Despite the passing years, his appetite for women had not waned much. This was originally why the queen, his wife, had allowed him to take mistresses.


    Madame de Pompadour leaned back, and the king moved aside the police reports to kiss the beautiful woman whose beauty was beginning to fade. His lips met hers before trailing down to her neck and bare shoulder. She smelled of lavender and lilac¡ªa scent she liked to wear for special occasions. It was a gift from the king, and needless to say, it was exorbitant, with the container itself worth a small fortune. It was made of crystal, heart-shaped with engraved details, its stopper in gold topped with a remarkable blue diamond, as deep as a summer sky.


    The marquise¡¯s soft laughter was interrupted by a sound at the door.


    Knock knock


    "Your Majesty, a letter from New France from Marshal Richelieu."


    "Ahem, please excuse me, madame,¡± said the king, sitting up.


    "It¡¯s nothing, Your Majesty," replied the beautiful marquise with rosy cheeks and an enchanting voice. "I am at your service, as always."


    Her delightful smile warmed the heart of the divinely appointed monarch every time they met. This was why he preferred spending time with her rather than anyone else.


    He took the thick letter and broke the wax seal.


    "Hmm¡­"


    The King of France frowned at the first few words. Instantly, the marquise moved closer like a lioness and pressed her sensual body against his back. He could feel the warmth of her skin through his shirt and the softness of her generous breasts.


    Two delicate hands, now showing the first signs of age, rested on his broad shoulders and began to massage him. In a few movements, the king felt his muscles relax, and a foolish smile formed on his lips.


    "You seem troubled, my king," murmured the marquise close to his ear.


    "Perhaps, yes," replied the king, struggling to stay focused.


    "And what does the Marshal say?" asked the woman, ceasing to nibble his ear, an act that usually aroused the king.


    Madame de Pompadour seemed as concerned as the king, but in truth, her feelings were quite different.


    She had been on poor terms with the old Marshal of Richelieu since he refused to marry his son to the marquise¡¯s daughter, Alexandrine, who had passed away four years ago at the tender age of nine. Since then, she had done everything to put distance between the marshal-duke and the king.


    Sending him to the colonies was her doing.


    She had whispered to the king that a brave and competent man like him shouldn¡¯t be wasted on hunting down the remnants of a defeated army but should serve wherever His Majesty¡¯s interests were threatened. The king had listened to her and chose him to reinforce Louisbourg and, more broadly, New France.


    The marquise was very satisfied. While he was at the other end of the world, in wild lands populated by uncivilized natives where settlers lived in filth, her prot¨¦g¨¦, the Prince of Soubise, was covering himself in glory in Europe.


    Well, that was a bit exaggerated, as he had not yet managed to defeat the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg and cross the English Channel for a raid on their shores. The Royal Navy was far too active in the area for now.


    The marquise slid a hand into the wide collar of the king¡¯s shirt and began to caress him. He let her, turning his head slightly to see her face, which he still found very pleasing.


    "They arrived in time to prevent the fall of Louisbourg; Major General Amherst and many other officers have been captured, along with a good number of English ships."


    "Really?" said the marquise, stopping her caresses for a moment in surprise.


    Madame de Pompadour¡¯s surprise was genuine. She hadn¡¯t expected such results so soon after the marshal¡¯s arrival in New France. Quickly, an affectionate smile formed on her scarlet lips.


    "¡ªWhy are you so concerned, then, Your Majesty? Isn¡¯t this a great victory you¡¯ve won?"


    "He also says that the English are continuously receiving troops and settlers, so much so that if we do nothing, England will reap all the benefits of these lands, driving France from the New World. He is therefore asking me to send men, both civilians and military, to further populate New France."


    "It¡¯s true that the difference in strength in the New World is not in our favor. I¡¯ve heard that British colonial towns are so well-made they could pass for English cities."


    "To attract settlers," Louis XV continued, "he advises me to send those with nothing to lose: the poor, criminals, and women of low virtue, as well as good and loyal subjects, promising them land and a tax exemption to encourage them to volunteer."


    The king turned more towards his mistress, forcing her to withdraw her hand. He placed his hand on Madame de Pompadour''s full, pale thigh.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    "Should I agree? I need my ships and soldiers to wage war against England and protect my colonies, but I also need my people to fill the kingdom¡¯s coffers! They certainly need it; I¡¯ve almost spent all that we gained from the ransom of the King of Prussia, his brother, and his officers."


    The marquise pondered for a moment, touching her long, slender finger to her cheek and tilting her head slightly.


    "Hmm, I see. Well, allow me to offer my advice."


    "Please do, my dear."


    "Why is New France so important to you, my king?" she asked in a playful tone.


    "Hmm? Well, because it prevents New England from further expanding westward, surely! There¡¯s also the fur trade, but that¡¯s becoming less and less profitable."


    "Indeed, but that¡¯s not all," she said teasingly, playing with her fingers on the arms of her royal lover. "New France is also a constant threat to His Majesty the King of England. He therefore has to station a large number of soldiers there to protect many of his towns and ports, correct?"


    "Certainly, certainly," the king nodded.


    "If we lose New France, England will not only gain a vast amount of untamed land, but more importantly, your rival will be able to deploy her troops elsewhere, in the sugar islands, for example, or on the African coasts. Or perhaps to carry out more landings on our shores."


    "That would be a disaster! Without the sugar islands, I would lose a fortune, and without my African trading posts, I would lose my supply of slaves to operate the plantations. Not to mention I wouldn¡¯t be able to sell them manufactured goods!"


    "That¡¯s why," she said, gently tapping the king¡¯s nose, "they attacked us in Senegal, Your Majesty. They fear you and your power. They want to deprive you of resources and claim them for themselves. Where they attack you is an important place to defend."


    "Indeed, they fear me," the king said with a certain pride.


    "You have the largest land army in the world, much larger than that of the King of England. Use it to defend what the English covet. And strike wherever you can. That way, they will be engaged on all fronts. Soon, a squadron with Monsieur de Soubise on board will depart for England and burn one or two of their ports. They will then have to protect their precious island, which hasn¡¯t truly been threatened since William the Conqueror."


    As soon as that name was spoken, the king became pensive. He was a Frenchman, a Norman, who had conquered England in the Middle Ages through his military prowess! After Charlemagne, Julius Caesar, and Alexander the Great, he was his role model.


    "So, your opinion is to agree to the request of the Marshal-Duke?"


    "It would be in your best interest, my king," replied the marquise in a more serious tone, tucking a stray lock behind her rounded ear.


    The aging king thought for a moment in silence before looking at his mistress with renewed determination.


    "In that case, not only will I grant his requests, but I will go further!"


    The marquise smiled warmly, thinking that in this way the Marshal would be tied up in New France for a few more years. She imagined him busy waging war all over a vast land covered with trees and half-naked natives.


    But that message had not come alone. Another had arrived at the same time, concerning the squadron that had brought the news of Marshal de Richelieu¡¯s victory.


    The fleet of Count de Conflans, which was supposed to head to Rochefort, had ended up trapped in the Brest harbor, with access fiercely guarded by an English squadron commanded by the First Lord of the Admiralty, George Anson. But this blockade had been broken when the fleet returning from Louisbourg arrived and launched a surprise attack.


    The British squadron, unprepared since the officers had recognized the ships in front, suffered heavy damage before retreating. Anson wasn¡¯t as fortunate and went down with his ship.


    "Good! This is excellent news! Now we have enough ships for a grand expedition! Monsieur de Soubise will be pleased to hear of my decision."


    "Your Majesty?"


    "I will order Monsieur de Conflans to sail towards Hanover with all the ships that returned from Louisbourg. They will transport Monsieur the Prince de Soubise to England! Ha! Those cursed English! It¡¯s time to return the favor for Saint-Malo, Rochefort!"


    The king then had a thought. It was connected to what the marquise had told him earlier.


    Defend everything the English covet and prevent them from seizing resources.


    He occasionally received news from the colonies, sometimes good, sometimes bad. The loss of the Senegal trading post had angered the monarch, as it was tied to the proper functioning of the sugar islands, extremely profitable despite fierce competition; however, the defeats in India had not greatly moved him.


    The more he thought about his mistress¡¯s words, the more he had the unsettling feeling he had made a mistake.


    Perhaps we should fight a bit more in that part of the world to prevent the East Indies from falling too easily into English hands?


    Even though he regularly sent men and ships, he had to admit that not everything was being done to prevent India from falling into the hands of his enemies. The defeat from the previous year, which he had heard about briefly between activities, now took on a new significance.


    The king dressed hurriedly and requested to see his War Minister, Fouquet de Belle-Isle; the hefty Cardinal de Bernis, who handled foreign affairs; and his new Minister of the Navy, d''Epinchal, to share his grand plans for France and its colonies.


    He also asked for his son and heir, Louis of France, to be present for his education as the future king of France. Though they didn¡¯t agree on everything¡ªfar from it¡ªhe knew he could also count on him to provide a fresh perspective on thorny issues.


    During this important meeting, Louis XV took the opportunity to announce a series of promotions following the events in New France. Monsieur de Roquefeuille was granted command of the warship Saint-Michel, a splendid sixty-four-gun vessel from 1741, along with a generous monetary reward. With Captain de Saint-Allouarn having died, the promotion was offered to his brother, Rosmadec de Saint-Allouarn, who thus became a ship captain in his turn.


    Moreover, full authority over military affairs in New France was entrusted to Marshal de Richelieu, replacing the Marquis de Montcalm. However, the latter was not recalled to France.


    Finally, His Majesty organized a grand celebration at Versailles. Music, a lavish feast, charming dances, and spectacular fireworks were presented to the court, once again proving that Louis XV¡¯s court knew best how to celebrate.


    The very next day, it was said in the corridors of the chateau that Madame de Pompadour appeared nearly ten years younger¡ªnot due to the French victory at Louisbourg, but because of the ¡°promotion¡± of the Marshal-Duke of Richelieu.


    She was likely already imagining the reaction of the old man upon discovering His Majesty¡¯s order, condemning him to remain on the other side of the world until further notice, possibly until the end of this war.


    ***


    While Versailles was celebrating, Fort Edward looked more like a massive construction site.


    Soldiers in simple shirts were digging a huge trench all around the fort, so deep one might have thought that the Marquis de Montcalm intended to bury elephants there. With the extracted earth, other soldiers built a wide embankment whose sole function was to protect the fort and slow any potential enemy advances.


    The work had begun immediately upon their triumphant return from Albany. Despite the week that had passed, Adam felt as if there was still everything left to do.


    Ah, my back! I feel like I¡¯m eighty years old!


    He wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve. Despite the weather not being warm¡ªonly about fifteen degrees¡ªthe sky was overcast, with occasional comforting glimpses of the sun. At least it wasn¡¯t raining, for now.


    I-I think it¡¯s deep enough, no?


    The young man looked with some pride at their work. They needed a ladder just to get down to the bottom of the trench; it was that deep. But under the Marquis¡¯s orders, they dug deeper on each side of the long pit to bury tree trunks for reinforcing the sides.


    ¡°It¡¯s good!¡± someone above the young lieutenant called out. ¡°Bring the tree!¡±


    Slowly, the large piece of wood with all its branches trimmed was maneuvered into place. It took dozens of men to handle it, as it was incredibly heavy.


    Adam watched as the tree¡¯s end slipped into the gaping hole, sinking in nearly a meter and a half.


    ¡°Very good! Hold it steady! Keep it from moving while we secure it to the others!¡±


    It joined the other felled trees already positioned side by side, forming an impressive wooden wall.


    The smell of earth and freshly cut wood was so strong it drowned out all others. Adam could barely smell himself unless he literally put his nose right to his armpits.


    His white shirt¡ªnow more brown than white¡ªwas soaked with sweat, especially around the chest, armpits, and back. It looked as though he¡¯d jumped into the river with it on.


    ¡°L-Lieutenant, can¡­ can we take a break?¡± a young soldier, seemingly around his own age, asked. He had a handsome face, a square jaw, a straight nose, and dark hair that fell over his eyes. His body was well-built, as if he frequented a gym.


    Though the body Adam currently occupied was not bad, this young man¡¯s body¡ªa youth likely around seventeen¡ªwas in another league.


    Damn, the more I look at him, the more he looks like a model! How can such a perfect body even exist? Even Louis is less handsome than him! Could he have had plastic surgery? No, that probably didn¡¯t exist yet. Ah, nature truly is unfair!


    ¡°We took a break not long ago, Soldier Lambert. Just one more hour.¡±


    ¡°O-one hour?! Um, forgive me, Lieutenant. As you wish!¡±


    The boy¡¯s shoulders slumped as if a weight had been placed on them, and he returned to work silently with the others.


    Adam picked up his shovel and got back to work himself, but he barely managed a single dig before the alarm sounded.


    Wh-what? It¡¯s¡­


    ¡°Watch out! The redcoats are coming! The redcoats are coming!¡±


    Adam immediately dropped his shovel and turned to his men.


    ¡°Stop everything! Get out of the trench, quick!¡±


    Being an officer, he couldn¡¯t be the first to leave the trench. He ran to make sure no one was left behind before climbing up a simple wooden ladder, one of many that had been used to scale the fort walls on the night of its capture.


    The enemy was still far off, but there was no doubt that this force had come to drive them from the fort.


    They¡¯d been spotted by the natives and the coureurs de bois long before the watchmen on top of the ramparts, who were already preparing the cannons.


    Most of those seized at Albany were now on Rogers Island, where an earthen battery had been constructed at the southern tip to guard the river and the road.


    ¡°Captain Fontaine! Captain de Lusernes! Where is the enemy?¡± Adam asked as he entered the fort.


    ¡°Ah, Lieutenant Boucher! They¡¯re only a lieue from here, following the road on this side of the river. They¡¯ll be here soon.¡±


    ¡°A lieue¡­¡±


    So, three or four kilometers. Depending on their march speed, they¡¯ll be here in half an hour, an hour at most. That gives us time to prepare. Thank goodness they were spotted in time.

 Chapter 82: The Siege Of Fort Edward

    When the British troop sent from the town of Kingston finally arrived before Fort Edward, the fort was already on high alert. Its gates were closed, and many soldiers in white uniforms could be seen on the ramparts.


    Muskets and flags waved so much above that it was difficult to estimate their numbers from the spot where the British had stopped, out of the fort¡¯s cannon range.


    Thomas Pownall, being more of a colonial administrator than a soldier, was not dressed like a brave general who had seen a hundred battlefields. He wore a handsome, but impractical civilian outfit.


    Following the advice of the officers whose profession was truly warfare, he wisely kept his men at a safe distance. The chosen location was also no accident, as it was hard to find dry land around this river. However, mosquitoes swarmed in numbers.


    Clack


    Filthy creatures!


    He squashed one that had just landed on the back of his hand, probably about to sting. This effort was pointless, as hundreds more circled him joyfully.


    A man with a broad smile approached him and stood comfortably beside him.


    "Here we are, Governor. Fort Edward."


    ¡°It seems, Mr. Rogers, that we¡¯re interrupting them in the middle of their work. What do you think?¡±


    Robert Rogers took out a fairly good-quality spyglass and observed the fort. A single glance was enough for him to understand what had been done since its capture.


    ¡°Sir, they have dug a fairly deep trench around the fort, close enough to fire on anyone who reaches it. They¡¯ve also built a high embankment on the outside. If we mishandle our cannons, they¡¯ll hit nothing but the fill dirt. And if we simply send our men to assault it, they¡¯ll be out of breath well before reaching the fort walls.¡±


    The governor of the Province of Massachusetts Bay nodded slowly, his face somber.


    Hmm, in that case, it was indeed wise not to wait for the soldiers coming from New York.


    ¡°I see. Do you notice any weaknesses?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still too early to say, but it¡¯s certainly fortunate they haven¡¯t had time to complete their work. There must be some flaws to exploit. The main thing is to determine where their cannons are placed.¡±


    Still smiling, Robert Rogers turned his gaze to Rogers Island, the island he had turned into a gigantic training ground for his men.


    When Fort Edward fell, that¡¯s where he was with his famous Rogers¡¯ Rangers. The French had been unable to prevent his escape.


    While he and his men could have easily reached Albany, they decided to lie low and disappear into the woods. They lived like savages, but it wasn¡¯t a problem for them; they had trained for years for extreme situations like this.


    ¡°The island also appears to have been fortified. An earthen battery was built at the southern tip. Some cannons are visible. They¡¯re able to block the river and prevent an entire army from reaching the fort along the road leading to Albany. If we approach any closer, they¡¯ll likely fire on us, and we¡¯ll suffer heavy losses without being able to retaliate effectively.¡±


    Governor Pownall looked in turn at the island in the middle of the Hudson River and confirmed what this young man, who for some strange reason made him uneasy, had just said.


    Lieutenant Colonel Schuyler arrived at that moment and positioned himself to the left of the governor.


    ¡°Sir, our cannons are in position, and the camp is set up. We await your orders,¡± he said calmly, in a deep, reassuring voice.


    He was the opposite of Robert Rogers.


    He looked stiff and was rarely smiling, yet the young governor found him more reliable and sincere. From what little he knew about this man approaching his fifties, he wasn¡¯t the type to fawn for favors.


    That was reassuring because Pownall knew he could count on him to provide all the important news about this operation, not just the good news. He hoped Rogers would do the same.


    The governor looked at his two officers, who were so different, and asked the question that had been burning on his mind.


    ¡°Do you think we can take this fort with the number of soldiers we currently have?¡±


    ***


    Inside the fort, Adam gripped his sword tightly while observing the enemy¡¯s movements.


    From the heights of the wooden ramparts, he had a perfect view of the cleared area, the stream flowing into the Hudson River, the long trench far from finished, the river itself, and the enemy troop.


    Their bright red uniforms stood out against the beautiful landscape that seemed like it belonged in a nature documentary.


    An eagle flew over the fort and let out a loud cry before moving away, as if sensing that a violent clash would soon take place here. Across the field, discipline reigned. Each man seemed exactly in his place, which was impressive given the size of their forces.


    Yet Adam quickly noticed several hundred men taking an enormous amount of time to form simple ranks. They weren¡¯t dressed like the others and fidgeted a lot for doing very little.


    Militiamen. Numerous but far less dangerous than the others. Hmm? Men in green... I¡¯ve seen those men somewhere before...


    The young officer thought for a moment and remembered seeing them at the Battle of Fort Carillon. It was light infantry, very different from regular infantry.


    They represented the perfect mix between a militiaman and a line soldier: well-equipped and capable of taking initiative.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Adam observed his own men and saw almost no fear, even though they were outnumbered by the enemy.


    The advantage of defense had been evident at Fort Carillon. This time would surely be no exception.


    They¡¯re numerous, at least twice as many as we are. If only the mar¨¦chal-duc hadn¡¯t had to take so many men north to escort the prisoners¡­ But at Carillon, the English were far more numerous.


    He had to hold back a smile, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch as if he were stifling a laugh.


    Yeah, no reason to be afraid. You don¡¯t scare us, lobsters! Come on! We¡¯re waiting for you!


    Adam¡¯s eyes trembled with excitement, surprising even himself. Just a year ago, he would have trembled at the thought of having to fight and perhaps kill someone. Since then, he had participated in many battles and had blood on his hands.


    He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, and a gust of wind made the regiment¡¯s flag snap nearby.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant, immaculate as always, strode by two meters from the young lieutenant, jaw clenched, his gaze so cold that one might think he was commanding a firing squad. In a way, wasn¡¯t that exactly what they were about to do?


    The English had dared to come here with so few men to take back the fort. They deserved a lesson.


    ¡°Soldiers, prepare for combat! The enemy will not stand against you! Cannoneers, are you ready?


    "Yes, Colonel! All pieces are loaded!¡±


    Adam¡¯s heart pounded, his eyes fixed on the enemy army.


    The sun then moved behind a thick gray cloud stretching to the horizon.


    BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!


    The English cannons fired first, but only one shot hit the fort. All the others struck the high embankment, raising dust and clumps of grass.


    The one shot that did hit the fort, however, claimed a victim. It grazed a log forming part of the rampart and shattered into deadly splinters.


    One of these had lodged in the left eye of the young man with a face too beautiful to be natural, the one who had asked Adam for a break an hour earlier. In less than a minute, he was dead.


    Adam looked around and quickly noted that only one cannon was firing.


    Why aren¡¯t the other cannons firing? Is there a problem?


    He realized then that the redcoats had positioned themselves to only be in range of a single French cannon, rendering the others useless.


    Damn! Those bastards! We¡­ We made a mistake!


    The fort¡¯s southern side, designed to repel an army approaching from the north, was its most vulnerable part. Only one point allowed two cannons to target an advancing enemy unit. This was where the road to Albany lay.


    To the east and north, the protection was optimal.


    This fort was well built. No blind spots.


    If we manage to repel this troop, we¡¯ll need to strengthen our defenses on that side! Adam thought, gritting his teeth.


    A cannonball passed over his head, landing on the other side of the fort without causing casualties, while another struck the wood of the rampart a meter or two from him.


    Then the redcoats began advancing, covered by their cannons. They moved at a steady pace. The single active French cannon fired as best it could, but it was not enough to discourage these men with steel morale.


    Little changed when the cannons from Rogers Island joined in. Even placed high on an artificial mound, they were not powerful enough to push back these thousands of soldiers who had come to drive them from the region.


    Finally, they reached musket range. Adam ordered his men to open fire on those below.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    A long series of detonations echoed in the air, and a large plume of white smoke formed in front of them. Adam didn¡¯t flinch and ordered the second line to fire.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    A few more men fell in the wild grass, some letting out terrifying screams. Adam¡¯s face didn¡¯t change, and he ordered the third line to step forward and fire.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    The smoke didn¡¯t have time to dissipate. The young man felt as if he were in the middle of a fog.


    Then he felt a drop of water fall on his cheek despite his tricorne hat. He looked up at the sky, which had darkened dramatically in just a few minutes. Another drop landed near his right eye, forcing him to close it.


    ¡°First line, fire!¡±


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    He wasn¡¯t distracted any further and ordered his men to fire again at the redcoats who had just reached the embankment from the trench. The angle was perfect. It offered no cover to the enemy, merely slowing and exhausting them.


    Over a dozen men collapsed, some clutching their stomachs, others their legs or shoulders.


    Adam drew his pistol, cocked it, and aimed it at a soldier whose silhouette he could barely make out in the artificial haze.


    Bang!


    The shot blended with the many others, along with the screams and the drum¡¯s beat.


    "Sir, they¡¯re sending a second wave!"


    "Let them come! Right where they are, they¡¯ll quickly be exposed to two cannons!¡±


    Bastards! We won¡¯t let this fort fall so easily!


    BOOM!


    A cannonball hit the rampart near Adam, making it tremble. The ground shook with the impact¡¯s power.


    If it had hit a bit higher, they¡¯d need a shovel and broom to gather his remains.


    And yet, Adam still felt no fear. Only anger. His eyes, red from all the acrid smoke burning his lungs, glared at the advancing enemy.


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Those who had descended into the trench were shot like rabbits, but most managed to take cover thanks to a blind spot. Indeed, in trying to make a straight wall on both sides of the trench, the French had given their enemies some shelter.


    Shit! Oh well!


    ¡°Kill them before they reach the trench!¡± Adam shouted at the top of his lungs.


    A rain of fire fell on the redcoats, who were increasingly reaching the defensive line.


    It then began to pour, making it very difficult to continue the battle. The powder was damp, and the ground quickly turned into sticky mud.


    The terrain seemed increasingly hard to traverse. It was easy to see how slowed down the enemy was, with some soldiers even slipping in the mud.


    The ones most affected by the change were the militia. Less trained, less disciplined, and less courageous than their regular counterparts, they tired and became discouraged more quickly.


    After nearly three hours of battle, seeing they were making no progress and with morale plummeting, the enemy commander ordered a retreat.


    The vast field surrounding the fort had become so muddy that running across it was impossible without risking injury.


    Those in the ditch, watching the water accumulate, realized they now needed to find a way to climb out and return to camp without being killed.


    For the defenders, it became something of a shooting contest. Every time a red uniform appeared, it was riddled with bullets.


    Few managed to return to their camp.


    The camp was large enough and stood in a cleared area near the Hudson River. Even if the river were to rise rapidly, it wouldn¡¯t be flooded.


    Even after several hours, the downpour showed no signs of letting up. On the contrary, it seemed even more violent. The rain didn¡¯t stop falling, transforming the landscape. The forests suddenly seemed gray and dreary.


    ¡°Cheers!¡±


    ¡°To victory!¡±


    At Fort Edward, however, the atmosphere was celebratory. The marquis de Montcalm had allowed the men to drink some beer to celebrate this first day of siege, which had been a success. The enemy seemed to have lost several hundred men, while they only had to mourn a dozen comrades.


    Adam raised his glass and clinked it with his fellow soldiers and friends. Even Captain Gauthier seemed to be in a good mood.


    The marquis de Montcalm made rounds that evening, visiting each group to offer words of encouragement and congratulations where they were due. Colonel de Br¨¦hant did the same, though he also announced that they would likely need to rely on patience more than courage, as this siege might last.


    Time was undoubtedly their greatest enemy, as the fort¡¯s supplies, though greatly replenished in recent days through pillaging nearby villages and forts, weren¡¯t enough to sustain so many men indefinitely.


    Well, we¡¯ll just have to ration the food. I¡¯m sure we can hold out for a month like this! By then, the enemy will have given up, or the mar¨¦chal will be back!


    He looked at what remained in his cup, swirling the dark liquid as dark as the sky.


    Or they¡¯ll have succeeded in taking Fort Edward.


    Adam drained his glass in one gulp, grimacing.


    ¡°Damn, this beer is disgusting. It was better in Hanover.¡±


    Although he had spoken quietly, his comrades heard him and burst out laughing.


    ¡°What?¡± he finally said, annoyed, though his cheeks turned red.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Albert Fontaine replied, looking amused. ¡°It¡¯s just that we all agree, haha! It tastes like horse piss!¡±


    With that, he tossed the rest of his beer over his shoulder, and he was quickly imitated by all the other soldiers, all wearing broad smiles.

 Chapter 83: The Men In Green

    The rain hammered down on the rooftops so forcefully that one might have thought it was hail falling.


    The noise was deafening, drowning out all other sounds.


    Neither the moon nor the stars were visible that night. Darkness had fallen like a sentence, wrapping the gray landscape in its cloak. Nothing was visible except for the faint lights of the enemy camp in the distance.


    The Hudson River had overflowed but hadn¡¯t reached the tents occupied by the soldiers of the British army. It carried branches and even whole trees as if they were nothing.


    Adam hesitated for a few seconds as he took in the force of the downpour but finally stepped out into the foul weather. He was wrapped in a large oilcloth brown cloak, making him look like a spy or an assassin. A hood pulled over his face hid his serious expression.


    The rain pelted him relentlessly and slid down the heavy, uncomfortable cloak. It was waterproof, protecting him somewhat from the dampness, but it was no help in keeping him warm. A light breeze slipped through and made him shiver.


    Fuck¡­ What miserable weather. Feels like being in Germany in winter. Damn it, the climate here is horrible. It¡¯s August, for crying out loud! It should be, I don¡¯t know, thirty degrees in the day and twenty at night! Feels like autumn!


    The young man, already frowning, furrowed his brow even more. Immediately, he felt a pinching pain between his eyebrows, as if someone were pinching his skin. Despite his attempts, he couldn¡¯t relax.


    Adam inhaled and exhaled deeply in the evening air, listening to the gentle sound of the rain, and took several steps on the central yard, which now looked like a pool. It was impossible to avoid the large muddy puddles spreading and merging together.


    Armed with a creaky lantern, he climbed onto the rampart and greeted the soldiers on guard, less well-equipped than him but not completely exposed to the elements. Each had their tricks to avoid ending up soaked. It was a sure way to catch a nasty cold and a fever.


    "Good evening, gentlemen," Adam greeted as soon as he reached the top of the earth-and-wood rampart.


    "Good evening, lieutenant!"


    "Everything all right? Nothing to report?"


    "No, sir. The enemy is quiet tonight."


    Adam gave a slight smile, as he still wasn¡¯t used to being called "sir," especially when the person speaking to him was older. In his mind, he was still just a kid.


    He briefly glanced at the impressive black cannon behind the two men. Located southwest of the fort, it was aimed directly at the river, toward the north. Firmly secured to the rampart, it would currently be almost impossible to operate it with so much rain. The black powder needed to be very dry to burn properly.


    Anyway, it¡¯s aimed in the wrong direction.


    The young lieutenant turned toward the other cannon, which could actually be used in battle, as it was aimed southeast.


    "Hmm?"


    "Sir?"


    "I thought I saw something over there," he said, pointing east.


    "Are you sure?"


    "No¡­ Just in case, follow me."


    The two soldiers, surprised, obeyed and followed Adam toward the large southern bastion they had named "Saint-Louis."


    There were five heavy-caliber cannons there. The first was aimed west toward the Hudson River, the second south, and two toward the east. The last one, with its back almost touching the neighboring cannon¡ªa dangerous setup¡ªwas pointed northeast.


    It was the second cannon, aimed south, that had done most of the work defending the fort. The others, due to their orientation, had been practically useless.


    I¡¯m sure I saw something¡­ Maybe it was just a deer or something like that, but¡­ You never know.


    Quickly, Adam and the two soldiers arrived at the Saint-Louis bastion, which was eerily silent. Their silhouettes barely stood out against the rainy sky, and their footsteps were muffled by the buckets of water falling on them.


    They were shocked to discover a small group of men in green infiltrating the fort. Their fierce eyes fixed on them.


    Shit!


    Adam had just enough time to duck as a hatchet flew over his head, grazing the hood of his cloak. If he hadn¡¯t reacted in time, it would certainly have killed him. A dull thud sounded behind him, but he didn¡¯t have time to check what the weapon had embedded into.


    Blood pounded in his temples, and time seemed to stand still.


    Without hesitation, he drew his pistol, and gunshots exploded on the bastion as men in green and men in white clashed.


    Immediately, the alarm was raised.


    "Alarm! Enemy attack!"


    "On the south bastion!"


    "On Saint-Louis bastion!"


    "The enemy is inside the fort!"


    In less than two minutes, several hundred armed men gathered on the parade ground. The Rogers¡¯ Rangers who had attempted to sabotage the fort¡¯s gates were quickly spotted and surrounded. Despite their efforts, they were killed to the last man.


    It was harder to find and eliminate the others. They were able to slip into the tiniest corners and stay hidden.


    One of them, one of Robert Rogers¡¯ officers, who was trying to set fire to the stores, managed to reach his objective. Fortunately, he was taken down, and the fire was controlled. However, he still managed to kill three men before taking his last breath.


    Similarly, those who tried to sabotage the cannons of the Saint-Louis bastion were quickly killed. Luckily, they hadn¡¯t had time to carry out their crime.


    The fort remained on high alert for most of the night in case one of these men had managed to hide somewhere.


    Adam, trembling and with bright eyes, was called a little later in the evening to Marquis de Montcalm¡¯s office and praised for his quick reaction. However, nothing more came of it. There was no reward.


    Well, I guess I won¡¯t become a captain this time. At least I stood out a bit, even if it was just by luck.


    He thought back to those men in green and grimaced.


    They¡¯re really sneaky. They moved and fought like Indians.


    Adam set his damp cloak on a chair with his sword and his pistol, which he had reloaded. Then he lay down on a relatively comfortable bed.


    The room was warm but smelled strongly of wet dog, as he had to share it with six other people.


    When he slipped under the wool blankets, he immediately felt fatigue overwhelm him. It felt like he was sinking, as if he had settled into the best bed. A cloud couldn¡¯t have felt more comfortable, which was strange given that the mattress was very thin and the pillow quite flat.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Oh, wow¡­ Ah, this feels good. I don¡¯t want to move.¡±


    A silly smile spread on his lips as his mind sank deeper and deeper into a comforting abyss.


    When he reopened his eyes, he was sitting on a cream-colored couch, soft and deep. Plume, his cat, was comfortably settled on his lap, purring like a little motor, while Ludo, his dog, slept on his rug in front of the TV stand.


    The shutters were closed, and the lights in the living room and dining room were on. Very different from candlelight, the light from the bulbs seemed white and blinding.


    Adam struggled to adjust.


    In front of him, images flashed rapidly on the big TV, and a powerful sound came from the speakers positioned on either side. The noise was so loud he felt like his head was pressed against the screen.


    It was a war movie. There was music, but mostly the sounds of gunfire and cannons. Men in red were charging a frontier fort that didn¡¯t look any more elaborate than a Roman fort. There was a lot of smoke.


    A movement in a mirror, near a closed window, caught his attention.


    He saw his mother, Alicia, approaching and eventually coming into his line of sight.


    She was wearing an apron over her usual colorful clothes, which she liked so much. She was carrying a large pot with both hands that seemed heavy, giving off a delicious aroma. There was stewed meat, carrots, potatoes, onions, and many aromatic herbs.


    ¡°Oh, Adam, you¡¯re awake? I thought you¡¯d sleep through the whole movie, haha!¡±


    Her soft laugh, recognizable anywhere, filled the room.


    The young boy felt a tear run down his cheek. With a trembling hand, he wiped it away, but another drop fell, landing on Plume¡¯s back, waking her up.


    She yawned lazily but didn¡¯t move, preventing Adam from getting up. He wanted to jump up and hug his mother, but Plume felt like she weighed a ton on his legs. He was trapped on the couch.


    ¡°Mom¡­¡± he murmured with emotion, watching her carry out her daily gestures.


    ¡°Dinner¡¯s ready!¡± she called loudly, so the other members of the house could hear.


    ¡°Yes!¡± his father replied from his office, which was more of a game room than a workspace.


    He¡¯d always loved computer games, so it wasn¡¯t surprising that he spent most of his free time in that room, second only to the master bedroom, of course.


    Adam heard his father¡¯s familiar, heavy footsteps and then saw him appear, followed by his sister, Aurore, who was upstairs.


    One by one, they sat around the steaming stew in the center of the table. Each person was in front of their plate. Only he was still sitting on the couch.


    Adam¡¯s mother served each member of the family. His father, Guillaume, was smiling and seemed eager to start the meal. Aurore, who took more after their father than their mother, was on her phone, but quickly put it down to focus on the meal.


    ¡°Well, Adam? Aren¡¯t you coming?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    He wanted to get up, but Plume was so comfortably settled that nothing seemed to disturb her.


    The more he tried to move her, the heavier she felt. He even thought he could feel her claws through his jeans, telling him she wasn¡¯t going anywhere.


    ¡°Looks like you¡¯re stuck,¡± Adam¡¯s mother said with a strange, sad smile.


    This immediately caught the boy¡¯s attention. When he turned his head to look at his family, he noticed that they had all stopped moving and were looking at him with sadness.


    ¡°You seem really trapped,¡± Guillaume said in a serious tone. ¡°But it¡¯s all right. It won¡¯t get cold too quickly. We can wait a bit longer, right?¡±


    Aurore nodded.


    ¡°But not too long, okay? I¡¯m really hungry.¡±


    Alicia affectionately blew into her daughter¡¯s hair to tease her, something she did from time to time.


    "Don¡¯t listen to her, darling. We¡¯ll wait as long as we have to."


    Adam wanted to say something, but his words caught in his throat. He only then realized that none of this was real. He began to cry harder, like the young man he truly was.


    "I¡¯ll join you soon, I promise!"


    His parents and his sister smiled at him, and the light from the bulbs grew even brighter until it blinded him completely. At one point, he couldn¡¯t even see his own hands. All he could do was hear the sound of the TV.


    When he reopened his eyes, the sun was already up, and the rain had stopped. Immediately, he wiped a damp hand over his face to dry his tears. Even if it had only been a dream, seeing his parents again had been painful. He felt as though he hadn¡¯t seen them in an eternity.


    I... I¡¯ll come home! I promise!


    Adam quickly composed himself and joined the others on the rampart.


    The French soldiers were already in position, ready for battle. Unlike the previous day, some small adjustments had been made to the southern rampart. Two cannons had been moved from the north rampart to give the Redcoats hell.


    They had also changed the direction of the leftmost cannon on Saint-Louis bastion so that it no longer aimed at the river and Rogers Island, but at the road leading to Albany.


    The ground was waterlogged. Still unstable after yesterday¡¯s battle, it was just a vast muddy area where you could easily lose a shoe. The only good news for the English was that it wasn¡¯t raining anymore, and nothing suggested it would start again.


    The sky was a deep blue, dotted with a few white clouds.


    But that day, there was no assault, as the British officers deemed it a waste of energy to attack now. The terrain was too unfavorable for them.


    "Hey, Albert?" Adam said as the captain sat down between him and the very young Captain Morrel de Lusernes.


    "Hum? Yes?"


    "How much longer do you think this war will last?"


    Albert Fontaine didn¡¯t answer immediately, chewing a piece of bread slowly.


    "Who knows? A year? Two years? Five years? Ten years? No one can tell."


    "But the other wars, how long did they last? Do you know?"


    Captain Fontaine, being a veteran of the War of Austrian Succession, had some fairly extensive knowledge of France¡¯s military history, though it was limited compared to higher-ranking officers or those with a better education.


    "The others, I¡¯m not sure about. All I can tell you is that the one for the Austrian throne lasted eight years."


    T-That long?! The First World War only lasted four years! And the Second lasted six years! This one officially started in 1756. It¡¯s only been two years!


    "Don¡¯t make that face, kid," said Captain Gauthier, mouth full. "Given our great victories, I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll win a major victory soon. England doesn¡¯t have unlimited resources. They just have more ships than we do."


    "But you¡¯re forgetting that on this continent," added Captain Andr¨¦ Louis, "they have more soldiers. For us to really have the upper hand, we¡¯d need more soldiers, but that means getting them here."


    "And we nearly all got wiped out in the Channel," added Captain Morrel de Lusernes. "The English control the seas, so they can stop us from getting reinforcements. They, however, will likely get some after Louisbourg and Carillon. Maybe they¡¯re already on the way."


    A heavy silence settled around the small group gathered around a timid wood fire.


    "You fought in the War of Austrian Succession with Captain Gilbert, didn¡¯t you? What was it like? I mean, was it different from this one?"


    Albert Fontaine, Andr¨¦ Louis, Jean-Baptiste Gauthier, and Marcel Leroy were the only ones in the group who had fought in that war. They exchanged hesitant looks to see who wanted to speak first.


    In the awkward silence, it was Andr¨¦ Louis who spoke up.


    "All wars are more or less the same, I¡¯d say. The enemies and allies change. The battlefields, too. In the last war, we were allied with Prussia and others, while on the other side were Russia, Austria, and the United Provinces. I think the only thing that hasn¡¯t changed is that we¡¯re fighting those damned Redcoats."


    While he spoke, the other captains listened in silence as they ate, occasionally adding a word or two.


    "Who started the war?" Adam asked, sincerely curious. "And why?"


    "Who? I believe it was Prussia. As for why, it¡¯s because their king wanted Silesia. Basically, the elected Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire died, leaving behind two daughters. He wanted everything to go to the current Queen of Austria. She was the eldest, I think. Well, not everyone was pleased with that. The King of Prussia wanted Silesia in exchange for his support. Then he sent his armies to seize it. In France, well, I suppose some thought it would be good for His Majesty and the kingdom if we ended up supporting another candidate. So, we entered the war."


    He couldn¡¯t help but chuckle as he remembered the past.


    "It¡¯s funny, really. We fought in the same region for roughly the same reason, but with yesterday¡¯s enemies against our former allies. Like I said, we were allied with Prussia, who wanted Silesia. We fought like dogs, and all for what? For them to abandon us and sign a separate peace with Austria. I bet the English got a good laugh out of that!"


    "And now," Gauthier said, mouth full, "it¡¯s the opposite. Prussia has signed a separate peace with us, and England is left on its own. Well, almost. There¡¯s Portugal."


    "True," Andr¨¦ Louis commented, gazing into the flickering fire, "although Prussia returned to the war later, afraid of losing its gains. The war continued, and we had a few fine successes, like at Fontenoy, but we also suffered serious setbacks. We fought in Bohemia, in Italy, in India, in the New World. I wasn¡¯t there, but I heard it wasn¡¯t pleasant, mostly because of the Indians rather than the Redcoats."


    The officer cautiously moved his hands closer to the flames to warm himself, though he didn¡¯t seem to succeed. Adam could see his hands trembling.


    "In the end, we gained nothing from that war. We lost many brave men, several ships, and from what I know, it cost us a lot financially. Thanks to taxes, we bounced back quickly, but I don¡¯t think we were ready to fight another war."


    "I agree, and that¡¯s what my father and uncle said too," chimed in young Captain Morrel de Lusernes. "They said we needed another two or three years to be able to bring England down. We may have won some great victories, but I¡¯m sure our economy is on its knees!"


    Adam was surprised by so much energy in this young boy with a childlike face. He nodded silently, then the conversation took a strange turn to discuss economics. Young Morrel de Lusernes, once on the subject, didn¡¯t stop talking and became as passionate as if he were reciting a thesis.


    Young Adam, completely lost, could barely participate in the conversation but surprised everyone by suggesting that the people take a few weeks off in the summer for vacations and trips to the beach. He also proposed developing rugby to create sporting events in France and even around the world!


    The suggestions were made so naturally and seriously that it took the officers a moment to react, but they all ended up bursting into laughter at how absurd it sounded. The only one who didn¡¯t laugh was young Martin Morrel de Lusernes.


    It wasn¡¯t until very late in the night that Adam finally lay down, and this time, he had no memorable dreams.

 Chapter 84: Snakes In The Mist

    The sun had timidly risen on the fifth day of the siege, but it quickly proved as merciless as the previous two days. The third and fourth days had been hot and dry, which was perfect for the besiegers. The ground had become solid under their feet once again.


    The light mist vanished like a mirage, leaving behind only an almost stifling heat.


    However, this sudden change in temperature didn¡¯t benefit only the British, who were busy digging deep trenches. Both among them and the French entrenched in Fort Edward, soldiers were falling sick one after another.


    For now, it wasn¡¯t too much of a problem, but the officers feared further weather changes and a collapse in troop morale.


    Cough! Cough! Cough! Cough!


    Adam coughed violently, hurriedly placing a hand over his mouth to avoid infecting his comrades.


    Damn. This is starting to wear me down.


    Adam had started coughing two days earlier in the afternoon. At first, it was just a slight discomfort in his throat, like he had gone too long without water, but by the next day, things had worsened.


    He couldn¡¯t stop coughing, and he wasn¡¯t the only one in the fort.


    Cough!


    Around him¡ªwithin just a small section of the ramparts¡ªthere were about a dozen men coughing. Some had only a light cough, while others seemed on the verge of coughing up their lungs.


    ¡°Prepare yourselves! Check your muskets and cartridges!¡±


    Adam struggled to hold back a cough as he gave his final instructions. No one would judge him, but he wanted to do things right.


    He looked up and saw nothing but a blue sky and a shining sun. It gently warmed the air and his skin but did nothing to ease the tense atmosphere.


    They were all gathered on the ramparts, careful to keep some distance from the cannons so as not to get in the gunners'' way.


    Compared to the first day, there were more cannons on this side of the rampart; however, Adam felt that the layout was still far from ideal for defending the fort effectively.


    ¡°They¡¯re entering their trenches!¡±


    Adam looked toward the enemy camp, vast and bustling, and indeed saw that men were beginning to enter the long trench line stretching between the fort and their neatly arranged tents.


    The British soldiers, tiny from this distance, were taking turns descending and resuming their work where they had left off the day before.


    ¡°Cannoneers¡­ Fire!¡± shouted Colonel Bourlamaque, lowering his arm.


    BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!


    Three cannons fired at the same time, and almost immediately, three large brown plumes rose in front of them, hitting the enemy lines. Unfortunately, the British had done good work.


    Their trenches were intelligently constructed to prevent enemy cannonballs from killing many soldiers at once. They had started by creating a long line parallel to their camp, before digging approach trenches.


    These weren¡¯t straight but zigzagged to protect the soldiers inside. It was a classic strategy taught to all officers, whether they were from England, France, Spain, Italy, or anywhere else.


    Then, the British soldiers had dug a second parallel line, connecting the approach trenches.


    It was exhausting work, but necessary to bring down a fort with minimal loss. Had James Abercrombie not used this at Fort Carillon, it was because he believed sheer numbers would suffice to break French defenses. He was wrong, and it cost him dearly.


    Marshal Richelieu hadn¡¯t followed this approach during the siege of Fort Edward either, because he had taken the British soldiers by surprise in a nighttime attack. But he was well aware of the risk he was taking. In case of failure, he had planned to besiege this fort by the book.


    Adam saw the redcoats advancing quickly in their trenches and getting back to work. With their numbers, they managed to gain several dozen meters each day without suffering heavy losses.


    Far from rushing, they continually reinforced their positions as they gained ground. Cannons could be useful, but their destructive power was very limited under these conditions.


    The earth from the trenches was shoveled over the top and served as protection for the soldiers covered in dirt and sweat.


    The British were, Adam had to admit, very disciplined and very efficient. Not only did they work quickly, but they also worked well. In two days, they had managed to advance more than fifty meters!


    Damn! At this rate, they¡¯ll reach the embankment soon! If we don¡¯t do something, they¡¯ll use our ditch as a communication line between their trenches! We really messed up!


    Cough! Cough! Cough!


    But what can we do? Are we really just supposed to watch them keep going until they¡¯re within firing range? Thankfully, we¡¯re not short on powder and cannonballs, but it¡¯s not enough!


    The Marquis de Montcalm stepped out of his office to observe the enemy, but seeing that they were still far off, he didn¡¯t linger on the rampart.


    He didn¡¯t show it, but he was also very frustrated by the situation. He wanted to make a sortie, attack the enemy while they were busy, but the operation was too risky.


    The enemy might be prowling in those woods, waiting for him to make a mistake, ready to ambush him and take him down like a dog before turning toward the fort.


    All he could do was wait for the enemy to launch a new assault that would cost them dearly. In the meantime, he meticulously recorded the enemy¡¯s progress on his map.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    In red ink, he drew the new trenches with the help of his officers and, in a separate document, recorded all the day¡¯s events in minute detail. This document bore an uncanny resemblance to a journal.


    Once this siege was broken¡ªhe had no doubt of their chances for victory¡ªhe would send it to Versailles so it could be presented to His Majesty. Perhaps, upon reading it, they would understand his constant need for soldiers, numerous and disciplined, to prevent George II¡¯s troops from reclaiming what had been captured through heroic battles.


    During the night, the soldiers on watch remained vigilant, spying on every movement, their eyes fixed on the enemy trenches. Every snap of wood, every sound, could signal an imminent assault. The events of the first night had deeply marked their minds, reminding them not to rely on the English to fight honorably (even though they had done the exact same thing to capture this fort). But despite their progress, the English were, for now, content to reinforce their positions and work only by day.


    The sixth and seventh days were not very different, but on the eighth day, when they finally reached the deep ditch surrounding the fort, there was a major attack.


    A thick mist blanketed the landscape, making the hills and trees look like ghosts. The rising sun didn¡¯t improve visibility; if anything, it gave the scene a golden hue. However, thanks to a few telescopes, the French were able to see the enemy approaching.


    In reality, they had already been in the trenches for some time. Slowly, stealthily, they advanced like red snakes.


    Quietly, the soldiers were ordered to prepare for the attack. The air, though cool, was heavy with tension. It felt as if the dense fog was a gas waiting for a tiny spark to ignite the entire region.


    Adam, exhausted from his relentless cough, silently watched these dishonorable foes approach. With his pistol in his slightly trembling hand, he observed their movements, still unaware that their disgraceful maneuvers had been detected.


    Around him, everyone was silent and discreet; you could barely hear them breathe.


    They¡¯re bringing ladders¡­ So, they do intend to launch an assault.


    The distance between the last trench and the fort¡¯s walls wasn¡¯t small, but it could be easily covered. Only now did he regret not having suggested burying stakes to injure any redcoats who managed to reach that point.


    Bah, anyway, the commander would probably have refused, saying it wasn¡¯t worthy of them. What nonsense!


    ¡°Psst! What are they doing?¡± whispered an impatient soldier.


    ¡°Silence, back there. They¡¯re approaching. Be ready,¡± murmured Adam, tightening his grip on his pistol, holding back a cough.


    Adam clenched his teeth and turned his gaze back to the enemy gathered before them, practically under their noses. He couldn¡¯t help but shiver, uncertain if it was fear or impatience to fight. The waiting was torture.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Colonel Bourlamaque lower his arm, and immediately, all hell broke loose, taking the redcoats by surprise.


    BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!


    The cannons thundered, aiming at the trench and recoiling under the force of the blasts. At the same time, countless muskets roared and cracked at the men frozen in terror.


    The brave redcoats were the first to react, leaping out of the trench and climbing up the ladders, only to be met with another volley of musket fire.


    Smoke mixed with the morning mist and, with no wind to disperse it, lingered heavily.


    The English, swift and fierce, reached the fort walls and brought up new, long, sturdy ladders. Once in position, they started to climb.


    ¡°They¡¯re climbing! Watch out!¡±


    The British army was truly remarkable. In an instant, they had managed to get a foothold on the south rampart. On each side, cannons positioned at the Saint-Louis bastion to the east and the crown to the west roared, killing many of the enemy.


    Unfortunately, the angle didn¡¯t allow complete coverage of the base of the rampart. As soon as the enemy reached the wall, they were out of range. But that didn¡¯t mean they were safe.


    ¡°Pour the quicklime!¡±


    ¡°Grenades!¡±


    ¡°Quick! Bring more stones!¡±


    ¡°Is the oil ready?!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still heating!¡±


    The redcoats were truly living a nightmare, but their morale didn¡¯t waver, undoubtedly spurred by the sight of their comrades bravely fighting to clear the way. But courage wasn¡¯t enough. Surrounded by enemies, they either ended up dead or were thrown over the walls.


    Adam saw a head appear not far from him, topped by a snow-white wig and a black tricorne. He finished reloading his weapon, aiming at the man skillfully slipping between a smoking cannon and a comrade, sword in hand.


    COUGH!


    He had tried to suppress his cough, but at the worst possible moment, he was overcome by a fit that made him pull the trigger too early. The shot fired, but the man was still standing.


    ¡°Goddamn it!¡±


    He threw his discharged pistol at the enemy officer, who simply blocked it by raising his arm before drawing his sword. The man, his face impassive and eyes cold, looked at him with a fixed gaze.


    His face reminds me of someone. I know! He looks like Jude Law! But with a wig. Damn, he¡¯s a spitting image!


    ¡°By any chance, is your last name Law?¡±


    The officer raised an eyebrow in surprise and replied in impeccable French.


    ¡°No, sir. You must be confusing me with someone else. My last name is Doty.¡±


    ¡°Oh, too bad. That would have been funny.¡±


    The fake Jude Law took a combat stance, holding a magnificent sword of clearly superior quality to Adam¡¯s. Unfortunately, the young man didn¡¯t have time to admire it before it lunged at him.


    He felt a bead of cold sweat run down his back. Instinctively, he took a step back, which only barely spared him from a chest wound. Luckily, it was light; without that step, he¡¯d be dead by now.


    Shit! That was close!


    He glanced briefly at his coat, which was starting to stain red.


    Ah, that hurts! It stings!


    Colonel Doty, commander of his regiment, which had taken heavy losses at Carillon and who had fortunately not been at Fort Edward or Fort Miller when the French attacked, lunged once again at his opponent, who clumsily parried the attack.


    Adam, who had received only basic training in swordsmanship, was far below the level of this officer. He was fully aware of this and did his best to keep a reasonable distance between himself and the man who kept his eyes fixed on him.


    Damn, this guy¡¯s like the Terminator! He doesn¡¯t even blink!


    Adam was lucky once again when Captain Fontaine noticed him. With Fontaine¡¯s help and that of another soldier whose name he didn¡¯t know, they managed to bring the colonel down.


    The brave colonel collapsed, his uniform soaked in blood, near the white flag with fleur-de-lis still flying above the fort.


    Shortly after his death, the order was given to retreat, as the assault was becoming too costly in lives. Governor Pownall didn¡¯t want to risk making the same mistake as Abercrombie and ending up like him¡ªdefeated, dead, and shamed for eternity.


    The French, though exhausted, didn¡¯t make it easy for them, but they didn¡¯t block their retreat either. They, too, had suffered heavy losses.


    Relieved to be alive, Adam picked up his beautiful pistol, treating it like a trophy. It hadn¡¯t moved from where it had fallen¡ªor almost hadn¡¯t.


    Someone had probably kicked it by accident, and he found it hidden under the carriage of one of the cannons on the south rampart.


    He slipped it into his belt and decided to examine his wound.


    Gently, he opened his coat, undid the top three buttons of his red vest, and pulled back his blood-soaked shirt. He grimaced immediately.


    Ugh! Not a pretty sight. Well, it¡¯ll make another scar.


    He couldn¡¯t help but smile as he looked at it.


    But it was worth it, he thought, eyeing his new sword.


    It was a stunning beauty with a gold hilt, a black silk-wrapped handle with a golden tassel hanging from the end. The blade itself was thin, straight, and razor-sharp. It was otherwise quite plain, with no inscriptions or engravings.


    The young man then thought back to a dream he¡¯d had, in which he relived one of Fran?ois¡¯s childhood memories. His father had retrieved a bayonet and had it engraved¡ªor had it engraved¡ªas a memento of a battle.


    Should I do the same with this sword?


    Uncertain of the best course of action, he decided to set the question aside for the moment and searched for the scabbard of this sublime blade on the now pale and cold body of the colonel.


    Naturally, the scabbard was quite handsome too. It was black and gold, adorned with fine engravings.


    Well, that¡¯s quite a haul! Yep, it was definitely worth it. Ouch! Ah, fuck! Hmm, I should probably get stitched up.

 Chapter 85: Gold Mines

    "August 28, 1758.


    The sky was overcast all day, and the air was heavy with humidity. It rained during the night, but nothing compared to the first night of this siege.


    I had a restless sleep and woke up more tired than when I went to bed. At least, my cough seems to be subsiding, I think.


    In the fort, the atmosphere isn¡¯t very good. We hope for reinforcements, but we all know they won¡¯t arrive anytime soon. On the first day, we sent a messenger to Montreal to inform the Marshal-Duke of Richelieu, but it will certainly take him a few more days to arrive.


    Perhaps we shouldn¡¯t have sent so many men north when we knew the enemy would try to drive us from this stronghold.


    All we can do now is wait and tend to our wounded. As for the dead... There were too many to bury properly inside the fort. To avoid an outbreak, we were forced to burn them.


    The soldiers were far more affected by this decision than I had expected. We hope that God will understand and welcome these brave souls nonetheless. We gathered the ashes and buried them as we did with our captain, Armand Gilbert, who died the day before the glorious Battle of Fort Carillon.


    The ceremony was performed properly with the help of Brother Joseph. The poor man has spent the past three days offering prayers and giving last rites to our men on the verge of death.


    Colonel Bourlamaque, wounded in the leg by an English bayonet, had to be amputated and is still fighting to stay alive. A terrible fever has gripped him, and everyone fears having to say goodbye. I don¡¯t know much about him, but he¡¯s a brave man.


    We pray for him.


    My wound, though painful, seems to be healing well. With time, I will feel nothing, as with the one on my temple, the one on my thigh, and the one on my shoulder. I¡¯m starting to rack up quite a few. If this goes on, by the end of the war, I¡¯ll have more scars than fingers.


    The English are silent. It¡¯s both reassuring and unnerving. Everyone wonders what they¡¯re up to.


    Not knowing is a form of torture.


    Before, we could see them digging their cursed trenches. Now, there¡¯s nothing. Maybe they¡¯re as occupied as we are, tending to their wounded and honoring their dead.


    I think they lost at least four hundred men during their assault on August 25th. They¡¯ll think twice before attacking us like that again. But we must be wary. The enemy is cunning. At any moment, they could strike.


    We are especially vigilant at night and on foggy days. We¡¯re also attentive to any underground sounds: they might be trying to approach us by digging a tunnel to blow us up with barrels of gunpowder.


    All this is exhausting and prevents us from getting proper rest. We barely dare to laugh.


    These are my thoughts for today, and I realize I¡¯m writing too much. I¡¯ll have to buy a larger notebook if the war drags on. But putting my thoughts down on paper is quite relaxing. I should have started this sooner.¡±


    Adam set down his pen, contemplated the page covered in fine lettering, and closed the small bottle of black ink, satisfied with his work.


    He had started writing in his journal the day after the massive assault on this fort. He had seen Captain Fontaine doing it and decided to follow his example.


    The young man had written a preamble detailing who he was, the reasons he was writing, and what he had done since the Battle of Hastenbeck. He was very serious about it and secretly hoped that his journal would serve a historian someday, helping them better understand the era.


    But it was mainly for himself. He needed something to occupy his hands and mind other than his officer¡¯s duties, the duties of a captain.


    ¡°Are you finished?¡± Martin Morrel de Lusernes asked as he sat down beside him.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m done. Do you need something?¡±


    The young man, not yet an adult, looked away, his ears and cheeks red as if he were ashamed of something. He seemed very hesitant, which was rather endearing.


    ¡°Well, I wanted to discuss something with you. I¡¯ve been thinking about it for a while. It¡¯s about what you mentioned the other day about a leisure economy.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡±


    Martin nervously played with his hands, not daring to lift his eyes.


    ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t dare ask you more questions at the time, but I think your idea is very interesting. I¡¯d like to discuss it further with you. You¡­ you don¡¯t mind, do you? If¡ªif you¡¯re busy¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not busy, and I don¡¯t mind at all. Which part would you like to start with?¡±


    ¡°Th-the development of beaches!¡±


    Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise at such enthusiasm, but in a way, he could understand. The young Morrel de Lusernes came from a family of financiers. Economy had been their forte for generations.


    For him, the innovative idea of exploiting coastlines for something other than fishing and shellfish harvesting was like a gold mine. At least, that¡¯s how he perceived it, and he hoped that this discussion would give him a clearer idea of the potential scale of this opportunity.


    ¡°The beaches, then,¡± Adam said thoughtfully, trying to gather his thoughts based on his modern experience. ¡°France has many beaches. Some are small, discreet, almost hidden among the rocks, while others are vast.¡±


    Martin Morrel nodded eagerly, his eyes sparkling.


    ¡°Usually, beaches are seen as danger zones, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes! Because that¡¯s where an enemy force would most likely land!¡±


    ¡°But what would happen if we turned these places into havens of peace, where people could rejuvenate, find solitude, and enjoy the fresh sea air? What if we showed people that coming to these places could improve their health?¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°The nobles and bourgeois would surely come at least once or twice a year to get a change of scenery!¡±


    Adam nodded gently, but it wasn¡¯t only the upper class he hoped to attract.


    ¡°They would buy or build fine houses in the nearby villages, which would then grow as their needs would have to be met. But maybe this would even reach the common people.¡±


    ¡°The common people too? How? Peasants have to work their land, and artisans need to craft their wares.¡±


    The young man seemed truly unconvinced, which was understandable. Although there were many holidays throughout the year, not everyone had the means to take time off and travel long distances just to play in the waves.


    Adam understood this all too well, after having spent so much time just trying to cover a few miles on foot.


    ¡°In that case, maybe we should allow the people a few days off. And we¡¯d also need to improve the roads to make them solid. Paved roads.¡±


    Young Morrel¡¯s hands started trembling violently on his knees. He wasn¡¯t entirely sure what granting everyone in His Majesty¡¯s kingdom a few days off might entail, but he could immediately see the benefits for the entire realm if the roads were paved!


    Adam watched him murmur inaudible words, eyes filled with excitement.


    He imagined people and goods moving much faster, a thriving economy, and money filling the State¡¯s coffers.


    As for changing the image of beaches, that shift was already beginning thanks to ideas from certain doctors. They were at the dawn of seaside tourism. It was only a matter of time before it became the latest trend.


    Even if young Captain Morrel de Lusernes wasn¡¯t fully aware of this shift, he could grasp that developing these areas by changing their image would create a virtuous cycle! The mine seemed bottomless, and its gold unlimited!


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell my father and uncle! I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be very interested! What else? Ah, yes! Rugby! You mentioned spreading the sport and organizing competitions!¡±


    Adam smiled even brighter than when he had talked about the beaches. As a rugby fan, he wanted to see this sport grow and spread to every continent.


    He spoke about developing local teams and a national team, skipping over intermediate levels since he wasn¡¯t sure what territorial divisions existed in France at that time. He mentioned matches between these teams, jerseys, and of course, stadiums filled with fans singing lively anthems together.


    Martin Morrel de Lusernes¡¯ hands trembled harder, and his breathing grew rapid. His eyes had widened to the size of marbles.


    ¡°D-do you think¡­ it¡¯s really possible? No, it is possible. It¡¯s definitely possible, but¡­ It-it will require a lot of money.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate the power of fans. The money will certainly come from them. They could fund everything if it means watching epic matches between their team and others from different towns, and even from other countries.¡±


    Although Lieutenant Boucher was using unfamiliar words like ¡°fans¡± and ¡°match¡± that seemed to spring from his imagination, young Captain Morrel strangely understood him.


    ¡°E-even the English?¡±


    ¡°Of course! Why limit ourselves to defeating them on battlefields? We could also humiliate them in a match, right? Haha!¡±


    Martin Morrel de Lusernes couldn¡¯t help but laugh out loud, picturing the scene. That would surely be worth seeing.


    However, the work would be immense and would take decades for the sport to reach all the major cities in the kingdom and other European realms. Fortunately, there was no rush.


    ¡°No need to hurry,¡± the boy sighed, unable to hide his ambitions. ¡°Let¡¯s start with New France. Within a few months, it will reach the Old Continent, I¡¯m certain. We can already start forming teams in each town, right?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. Once the siege is over, we could ask the marquis to help us promote the sport in Quebec and Montreal. Louisbourg too.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, if we invest now¡­ hehehe!¡±


    Adam watched with growing surprise as the young man shed all shyness. A huge smile spread across his face, and it was almost as if Adam could see a fierce hunger in his eyes.


    Have I created a monster?


    The thought crossed Adam¡¯s mind but disappeared as quickly as it had come.


    Like the previous nights, this one was very quiet. There were no attacks, no false alarms, not even a sound from the enemy camp.


    But at the first light of dawn, Adam noticed a strange restlessness gradually overtaking the entire fort. Suddenly, his heart began to pound in his chest, his palms grew sweaty, and he felt as if his blood had turned to ice.


    Unlike three days earlier, he was no longer so confident.


    The violence of the battles had taken him by surprise.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?! An attack?!¡±


    ¡°The enemy! Th-they¡¯re leaving! The English are breaking camp!¡±


    W-what?!


    Surprised, Adam climbed up onto the ramparts where hundreds of men had already gathered, struggling to make his way to observe the enemy camp.


    Th-they¡¯re really leaving?! They¡¯re giving up?!


    Adam was stunned by the sight before him; he hadn¡¯t expected it. He thought the siege would last at least several more days, if not weeks!


    Neither he nor his comrades or superiors could have known that what British officers had dismissed as a minor illness due to the drastic weather change on the second day was, in fact, an epidemic. It had spun out of control, infecting more soldiers each day.


    On top of this, there were high casualties from the previous assault, a large number of wounded, a shortage of supplies, and, even more concerning, a severe supply issue. With Albany now a ghost town, all food had to come from villages and towns further south!


    Their army lacked everything and had become so vulnerable that the English commander, Thomas Pownall, decided to lift the siege to avoid a major defeat.


    ¡°They¡¯re retreating!¡±


    ¡°We won! We did it!¡±


    ¡°HURRAH! HURRAH! HURRAH! HURRAH!¡±


    On the ramparts, the men expressed their joy. Their cries, louder than cannon fire, shook the sky and reached the British camp.


    Adam, moved but hesitant to believe in this victory, held back from joining his brothers-in-arms in their cries of triumph. Tears brimming in his eyes, he clenched his fists, relieved that he wouldn¡¯t have to face this terrifying enemy again.


    Montcalm, his face closed off, appeared on the ramparts, joined by Colonel de Br¨¦hant. With a coldness that contrasted with the men¡¯s renewed energy, they observed the enemy¡¯s positions through a spyglass but were unable to come to a decision.


    Both officers, like others present in the fort, feared it might be a trap to lure them out of their stronghold.


    The Marquis de Montcalm chose caution, as he had at Fort Carillon, deciding to observe closely for now and carefully watch the enemy¡¯s movements.


    One by one, the tents were taken down, and wagons were loaded, but the French commander couldn¡¯t shake the doubt in his mind. Adam himself was uncertain of what to do.


    There was too much uncertainty and too many places for an ambush. He especially distrusted those fearsome men in green, Rogers¡¯ Rangers.


    Ah, I¡¯d love to go observe them more closely, but they¡¯ve surely posted dozens, maybe hundreds, of scouts in those woods to cover their retreat! If we walk into an ambush, it¡¯ll be a massacre!


    He bit his lip, but stayed at his post without voicing an opinion. After all, he was no one in this army¡ªnot even a captain.


    If captains like Gauthier, Fontaine, Morrel de Lusernes, Louis, and others didn¡¯t dare voice an opinion, how could he?


    Finally, around eleven o¡¯clock, the English camp was completely dismantled, and a thick cloud of dust rose in the air. The redcoats were leaving.


    But even by three in the afternoon, Montcalm hesitated to attack the British. Finally, around half-past four, he made a decision, likely motivated by fear of seeing his victory reduced or claimed by the Marshal de Richelieu.


    Fortunately, the soldiers and officers hadn¡¯t waited for orders to prepare. As soon as the command was given, the French army left the fort, leaving only a small garrison behind.


    Everyone was tense as they followed the road leading to Albany, but there was no alert. According to the scouts, the British army had truly left, leaving nothing but some litter where they had camped.


    Adam immediately felt a heavy weight lift off his shoulders.


    He stood taller, and his gaze became clearer. His new sword, far too fine for his rank, swung against his thigh, and his steps matched the rhythm of his men¡¯s.


    He felt as if he were part of a parade.


    Their march could be considered quick but not rushed, as Montcalm, despite sending scouts ahead, was still wary of a trap and didn¡¯t want to tire out his men unnecessarily.


    Hmm, we¡¯re moving much faster than they are since we don¡¯t have baggage. We¡¯re catching up.


    Unsurprisingly, gunfire broke out in the early evening at the head of the marching column. The scouts had engaged in combat with the British soldiers guarding the rear of their marching column. They were halfway between Fort Edward and the ruins of Fort Miller.


    Montcalm ordered them to quicken the pace, and the French army obeyed, though grumbling; they had wanted to rest and start setting up camp before it got too dark.

 Chapter 86: Encounter

    Adam was running like mad through trees, rocks, and tall bushes.


    Massive trunks blurred past him in his field of vision, but he barely saw them.


    All he could focus on was the back of his target.


    F-fuck!


    "Y-you come here, you b-bastard!"


    His breath was ragged from the intense and prolonged effort. His vision had also grown blurry.


    Still, he tried to fire the musket of his fallen comrade, who¡¯d been killed about fifteen minutes earlier. He hadn¡¯t had a chance to shoot.


    Damn, that bastard is fast! But I¡¯m going to get you!


    He stopped suddenly and aimed. The musket barrel pointed directly at the back of the man in green he¡¯d chased like a hunting dog.


    His heart was pounding furiously, and he couldn¡¯t catch his breath. Adam held his breath and squeezed the trigger.


    In an instant, the flint struck the pan, opening it and producing a bright yellow spark. White smoke burst out, and as soon as the fire reached the paper cartridge, the shot went off.


    BAM!


    The familiar white plume appeared in front of Adam, and when it cleared enough, he realized he¡¯d missed.


    "Damn it!"


    Adam, furious that he¡¯d missed his target and let him widen the distance between them again, clenched his fists. He¡¯d worked so hard to catch up to him. It was frustrating.


    He started running again, but quickly realized he had lost the trail.


    When he finally stopped, he noticed the forest was strangely silent. Most of all, he was alone.


    "What an idiot..."


    If I retrace my steps¡­ Ah¡­ really, what an idiot.


    Holding the long, unloaded musket in his right hand, the young lieutenant turned around.


    With a sweeping gesture, he brushed away a cloud of gnats and dodged a large, hanging branch covered with dark thorns. His mood was naturally sour, but gradually his heart rate began to return to normal.


    If that body hadn¡¯t been so strong¡ªthanks, in part, to daily efforts for over a year now¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t have covered even a third of the distance he¡¯d just covered, and definitely not at this speed. He flew like the wind to catch that enemy.


    "Ah, if only I¡¯d managed to catch him! At least I wouldn¡¯t be so frustrated!"


    Earlier, they had faced the British army, or at least a part of it, as they had eventually caught up with the enemy¡¯s marching column. But things had quickly turned chaotic.


    Orders were confused, and formations nonexistent. This led to the death of many of them, mostly due to sneaky attacks from the flanks.


    Along with six of his comrades, he had pursued some men in green, but they hadn¡¯t been smart. Instead of staying together, they had split up to eliminate all the enemies. But they¡¯d ended up going in circles and became targets.


    With his pistol unloaded, Adam had grabbed his subordinate¡¯s musket and set off alone after one of these formidable rangers.


    And now here he was, alone, empty-handed, tired, and lost.


    "Damn, did I come this way earlier?"


    Adam looked around carefully, searching for any signs of passage: footprints or broken branches.


    Unfortunately, he wasn¡¯t a woodsman. He was just a regular soldier, put into a position of responsibility too soon.


    A real officer wouldn¡¯t have left like that¡­ I¡¯m going to get roasted when I get back.


    The officer let out a deep sigh, partly to release his frustration and partly to ward off the annoying gnats that stuck to him.


    Adam turned on his heel, frowning heavily, feeling a headache starting to settle in. He took a few more steps before retracing them. All the trees looked the same.


    The leaves made a soft rustling in the wind, and the branches creaked. Several types of birds could be heard singing. Yet to Adam¡¯s ears, they sounded like mocking laughter.


    Shut the fuck up, damn it! I know I¡¯m lost! Shit!


    As the minutes ticked by, Adam felt more and more foolish. No matter which direction he looked, he saw nothing noteworthy. There was nothing distinctive, no sign that he was moving in the right direction.


    So, Adam decided to walk in a random direction.


    Minutes passed, and the sun was beginning to sink behind the leaves. Soon, night would fall, and he was well aware of it.


    I can¡¯t believe it¡­ I¡¯m really going to have to sleep outside, like this?


    He had had time to think about it, gradually feeling the hope of finding his comrades slip away. There was a greater chance he was heading in the wrong direction. Unfortunately, he had neither map nor compass.


    It was then that he heard a strange sound, like a faint growl.


    "W-what?!"


    He quickly spun around but saw nothing. There were only trees, ferns, bushes, the wind, and the birds¡¯ song. But no beast. No monster.


    Another growl sounded, this time closer but still very faint.


    "Who¡¯s there?! Show yourself!"


    Adam pointed his loaded pistol toward the noise, waited a few seconds, and looked up when he heard the strange sounds again.


    Seriously?! Bear cubs?!


    There were two of them, watching him with curiosity. One seemed to be sitting on a branch, while the other clung to the tree bark with its long claws.


    And next to them, on a neighboring branch, there was a frightened child, crying and not daring to move a muscle, trying not to draw attention from the young bears.


    Though they were very young, they were still dangerous animals. If they became aggressive, they could hurt the child and make him fall.


    A fall from that height could be fatal.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The boy, an Indian, looked at him and seemed to want to say something, but Adam couldn¡¯t hear him. Not that it mattered; Adam wouldn¡¯t have understood him anyway.


    How am I supposed to get them down?


    ¡°Hey, shoo! Get down and go away! Shoo, shoo!¡±


    Adam looked ridiculous, speaking like he was talking to a child and making large gestures. After putting away his pistol and setting down his musket¡ªuseless without paper cartridges that he wasn¡¯t supposed to be carrying anyway¡ªhe clapped his hands.


    Slowly, almost timidly, the two cubs climbed down the tree and disappeared into the ferns.


    ¡°They¡¯re gone, kid. You can come down now!¡±


    The child wiped his eyes and cautiously climbed down the tall tree.


    When he reached the ground, Adam got a closer look at him. His skin was dark without being black, but his eyes and hair were. He seemed to be around ten, maybe twelve, and was wearing clothes similar to those of trappers.


    The boy observed him with a mix of fear, curiosity, and gratitude. Not knowing how to react, he stayed silent, keeping some distance between them.


    ¡°Um, you okay? Are you all right?¡±


    But the boy didn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand what I¡¯m saying, do you?¡±


    Since the boy didn¡¯t react much, Adam started to feel awkward. Then the young Indian tried to communicate with him. Of course, Adam couldn¡¯t understand a thing.


    Is that really a language?! Damn, it sounds like made-up words!


    The boy¡¯s language didn¡¯t resemble any that Adam knew, even vaguely. The sounds were strange, and the syllables very distinct.


    ¡°Okay, um, I didn¡¯t get any of that. Uh, do¡­ can you show me¡­ Oh, damn, how am I supposed to explain this? I¡¯m¡­ looking¡­ for Fort Edward. You¡­ understand? Fort Edward.¡±


    Adam emphasized the words ¡°fort¡± and ¡°Edward,¡± hoping to be understood, but all he got in return was a long sentence¡ªor maybe there were several sentences¡ªsounding like a prayer or a curse.


    The boy then began trembling violently and took three steps back. He was looking behind Adam, and Adam quickly understood why when he heard a series of cracking sounds.


    The two cubs had returned, looking annoyed, and were accompanied by their mother.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    The bear was huge, advancing slowly toward them, sometimes glancing to the left and right as if checking that there was no one else around but Adam and the boy. It occasionally let out deep, heavy growls that made the two terrified humans¡¯ hearts pound.


    The animal looked clumsy, but Adam knew better than to trust appearances.


    Oh crap! It¡¯s huge! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!


    He couldn¡¯t think straight, but instinctively, he positioned himself between the bear and the child. His left hand tightened around the unloaded musket while his right hand moved slowly toward his pistol.


    His eyes stayed locked on the imposing creature.


    My pistol¡¯s loaded, but I¡¯m not sure I can bring it down.


    The adult bear got closer, and her cubs circled around her. The nearer she got, the more agitated she seemed.


    ¡°Kid, let¡¯s¡­ back up slowly. Slowly.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t watch both the child and the bear at the same time.


    Very slowly, Adam began to step back and noticed that the young Indian was paralyzed with fear, unable to move.


    ¡°C-come on, kid, get up. Now.¡±


    The boy had fallen onto his backside and wasn¡¯t moving, just staring at the bear advancing toward them with growls.


    Damn¡­


    The bear started to get more aggressive, and Adam felt his heart pounding even faster. He glanced quickly at the boy at his feet. If he kept backing up, the child would be in front of him¡ªright in front of the bear.


    He would never be able to look himself in the mirror if he took another step back.


    What a mess! Just my damn luck! Damn country!


    ¡°Hey, stop¡­ uh, bear? Stop! No closer!¡±


    The bear growled louder, becoming even more aggressive as one of the cubs moved closer.


    ¡°Seriously?! I didn¡¯t get closer; it¡¯s your cub coming toward me! No, don¡¯t come any closer!¡±


    The cubs wanted to play, and unfortunately, they kept getting closer and closer to Adam and the child. This was clearly irritating mama bear, who advanced more quickly, baring her teeth. They were so long and sharp that Adam couldn¡¯t help but imagine a bite.


    Oh my God! What are those fangs?!


    Already regretting his choice, Adam decided to stay between the animal and the child. He made himself as tall as he could and raised his arms high above his head.


    ¡°ROARRR! LOOK AT ME, YOU FLEABAG! LOOK HOW BIG AND DANGEROUS I AM! ROARRR!¡±


    The bear and the cubs, surprised by Adam¡¯s gestures and cries, froze in place. Encouraged by their reaction, Adam stomped the ground as hard as he could and waved his arms wildly, praying that the creature wouldn¡¯t come any closer.


    Thankfully, it didn¡¯t. The bear hesitated, growling a bit before the cubs returned to its side. Then, they all walked off peacefully.


    Adam¡¯s chest hurt, and all his muscles were tensed to the extreme. His heart was pounding so hard that he felt he might go insane.


    Did... did it work? Did that really work? Hahaha!


    Though he felt a deep relief inside at still being in one piece, he was barely holding it together. His legs were like jelly, almost incapable of supporting him.


    He turned to the little Native boy and noticed that he had wet himself. Adam couldn¡¯t judge him¡ªhe himself had been terrified of ending up in a bear¡¯s stomach.


    ¡°You okay, kid? It¡¯s all good, they¡¯re gone. Oh man, I really thought we were done for! Hey, you¡­ can you stand up?¡±


    The child, dazed, slowly got to his feet and only then realized that he had soiled his clothes. Ashamed, he tried to hide, but it was pointless.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t worry, kid. It happens. If it helps, I won¡¯t tell anyone.¡±


    The young boy bit his lower lip and began to cry, maybe from relief or frustration at showing such vulnerability to a stranger.


    He mumbled something in his language, and Adam responded as if he understood.


    ¡°Of course, kid, I didn¡¯t see anything. You were very brave. Now, can you tell me which way is Fort Edward? It¡¯s getting late, and I¡¯d rather not wander out here any longer.¡±


    Fortunately, the boy seemed to understand what Adam was asking. He started to guide him through the woods.


    They walked for a long time as it grew darker and darker in the forest, then they followed a wide river. It must have been about fifty feet across and snaked between the trees, making a soft sound as it met rocks along the way.


    From this point on, it was nearly impossible to see anything, yet the boy didn¡¯t seem too bothered. He continued leading the way and talking to Adam, chattering on even though they couldn¡¯t understand each other.


    Adam let him talk and did his best to keep up.


    ¡°Are¡­ are you sure this is the right way? We¡¯ve been walking for a while,¡± Adam remarked, but the boy didn¡¯t slow down unless they encountered an obstacle.


    Finally, an orange glow appeared through the trees.


    Adam could smell the gentle scent of roasting meat and hear the comforting sounds of people chatting happily. But as he passed a few trees, he realized he was standing in front of an Indian village.


    Unlike what he might have imagined, it wasn¡¯t made of tipis but of long wooden houses surrounded by a high wooden palisade. The wall encircled the entire village, which consisted of only a few simple but well-built structures.


    Each house was almost identical, with just a few unique details. They looked like large, overturned boats with rounded roofs.


    What on earth¡­? Where are we?!


    ¡°Hey, kid! Where did you take me?!¡±


    The black-haired boy pointed to the village before tapping his chest and speaking quickly and excitedly.


    ¡°This is your village? Okay, that¡¯s cool, but I wanted to go to Fort Edward. Oh well, whatever. It¡¯s way too late now anyway. It¡¯s already night.¡±


    The child took Adam¡¯s hand and pulled him toward the tall wooden wall, where he could see a few warriors displaying very distinct hairstyles. Some wore headbands, and there were even some with feathers.


    Adam and the boy¡¯s arrival was quickly noticed, and the whole village gathered around. There were many women and children, but also a large number of men with serious, even threatening faces.


    It took Adam only a few seconds to realize his presence wasn¡¯t exactly welcome. He noticed that he was quickly surrounded by warriors who had drawn knives and tomahawks.


    Wh-what¡¯s going on?! What kind of welcome is this? Hey, kid, say something!


    The boy was speaking with the villagers, making grand gestures with his arms. He seemed to be recounting his encounter with Adam.


    Though the mood shifted slightly after he finished speaking, it didn¡¯t mean the warriors surrounding him were ready to let him go just yet.


    One of the men, taller and more muscular than the others, likely in his late twenties or early thirties, placed a firm hand on the boy¡¯s head and approached Adam with swift steps.


    He stopped only a couple of feet away, staring at Adam with a gaze so intense it felt like a challenge.


    His dark eyes locked onto Adam¡¯s ice-blue ones without wavering. His hairstyle was striking¡ªhis head was shaved except for the top, where his hair was tied into a kind of braid adorned with a few colorful feathers. Around his neck, he wore several necklaces made of bones and shells.


    What the hell does this guy want from me?


    He spoke to Adam in his language, in a voice so low almost no one else could hear. Then he pulled out a long knife and brought it dangerously close to Adam¡¯s face.


    Gulp!


    Adam couldn¡¯t help swallowing but kept his gaze steady on the man.


    The dark, cold blade¡¯s tip moved along his jaw, passed near his eye, and paused on the long scar that ran close to his eyebrow. Slowly, the Native man traced the tip of the knife down the length of the scar. He quickly realized it extended beneath his reddish-brown hair, up to the area above his ear.


    His eyes locked with Adam¡¯s again, who had neither moved nor said a word.


    Adam could feel hundreds of eyes on him, all watching this man who didn¡¯t seem ordinary.


    The man sheathed his knife and began feeling Adam¡¯s scar, as if trying to measure its length. Once he was done, he opened his vest, revealing well-defined abs marred by a long brown scar that ran from above his navel to just below his right nipple.


    A grimace crossed his lips, and he muttered something before clicking his tongue. He seemed very vexed.


    But before he could do anything else, their strange encounter was interrupted by the arrival of a woman who appeared to hold a high rank in the tribe.


    They exchanged a few words, then the warrior stepped aside to let the stranger enter.

 Chapter 87: Wandering Souls

    Adam was led into the village, closely watched by dozens of warriors as if he posed a high threat.


    The tall Indian with a long scar across his stomach followed him, never taking his eyes off him.


    They passed by a large fire and a very tall stone but didn¡¯t stop. Adam quickly noticed that this village was better organized than he had expected. The longhouses were aligned with military precision, and there was no litter on the ground.


    It was only packed earth, but it was clean.


    He was escorted to a longhouse that didn¡¯t seem different from the others and entered after the woman, who appeared to be in her forties.


    All the villagers stayed outside.


    Inside the house, there was only one person¡ªa very old woman, perhaps sixty or seventy years old. She had long gray hair, many necklaces, eyes so small they looked closed, and held a strange twisted stick adorned with teeth, bones, some beautiful shells, and feathers.


    As soon as she entered the house, the woman guiding Adam bowed with respect, causing all her necklaces to jingle. She must have had about ten around her neck.


    Oh, she looks very important. Should¡­ Should I bow?


    Adam mimicked her gesture and remained silent while the two women spoke in their unfamiliar language.


    The older woman, who must have been very important in this village, barely spoke, listening closely to what the other woman had to say.


    When she finished, a heavy silence filled the house. The old woman with the staff stared at Adam without showing any emotion.


    Because her eyes were not clearly visible, it was impossible for the young officer to guess what she might be thinking.


    What should I do? Do I say something, or should I wait until they address me?


    He glanced around the house and saw many trinkets, totems, and small constructions made of wood, cloth, and thread hanging from the beams. He had almost hit his head twice upon entering the dark, long room.


    Without the fire burning peacefully between the two women and himself, he would have seen nothing.


    ¡°You¡¯re very far from home, young man,¡± said the old woman in surprisingly good French, though with a strong, indescribable accent.


    ¡°Uh, yes. There was an accident. I apologize for disturbing the village with my presence.¡±


    Adam bowed lower to avoid causing any offense.


    The old woman¡¯s lips curled slightly, deepening the wrinkles on her face, already highlighted by the dancing flames below her. The fire cast large, unsettling shadows throughout the house.


    ¡°You¡¯re referring to what happened with Tehonwaskaron, I presume?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the young boy you saved from that bear. You have our gratitude for that. He¡¯s one of the many sons of our chief. He¡¯s young and going through a difficult phase where he tests his limits. He left the village to play and once again wanted to explore the surroundings.¡±


    The woman tapped the packed earth floor three times with her staff, making the decorations hanging from it clink.


    ¡°He will be punished,¡± the woman continued, ¡°though this misadventure could be considered punishment enough. I believe¡­ he¡¯s learned his lesson. Ah¡­ As for our peace, it¡¯s already been quite disturbed, so you don¡¯t need to worry too much about that.¡±


    ¡°Phew! That¡¯s a relief! Uh, I mean, I¡¯m relieved that I don¡¯t need to worry about that, not that your peace was already disturbed!¡±


    The old woman tilted her head to the side, but that was her only reaction. As if Adam hadn¡¯t said anything, she continued in a grave voice.


    ¡°However, it¡¯s true that we could have done without your visit. Young man, you¡¯re not unaware that we¡¯re at war with you French, are you?¡±


    What? We¡¯re at war?


    The old woman seemed to look him directly in the eyes, her kindly smile gone. Now, she resembled more a stern judge.


    ¡°We¡­ we¡¯re at war? I¡¯m sorry, but I don¡¯t know much about these territories or the people living here. I only arrived from France not long ago.¡±


    ¡°Hmm? So you entered this village without knowing it was a Mohawk village?¡±


    Mohawk? Wait, isn¡¯t that one of the Iroquois tribes? Holy hell!


    The old woman seemed amused by Adam¡¯s reaction. The woman beside her simply raised an eyebrow as she scrutinized him.


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t know, madam. Uh, excuse me, what should I call you? I don¡¯t want to be disrespectful.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you may call me ¡®Matriarch.¡¯ So, you didn¡¯t realize you were helping your enemy.¡±


    ¡°That child is not my enemy, Matriarch,¡± Adam replied calmly, his voice almost indignant. ¡°Even if I had known the boy was from this village, I wouldn¡¯t have acted any differently, because he¡¯s a child. How could I look at myself in the mirror if I¡¯d left him alone in danger?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, perhaps you speak the truth.¡±


    ¡°I followed him here, but believe me, it wasn¡¯t intentional. I asked him to guide me to Fort Edward.¡±


    ¡°Fort Edward¡­¡± said the Matriarch thoughtfully, her brows furrowing. ¡°You¡¯ve traveled quite a distance¡­¡±


    "I got lost while chasing an enemy. An Englishman. He ran faster than me, and by the time I realized I¡¯d lost him, I was alone in the middle of the forest. I walked randomly in one direction and came across the boy, perched in a tree next to two bear cubs. Then the adult bear arrived."


    "Randomly, you say?" she asked without waiting for a reply.


    A tired smirk appeared on her lips, as if she found the word amusing.


    "What is certain," she said softly, nodding, "is that you saved his life."


    Adam noticed the woman becoming strangely silent. It was both encouraging and unsettling.


    "Matriarch, may I stay the night in this village and ask for help to return to Fort Edward tomorrow morning?"


    The second woman seemed uneasy, and he could understand why. After all, their nations had been enemies for years, perhaps even generations. Maybe she had lost friends and family in this war.


    "It¡¯s possible," the matriarch said nevertheless. "But before I let you go, I have a question to ask you.


    "W-what question?" Adam asked nervously, fearing he might have to reveal important information about their army.


    "At the beginning of this conversation, I said that you were far from home. I wasn¡¯t referring to Fort Edward. You¡¯re not from this time, are you?"


    W-what?!


    "H-how do you know that?"


    The second woman turned to the matriarch but stayed silent. Yet, her face showed all her surprise.


    "So, you are indeed the wandering soul I was waiting for," said the old woman with a complex expression on her face, revealing her dark eyes for the first time.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "A wandering soul?"


    "That¡¯s what we call people like you. The previous matriarch told me this story she heard when she was trained by her own matriarch, and so on. It¡¯s not something everyone should know. Ayonwahta, who will succeed me as matriarch, already knows certain things about wandering souls."


    "¡­"


    Shocked, Adam remained silent and listened to the old woman with utmost attention and hope.


    "What time do you come from, my boy?"


    The young man hesitated for a few seconds, but hope led him to answer her question.


    "2024," he finally admitted, making the younger woman flinch.


    For her, it must have been no different than someone in her time suddenly meeting a person claiming to be from the year 2200. The difference, and a significant one, was that in her time, there was no abundance of science fiction books and movies.


    "2024," the matriarch repeated softly. "How long have you been in this body?"


    "A-a little over a year," he replied honestly.


    How does she know I¡¯m from the future?! What is going on?! What are they going to do to me?!


    Ignoring all his silent questions racing through his mind, the matriarch continued asking questions that flowed like a river.


    "How did you arrive in our time?"


    "I¡­ I touched a watch I found by chance."


    "Was this watch special? Was it important to the owner of this body?"


    "Y-yes! It was his watch! In fact, it was his grandfather¡¯s!"


    Adam was starting to get excited and answered each of the matriarch¡¯s questions eagerly.


    "But I don¡¯t understand. Why did it happen when I touched the watch? I have nothing in common with Fran?ois, do I? I can¡¯t be his descendant if he died at the Battle of Hastenbeck! Unless he had an illegitimate child before going off to war, but I doubt it."


    "My boy," the matriarch said with an almost gentle voice, "there are bonds much stronger than blood. You and this Fran?ois share something much deeper."


    "W-what?"


    "The soul."


    "The soul?"


    Adam looked, stunned, at the matriarch¡¯s hand resting on her own chest. He tried to understand what that implied.


    "You share the same soul, because before being you, you were Fran?ois. Perhaps you¡¯ve been other people in the meantime, but it was Fran?ois¡¯s watch you found."


    "So if I had found¡­ Good lord, this is completely crazy! If I had found an object belonging to another of my past lives, I might have ended up in a different body and time?"


    "Not necessarily," the matriarch said after some hesitation. "Fran?ois was deeply attached to that watch. You say he died in battle, right? He likely had many regrets. Maybe he wasn¡¯t truly dead, but his soul had merely left his body? You mentioned he had a severe head injury? Perhaps that¡¯s another condition for traveling."


    Adam, mouth agape with a bewildered look on his face, struggled to make sense of it all. But he had no other explanations. For simplicity¡¯s sake, he decided to simply accept it.


    "If that¡¯s true, shouldn¡¯t more people end up like me?"


    The matriarch seemed amused by this idea and folded her arms, using her staff for support.


    "Do you think so? What are the odds that someone would find a precious item belonging to a past life, with regrets and a soul that escaped? My boy, you don¡¯t realize it? I think you¡¯d have better chances of finding a specific tree in a forest ten years after your last visit."


    Once again, for simplicity¡¯s sake, Adam nodded obediently.


    "But how do you know so much? And how did you know I was one?"


    ¡°You¡¯re not the first wandering soul to come through this village, my boy. As for your second question, let¡¯s just say I was informed by friends.¡±


    ¡°Friends?¡± Adam raised an eyebrow, confused.


    ¡°As matriarch, I have many roles. I give counsel, I appoint the chief, but I also communicate with the spirits. They are very talkative, and they warned me of your arrival.¡±


    Spirits¡­


    Instantly, Adam felt his excitement and confidence crumble, as if he had just been doused in ice water.


    What is this nonsense?! Wandering souls and now spirits?


    ¡°They¡¯re quite fond of you, my boy. They didn¡¯t go into detail, but they said that the fate of our tribe would change because of you.¡±


    ¡°The fate of your tribe? I¡¯m not sure I understand,¡± the young soldier said in a tone more weary than he had intended.


    ¡°We have a saying here: time is like a raging river. You can¡¯t swim against the current; you can only follow it. But you, wandering souls, you¡¯re not bound by that rule. You have a boat. You can row against the current. You can change the course of events, just as the Great Peacemaker, Deganawida, once did. Do you know this name?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The old woman looked disappointed, but continued her explanation.


    ¡°He¡¯s the most illustrious figure in our tribe. With others, he built the Iroquois Confederacy. Without him, we would have already disappeared, crushed by the French, the English, and other tribes.¡±


    Adam looked in surprise at the two women, but neither of them seemed to be joking. Quite the opposite; they looked deeply dignified and respectful just by mentioning his name. It was as if they were speaking of Jesus, Muhammad, or Buddha.


    ¡°So this, um¡­ Great Peacemaker, he¡¯s like me?¡±


    The old woman nodded.


    ¡°And your spirits say I can change the destiny of your tribe?¡±


    ¡°No, my boy. You will do it. Perhaps you¡¯ve already done so,¡± she said confidently.


    ¡°How can I change anything without even knowing it? That doesn¡¯t make any sense!¡±


    ¡°Being aware of the changes you bring with your actions doesn¡¯t make them any less real, my boy. Every action has consequences, whether you want it to or not. All you can do is guide them by making the best choices and accepting the outcomes.¡±


    Adam wanted to argue, but he couldn¡¯t find a single reason to counter her. The matriarch continued, and for the first time, there was a hint of excitement in her voice.


    ¡°The Great Peacemaker left a stone in our village. We have kept it safe for three hundred years. Perhaps you can help us interpret it? It¡¯s indecipherable for us who are not wandering souls.¡±


    But the second woman could stay silent no longer. She turned swiftly toward the matriarch.


    She spoke quickly in a language Adam couldn¡¯t understand, seeming anxious and disapproving of showing this stone¡ªconsidered sacred by people in this village and all Iroquois villages¡ªto a foreigner.


    The exchange was as quick as it was sharp.


    In the end, the matriarch-in-training bowed respectfully.


    Though it was very late, Adam was led outside the longhouse to a tall stone, about eight feet high. One of its faces had been carved smooth.


    The craftsmanship was remarkable; one could almost think the stone had been laser-cut.


    On that face, fine characters were engraved, covering the entire stone, illuminated by the large bonfire.


    ¡°We asked our English friend, William Johnson, but he couldn¡¯t translate this text. But you¡¯re a wandering soul. Can you understand the message left by the Great Peacemaker?¡±


    Adam looked at the stone and it took him only a second to give an answer.


    ¡°Sorry, matriarch, but I can¡¯t translate this text. I don¡¯t speak Korean.¡±


    The young man saw disappointment fill the matriarch¡¯s face, as her hopes had been very high. In truth, they had only grown since their conversation had started focusing on wandering souls.


    Korean¡­ I don¡¯t know that language at all. The stories I used to read on the internet were all translated into English, sometimes French.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault,¡± said the matriarch. ¡°If you don¡¯t know this language, there¡¯s nothing to be done. One day, perhaps, this mystery will be solved.¡±


    Adam was then led to a longhouse at the northern edge of the village. He took one last look at the tall stone, wondering what was inscribed on it.


    Had he been able to read these characters, here is what he would have read:


    "My name is Park Don-yul.


    I was born on April 13, 1922, in Busan. I joined the Japanese army like many of my peers, since we were colonized at that time.


    I fought in a war for those who occupied my homeland before realizing that we Koreans could drive them from our land, but that we would have to fight for it.


    I lost many comrades, friends, and family members, often during waves of repression. They called me a terrorist, but that¡¯s only the enemy¡¯s perspective. Later, they called me a hero, but I didn¡¯t care for their medals and celebrations.


    My country was not freed.


    My beloved Korea was divided. I watched the southern half of my country develop rapidly, while the northern half remained trapped in the past. I wanted to fight, but I lacked the courage or strength. I would have been called mad, seen as a danger to peace.


    I felt too small in a system too vast and complex, so I ignored the war that continued to divide my cherished country and led a peaceful life.


    I did what was expected of me: I worked hard, held many jobs, contributed in my small way to building South Korea, got married, and had children.


    My eldest son, Ha-jun, who moved to America and got married, invited me to meet my grandchildren, so I went there as my health declined. It was the first time I left Korean soil since the war and the first time I flew in an airplane.


    He lived in Buffalo, at the northern border of the Democratic Republic of America.


    I got to spend time with him, his lovely wife, and my grandchildren, a boy and a girl. My grandson, James, loved history, so we went to a museum largely dedicated to the Native Americans who once populated this region long ago.


    That¡¯s when I saw a necklace in a display case. It was nothing extraordinary, but as soon as I saw it, I felt it calling me, speaking to me. So, I approached it. Then I felt ill, as if all my strength was leaving me. And I collapsed.


    When I awoke, I was injured, surrounded by trees and half-naked bodies with painted faces. I was in the body of a young man named Deganawida.


    I was in such pain that I thought I was going mad.


    Around my neck was the necklace I had seen in the display case, and just by touching it, I returned to the museum. Immediately, the pain vanished like an illusion.


    No time seemed to have passed while I was in Deganawida¡¯s body, and when I touched the display case again, I was once more in that blood-covered, wounded body.


    I then thought that here I could play a role other than that of a spectator.


    My injuries, received in a great battle with the Senecas, healed over time, and I regained my strength. I then fully became this young man and lived this second life as best I could.


    I traveled extensively and did all I could to make my tribe strong. But it wasn¡¯t enough. So I told everyone I met what I knew, thanks to what my grandson told me about these tribes: the arrival of the white man, disease, division, war, and finally the conquest that would annihilate them all.


    Thankfully, I was heard, and we managed to create a confederation, despite our conflicts and differences. For this, they called me the Great Peacemaker.


    I am certain it will last long after my death.


    To you who have managed to read this text, know that I have no regrets. I lived two long lives, had many children, several wives, and most of all, I was able to change something.


    You too can change things, and you don¡¯t need to know the future. All you need is to dedicate all your energy to it. Then, when your time comes, you will have no regrets."

 Chapter 88: Challenge

    Adam spent a terrible night in a longhouse occupied by eight families.


    If his night was so bad, it wasn¡¯t due to the cold, as, despite the simple materials used to build the structure, these longhouses were very well designed to retain heat.


    The one where he had spent the night was divided into four compartments, each housing two families.


    Because there was a sort of hallway down the center that allowed easy movement for the inhabitants, each family had their own side of the compartment.


    In the area where he slept that night, there was already a family of four.


    In the middle of each compartment, at the center of the hallway, there was a good wood fire. Of course, this didn¡¯t apply to compartments used for storing wood, supplies, and food.


    Despite the openings in the roof, the air was heavy. A powerful smell of wood smoke lingered.


    Adam had been very surprised to discover the interior of one of these houses. It was fascinating. A bit like the inside of a ship or an RV, every space was used smartly.


    The area for each family reminded him, in a way, of a supermarket aisle. The first level, about thirty centimeters off the ground, served as a bench, workspace, and sleeping platform. The space between this level and the ground was used for storing belongings.


    The upper levels served as storage areas and sleeping platforms. By using the height of the building, these Native people could host many guests and store a large number of items.


    His presence thus hadn¡¯t forced anyone to sleep on the ground.


    His sleeping mat was made of woven reeds covered with animal skins¡ªvery fragrant but soft and warm. Less comfortable than his cot, which was closer to a modern mattress, he woke up with a terrible backache and a sore neck.


    When someone came to get him, the sun had not yet risen. Yet, the Mohawks were already starting their work.


    Near the central square of the village, where their mysterious sacred stone stood, the Native people gathered to share a hearty meal of meat and vegetables.


    The young Tehonwaskaron, the boy who had made the mistake of playing tag with young bears, spotted him quickly, which was natural since Adam was the only White man, and sat beside him, presenting him with a small wooden bowl.


    ¡°Is this for me? Thank you.¡±


    Adam nodded, smiling, and gratefully accepted the bowl, as he was very hungry and hadn¡¯t forgotten that he was in enemy territory. Seeing his meal, he couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    ¡°That¡¯s funny. I think this is going to be the best meal I¡¯ve had in ages.¡±


    But just as he managed to put some tender, juicy meat in his mouth, a large hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his bowl.


    Adam quickly turned and stood up to face the jerk who had just stolen his delicious meal. It was the Native man who had threatened him with a knife¡ªthe one with numerous necklaces around his neck and several feathers in his hair, the one who had compared Adam¡¯s scar to his own.


    His dark eyes stared directly into Adam¡¯s blue ones, as if to say, ¡°What are you going to do? Hit me?¡±


    Damn bastard! You stole my food! If I could¡­ Argh! Son of a¡­


    The Mohawk warrior looked away, but only to address the boy angrily. He said something in his strange language, and the child responded sharply, clearly annoyed. The boy tried to grab the bowl, but the man lifted it to eye level, out of the child¡¯s reach.


    The little boy spoke more fervently, making the warrior¡¯s thick brows furrow further, who responded with a light tap on the top of the boy¡¯s head.


    They¡¯re like me and my sister. Are they brothers?


    Their argument drew the attention of the other villagers, but no one intervened to calm things down.


    Finally, a young girl with long black hair and large onyx eyes, irritated by all this noise so early in the morning, stepped in to stop the two, grabbed the bowl, and handed it to the child, who in turn gave it back to Adam. Then he stuck his tongue out at the tall warrior, who ground his teeth.


    But Adam wasn¡¯t looking at the bowl being offered to him.


    He was watching the young girl with fascination; she must have been sixteen or seventeen. She looked like a little princess.


    Her face was delicate, as if sculpted by a Renaissance master. Her eyes shone like lanterns. Her long braided hair was like two rivers of ink. And her lips seemed as delicate as the wings of a scarlet butterfly.


    My God, she¡¯s beautiful!


    Never, in this life or the last, had he seen a girl as beautiful as this one. She also exuded a kind of powerful aura, like a wild animal.


    Their gazes met, and he thought he saw something in those large, dark eyes.


    The tall warrior, standing right beside him, noticed this silent exchange and, as if gravely insulted, shoved Adam with his right palm.


    Caught off guard, Adam didn¡¯t have time to react and stumbled back a couple of steps, dropping the bowl of food on the ground.


    The warrior then began to speak forcefully, spitting out incomprehensible words at him, though laden with hostility.


    The young woman acting as matriarch arrived then, but it was too late to prevent certain words from being said. Whether Adam understood them or not, it was indeed too late¡ªthe arrow had already been shot.


    The woman could only sigh helplessly as she turned to Adam.


    ¡°The chief¡¯s second son, Tayohseron, has challenged you to a duel. You... must accept.¡±


    ¡°A duel?! Why?!¡±


    "Tayohseron says¡­ um, you¡­ disrespected sister by staring at her too intently. In dis... Um... Direspecting? Disrespecting her, you have disrespected the chief and the entire tribe. That''s what he''s talking about."


    Her French was weaker than the matriarch¡¯s, but Adam understood her clearly enough.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to disrespect anyone! Really! And I don¡¯t think she felt that way either.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ hum, does not matter. He challenged you. You must accept.¡±


    ¡°But what kind of challenge is it?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Instead of answering, the woman turned to the chief''s second son, Tayohseron, and exchanged a few words with him. Then she turned back to Adam.


    ¡°He said that you can choose the challenge; he will accept any.¡±


    Fucking lunatic! I¡¯m sure this was his plan all along! I should have seen this coming!


    ¡°All right! I can choose anything?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then I challenge him to a swimming race!¡±


    The woman didn¡¯t understand the word and asked for an explanation before turning to the warrior. Her expression turned complex, as if forced to swallow something she didn¡¯t like. The warrior and the nearby villagers reacted similarly, but the tall warrior gave a cold nod in agreement.


    ¡°He accepts, but¡­ can you explain the challenge more clearly?¡±


    Adam scratched his cheek and looked over at the wide river that flowed just beyond the village. There was a small island in the middle with a fallen tree making a bridge between the shore and the island.


    ¡°We¡¯ll start from that rock, swim to the tree, touch it, and swim back. First one back wins.¡±


    The woman furrowed her brows further, realizing how far that was, but translated faithfully to the warrior, who crossed his arms over his chest as if to intimidate Adam by showing off his solid muscles.


    Tayohseron, like all the other Indians present, looked at the river and went a bit pale seeing how challenging the race was. There were fifty meters between the rock and the tree, meaning they¡¯d cover one hundred meters, half of it against the current.


    Tayohseron put on a brave face and loudly declared he accepted the challenge.


    Nearly the whole village moved over to the river, which was calm this season. It still made a powerful sound as it flowed southeast, occasionally carrying a few leaves and branches.


    Luckily, the current isn¡¯t too strong. Otherwise, this challenge would have been impossible.


    Adam took off his clothes, leaving on the bare minimum. Everyone could now see his well-toned body and scars. The Indian did the same.


    Ow! Damn rocks! They¡¯re killing my feet! Ouch!


    He walked awkwardly, like stepping on hot coals, until he reached the riverbank. He dipped a toe in and shuddered violently¡ªit was far colder than he¡¯d expected.


    Damn! I should have chosen something else! God, it¡¯s freezing! But swimming is the one sport I¡¯m really good at!


    The distance didn¡¯t scare him. In a pool, he could do that several times over, but the conditions here were radically different. It would be a real challenge, especially on the way back, against the current.


    The Indian stood beside him and dipped his hand into the water. He shuddered too but forced himself not to react. He turned to Adam and taunted him with a few words in his strange language.


    Adam ignored him and studied the river more closely.


    It was almost as still as a lake, though that was misleading. Just looking at the surface showed this was lively water. It was so clear he could easily see rocks, algae, and a few fish beneath the surface.


    The riverbanks were lined with bushes that seemed to grow directly out of the water, but in some areas, there was nothing but pebbles, sand, and aquatic plants. Adam could also hear frogs croaking and many birds singing.


    A large dragonfly buzzed right past his nose and disappeared a little further along.


    The Mohawk village behind them seemed like it was tucked away in paradise. The young man struggled to imagine that someday, perhaps all these landscapes would be transformed into towns and fields.


    Finally, they stepped into the water.


    Slowly, Adam felt his body temperature drop. He wanted to yell, but Tayohseron¡¯s silence forced him to swallow the stream of curses he wanted to hurl at the world.


    Adam dipped his head under the water and swept his now-brownish-red hair out of his eyes.


    The matriarch apprentice then gave the signal, and the two young men surged toward the island and its fallen pine.


    For now, it was easy, aside from the cold. Thanks to the current, they reached the tree in no time.


    Adam¡¯s hand struck the trunk, worn down by the river, and he used it as a brace to turn back.


    Using every muscle, he pushed himself forward. Each meter was hard-won.


    If he didn¡¯t go fast enough, he either made no progress or, worse, was pushed back by the current. His arms and legs beat furiously at the water, clearer than any supermarket-bought mineral water, while he fought to breathe.


    D-damn! Ah! Rghh! This¡­ This was a lot easier¡­ in the pool!


    He pushed even harder, and slowly, very slowly, he drew closer to the finish line, where many people were waiting.


    Adam took deep breaths whenever he could. He was freezing, but it felt like his muscles were on fire.


    Finally, he reached the moss- and algae-covered rock.


    He stood up and made his way to the shore, where he collapsed, exhausted but victorious.


    I-I won! Haha!


    When he sat down, he noticed his competitor wasn¡¯t visible. He had to stand up to see him, stuck near the fallen tree.


    Just as I thought¡­ He may have the strength, but he lacks the technique. He swims like a little dog, too slowly to beat the current.


    He watched the large warrior struggle with all his might, but it was no use. He couldn¡¯t move forward. All he was doing was exhausting himself. Without that tree, he would have been swept away by now.


    The young Frenchman then saw the warrior, in trouble, slip under the tree and disappear.


    ¡°Shit!¡±


    All the villagers immediately sensed the danger. Some had already moved to position themselves near the brave Indian, shouting for him to swim to shore. But that was easier said than done.


    Adam rushed after the villagers and quickly reached the warrior, who no longer had the strength to swim to shore. He was stranded in the middle of the wide river, which was growing broader.


    The piercing cries of the Indians filled his ears and his heart alike.


    He jumped into the water and swam madly until he reached Tayohseron, struggling to keep his head above the water.


    ¡°Hey, calm down, it¡¯s me. Take a deep breath; you¡¯ll float naturally, alright? We¡¯re going to reach the shore, so hold on to me. I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    The Indian seemed to understand what the stranger was telling him and began to breathe deeply, following his lead.


    Adam put an arm across his chest and, with his free arm, started swimming toward the shore. Thanks to his efforts, they managed to reach dry land, to the immense relief of everyone.


    Tayohseron¡¯s chest rose and fell at a frightening pace. His breathing was chaotic, but an enormous smile stretched across his lips.


    Adam could even hear him chuckling like mad as more and more people surrounded them.


    He stood up on trembling legs and helped Adam to his feet. Under the astonished eyes of the villagers, he raised the hand he was holding above his head, saying a few words full of energy. Immediately, all the Indians applauded with joy.


    Adam, not understanding a word, smiled politely and waited silently for his interpreter to arrive.


    The apprentice matriarch approached and translated for the young man what Tayohseron had just said. He had won the challenge and proven he was brave. Tayohseron wanted to go further and make Adam a brother.


    That¡¯s when the matriarch arrived, angrier than she¡¯d been in ages.


    As soon as she arrived on the scene, Tayohseron lost his smile and received a fierce blow from her stick on the top of his head.


    ¡°Stupid nephew! Is your brain the size of a hazelnut?! Why did you start this foolish challenge with this young man?!¡± (in Iroquois language)


    ¡°Aunt, I¡­"


    ¡°It¡¯s matriarch!¡±


    ¡°Matriarch, I challenged the Frenchman because he looked insistently at Onatah.¡±


    The matriarch scrutinized Adam before looking at her young niece, who averted her gaze with dignity.


    ¡°That¡¯s no reason to risk your life like that! It''s precious! You mustn¡¯t put it in danger that way! If something happened to you, your father, our chief, would be deeply saddened! Did you even think of your family and the village?¡±


    The young warrior grimaced and crossed his arms as if he didn¡¯t want to hear more.


    ¡°You and your pride! When will you stop challenging every boy you meet?! Don¡¯t tell me stories; I know you don¡¯t like this boy. That¡¯s why you challenged him, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°He¡­ had a bigger scar than mine.¡±


    ¡°Tayohseron, sometimes you should keep quiet,¡± the matriarch sighed. ¡°When will you grow up? Or at least, learn to lie. You¡¯d look less foolish.¡±


    ¡°Matriarch, I wouldn¡¯t dare¡­¡±


    The warrior dared not say more under his aunt¡¯s cold gaze. He had lied to cover up his mistakes before, but with her, it was pointless. And each time, it had only gotten him into more trouble, so he¡¯d stopped.


    ¡°Was it your idea? To swim in the river?¡±


    ¡°No, matriarch. I didn¡¯t expect him to suggest such a dangerous challenge. But I couldn¡¯t back down after I challenged him. I thought he¡¯d suggest hunting, fighting, or archery¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The matriarch looked at the young Frenchman with surprise and disappointment. She hadn¡¯t expected such an incident to occur.


    She turned to Adam.


    ¡°My boy, was this really your idea? This challenge.¡±


    ¡°I was challenged by him. I suggested swimming because I¡¯m a pretty good swimmer.¡±


    The matriarch said nothing immediately and simply looked him straight in the eyes. Then she let out a deep sigh and shook her head.


    ¡°That was incredibly dangerous and foolish, my boy. You both could have died. And all for what? Nothing but a bit of pride. Ah, boys¡­¡±


    The old woman ran a weary hand over her face and ordered everyone back to the village. She also instructed Adam and Tayohseron to dress quickly.


    The two young men obediently complied, as although it was still August, it wasn¡¯t particularly warm, especially at such an early hour. They were both at risk of getting sick from their ridiculous challenge. Adam noticed he was already shivering.


    However, he didn¡¯t notice that young Onatah had stayed behind and was watching him intently as he walked alongside her brother. She gripped the light, snow-white cloak covering her shoulders firmly, as if fearing someone might notice her heart beating unusually fast.

 Chapter 89: Like An Old Friend

    Back in the village, Adam and Tayohseron were scolded for the second time in the matriarch¡¯s house.


    As everyone knew, the rivers were dangerous, even when they seemed safe. Many of their people had perished from underestimating the power of the currents. Others had fallen ill and lost their lives after days of suffering.


    The matriarch didn¡¯t want that fate for her nephew or for this wandering soul, who she was certain still had a long journey ahead of him.


    The warrior and the soldier had immediately been wrapped in several deerskins.


    Adam was shivering like a leaf in autumn, but Tayohseron seemed perfectly fine.


    He sat with the dignity of a prince, arms crossed over his muscular chest, his face impassive. Adam might have thought he wasn¡¯t cold at all if it weren¡¯t for a drop of snot running from his left nostril.


    The two young men bowed respectfully and humbly before the old woman. Then, to everyone¡¯s surprise, Tayohseron asked for permission to offer Adam a wampum belt.


    ¡°A what?¡± asked Adam, not understanding why the matriarch and her apprentice were reacting so strongly. ¡°A belt? Well, why not.¡±


    How nice of him.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand, young man,¡± the matriarch replied sternly. ¡°What Tayohseron wants to give you is not just any belt. A wampum belt is a symbolic object that holds great significance for us. He wants to give you one that represents your friendship.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I see. Thank you very much.¡±


    Well, I suppose I should take good care of it.


    Adam¡¯s too-calm reaction frustrated the old woman greatly, as she felt like she was speaking to a child.


    ¡°You really don¡¯t understand the weight of this gesture, do you? This isn¡¯t a casual act. It¡¯s sacred. They¡¯re made from tiny shell beads traded with other tribes, arranged in patterns to ensure its owner never forgets what it represents. This is a tremendous honor he¡¯s offering you!¡±


    Adam looked at his new friend in surprise and bowed to him.


    Oh¡­ I see. It¡¯s not an ordinary gift.


    ¡°I accept this honor with gratitude. Unfortunately, I don¡¯t have much to offer him in return.¡±


    He searched through his satchel and took out a knife with a finely engraved handle and a rare, sharp blade. He respectfully extended it to Tayohseron.


    ¡°This knife,¡± Adam explained, ¡°I took from an enemy I killed in Saxony. I like it very much, which is why I kept it. I would like to give it to him. Could you translate that for me, matriarch?¡±


    The old woman turned to her nephew and faithfully translated Adam¡¯s explanation. More than Adam had anticipated, Tayohseron was moved and accepted it with gratitude.


    He turned to the matriarch and spoke to her at length. The more he spoke, the more she seemed shocked.


    What? What¡¯s he saying?


    After a moment, the old woman turned back to Adam.


    ¡°He really loves your gift. It¡¯s an honor for him to receive it. He¡¯s proposing that you share a tattoo. Once again, young man, this is a tremendous honor. By sharing a tattoo, you would become blood brothers. You would become a member of the tribe. However, as I explained to Tayohseron, I cannot give my consent for now. The chief must grant this honor, which is unlikely, knowing him. I wanted you to know and understand the honor Tayohseron wishes to extend to you.¡±


    ¡°I understand, and I thank him. Perhaps later, when your chief is more favorable.¡±


    ¡°As I said, young man, it¡¯s unlikely that day will come. He fervently follows the words of our previous chief, Hendrick Theyanoguin, who harbored deep hatred for the French.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, in that case, there¡¯s nothing to be done.¡±


    The matriarch nodded slowly.


    ¡°He also suggested that you smoke the peace pipe together. Generally, sharing a pipe signifies peace and unity, but in certain circumstances, it represents mutual respect, friendship, or even alliance. That¡¯s what he¡¯s offering.¡±


    ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t smoked in a long time, and I¡¯m a bit curious.¡±


    ¡°Hmm? You¡¯ve smoked the pipe before, young man?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, not at all! Just cigarettes. It¡¯s nothing. That was in my other life.¡±


    The matriarch stared at the young soldier, trying to imagine what a cigarette could be, supposing it was some sort of miniature pipe.


    Tayohseron was delighted to hear his new friend agree to share a pipe with him. He clapped his knees with his hands, producing loud slaps, and flashed a big smile.


    Adam saw the matriarch¡¯s apprentice bring a long, carved wooden pipe, so finely crafted it could be called a work of art. Its design was exquisite, with delicate engravings of geometric patterns, and several black-and-white feathers hung from the narrow end where one would inhale the smoke.


    The apprentice also brought a small box, equally richly decorated, and placed it respectfully before the matriarch, who opened it delicately, as if it were made of glass.


    She took out a mixture of dark herbs emitting a powerful aroma, somewhat reminiscent of tea, but definitely not tea.


    Oh my gosh! What is that stuff?! That¡¯s definitely not just tobacco! Damn, it stings the eyes, and she just opened the box! My¡­ my head is already spinning! If I smoke that, it¡¯ll fry my brain!


    Ignoring Adam¡¯s concerns, the old woman took a small amount of this herb¡ªwhich would certainly alarm any drug-sniffing dog¡ªand began to crush it in a small wooden bowl. As she did, she hummed a mysterious tune that seemed to resonate through his bones.


    Whoa, is this really natural?


    He looked around in alarm, but saw that he was the only one affected. Or maybe the others were hiding it well.


    When Adam finally pulled himself together, the matriarch had finished and was placing the dark, crumbled herb into the pipe¡¯s bowl. She brought a flame close, and the herb began to smolder slowly.


    The matriarch held out the long pipe to Tayohseron with both hands, and he accepted it in the same manner, bowing respectfully. Slowly, he brought his lips to the lens, the opening at the other end of the pipe.


    In Adam''s already reddened eyes, Tayohseron looked like he was about to kiss the object. He watched as Tayohseron took a deep draw of smoke and then released it in front of him.


    Just like after a musket shot, the smoke formed a white screen in front of him. Adam even thought he heard detonations and screams.


    The spell was broken when he noticed Tayohseron extending the pipe to him.


    "Ah, thank you."This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Hesitant, he looked around.


    The matriarch, the matriarch''s apprentice, and Tayohseron were all watching him, waiting for something amusing to happen.


    Alright, here we go.


    He placed his lips on the tip of the pipe and, as he would with a cigarette, drew in a good puff of smoke.


    Immediately, his eyes widened, surprised by the potency of the herb. His lips trembled, and his lungs began to burn. All the sounds around him grew louder, more unbearable. The wind, the fabric folding and rustling, trinkets jingling and dancing all around him, the wings of an insect fluttering.


    COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!


    He began coughing violently when he realized, a bit too late, that he had forgotten to exhale in his surprise.


    He fell backward.


    Black.


    Everything was black around Adam.


    There was no up, no down, no left, no right. There was nothing.


    Only darkness.


    It was as if, suddenly, Adam had gone blind.


    But it wasn¡¯t just his sight that was disorienting him. There wasn¡¯t a sound¡ªnot even his own heartbeat. As for touch, he felt nothing, not even when he tried to open and close his hands.


    The absence of any signals in his brain made him doubt.


    Did I close my hands, or did I just think I did? Do I even have a body?


    Without his eyes to verify, he couldn¡¯t be sure of anything.


    Whoa! I don¡¯t know what that stuff was, but it was definitely not just tobacco! Oh, no way! And I¡¯ve never heard of a drug that can do this. This is crazy! Where am I? Am I lying in the matriarch¡¯s longhouse?


    "Hey! Is anyone there?"


    Plop. Plop.


    In response to his question, which seemed to clap like thunder and echo for a long time in the unsettling void, two refreshing sounds broke the silence. It was the familiar sound of two drops of water.


    Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.


    The sound was followed by more, coming from in front of him¡ªor what he assumed was in front.


    He took a step forward and heard a "plop." A ripple appeared below Adam, revealing the barely visible outline of a foot.


    Curious, he tried it again, and saw another ripple emerge from his left foot, spreading outward like he had stepped into an enormous black puddle.


    Are¡­ Are those sneakers I¡¯m wearing?!


    Growing more and more surprised, Adam took another step forward and saw his feet more clearly.


    He was indeed wearing a pair of sneakers. He could also see¡ªalbeit briefly¡ªthat he wasn¡¯t wearing the breeches of the 18th century, but rather ordinary pants.


    What on earth is going on? Where am I?


    He looked all around, but saw nothing but complete darkness.


    The only time this darkness was disrupted was when he moved. He took a few steps, and the more he walked, the more he could see his own body.


    Above his jeans, he wore a simple T-shirt and a few cheap bracelets on his left wrist. He immediately recognized them as the ones he¡¯d bought during his vacation in Germany.


    Only then did he think to check his pants pocket to see if he had a phone to call for help, but there was nothing.


    "Hello! Can anyone hear me?!"


    Silence.


    "Matriarch?!"


    Silence.


    He thought to call, just in case, that girl he¡¯d been with before he arrived in Fran?ois¡¯ body, but over time, he had ended up forgetting her name.


    After all, in a year, he had faced many trials and met many people. It shouldn¡¯t come as a surprise that the girl, for whom he didn¡¯t feel any strong emotions, had faded from his memory.


    Some might say it was sad; others might call it cruel, but what could he do? That¡¯s just how it was.


    "I need help! How do I get out of here?!"


    Adam froze when he saw ripples appear in the distance. They collided with his own and shattered like glass.


    At once, hope flared in the heart of the young boy, now reverted to the kid he was before traveling through time.


    "I''m here! I¡¯m coming! Can you hear me?"


    Every step he took made a splash and sent ripples through the water. Using the ripples as a guide, he oriented himself to find the other person.


    He froze when he saw who was causing them.


    It was a handsome young man with reddish-brown hair and beautiful blue eyes, dressed entirely in white, save for a black tricorn. His face, almost as delicate as that of a young woman, remained impassive.


    ¡°Fran?ois,¡± Adam murmured.


    The French soldier, ghost-like in appearance, nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to talk to you for a long time. I suppose we can thank the matriarch for this opportunity.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ you know about the matriarch?¡±


    ¡°I know everything, Adam. I was there. I saw what you saw.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ you¡¯re not dead? I¡¯m sorry! Really, because of me¡­¡±


    Fran?ois raised a hand in a calming gesture and gave a faint, sad smile. It quieted the young Adam.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right. None of this is your fault. In fact, I should thank you.¡±


    ¡°Thank me? Why?¡±


    ¡°For living my life so well up until now. I certainly wouldn¡¯t have done better. Besides, my soul had already left my body when you arrived. Isn¡¯t that what the matriarch said? That¡¯s why I thank you. Not only did I not really die at Hastenbeck, but you even climbed the ranks to become a lieutenant. That¡¯s very impressive, you know?¡±


    Adam felt himself blush.


    ¡°I¡­ I was just lucky, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Fran?ois stepped closer, allowing Adam to compare their heights. He was easily a head taller than him.


    ¡°Lucky, yes. You¡¯ve come within an inch of death a few times. I actually stopped counting.¡±


    ¡°Fran?ois?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re really not angry? I¡¯m occupying your body, after all.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that, little one. As I said, I was going to die anyway. Without your intervention, my friends would have been very sad. This is better.¡±


    ¡°And you, are you all right? Have you been here all this time?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he replied simply, looking around with a pensive air. ¡°I don¡¯t know where this place is. It¡¯s very strange. No, I saw what you saw and heard what you heard, but I couldn¡¯t control anything. I was just a spectator.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t know anything about this whole ¡®wandering soul¡¯ business or how I might return to my own time?¡±


    Fran?ois¡¯s face grew darker.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t know any more than you do. It¡¯s all so¡­ mysterious. I wonder how many others this has happened to. Hey, don¡¯t you find it funny? Technically, we¡¯re the same person, yet we¡¯re nothing alike. And I¡¯m not even talking about our looks.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s really weird.¡±


    ¡°More seriously, you should keep this to yourself. The Church might not appreciate your story.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. I don¡¯t want to be treated like a demon or something. Hmm?¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± Fran?ois asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Adam was looking at Fran?ois¡¯s long legs, which were half-transparent, unlike the rest of his body.


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ your body is halfway transparent. You look like a ghost,¡± the boy noted, checking his own body.


    ¡°Oh, yes. Well, it seems I¡¯m starting to fade. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s not happening right away, I can feel it.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re fading?! What does that mean?! Are you¡­ dying?¡±


    ¡°Adam,¡± said the soldier in a strangely calm voice, removing his tricorn.


    ¡°Y-yes?¡±


    ¡°I died over a year ago. Maybe our two consciousnesses can¡¯t coexist forever. I don¡¯t know how it works, but it seems natural to me. It¡¯s amusing.¡±


    Though he smiled, Fran?ois looked sad. It was as if the spectacle he was watching and enjoying was slowly coming to an end. The story wasn¡¯t over yet, but one by one, the characters¡¯ arcs were reaching their conclusions.


    ¡°Yes, it was fun to watch,¡± he continued. ¡°Ah¡­ it seems that all good things must come to an end. Haven¡¯t you noticed you¡¯ve been dreaming less about my past lately?¡±


    Adam nodded slowly, his eyes filling with sadness. It felt like he was saying goodbye to an old friend.


    ¡°Do you¡­ know when you¡¯ll disappear for good?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea. Does it matter? For you, I¡¯ve been dead for what, two hundred years? Finding my watch was my blessing. I¡¯m just going to enjoy it until the end. The show isn¡¯t over yet.¡±


    A heavy tremor then shook the space, sending thousands of ripples everywhere around the young man and the boy. The air seemed to tremble as well.


    ¡°W-what¡¯s happening?!¡± Adam asked, his voice trembling.


    ¡°Hmm, it looks like it¡¯s already time to part,¡± Fran?ois replied calmly, as if it were no big deal.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to! I still have so many questions to ask you! I don¡¯t want you to go!¡±


    Fran?ois smiled gently. He looked like the older brother Adam had never had.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m not leaving just yet. Do your best to live this life to the fullest. You¡¯re doing great!¡±


    His voice was then so distant. Adam noticed that, even though neither had moved, a growing gap was forming between them. Fran?ois was already about ten meters away, and it kept increasing by the second.


    ¡°Fran?ois!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid! I¡¯ll stay by your side until the end!¡±


    His calm and reassuring voice was barely audible now.


    ¡°Oh, yes, I have a favor to ask you!¡±


    ¡°W-what?¡±


    ¡°When you have a moment, write a letter to my parents and tell them¡­ tell them I love them!¡±


    He wasn¡¯t sure, but Adam thought he saw Fran?ois shed a tear as he said his final words. Then he disappeared completely, leaving Adam alone in utter darkness.


    When Adam opened his eyes, he was lying on the hard, uncomfortable floor of the matriarch¡¯s longhouse.


    In his line of sight, there was only the roof, several meters above him, and many trinkets hanging on fine cords.


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s finally waking up?¡±


    It was the voice of the matriarch.


    As soon as Adam tried to sit up, he felt that his body wasn¡¯t fully obeying him. His muscles were stiff, as if they were made of papier-mach¨¦ or chewing gum.


    As for his head, it was hard to describe the sensation. It was as if his skull had been crushed, the top sawed off, his brain removed, then put through a blender.


    COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!


    ¡°Well, my boy, is this how people smoke in your time? You¡¯re not supposed to swallow the smoke.¡±


    Adam¡¯s face looked very odd, which alerted the matriarch, who leaned in closer.


    ¡°What happened while you were unconscious, my boy?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I saw Fran?ois. I was able to talk to him. H-he¡¯s starting to disappear.¡±


    The matriarch¡¯s face grew more serious. She asked several questions about this exchange, and Adam answered honestly without holding anything back. Of course, Tayohseron, who didn¡¯t understand a word of French, remained silent and watched with a thousand questions as this seemingly important exchange took place.


    Then, the old woman nodded.


    ¡°I see. It must be the will of the spirits. I think Fran?ois is right: your two consciousnesses can¡¯t exist forever. It¡¯s surprising he¡¯s still here.¡±


    ¡°So there¡¯s nothing to be done, matriarch?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, shaking her head, making her long gray hair dance. ¡°But I¡¯m not sure he¡¯ll truly disappear. Maybe you two are merging? You share the same soul, so there shouldn¡¯t be two consciousnesses in one body. That¡¯s what I think.¡±

 Chapter 90: Preparing For The Future

    As Adam lay on the floor of the longhouse, his mind elsewhere, the matriarch had had time to think. She had spoken at length with this traveling soul, but the primary beneficiary of this exchange had been Adam.


    Before letting him return to Fort Edward, she intended to ask him all the questions she had about her people¡¯s future.


    The chief was the chief, but as the matriarch, her role was to advise him. Adam, thanks to his unique identity, could help her find the best path for the Haudenosaunee.


    She began by dismissing Tayohseron, then served Adam a warm drink made from harmless herbs.


    ¡°My boy,¡± she said, keeping her expression controlled, ¡°I¡¯ve done my best to answer your questions. Now, I¡¯d like you to do the same. I have many of them.¡±


    ¡°Uh, very well. I¡¯ll answer them honestly as much as I can.¡±


    ¡°Good. My first question is¡­ Do the Haudenosaunee still exist in your time?¡±


    Her voice was so low, so serious, that Adam couldn¡¯t help but shiver. The matriarch¡¯s dark eyes stared at him with such intensity that he felt as if they could pierce through him.


    The apprentice matriarch looked at him with an equal intensity, which was perfectly understandable. No people wanted to die out.


    Oh¡­ damn. Straight to the hard questions. I guess it¡¯s better to tell the truth.


    ¡°The Haudenosaunee¡­ people refer to your nation as the Iroquois. There¡­ there aren¡¯t many left, like with other tribes. I don¡¯t know the exact numbers.¡±


    He saw the matriarch¡¯s lips tremble, and he couldn¡¯t ignore the reason.


    ¡°Th-there¡­ there aren¡¯t many left? We¡­ we¡¯re close to disappearing in your time? W-why?¡±


    ¡°Why? I don¡¯t really know,¡± Adam replied, uneasy with his own ignorance. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s because the English, then the Americans, took over the lands you currently occupy.¡±


    ¡°How?!¡±


    The matriarch¡¯s voice cracked like a whip, making Adam jump.


    ¡°They¡¯re going to drive us off our lands?!¡±


    Her face changed in real-time under the weight of her anger. Her muscles, tensed, twitched as her eyes began to resemble those of a wolf. The apprentice matriarch wasn¡¯t in much better shape.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been friends with the English for so long, and yet you say they¡¯re going to betray us? Take our land from us? Why?!¡±


    ¡°Well, for land?¡± Adam said, trying to recall the little he knew of American history. ¡°The English occupy a vast area near the coast, right? In the south, there are the Spanish, and to the north there¡¯s us. I believe we¡¯re also to the west. But first, there¡¯s you. If they want to expand, they have to crush you first.¡±


    Adam saw the old matriarch¡¯s hands shake more intensely. On the backs of her hands, her thick veins stood out like snakes.


    ¡°C-continue, my boy, please,¡± she said in a dry voice betraying all her fury.


    ¡°I-I barely know the history of this continent, but, basically, um, there¡¯s going to be a major war between England and their colonists. We¡¯ll support the colonists, and they¡¯ll win. The Redcoats will be forced to leave the continent.¡±


    ¡°The Redcoats will lose this war? And you say they¡¯ll have to leave? That¡¯s¡­¡±


    The old woman seemed to struggle to believe it. For her, understandably, the Redcoats were a formidable army that could only be defeated if the entire world rose against them. The French could only stand against them thanks to their numerous Indian allies.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Adam whispered. ¡°The colonists will forge their own country, the United States of America. In very little time, they¡¯ll conquer all these lands until they reach the Pacific Ocean. Um, that¡¯s like a very, very large lake on the other side of the continent. They¡¯ll fight many wars against the Indians, but no tribe will stop them,¡± he said, thinking of the old westerns he liked to watch on TV. ¡°This country will then become an industrial power and finally the world¡¯s greatest military power.¡±


    The two Mohawk women looked at Adam with devastated expressions. It was like announcing the end of the world to them. It didn¡¯t match what the Great Peacemaker had foretold, who had promised the submission of the red serpent and the white serpent before the black serpent.


    The matriarch, like all the chiefs and previous leaders, thought that this black serpent represented them, the proud and honorable Haudenosaunee. But according to this young man, it could be otherwise.


    ¡°The black serpent¡­ would be the English colonists?¡± murmured the old woman.


    Adam remained silent, waiting for the next question. Although he was talking about events that had happened long before his birth, he felt a certain pain in his chest.


    ¡°You say the English will lose the war against the colonists. When will this happen?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the young man replied, shaking his head, ¡°but I don¡¯t know. I wasn¡¯t very interested in history before I came to this time. I¡¯d rather say nothing than guess at a date.¡±


    ¡°Then,¡± said the matriarch in a lower tone, ¡°will France really support the colonists?¡±


    Adam had thought about this a lot, especially during his Atlantic crossing to the New World. He remembered things he thought he¡¯d forgotten.


    ¡°Yes. The king¡ªI think it was the current king¡¯s son, Louis XVI. We helped the United States defeat the English, but it cost us dearly. The kingdom was bankrupt, and there was a rev¡­ OH.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I just realized. The French Revolution happened afterward! So the War of Independence was before 1789! There! The war between England and the British colonies took place before 1789!¡±


    "Thirty years, then¡­ At most," calculated the matriarch, frowning before turning her gaze back to Adam. "So, because of France''s involvement, you had a¡­ revolution. Is that a kind of war?"


    "Yes, within the country. The king was beheaded, and the monarchy was abolished. France then became a republic, but it went poorly. And after that¡­ yeah, I guess it was chaos for a hundred years. Funny enough, there are still idiots in my time who push for revolution. They have no idea what it entails."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The matriarch nodded slowly in silence, but inside, a faint hope was beginning to grow.


    "So, getting involved in this war was a bad thing for France, wasn¡¯t it?"


    "Uh, I guess?" Yeah, well¡­ I wouldn¡¯t go that far. We got the republic and democracy, after all! And even if only for a time, there was Napoleon.


    "I see. And this war, the current one, did you win or lose?"


    "I don¡¯t know. Won, I think?"


    The matriarch pondered in silence for a long moment before thanking Adam for his answers. He was somewhat surprised that her questions stopped there. He had expected to get hundreds more about the evolution of society and technology.


    In her place, I would have asked a thousand, no, ten thousand questions about the future!


    He was a bit disappointed, but showed nothing and left the longhouse.


    Not long after, two horses were brought to the center of the village. Many villagers were present.


    With great skill, Tayohseron mounted one of them, brown and white. The second was a bit smaller and slimmer, gray with small white spots.


    The matriarch and her apprentice emerged from the longhouse after a lengthy discussion and explained to Adam that Tayohseron would guide him to Fort Edward. Adam bowed gratefully to the two women before climbing onto the powerful beast¡¯s back.


    The problem was that there was no saddle.


    Oh, hell¡­ Ah, that hurts. Ouch!


    It didn¡¯t take him long to understand why the saddle was invented. Riding bareback required a good sense of balance and coordination, too.


    Clinging to the animal¡¯s neck, Adam looked like a frightened child refusing to leave his mother¡¯s legs. This made Tayohseron laugh heartily, as he mocked him in his language.


    Without an interpreter, Adam could only guess what he was saying.


    Then, they set off eastward.


    They followed the river where they¡¯d swum that morning for several miles, only entering it when the terrain was too difficult. The riverbanks thus served as a sort of flat road.


    Because the river twisted and turned, they lost a lot of time, but it was better than getting lost.


    Eventually, they arrived at the fort¡¯s gates from the north.


    Contrary to what he had thought, the Indian village wasn¡¯t that far from the fort. Barely twenty kilometers as the crow flies.


    Naturally, their arrival was quickly noticed. A bell rang inside the small fortress, drawing many soldiers to the ramparts.


    Upon hearing the bell, the two riders stopped. Adam dismounted and gave the horse a small pat, thanking it for bringing him here. It was definitely a good horse since he hadn¡¯t fallen once.


    He then turned to Tayohseron, who was eyeing the formerly English fort warily. He seemed to expect a cannonball to be fired at any moment. Then, he looked at his new friend.


    He reached into the pouch around his neck and pulled out a beautiful belt with colorful beads. It was stunning. There were even some patterns depicted.


    With both hands, he held it out to Adam, who accepted it gratefully.


    Wow, it¡¯s gorgeous! Not at all what I imagined!


    "Thank you for this gift. I will take great care of it."


    "If you need my help, come find me, my friend. I will fight by your side as long as you are not facing my people. May the spirits guide and watch over you." (Iroquois language)


    Adam said nothing in response and watched him slowly leave in the opposite direction. Then he began walking toward the fort¡¯s gates.


    When they opened the gates for him, he was welcomed by his comrades, friends, and superiors. Naturally, the Marquis de Montcalm was there.


    "My lord, sorry for this delayed return."


    "You¡­ you¡¯re Lieutenant Boucher, if I recall correctly. We thought you were dead."


    "J-just lost, my lord," Adam replied shamefully, bowing.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant then approached.


    "Did I imagine it, or did a savage bring you back here?"


    "Ah, indeed, Colonel. It was the second son of the Mohawk chief, Tayohseron."


    The face of the Marquis de Montcalm, as well as all the veterans who had fought on this continent for years, changed drastically when the word "Mohawk" was mentioned. Horrific scenes immediately came to mind.


    "What?! He was a¡­ How can you still be alive after encountering those bloodthirsty savages?! They¡¯re monsters!"


    To the Marquis de Montcalm, it was incomprehensible. It was like saying he had plunged into a sea of fire and emerged unscathed.


    Yet, it could only be a Mohawk, as the closest Iroquois territory was indeed controlled by this tribe, whose name was notorious even to the far reaches of New France.


    Adam then recounted his story, though much shorter once summarized.


    You should have seen their expressions.


    To the Marquis and his soldiers, Adam/Fran?ois was a miracle. If he hadn¡¯t saved that little boy, he probably would have ended up dead and scalped in the woods.


    Thus, Adam was welcomed as a hero rather than an idiot for having pursued an enemy into the forest. Out of the small number of soldiers who had gone with him, only two had returned. Including him, they were only three.


    ***


    At the same time, in the Iroquois village, Onatah was striding briskly toward the matriarch¡¯s longhouse.


    The place was unusually silent.


    The matriarch sat alone on a thick rug, thoughtfully observing a series of small bones and engraved shells arranged on a sort of long, painted wooden board. There must have been about ten of them.


    She was so focused on her board that she didn¡¯t hear her young niece approaching.


    The young girl quietly took a seat on the other side of the board and waited for the matriarch, her father¡¯s sister, to finish consulting the spirits.


    She didn¡¯t understand how it worked, but she knew she shouldn¡¯t interrupt.


    Onatah studied her aunt¡¯s face. She looked so focused that it made her appear older. Her small eyes were hidden, and one could easily believe she had fallen asleep.


    Throughout the longhouse, amulets and totems hung to protect the place. It was nearly as sacred as the stone engraved by the Great Peacemaker.


    Finally, a long sigh escaped the elderly woman¡¯s worn lips. She slowly lifted her gaze and noticed her niece, sitting with her legs folded and her delicate hands resting on her knees.


    ¡°Oh, Onatah. I expected your visit, but I didn¡¯t expect it so soon.¡±


    ¡°You knew? Did the spirits tell you?¡± she asked seriously, blushing.


    ¡°No. It was my eyes. The seasons pass, but I am not blind yet.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ do you know why I¡¯m here?¡±


    ¡°Ask your question, my child.¡±


    The young girl, not yet a woman, looked away as if afraid of meeting her aunt¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Matriarch, can you consult the spirits for me?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s rare. Isn¡¯t it the second time? What do you want to know?¡±


    The old woman¡¯s eyes seemed to smile, which didn¡¯t escape the young girl, who blushed even more. Seeing this, the matriarch felt an urge to smile wider. It was so rare to see her this way.


    ¡°I¡­ I would like to know what my future holds.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not really the question you want to ask, is it, my child? Be honest. The spirits know everything.¡±


    ¡°W-why? Since the spirits know everything!¡±


    She puffed her cheeks in frustration and crossed her arms, much like her brother often did. The old woman saw her niece blush even deeper.


    ¡°Do you know? The spirits are capable of joking. They could tell you that you¡¯ll stub your toe in three days or that you¡¯ll soon bleed. Is that really what you wish to know?¡±


    The young girl ground her teeth as her face turned as red as the chief¡¯s cape or an English uniform.


    ¡°No,¡± she murmured.


    ¡°Then,¡± the matriarch said calmly, ¡°ask your question honestly.¡±


    ¡°Please, matriarch, ask the spirits if¡­ um, if my future is tied to that of the Frenchman.¡±


    ¡°Kukuku!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re mocking me!¡±


    Onatah felt tears welling up in her eyes. That was why she had hesitated so much to come to her aunt. She knew the matriarch would mock her.


    But she needed to know.


    Since she had seen him, she had felt something very strange in her chest. Like an illness, she couldn¡¯t shake certain thoughts. She was troubled by all these overwhelming thoughts.


    And whenever she thought of his face, she could feel her heart beating faster.


    The old woman¡¯s face slowly grew serious again, and in a solemn voice, she said,


    ¡°Since that is your question¡­ Let us see what the spirits have to tell you.¡±


    Onatah calmed herself and settled in more comfortably.


    She watched her aunt gather all the engraved bones and shells into a small carved box before shaking it vigorously. While shaking it, she began to hum a mysterious tune.


    The amulets then began to chime and tremble around the young girl and the old woman. The air grew heavier, as though a storm was about to break. This lasted until the matriarch opened the box and poured the contents onto the board.


    Time seemed to freeze, and the longhouse fell suddenly silent. The old matriarch leaned forward.


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡±


    Onatah felt a strong urge to ask what the spirits had answered.


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°W-what?!¡±


    The matriarch looked at the young girl and smiled.


    ¡°The spirits say¡­ that there is a possibility, but it will depend on a choice.¡±


    ¡°A-a choice? What choice? What must I do?¡±


    ¡°The spirits are unclear, but it¡¯s an important choice¡­ one this young man will have to make.¡±

 Chapter 91: The Message

    September was well underway, and the weather had been more than favorable for the French as they worked to consolidate their new frontier fort at Fort Edward.


    There had been a few long rainy days, but overall, the weather had been pleasant, sometimes even better than in August. By mid-September, the days were remarkably sunny, with temperatures easily exceeding 20 degrees Celsius.


    However, it was undeniable that the air was gradually getting cooler. This was particularly noticeable in the evenings and early mornings when temperatures rarely exceeded 10 degrees.


    Taking advantage of the favorable weather, the French had constructed a ravelin in front of the southern rampart. It was a simple defensive work shaped like a pointed arrow, separated from the fort by a deep ditch that one typically had to cross to enter the fort.


    This ravelin, tall and equipped with five cannons seized in Albany, had the unique feature of not leading to a gate that opened onto the fort''s central courtyard but instead directly to the rampart. Thus, to enter Fort Edward, one always had to pass through the ravelin located to the north of the fort.


    It was the only access point.


    Building the bridge had been a real challenge, but thanks to everyone¡¯s efforts, it had been completed alongside the ravelin in less than ten days.


    However, Marquis de Montcalm was not satisfied.


    He was fully aware that a wooden construction like this was too fragile. If an enemy entered the ditch and took shelter behind its long, thick pillars, they could easily work to destroy them and completely isolate those stationed on the ravelin.


    This is why the Marquis¡¯s army was already preparing to replace the wooden bridge.


    Adam looked on with a neutral expression as the military engineers studied the terrain and planned the work. They conversed among themselves, carrying an intimidating amount of documents and instruments.


    Although the project was still in the planning phase, the officers had already set their soldiers to work. A quarry had been opened, and they had even begun extracting quality stone.


    The problem was that no such stone could be found in the immediate vicinity of the fort. The area only had sand and clay due to the many rivers and the region¡¯s climatic history.


    They had therefore been forced to search farther afield, while ensuring they didn¡¯t encroach on Indian territories. This additional constraint meant they had to look for resources 13 kilometers north of the fort, near the shores of Lake George.


    To save time, the officers had ordered the soldiers to carve a new road through the forest, wide enough for carts to pass through. The samples they brought back greatly satisfied the chief engineer.


    He was a 41-year-old man of average height, with a sun-tanned complexion from spending so much time outdoors. He had a dignified air and wore a captain¡¯s uniform with elegance.


    His name was Nicolas Sarrebourse de Pontleroy.


    He was accompanied by another very talented engineer, slightly younger than him, named Michel Chartier de Lotbini¨¨re. This amiable and distinguished man was quite handsome despite his drooping nose.


    While the two men cooperated well in front of Marquis de Montcalm, it didn¡¯t take long for everyone to realize that they couldn¡¯t stand each other.


    Both worked exceptionally well, but in such different ways that each considered the other incompetent. While Marquis de Montcalm favored the former, Governor Rigaud de Vaudreuil preferred the latter.


    In the end, Lotbini¨¨re had not been entrusted with the direction of this project, despite his extensive experience in such matters.


    Whenever the two engineers were in the same place, the atmosphere became immediately unpleasant. Naturally, each blamed the other.


    Tch, they¡¯re at it again, picking at each other. What would it be like if the Marquis weren¡¯t there to keep them in check?


    It was barely hidden how much they despised each other. Their smiles were empty, and it was impossible not to notice that behind their polite tones lay a slew of thinly-veiled insults.


    I hope this won¡¯t hinder the project.


    Adam walked away and found Captains Andr¨¦ Louis and Albert Fontaine supervising a standard drill. Their soldiers marched together, and on the officers¡¯ command, they stopped before forming a three-rank combat line.


    Through frequent training together, the soldiers of these two companies cooperated seamlessly. They moved as one unit, even managing to anticipate their comrades¡¯ and officers¡¯ actions.


    When ordered to turn, any gaps in the ranks were quickly corrected, and the formation returned to perfect order.


    This level of competence was highly impressive and earned the envy and respect of other captains. Most men were not at this level.


    Often, they resembled poor militiamen dragged onto the battlefield to fill ranks and extend lines. It was an age-old issue faced by rulers across Europe.


    Louis XV had issued numerous regulations to bring order to his armies, starting with uniforms, but there was still work to be done. Adam was directly affected, as he, like his superiors, had a certain freedom regarding his equipment.


    No one had objected when he picked up an enemy¡¯s sword and made it his own, as well as a pistol.


    Among higher-ranking officers, the differences were even more noticeable. They often allowed themselves to wear coats and tricorns outside of regulations, claiming their rank required more distinguished attire. As a result, there wasn¡¯t really a uniform for colonels or generals¡ªtheir only limit was the size of their purse.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant, for example, wore an outfit similar to, but distinct from, Colonel du Hautoy, who commanded the Royal-Roussillon regiment. The rules seemed to apply only to regular soldiers and non-commissioned officers.


    ¡°Fran?ois, you¡¯re here. How are you?¡±


    "Good, thank you. And you?"


    "Same old routine. Just back from the quarry?"


    "Yes. We''ve started working seriously. I think things will go well, though it¡¯s a shame we can¡¯t send more men."


    "Well," Fontaine said, scratching his head, "that¡¯s inevitable. We can¡¯t afford to send too many of our soldiers there. We wouldn¡¯t have enough men left here to deal with an attack from our enemies."


    "Hmm, it¡¯s surprising that the English have been so quiet lately," Andr¨¦-Louis commented, keeping an eye on his men.


    "Well," Adam replied, "perhaps their last attempt discouraged them?"


    The two captains didn¡¯t look convinced, even though they wanted to believe it. After all, on this continent, every loss was costlier than in the Old World. For the French, the impact was even more painful due to the imbalance of forces.


    "I¡¯m not so sure. We suffered heavy losses chasing after them. That might encourage them to try again."


    "What¡¯s certain is that the marquis will hesitate the next time an opportunity arises."


    Adam could only nod. When they had finally caught up to the British marching column, they had been attacked from all sides without being able to inflict significant losses on their enemy, who continued to retreat. Robert Rogers¡¯ men had undoubtedly been the most problematic.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "At least now we¡¯re a bit better prepared. We have the demi-lune, which will significantly reduce blind spots in the event of an assault."


    The young lieutenant looked at the new defensive structure, which, like the rest of the fort, was made of earth and wood.


    If we really want to do things right, we should build it with stone. Not just the demi-lune, but the entire fort.


    "How long do you think it will take to build this bridge?


    "No idea," the two captains replied. "Two months, maybe? Three at most? It depends on too many factors from what I¡¯ve gathered."


    "Hmm, Andr¨¦¡¯s right. I¡¯m no engineer, but it¡¯s obvious that if we¡¯re attacked every other day, have no one working at the quarry, or face supply issues, progress will be slow."


    Adam knew nothing about building bridges or structures, even though he had helped construct the wooden bridge, but he could understand that.


    He watched pensively as the first stone carts arrived and soldiers approached to unload them. For now, they were just large blocks, but once cut, they would be assembled to form a wide and solid bridge over the deep moat surrounding Fort Edward.


    "Oh, that reminds me," Andr¨¦ suddenly said, changing the subject, "Captain Gauthier was looking for you earlier. He wants to know when the next rugby match will be."


    "Oh, um, I don¡¯t know. Maybe this afternoon? I¡¯ve made a new ball."


    The previous one had ended up in a sorry state after being kicked and trampled by players burning with enthusiasm.


    Rugby¡¯s popularity was growing at Fort Edward, and from what Adam had heard, it had started appearing in Montreal and Quebec thanks to their comrades who had left with the Duke of Richelieu.


    The duke had come to Fort Edward on September 3 with fifteen hundred men to assist the Marquis de Montcalm but had arrived too late for the battle. He had left part of his troops to help strengthen the fort and taken the rest to attack nearby English villages.


    He moved from village to village like an old bandit, plundering and then burning them.


    In a few weeks, his name had become as infamous as Montcalm¡¯s, to the point where British settlers preferred to flee, abandoning all their belongings, rather than fall into his clutches. With him, all captives ended up deported to the heart of New France.


    He was already making headlines in New York and Boston. One of their newspapers featured an engraving of him depicted as a monster carrying a gigantic sack over his shoulder, from which several hands protruded. In the background, a village was aflame, and columns of his cruel and unkempt soldiers proudly held the torches used to commit their misdeeds.


    That afternoon was sunny, with a gentle breeze making the leaves in the trees dance. The scene would have been perfect for resting, isolating oneself, and meditating, if not for all the shouting near the fort.


    The commotion had frightened off the more timid animals and drawn in the most curious soldiers.


    "Come on! Run! To the right!"


    "Here!"


    The brown ball passed from hand to hand until it reached the edge of the field. The player who caught it, charging forward like a cannonball, couldn¡¯t stop and raced like the wind. He sped past his teammates, searching for a way through his opponents while it still existed.


    The opponents had followed the ball¡¯s movements and quickly realized which player needed to be stopped.


    Some thought it was too late; others believed there was still a chance to prevent the try.


    The young player holding the ball skimmed the touchline, a simple taut rope, and nervously watched his opponents closing in dangerously as he ran. It would be close, but he could do it. He was certain.


    But he underestimated one of the players, at least as agile as he was.


    Adam propelled himself with all his strength, stretching his arms to grab even a leg.


    Martin Morrel de Lusernes luckily saw him just in time and, against all odds, leapt like a rabbit, vaulting over his opponent. Adam had failed, and Martin continued his charge.


    "No!"


    A loud cry echoed through the air as Martin placed the ball behind the try line.


    "Damn it! I was¡ª I was this close!" Adam fumed, punching the ground in frustration.


    ¡°Nice try, kid,¡± said Captain Gauthier, wiping the sweat from his brow. ¡°But he¡¯s too fast, that one.¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah. We really need to stop him from gaining speed.¡±


    On the field, the black-band team was celebrating another try¡ªtheir third and the second by young Morrel de Lusernes. Adam¡¯s team had only scored twice, leaving them behind.


    ¡°Fortunately, the game isn¡¯t over yet! Come on! Quickly! Get up!¡±


    Captain Gauthier, though covered in dirt, grass, sweat, and even a bit of blood from an elbow to the face, remained enthusiastic and tireless. Despite appearances, his stamina was remarkable.


    But just as the ball was put back into play, loud cries erupted near the fort, drawing the attention of all the players and spectators.


    ¡°Help! Indians! They¡¯re attacking us!¡±


    Immediately, Adam grabbed his uniform and weapons, sprinting toward the fort. All the soldiers responded with the same urgency, but the fort wasn¡¯t under attack¡ªthe target was the wagons returning from the quarry.


    ¡°To arms! Gilbert¡¯s company, follow me!¡± Adam bellowed at the top of his lungs.


    ¡°Fontaine¡¯s company, assemble! Faster now!¡±


    ¡°Morrel de Lusernes¡¯ company! Here!¡±


    Quickly, a sizeable group was organized and set off along the path the soldiers had dug just days earlier. They were led by Colonel de Br¨¦hant and Colonel du Hautoy.


    Let¡¯s hope we get there in time, Adam thought, his jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the backs of his comrades ahead.


    The only sounds were the wind, the steady pounding of their boots against the dirt, and their rhythmic breathing. They ran at a good pace, naturally syncing their steps¡ªno need for musical instruments to set the rhythm.


    As the minutes dragged on, an oppressive tension enveloped the black-and-white column. Every face was serious and focused.


    Finally, they reached the site of the attack, only six kilometers from the fort. The area was isolated¡ªa perfect spot for an ambush. Everything was eerily silent. Even the wind seemed to have stopped blowing.


    ¡°Hold!


    ¡°Company, halt! Stay alert!


    ¡°Keep an eye on the woods!¡±


    The trail was so quiet that Adam couldn¡¯t help but shiver. The path rose slightly, and at the summit, the wagons came into view, motionless. The horses were gone.


    Slowly, the French soldiers approached, taking in the carnage. Countless bodies littered the ground, stretching across several dozen meters.


    The blood, mixed with dust, was dark but still warm. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder lingered, detectable even from a distance.


    It was a scene of utter devastation.


    Several arrows were embedded in the bodies and the wooden wagons. All the soldiers, except for the one who had come to raise the alarm, had been massacred.


    Observing the positions of the corpses, one could easily imagine how the attack had unfolded. Some bore massive wounds¡ªwounds that couldn¡¯t have been inflicted by muskets, arrows, or knives.


    The cuts were clean, deep, and so wide that Adam felt a wave of nausea. No one could survive such injuries.


    This wasn¡¯t done by a sword. It¡¯s too deep. Whoever did this used their full strength.


    The assailants hadn¡¯t just killed the French soldiers¡ªthey¡¯d taken the time to scalp them as well. It was a horrifying sight to behold.


    ¡°My God¡­¡± murmured a soldier near Adam, weaving among the corpses.


    Some bodies were mutilated beyond recognition.


    Adam¡¯s gaze fell on a very young soldier, slumped against a wagon still full of its cargo. Two arrows were deeply embedded in his blood-soaked chest.


    The hair on the top of his head had been entirely removed, exposing the bone beneath¡ªa bright red more than white. The clean cut showed that whoever had done this hadn¡¯t hesitated and had a razor-sharp blade.


    Was this really the Mohawks¡¯ doing?


    He passed another soldier, who had apparently taken a tomahawk blow to the face. His jaw was shattered, along with half his skull. The man¡¯s left eye hadn¡¯t withstood the impact and hung limply against his crooked nose.


    Adam couldn¡¯t stop himself from vomiting and wasn¡¯t alone in doing so.


    ¡°Stay calm,¡± said de Br¨¦hant firmly. ¡°Search for survivors and stay alert! The enemy could still be nearby!¡±


    Despite the officer¡¯s composed exterior, Adam could see fear in the brave man¡¯s eyes. In Europe, it would have been unthinkable to witness something like this.


    In war, many things were acceptable, but this? No. This was too inhuman, too barbaric. Perhaps the worst part was that these savages made no distinctions between enemies. A soldier was a soldier, regardless of rank, name, or wealth.


    Even a colonel could meet the same fate.


    ¡°Search for tracks left by these bastards, but stay visible! No chasing after them!¡± ordered Colonel du Hautoy.


    ¡°C-c-colonel! I¡¯ve found a survivor!¡±


    The soldier who had spoken stood farther up the path, about fifteen meters beyond the last cart. An arrow was embedded in his back, but he was still breathing.


    Both colonels rushed to him and knelt by his side. The soldier was a sergeant with a round face and a ruddy nose.


    ¡°We¡¯re here, Sergeant. Everything will be all right,¡± Monsieur de Br¨¦hant said softly.


    ¡°What happened? How many were there?¡± Monsieur de Hautoy asked from behind.


    The man looked nervously at Colonel de Hautoy, his commanding officer, and struggled to open his mouth.


    ¡°Th-they appeared... like ghosts. We c-couldn¡¯t... do anything. W-we tried... too many of them.¡±


    The soldier¡¯s voice was so faint that one almost had to press an ear to his lips to hear his testimony. He had lost a lot of blood¡ªtoo much to survive. He likely knew this and was making his best effort to share what he had witnessed.


    ¡°I... tried t-to sound the alarm. C-couldn¡¯t... Their leader... he was a monster... He... He... killed everyone... with axes. I...¡±


    The two colonels saw that life had left him. His eyes, wide open, seemed to gaze at the blue sky and the treetops.


    With care, Colonel L¨¦opold Charles de Hautoy gently closed the man¡¯s eyes. By some fortune, the Indians had not come to scalp him.


    It was hard for any of them to imagine the horror of being scalped, the sensation of a blade wielded by a barbarian filled with hatred ripping away one¡¯s scalp.


    The French soldiers were furious, burning with a desire for vengeance. Yet the enemy was no longer there. Their bloodshot eyes fixed on the two colonels, as if threatening them to provide the opportunity for revenge or risk facing dire consequences themselves.


    ¡°C-colonel,¡± Adam stammered, pointing southwest and trying to maintain a neutral expression, ¡°the enemy seems to have gone in that direction. Shall we follow their tracks?¡±


    The Marquis de Br¨¦hant looked around but quickly came to the conclusion that tracking them through the dense forest would be too dangerous.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s too risky. Load the bodies onto the carts. We¡¯ll haul them back to the fort.¡±


    ¡°At your orders,¡± the lieutenant replied calmly, spinning on his heel as if afraid to betray his true thoughts.


    The men set to work in silence, their shoulders weighed down by sadness and anger. Adam did his best to mask his own turmoil, but there were limits to what a man could endure.


    He struggled to reconcile the thought that the brave people he had met two weeks earlier could be the ones behind this massacre.


    To the officers, this unthinkable act was a message: the lands wrested from the English belonged to the Mohawks.

 Chapter 92: The Little Angel

    The anger of the French was immense, but without the help of the Indigenous allies and coureurs de bois, it was nearly impossible to track the Mohawks in the woods. It would also have been extremely dangerous, as Montcalm¡¯s regular soldiers could only deploy their full strength on open terrain.


    Entering those dense and unfamiliar forests would have been akin to offering their enemies a golden opportunity to deliver a fatal blow.


    The Marquis de Montcalm had no choice but to abandon the idea of avenging the twenty-four men who had been savagely killed along the quarry trail. However, he decided, as was only natural, to increase the size of the escort for the wagons traveling to and from the quarry near Lake George.


    He also alerted the Marshal de Richelieu, still as active to the east and south of the fort, as well as the colonial authorities of New France in Qu¨¦bec and Montr¨¦al.


    Morale was low at Fort Edward, but life went on. They had seen many comrades fall and knew they would lose more before the end of this war.


    They had to pull themselves together quickly, continue training, and work on fortifying Fort Edward to make it impenetrable.


    Lieutenant Fran?ois Boucher¡ªAdam¡ªwas sent to the quarry once again. This time, he was accompanied by the young Captain Martin Morrel de Lusernes and his men. Together, they brought the escort to a total of fifty-four men.


    They marched in two columns on either side of the wagons, silently observing the immense trees lining the trail. The wagons made a comforting sound as they rolled along the dirt road. One could also hear the soft patter of water droplets falling onto the vegetation.


    The sky was uniformly gray all the way to the horizon, and there was no sign that the clouds would disperse anytime soon.


    What worried the soldiers, however, was not the rain but what might be hiding in those woods. From the moment they left the fort, the French soldiers were on high alert.


    The tension was palpable.


    Ah¡­ my head hurts from concentrating so much, Adam lamented inwardly, without taking his eyes off the trees, watching for the slightest movement.


    All his senses were on edge, and his hand rested on his pistol, ready to draw and cock it.


    He glanced furtively to his side and saw that young Martin was in the same state as him. He seemed so nervous that he had barely spoken a word since their departure.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± Adam said to him. ¡°Stay vigilant until the end, but once we arrive, we should let the men rest.¡±


    Martin Morrel de Lusernes, his face pale, nodded weakly but remained silent.


    Adam watched him out of the corner of his eye before turning his gaze back to the trail. They had passed the spot where their comrades had been massacred, and there was no longer any trace of the carnage. Even the bloodstains had been washed away by the rain.


    Ah¡­ the young man sighed silently as he looked at the escort, which resembled a funeral procession. The atmosphere is really grim, but what can we do? After what happened, it¡¯s hardly surprising.


    The rain grew heavier, forming a fine curtain in front of them. The landscape became grayer, and the air felt cooler.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Adam asked. ¡°What are you thinking about?¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­ I don¡¯t know. I was thinking about the attack, about our comrades.¡±


    Adam said nothing, but he could see on the young captain¡¯s face that he had been more deeply traumatized than he let on.


    In his original time, Adam would never have imagined seeing what he had seen in recent months. All these deaths, all these trials, all this suffering¡ªit was a lot for such a young man.


    A battlefield really isn¡¯t a place for a child. Technically, we¡¯re the same age, but he has the body of a kid. He should be spending his time learning things and playing with kids his age. This is really a terrible era for children.


    ¡°You know, I didn¡¯t want to enlist in the King¡¯s army. It was my father who bought me a captain¡¯s commission. He wanted me to learn how to command men and see the world before joining him and my uncle in the family business.¡±


    ¡°Would you say it helped you?¡±


    ¡°I suppose. I was pretty reserved before. When I became a captain¡­ it wasn¡¯t easy. My lieutenant, Gaspard Lambert, took care of almost everything. Of course, I was the one paying the men and for the supplies, but he handled everything from troop management to recruitment.¡±


    Adam looked at his friend curiously. It was rare for him to share his thoughts and problems.


    ¡°When he died in Saxony,¡± Martin continued, ¡°I had to make an effort to step up. Thankfully, I got a lot of help. Captains Louis, Fontaine, and Gauthier, in particular¡ªbut it was mostly thanks to Captain Gilbert.¡±


    Adam nodded, knowing that Martin often went to Captain Gilbert for advice. On several occasions, they had both received private lessons at the same time, especially during the long winter nights when there was little to do but wait for the bad weather to pass.


    ¡°I think my father will be satisfied, but what would truly please him is for me to make a name for myself. That¡¯s very important for us nobles. It¡¯s how we make friends, secure good contracts, and obtain prestigious posts where we can accumulate more status. Did you know my uncle retired from the army with the rank of colonel? It allowed him to make many friends and secure a good marriage. I¡¯ll probably follow the same path eventually.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re still young. You¡¯ve got plenty of time to think about marriage.¡±


    ¡°Do you think so? Before I enlisted, they were already planning my future wife. I was fourteen. Marriage will come quickly, probably as soon as the war ends, when I return to France.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?! But you¡¯ll still get to choose your wife, won¡¯t you? I mean, you have a say in it!¡±


    ¡°Not really. I don¡¯t know how things work in the Tiers-Etat, but among the nobility, it¡¯s all about rank and fortune. If you have one or the other, you¡¯re a passable candidate. If you have both, you¡¯re ideal, and in that case, you¡¯ll get dozens of proposals.¡±


    ¡°D-dozens?!¡±


    ¡°I come from a family of minor nobility, so it¡¯s not perfect, but my family is wealthy. I¡¯ll probably marry a girl of my father¡¯s rank with a solid fortune or someone of higher rank who has financial troubles. My parents will review the offers, compare them, and make a decision.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Martin wore a sad, resigned expression, as that was simply how things were.


    ¡°If I¡¯m lucky, she¡¯ll be pretty, kind, and intelligent. Then, we¡¯ll learn to love each other. If not¡­ it¡¯ll be complicated, and we¡¯ll have to learn to tolerate one another. Either way, I¡¯ll do my duty.¡±


    Adam felt a wave of pity wash over him. It was a far cry from how things were done in France¡ªor more broadly, in the Western world¡ªduring his own time. His perspective on the nobility shifted slightly upon hearing his young friend.


    That¡¯s so sad. Is it like this for all nobles? I bet it¡¯s even worse for kings. I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have that problem. If I¡¯m going to get married, it¡¯ll be to a woman I choose. There¡¯s no other way.


    He couldn¡¯t imagine his parents forcing a lifelong companion on him, chosen as though she were a piece of fruit at the market. Fortunately, times had changed.


    I don¡¯t know what the future holds for him, but I really hope he gets to have a love marriage.


    Adam¡¯s thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the front of the convoy.


    ¡°The quarry is in sight!¡±


    Immediately, a wave of relief swept over the group.


    Good! Everything turned out fine in the end!


    As the soldier in the lead announced, the quarry was indeed close. It lay like a scar at the base of weathered mountains shaped by millennia of harsh climates. Several dozen ancient trees had been felled, and a pit had been dug to extract the much-needed stone for the French.


    For now, the pit was shallow. They had only scratched the surface and managed to haul away a few tons of stone through sheer effort.


    If they had more resources¡ªboth human and technological¡ªthey could have reshaped the entire geography of the area.


    Unconsciously, the convoy quickened its pace. Everyone was eager to arrive and rest.


    Shhhh! Tcack!


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    An arrow shot out from the trees, piercing the neck of the soldier ahead of Adam. The man collapsed, his head striking a cart violently. A wheel screeched as it rolled over his skull, producing a chilling sound that froze Adam to his core.


    ¡°ATTENTION! We¡¯re under attack! Gather up!¡±


    Several arrows rained down on the column from the trees, and some men didn¡¯t have time to react. The projectiles sliced silently through the air.


    Adam quickly drew his pistol and fired at a painted-faced Indian who had just emerged.


    Bang!


    A thick white cloud formed before him, and the Indian collapsed with a gruesome wound to his chest, where a large black tattoo stretched across half his torso and his entire left arm.


    ¡°Quick! Everyone gather here! Form a line!¡±


    Gunfire erupted all around Adam. Shouts echoed through the woods as a growing number of Indians, armed to the teeth, emerged with hatred etched into their faces.


    Equipped with bows, long knives, spears, muskets, and tomahawks, they charged the French soldiers with the clear intent to kill them all.


    Adam barely had time to notice an arrow speeding toward him before his body reacted on instinct. Pivoting slightly, he saw the projectile sail past him and embed itself in the cart behind him. Had he been slower, he would have been killed or severely injured.


    If he had the chance to examine the arrow, he would see it firmly lodged in the cart¡¯s sturdy wood. It was as long as an arm, adorned with black-and-white feathers.


    An Indian, about 1m70 tall with a face smeared in ash, charged straight at him like a bull, wielding a long knife.


    Using all his close-combat skills, Adam struck the Mohawk warrior¡¯s throat with full force, causing the man to stagger back a few steps before collapsing. His eyes were wide, and he gasped for air.


    Instinctively, the man curled into a protective posture.


    Without hesitation or regret, Adam drew his sword and drove its tip through the man¡¯s chest. His opponent, defenseless and struggling to breathe, couldn¡¯t resist.


    He saw the fear in the warrior¡¯s eyes as the blade sank deeper into his body. Warm blood began to pour from the wound, spilling over his brown skin.


    With a sharp motion, Adam withdrew his bloodied blade. His mind was so clear that it surprised him. There was no confusion, no fear, no tension, and no guilt. There was only him, his comrades, and his enemies.


    ¡°F-Fran?ois!¡±


    Adam spun around to see Martin struggling with another Mohawk¡ªtaller and stronger than him. The warrior, his face obscured by long black hair, was straddling Martin and attempting to drive a knife into his throat.


    Martin was doing everything in his power to hold him off.


    They were locked in place, neither able to gain the upper hand. The Indian looked as young as Martin¡ªperhaps even younger.


    ¡°Help! I¡­ I can¡¯t hold on!¡±


    The tip of the knife held by the young Indian was so close to Martin''s throat that he could die at any moment.


    His arms trembled, and tears streamed down Martin¡¯s face as he envisioned his death, so far from home and family.


    ¡°Q-quick!¡±


    Adam rushed to his friend and tackled the Indian as if it were a rugby match. Instantly, the blade flew from the boy''s hand and landed a few feet away.


    The young lieutenant pinned the child down with his full weight. Dazed and unable to move, the boy stared up with wild, gleaming black eyes like a starving beast.


    When Adam straightened, he saw the boy¡¯s delicate features. He really was just a child. His face was slightly round, his nose small and upturned, and his mouth tiny.


    Without hesitation, Adam delivered a hard punch to the child¡¯s face, knocking him unconscious.


    ¡°Th-thank you! You saved my life!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯m here for! Are you alright?!¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, thanks to you!¡±


    Adam felt a wave of relief. He had feared for his young friend¡¯s safety. He didn¡¯t want to attend his funeral.


    ¡°Is he dead?¡± the captain asked, staring at the boy who had nearly killed him.


    ¡°No, just K.O. for now.¡±


    ¡°Chaos? You mean unconscious?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it. Now¡¯s not the time to worry about him. Let¡¯s deal with the others.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    Adam and Martin lunged at two nearby Indians, taking them down with a sword and a pistol, respectively.


    The attack was brief but ferociously violent. Once again, the French mourned the loss of several comrades. But this time, there were survivors.


    When the Indians retreated into the woods, barely twenty French soldiers were left standing.


    For the Mohawks, the losses had also been heavy, though they had enjoyed a clear advantage at the start of the fight. Fourteen of their warriors lay in the mud, made slick by the ongoing rain. Among them was the unconscious child.


    ¡°We¡¯re taking him with us to the quarry,¡± Adam said in an oddly cold voice, staring at the boy¡¯s peaceful face as if he were simply asleep after a hard day¡¯s work. ¡°We¡¯ll tie him up and bring him back to Fort Edward.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Should we send a messenger to Fort Edward to warn them about the attack?¡± asked Martin Morrel de Lusernes, still shaken as his trembling hands revealed.


    ¡°We should, but¡­ I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s too dangerous. They might linger nearby and keep watching us. I suggest we head to the quarry, load the carts, and send a rider. Monsieur de Montcalm will tell us what to do. He¡¯ll likely send reinforcements.¡±


    Martin nodded in agreement but kept his brows furrowed, his eyes fixed on the small Indian who had tried to slit his throat.


    Little bastard, Adam thought, watching the boy breathe softly. Looks like a little angel. Who¡¯d believe this son of a bitch tried to kill us?


    He grimaced and spat on the ground with contempt. His heart pounded furiously in his chest. If the boy woke up now, Adam was sure he¡¯d punch him in the face again¡ªand if he tried anything, the death toll could very well rise by one in an instant.


    The gunshots, partially muffled by the rain, had still been loud enough to alert the French at the quarry. They sent a group out, who quickly met the remnants of the convoy.


    The carts, empty when they had left Fort Edward, now carried many bodies.


    Adam had ordered his comrades¡¯ bodies to be loaded, but they had also taken those of their enemies. It was, in a way, a form of collateral.


    If these Indians were anything like Europeans, they would be furious not to recover their warriors¡¯ remains. Surely, they would attack with full force.


    Perhaps they could even be provoked further and driven into a mistake if they learned that the wrong rites had been performed on their dead.


    Adam knew nothing about Mohawk culture. They might bury their dead, or they might cremate them.


    But what would happen if they discovered their warriors¡¯ bodies had been desecrated? According to Adam, there was no need to go that far. It was enough to simply disregard their customs.


    That¡¯s what he explained to Colonel de Br¨¦hant, who arrived at the quarry around six in the evening with nearly three hundred men.


    ¡°I see,¡± the colonel said, looking impressed. ¡°They¡¯ll certainly be furious. But it also means we won¡¯t be able to use this quarry in peace until they understand that these lands belong not to them, but to the King of France.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. You can¡¯t think of everything. Besides, a direct confrontation is better for us. If we keep this up, it could drag on until the first snows. This is better.¡±


    His gaze fell on the captured child, who had woken up by now and tried to escape four or five times already.


    ¡°More than the bodies of their warriors, my intuition tells me this boy will be the most important piece in the coming battle. They¡¯ll likely do everything they can to save him. We¡¯ll keep him as a hostage, use him to provoke our enemies, or negotiate peace. We¡¯ll decide when the time comes.¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Good work, lieutenant. Keep it up.¡±


    With that, the colonel turned and left without sparing another glance at the wild child with hateful eyes.

 Chapter 93: Like A Dog

    The child brought back to Fort Edward glared at the French with such hatred that no one dared approach him.


    Even bound, he did not lose his fiery spirit. He was like a feral wolf. Indeed, he growled and bared his teeth as if he truly intended to leap at their throats.


    His dark eyes seemed to scream all his loathing.


    Because he kept shouting in his incomprehensible language¡ªwords taken to be curses¡ªhe had been gagged and deprived of food. The officers thought they could wear him down this way, but after three days, he showed no signs of calming.


    His cries echoed throughout the fort, preventing the soldiers from sleeping properly.


    Growling like a beast, he was treated as one.


    The Marquis de Montcalm, who had initially allowed the boy to stay in one of the garrison quarters, decided to have him tied to the mast flying the white French flag adorned with golden fleurs-de-lis.


    Because he had chewed through the ropes to escape and return to his people, they quickly replaced them with heavy, cold chains.


    The fort¡¯s priest, Brother Joseph, had strongly opposed this barbaric practice, declaring that the boy was above all a victim of circumstance and could be civilized. He believed he could teach him the basics of French to facilitate communication and perhaps even instill moral and philosophical principles.


    Optimistic and as stubborn as the marquis, Brother Joseph had been permitted to try. But the moment he removed the gag, the boy bit his hand deeply enough to draw blood.


    The poor man screamed so loudly that everyone in the fort thought someone had been killed.


    As a result, the child sat in the pouring rain, tied up like a dog, starving, and surrounded by strangers.


    Adam watched the boy from a distance, hunched over like a miserable frog, while he himself stood warm and dry. His arms were crossed over his chest, his back pressed against a sturdy but damp wall.


    The creak of a door behind him pulled him from his thoughts, though he hadn¡¯t truly been thinking. He had simply become lost in the sight of the thin, drenched figure.


    "Lieutenant Boucher? What are you doing here?"


    "Brother Joseph. Uh, nothing in particular. Just getting some air. Are you going to try again?"


    Adam glanced at the priest¡¯s hands¡ªone was bandaged, and the other held a blanket.


    "I must. How could I sleep knowing that poor child is out here in this dreadful weather? Leaving him here¡­ it was a stupid idea. He¡¯ll get sick and die."


    "You seem very concerned about his fate, Brother," Adam remarked after a brief pause, somewhat surprised.


    "Isn¡¯t that natural? Are we not all God¡¯s creatures? That child is certainly as much a child of God as you or me. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s baptized, but it¡¯s my sacred duty to do everything I can to protect him."


    "You¡¯re a good man, Brother. Most people, when they extend a hand to help someone, don¡¯t offer it a second time when it¡¯s bitten."


    The priest smiled softly, massaging his bandaged hand.


    "I try to be, Lieutenant. I try. I can¡¯t speak for most men, but I am responsible for my own actions. If I¡¯m bitten once, twice, ten times¡ªso be it. I must try to guide this boy toward the light, for that is my oath."


    "Hmm... Does your hand hurt terribly?"


    "It¡¯s nothing. Others have suffered far more than me, both in body and spirit. Would you care to join me?"


    "I suppose that¡¯s a good idea. One never knows. Wait a moment; I¡¯ll fetch my coat and tricorne."


    Adam stepped inside the wooden barracks where the garrison spent half their time when not training. He returned moments later, dressed as if ready to brave a storm.


    "All right. Let¡¯s go."


    The priest and the officer strode through the rain, greeting the sentries as they passed, until they reached the Royal Bastion. The boy hadn¡¯t moved and was still firmly bound.


    It was, however, clear that he had grown noticeably weaker since his arrival.


    His long black hair, shining with rain, hung over his face like a curtain. Like a dog, he shook his head to fling away the wet strands covering his eyes.


    Those eyes had lost little of their fire. Hatred still burned within them, waiting for the right moment to erupt like a firebomb.


    "I¡¯ve brought you a blanket," the priest said softly, addressing the child, who thrashed like a little demon, refusing to accept anything from these pale-skinned men. "Take it, my child," the priest added, his voice even gentler, his eyes brimming with kindness. "If you persist, you¡¯ll fall ill. Do you understand?"


    The boy, still gagged, didn¡¯t reply. He simply stared at the priest as if daring him to set him free.


    "I¡¯m going to remove this gag," the priest warned confidently.


    "Brother?! Do you want to be bitten again?"


    "It¡¯s all right, Lieutenant," the priest reassured him with a kind smile. "I¡¯ll be careful."


    "At least let me hold his head."


    "Hmm, I¡¯d prefer not to restrain him. He¡¯s already tied up; that should be enough, don¡¯t you think?"


    Adam was skeptical but allowed the priest to proceed. He remained ready to intervene if necessary.


    Cautiously, the priest removed the cloth from the boy¡¯s mouth. The child fixed him with a gaze so intense it demanded respect. Thankfully, this time, he didn¡¯t attempt to bite anyone.


    He simply remained silent, continuing to stare at the priest.


    "How are you since last time?" the priest tried, taking care to enunciate each word clearly.


    ".."


    "You really hurt me, you know? I think I''ll keep the marks of your teeth for a while."


    He showed his bandaged hand, but the child showed no sign of guilt.


    "I don''t hold it against you, you know? Ah, you must be cold in this rain. It''s better with the blanket, isn''t it? Ahem, I am Brother Joseph. I introduced myself this morning, but¡­ well, let''s say the circumstances weren''t ideal for getting acquainted."


    The child said nothing, his dark eyes locked on him, full of defiance.


    Brother Joseph sighed, his face filled with pity.


    "You probably don''t understand me, but that''s okay. You know, there are many languages in the world. I only speak three myself. Would you like to try learning French? First of all, bonjour. Bon-jour. It¡¯s a way to greet someone. Repeat after me: bonjour."


    "¡­"


    It¡¯s a waste of time. He must not understand anything. We need an interpreter.


    The child kept staring at the priest, and slowly, he opened his mouth.


    "You will all die, Frenchmen. My father will come to save me, and he will spare none of you. This fort will burn, and all our warriors will be avenged." (in Iroquois)You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Adam and the priest raised an eyebrow in surprise at the child¡¯s low, menacing voice. Although they didn¡¯t understand a word of what he had said, it didn¡¯t sound good. From their perspective, it was possible, even likely, that there had been some insults and curses mixed in.


    "You know, we really don¡¯t understand your words. You need to make an effort."


    "Brother Joseph, do you think there¡¯s a way to bring an Indian or a coureur de bois to Fort Edward to act as an interpreter?"


    "Unfortunately, it would be useless. We would have already done so otherwise. The Iroquois have their own language, their own culture. There might even be several languages between each tribe. Did you know? Their confederation is made up of six tribes. They might have as much in common as we do with the English or Italians."


    Adam curiously watched the child wrapped in his blanket, shivering in the rain.


    The more he looked, the more he thought he saw, but perhaps it was just an impression, a younger version of Tayohseron. It might indeed have been just an impression since, when Adam had been in the Iroquois village, it had seemed to him that they all looked somewhat alike.


    It¡¯s probably just stronger with this boy.


    "Brother, I¡¯d like to try something."


    "Oh? Well, go ahead."


    The priest was curious, as he was aware this young man had spent a night with the enemy and returned unharmed.


    Adam ignored his gaze and spoke clearly to the child.


    "Kid, do you know someone named Tayohseron?"


    The boy looked at the soldier with surprise, recognizing him as the one who had captured him. He had struck him violently in the face, and because of him, he had a nice bruise on his cheek.


    "Tayohseron?" the boy repeated, his pronunciation slightly different from Adam¡¯s.


    "Yes, Tayohseron," confirmed the young lieutenant. "Do you know him?"


    "How do you know Brother Tayohseron?! You! Has something happened to my brother?!"


    "Hey, calm down, kid!"


    The child suddenly became very agitated, which greatly unsettled the priest.


    "What is happening? What did you say? Tayohseron? Who is Tayohseron? Why is he reacting like this?"


    "I¡¯m not sure, but I think they¡¯re related. Maybe brothers. Tayohseron is one of the Mohawk chief¡¯s sons."


    "So this kid might be a son of that chief? I¡¯ve heard rumors about him. Supposedly a great warrior, strong as a bull and tall as a mountain. But I¡¯ve never met him. I did meet his predecessor, though. He was an old man, half-blind, but he was a great war leader. If this boy really is the son of the current chief¡­"


    Adam and the priest turned their gaze back to the child, who wouldn¡¯t calm down and kept speaking in his strange language.


    "W-we¡¯re in trouble, aren¡¯t we?"


    "N-no¡­ it-it¡¯ll be fine, my son," said the priest, turning slowly to the soldier. "I hope."


    Unsurprisingly, the conversation with the child was one-sided. All they managed to get from the boy was his name. He was called Rawenniyo.


    What was strange was that, although this boy seemed to know Tayohseron well, Adam hadn¡¯t seen him in the village.


    The priest and the young officer quickly reported their assumptions about the boy¡¯s identity to the Marquis de Montcalm. While nothing was certain at this stage, better safe than sorry.


    After that, the two men parted ways, and Adam returned to his quarters.


    There were four in the fort. The two largest, facing each other and separated by the central square, could together house five hundred men. The other two, reserved for officers, were located to the north, on either side of the gate.


    Although he was an officer, he was too low in the hierarchy to have his own room in one of these buildings. Even Captains Gauthier, Morrel de Lusernes, Fontaine, and Louis didn¡¯t receive that privilege.


    He had to sleep with the regular soldiers in one of the two barracks.


    His was the largest building in the fort, nearly twenty meters long and six meters wide.


    Three hundred men could reside there, but the cramped conditions made it impossible to enjoy the quality of the building constructed during the winter of 1755-1756. Not only was there no privacy, unlike the Indians'' longhouses, but there was also a powerful smell of wet dog.


    Outside, it was pouring rain. The downpour pounded on the roof with such intensity that one might have thought it was a hailstorm.


    Adam immediately felt relieved not to be in the child¡¯s place or spending the night under a tent that barely kept out the cold and damp.


    The men busied themselves as best they could since it wasn¡¯t that late yet. Some played cards, others dice, and a few even used the free time to sketch scenes from their daily lives.


    He passed by one of them, who was putting the final touches on a charcoal drawing. It faithfully depicted a group of soldiers playing a game of checkers. The drawing included the two players and three spectators.


    By the time the drawing had started, that game had already ended, and others had taken place. Yet in the soldier¡¯s mind, every detail remained fresh and vivid. Carefully, he adjusted the shadows on the faces and clothing.


    Adam admired his talent.


    ¡°The lieutenant¡¯s here!¡±


    ¡°Finally!¡±


    At once, several faces turned toward him, their eyes filled with anticipation.


    ¡°Easy, guys. At least let me take off my coat.¡±


    ¡°Hahaha!¡±


    The men¡¯s spirits brightened, and laughter echoed through the long building, where straw mattresses were lined up, separated by sacks and pairs of worn shoes.


    Adam approached his mattress, empty and clean, and set down his things. Meanwhile, several dozen men began to gather around him.


    As he settled in, a long sigh escaped his lips. Slowly, he surveyed the room, noticing that even those who hadn¡¯t moved closer were leaning in to listen.


    ¡°All right, where was I? Ah, yes. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley had finally figured out that the evil Voldemort wanted to seize the Philosopher¡¯s Stone. Realizing that the sinister Professor Snape was going to deliver it to him, the group decided to venture into the room guarded by Hagrid¡¯s giant three-headed dog. Is that right?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± the soldiers replied, diving back into the incredible story of Harry Potter.


    ¡°Hmmm. The three young students, as stealthy as mice, climbed to the forbidden floors, carefully avoiding the patrols of the professors and the unsettling caretaker, Mr. Filch. Upon reaching the door, which was naturally locked, they prepared to confront the massive dog. Fortunately, they had come prepared. But as they opened the door, they were surprised to find the dog fast asleep. Near its ear, an enchanted harp played a soft melody, delightful to human ears and soothing to the enormous beast. Instantly, they understood that Snape had already taken action.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡±


    Adam smiled at his comrades¡¯ reactions.


    Although the protagonists were wizards¡ªheretics from their point of view, which was highly unusual if not unheard of in an era where witches and sorcerers were considered evil beings¡ªhe had once again managed to captivate his audience.


    Everyone listened intently.


    With carefully timed pauses and a dynamic tone, he succeeded in recounting the first film of the well-known saga from his time, a classic, without making the soldiers uncomfortable. That in itself was a challenge.


    Still, it seemed highly unlikely that he could make them sympathize with a vampire or a demon.


    Perhaps it¡¯s because the characters are children? he wondered.


    ¡°The three friends stood around the open trapdoor, hesitating, unsure of what awaited them below. Professor Snape was no ordinary teacher. He was a skilled wizard. After all, Hogwarts was a prestigious school. A lowly sorcerer couldn¡¯t become a teacher there, let alone in charge of Potions.


    The soldiers, listening with the focus of a congregation in a church, swallowed nervously, anticipating an epic confrontation. Being unaccustomed to such tales, they didn¡¯t know what kind of fight to expect.


    ¡°Harry turned to his loyal friends¡ªhis first and only friends¡ªand told them to wait for his signal before going down. He intended to go first, unwilling to see them in greater danger than himself. But as he spoke, he noticed something¡­ strange. Slowly, he lifted his head.¡±


    ¡°W-what?!¡±


    ¡°What did he notice?¡±


    ¡°Without daring to move a muscle, he said to his friends, ¡®Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s¡­ suddenly quiet?¡¯ Hermione realized it at the same time as Ron: the harp had stopped playing.¡±


    ¡°Oh no! Then that means¡­¡±


    ¡°The three-headed dog!¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Adam said in a voice so deep it sent shivers through his audience. ¡°The three-headed dog. A massive shadow loomed over them, and a long string of slimy drool fell onto Ron¡¯s shoulder, making him grimace at the thought of the monstrous beast eyeing him like a regular dog would a tasty treat.¡±


    ¡°Oh my God!¡±


    ¡°The three of them looked up and saw three pairs of eyes glaring at them with hostility. A low growl made them shudder. Harry shouted to Hermione and Ron, ¡®Jump!¡¯ before disappearing through the trapdoor. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, the boy and girl followed, leaving above them a furious dog growling over the intruders who had escaped under its nose.¡±


    Adam continued his story with the same tone, surprising everyone when he revealed that the villain wasn¡¯t Snape but the kind Professor Quirrell. This twist was followed by an even greater shock when he revealed that the murderer of Harry¡¯s parents had been hiding all along on the back of Quirrell¡¯s head, concealed under his purple turban.


    From there, the story unfolded quickly, reaching its conclusion. The villain was defeated, but Adam took care to sow the seeds of doubt about Voldemort¡¯s return¡ªthe very embodiment of an evil sorcerer.


    And that¡¯s another story finished. I guess I¡¯ll have to tell them the sequel later. But I¡¯m pretty pleased with myself¡ªI wasn¡¯t sure this one would resonate with them.


    Adam smiled, quite satisfied.


    His stories were as much a key to his popularity with the men as rugby was. Without these two tricks, he wasn¡¯t sure he could have commanded Armand Gilbert¡¯s company so effectively.


    Although he¡¯d spent more than a year on the battlefield, it was little compared to some of the company¡¯s veterans. They all deserved to rise to higher ranks.


    Not long after he finished his tale, the soldiers in the building went to bed, except for those assigned to guard the fort¡¯s walls, and the candles were extinguished.


    The barracks fell silent, and Adam lay down on his straw mattress, ignoring its discomfort.


    Despite his exhaustion, he couldn¡¯t sleep, even after three hours in total darkness. The constant sound of rain reminded him that while he was warm and dry, a child was tied up outside, protected only by a thin wool blanket that must have been soaked through like a saturated sponge.


    Fuck.


    Muttering under his breath, Adam got up in the middle of the night, grabbing his coat and blanket.


    Stupid brat. If he¡¯d just behaved from the start, he¡¯d be warm and dry right now. Little punk.


    Walking briskly, he reached the boy, who trembled at the sight of him coming alone, his face set in a scowl.


    As expected, the blanket had become useless in the relentless rain. He couldn¡¯t untie the boy and take him into one of the fort¡¯s buildings, but he could shelter him another way.


    He yanked off the soaked blanket, now as heavy as lead, and roughly draped his own thick blanket and waterproof coat over the boy¡¯s shoulders.


    The young Indian stared at him in surprise, remaining silent until Adam walked away. The hatred in his eyes, though still present, seemed to burn a little less brightly.

 Chapter 94: Before Winter

    A fine, deceptive rain had been falling over the Fort Edward region for several hours. It might have seemed insignificant, but in reality, it chilled the men to the bone as it seeped into everything and slowed their movements.


    In the now-muddy ground, hundreds of footprints were clearly visible. At the center of the square, where the mud was thicker, the footprints were deeper. It was even possible to see strange marks, a sign that someone had slipped at that spot.


    The temperatures had continued to drop, and the leaves kept falling. Soon, most of the surrounding trees would be bare.


    Adam, his fingers trembling, struggled to warm up in the rain. Like his comrades, he was assigned to the construction of the stone bridge, which seemed to be progressing more slowly every day.


    Yet, quality stone had begun arriving again from the quarry south of Lake George. The French remained extremely cautious, employing significant measures to prevent attacks.


    For nearly two weeks, the Indians hadn¡¯t launched a direct assault on Fort Edward. However, they had been highly active in the region.


    Their most significant strike came on September 28th, about twelve kilometers north of the southern tip of Lake George. It was an ambush on a convoy of eight covered wagons carrying an enormous quantity of provisions for the Marquis de Montcalm¡¯s troops.


    The convoy was, of course, well-guarded, but the Mohawks were brave warriors. The disparity in strength didn¡¯t faze them¡ªquite the opposite.


    They attacked with force and speed, like a bird of prey.


    The French barely had time to realize what was happening before the assault was over. The problem was that the Indians didn¡¯t stop at one attack. The convoy was ambushed four times, and each time, the French suffered heavy losses.


    In the end, the Indians succeeded in overwhelming the escort and seizing the supplies meant for the King¡¯s soldiers.


    It wasn¡¯t until many days later, when the much-anticipated convoy failed to arrive, that Montcalm realized it had been attacked.


    All that was found were ashes and bodies, half-devoured by wolves.


    ¡°Watch out!¡±


    ¡°ARGH! My foot!¡±


    ¡°Good grief! Quick, someone help!¡±


    ¡°Aaaaah! It hurts! It hurts!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t move! Help me lift this block!¡±


    Another accident, and another injured man. This is our new routine.


    Adam watched as a small group of soldiers gathered around the man whose foot had been crushed by a stone block. Luckily for him, it wasn¡¯t a large block, but that didn¡¯t mean it was light.


    Lying in the mud, he clutched his face, contorted in pain.


    His cries had drawn the attention of many soldiers turned laborers.


    ¡°Hey! Focus! We don¡¯t need another accident!¡±


    Adam quickly pulled himself together and focused on his own stone block. He and five others were behind a large cart loaded with stones that needed to be shaped before they could be used.


    With care, Adam and his comrades lowered a new block, and with nothing but their own strength, they placed it with the others, about ten meters away. The stones formed a sort of small pyramid.


    All the men are exhausted. No wonder the accidents keep happening. The weather, the lack of activity, the Indians, the labor they make us do... Morale is really low.


    His gaze shifted to another part of the worksite, near the Hudson River. Two men were arguing and seemed on the verge of coming to blows.


    ¡°You¡¯ve crossed the line, Monsieur de Lotbini¨¨re! Don¡¯t forget your place!¡±


    ¡°I know my place, Monsieur de Pontleroy, and I¡¯m telling you¡ªyou¡¯ve made a mistake! Your calculations are wrong!¡±


    ¡°My calculations are wrong?! Do you even know what you¡¯re talking about?! I never make calculation errors!¡±


    ¡°And yet, you¡¯re wrong! If you continue like this, that mistake will only grow, and the structure will be unstable! I give it less than a year before it collapses!¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s rich! Less than a year?! This bridge will stand for at least a hundred years! You know nothing! I¡¯ve been studying construction far longer than you have!¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter! An idiot can study the art of war for fifty years, but he¡¯ll never surpass a prodigy with just five or ten years!¡±


    ¡°Are you calling me an idiot?! You¡¯ve gone too far! You¡¯re only in your position because of your connections!¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m saying, Monsieur! And understand this: no one supports a person who lacks talent! I learned everything from my teachers¡ªgreat names, including my father-in-law, who is also your predecessor, Monsieur de L¨¦ry. If you continue to disrespect me, I¡¯ll take it as an attack on him as well.¡±


    ¡°And what will you do, hmm? Challenge me to a duel?!¡±


    ¡°And why not?!¡±


    The argument was turning dangerous. Monsieur de Montcalm intervened, stepping between the two men. Monsieur de Lotbini¨¨re was already removing his glove to throw it at the feet of his rival, Monsieur de Pontleroy, the chief engineer for New France.


    "Enough! Your quarrels are harming the project and the morale of the men. Look around you! You¡¯re making a spectacle of yourselves!"


    "Marquis," said Monsieur de Pontleroy with a surprisingly courteous tone, "Monsieur de Lotbini¨¨re has clearly disrespected me and continually challenges my authority in front of my subordinates and your soldiers. How could I accept that? Would you accept being ridiculed by your officers?"


    "That is not how it went, Marquis," retorted Michel Chartier de Lotbini¨¨re sharply. "I merely pointed out to Monsieur de Pontleroy that he had made a calculation error in one area, and if it isn¡¯t quickly corrected, the integrity of the structure will be compromised in the short term."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "And I pointed out to Monsieur de Lotbini¨¨re that my field experience ensures I don¡¯t make those kinds of mistakes, which only a beginner could make."


    "A mistake which, however, Monsieur de Pontleroy did make¡ªlikely because he is not accustomed to working on anything other than forts. Bridges are delicate constructions requiring particular attention, especially concerning arches and pillars."


    "Building a fort is just as delicate, sir!"


    "I said enough! You¡¯re exhausting me, both of you!"


    The Marquis¡¯ voice cracked through the damp air, making all the men nearby tremble, Adam included. He suddenly felt the urge to step away, as though afraid of being caught in the officer¡¯s wrath.


    What a pair of children. Tch.


    Adam clicked his tongue quietly and turned his back on the two engineers, trudging toward his comrades.


    As much as the rain, what weakened their morale day by day was the lack of food. Rations had been instituted while they awaited new carts from Montreal.


    The soldiers were more frustrated than angry because they believed they could find plenty of fresh food outside the fort. It was late in the season for wild fruits, but animals were abundant in the area.


    Unfortunately, the Marquis remained firm and forbade anyone from leaving the fort.


    Even though it was for everyone¡¯s safety¡ªgiven the known presence of enemy scouts¡ªthe soldiers struggled to accept it.


    They wanted food, but they also wanted to fight. That, perhaps, was what surprised Adam most. It was as though an ordinary day had become, for the majority of the soldiers here, a wasted day.


    In a way, he could understand. After all, they spent long hours each week training. A soldier who doesn¡¯t fight felt, to them, as absurd as a sailor confined to the docks. Perhaps even more than that, it was the inability to avenge their fallen comrades that demoralized everyone.


    This was the most logical explanation Adam could find to make sense of it all.


    Soldiers deprived of action... Am I like that too?


    Adam looked at his trembling hands.


    It¡¯s the cold... Just the cold... But... Ah, I don¡¯t know what I want. Except a damn burger oozing with cheese... and some piping hot fries.


    A nostalgic smile spread across his lips as he thought of good food. Bad for the body, good for the soul.


    What we all need is some proper food! Enough to stuff ourselves!


    Montcalm passed by him, looking fatigued, and was startled by the arrival of a rider. The mere sound of hooves splashing through the mud was enough to make him tremble, expecting an enemy to appear.


    The soldier leapt from his steaming horse, clearly exhausted from his effort, and handed a message to the commander.


    Immediately, everyone stiffened. They all expected bad news, as though the opposite wasn¡¯t even an option.


    "Thank you. Go rest. Good work," Montcalm said to the messenger before hastily opening the letter, dreading, as much as his men, news of the loss of a fort or a convoy.


    The message consisted of just two pages. Adam couldn¡¯t read the contents, but he could imagine them based on the recipient¡¯s reaction.


    The Marquis of Montcalm furrowed his brows, drawing the attention of Colonel de Br¨¦hant and Hautoy, who were nearby supervising the construction.


    "Bad news, sir?"


    "Not the kind I was expecting, gentlemen. Marshal-duc will not be coming and will not send us additional troops¡ªquite the opposite. He says he is heading north along the Connecticut River. When he wrote this message, he was at a fort he had just taken called Fort Putney, also known locally as Fort Hill."


    "Oh¡­"


    "So, he doesn¡¯t intend to stay there? Will he at least leave a garrison?"


    "Apparently not. He plans to follow the river for about fifteen lieues, then cross the mountains before it gets too cold and make his way to Fort Carillon. His intention is to head to Quebec afterward. As you might guess, this is connected to that other message I received eight days ago, which I shared with you. If the English truly plan to attack Louisbourg again, it¡¯s better that he leaves now. However, it¡¯s uncertain whether he¡¯ll arrive in time, given how far he¡¯s ventured into enemy territory."


    "He¡¯ll certainly need more men. Is that mentioned in his letter?"


    "Indeed. He intends to take command of all the Picardie Regiment troops currently stationed at Fort Edward."


    "That¡¯s a significant portion of the garrison, sir. Is that wise?"


    "We can certainly defend the fort without them, but it would undoubtedly be easier with your men, Colonel de Br¨¦hant. Fortunately, the Marshal-duc won¡¯t reach Fort Carillon anytime soon. That will give us time to advance the work in and around the fort."


    "Has the identity of the commander targeting Louisbourg been confirmed?" asked Marquis de Br¨¦hant gravely, gripping the hilt of his long, slender sword.


    "I haven¡¯t received any further letters on that matter," replied the Marquis of Montcalm. "But even if their commander is that young man, James Wolfe, we must remain vigilant. The approaching winter could embolden those damned English. If the Marshal-duc deems your presence necessary, there must be good reasons. He may even have more ambitious plans. For now, we should concern ourselves only with the English and Iroquois who threaten us."


    ¡°The ideal,¡± Colonel de Hautoy said with chilling calm, ¡°would be for them to attack us now. It¡¯s better than living in fear and anticipation.¡±


    Adam walked away, pretending he hadn¡¯t heard a thing, but inside his chest, his small heart was pounding wildly. His blood boiled, and his entire body seemed to overflow with energy.


    Are we leaving?! At last! Are we going to serve under the Marshal-Duke again?! Amazing! Haha! That means I¡¯ll see my friends again! Finally!


    ***


    Meanwhile, in Albany¡ªnow a ghost town after the passage of the French troops¡ªa significant meeting was taking place in the fort, as desolate as the rest of the small town.


    The French, like the despicable thieves they were, had left them almost nothing. Anything that might have been useful had been stolen and sent north along with their hostages, whose fate remained unknown.


    Thomas Pownall, the governor of the Province of Massachusetts, sat at a wide table as plain as the fort itself, nervously tapping his fingers while waiting for the other officers to arrive.


    The room, made somewhat warm by a fire burning in the large hearth at the back of the room, opposite the entrance, contained only a few officers, among them Robert Rogers. Most of those present represented regular regiments, but there were also a few commanders of militia contingents.


    However, the most important man in the room was not Governor Pownall but Brigadier General Forbes.


    For a man in his fifties, his face remained remarkably smooth. His skin was pale, almost pearly, while his lips were redder than a woman¡¯s. His eyes, however¡ªlike his eyebrows¡ªwere so dark one could drown in them.


    ¡°Must we wait much longer? What kind of manners are these?¡± the Brigadier General asked, his expression stern.


    ¡°Mr. Johnson shouldn¡¯t be much longer. He¡¯s traveling from far away.¡±


    ¡°As are we all, Governor. Our resources are limited. Our men eat every day.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps they encountered some difficulty along the way? Must we really wait for him and his ¡®guest¡¯?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s preferable, Mr. Grant. Every man counts, and these men know the region perfectly. I understand they achieved some success in the north, defeating the French with odds of one to four or five.¡±


    ¡°But at what cost?¡± grimaced an officer dressed entirely in red. ¡°They fought like bandits! We cannot and must not emulate them. It would be dishonorable!¡±


    ¡°Dishonorable? Kukuku! That¡¯s amusing, sir,¡± Robert Rogers retorted with a malicious smile, playing with a long knife. ¡°What matters is winning battles, not losing them with honor. That didn¡¯t work out for General Abercrombie. And where is he now? Oh, right. Dead.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough. Be quiet,¡± the Brigadier General ordered as he sat down beside the still-uneasy Governor. ¡°We¡¯ll wait another day or two, after which we¡¯ll set out for Fort Edward.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary, General. We¡¯re here,¡± said a deep male voice from the far end of the room. ¡°Apologies for the delay. We ran into some obstacles, but nothing that jeopardizes the operation.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Johnson, at last you¡¯re here.¡±


    The Brigadier General rose to greet the newcomer. He was a man in his forties with a good face¡ªthe face of someone respectable and trustworthy.


    He greeted the men already in the room one by one, ignoring, as always, the curious looks at his attire. As usual, he wore a strange mix of European and Native American clothing, including a red cape adorned with intricate Iroquois designs.


    ¡°Allow me to introduce the Mohawk chief, Akwiratheka.¡±


    All eyes were already on the massive man who had just entered the room.


    He must have stood nearly two meters tall, his body as powerful as that of an ancient war god, though it was covered in dark tattoos of unknown meaning. Draped over his shoulders was a long cape similar to the superintendent¡¯s, and most notably, his belt displayed numerous scalps.


    As if to emphasize his muscles, he crossed his arms over his broad chest, causing the cape to lift and reveal two unusually large tomahawks.


    His wolf-like eyes swept over the room, freezing every man in place. Each officer felt as though they were in the cage of a bear. Then, he turned to his English ally and said in his language, his voice so deep it resembled a growl:


    ¡°You told me we would meet warriors, but I see none. I am disappointed. Are these the allies you promised me?¡±

 Chapter 95: The Wrath Of The Mohawks

    Adam stood on the southern ravelin of Fort Edward. This structure, to which he had contributed somewhat, had mainly served as a base for constructing the wooden bridge connecting it to the fort. It was solid and well-built.


    The ravelin was a large triangular earthen and wooden structure equipped with heavy cannons. Like a fortress, it was fortified with merlons to provide cover for the defenders.


    The young lieutenant stood between two merlons, observing the enemy through the embrasure as they settled comfortably in the same spot as the previous besiegers.


    Fuck, we should¡¯ve done something to stop them from setting up there. If only we¡¯d had a bit more time...


    Even though the garrison at Fort Edward hadn¡¯t had time to degrade the terrain surrounding the fort, it was still wet enough to make life unpleasant for the redcoats. There was nothing but mud and wet grass.


    ¡°How many of them do you think there are?¡± asked a soldier with drooping eyes and a chin split like it had been struck by a sword.


    ¡°No idea. Four thousand, maybe?¡±


    ¡°More. Look behind those trees¡ªit¡¯s bustling.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Look, there are Indians with them!¡±


    Adam turned in the direction pointed out by another soldier, a man barely meeting the army¡¯s minimum height requirement, and frowned.


    ¡°Is that really surprising? They¡¯re probably Iroquois. They¡¯re allied with the British.¡±


    ¡°But there weren¡¯t any last time.¡±


    ¡°Nor at Fort Edward or Fort Miller when we took them. In fact, we haven¡¯t faced those savages alongside the redcoats since Fort Carillon.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s true! I hadn¡¯t noticed!¡±


    The lieutenant remained silent, but inwardly, he also realized this detail and wondered why the Iroquois hadn¡¯t supported their allies when they¡¯d needed help, yet had chosen to join them now.


    The Iroquois are powerful, he thought. They¡¯ve killed many of our men in recent days and weeks. They don¡¯t need the English to weaken us. Perhaps they want to use their allies to defeat us at minimal cost. The redcoats likely want to do the same.


    Under the curious and occasionally worried gazes of the French, the English established their camp out of cannon range. The cannons on the ravelin, being of English origin, were not of the same caliber as the other artillery. They required specific ammunition.


    This was a logistical challenge, but fortunately, the officers had anticipated the issue, and every necessary projectile had been seized from Albany and other captured forts to support the siege.


    The only thing they didn¡¯t have in abundance was food.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Adam tilted his head as he watched the redcoats continually improve their camp, surrounding it with a high embankment. Their flag fluttered proudly in the north wind, cracking like a whip on a southern plantation with every gust.


    On the opposite side of the fort, along the road leading to the ruins of Fort William Henry, a similar setup was being constructed to isolate Fort Edward.


    If he could turn into a bird and observe the interiors of these two fortifications, Adam would see that they were well-built and, with continued improvements, would soon be excellent. The British military engineers were taking every measure to prevent disease and provide their soldiers with decent living conditions during the siege.


    They won¡¯t attack today, Adam concluded. They¡¯ll keep improving their positions and strengthening their supply lines.


    Adam was not wrong.


    No attack came for four days. The British position had grown so strong that attempting a sortie now would be considered risky at best.


    They had cut down numerous trees and built sturdy shelters for their men and supplies to protect them from the rain. They had also dug approach trenches and communication lines, much like they had during the previous siege. Naturally, the old ones had been filled in.


    On October 6, a little before seven in the morning, the English officers began aligning their soldiers in loose order to cover a wide area. The sound of drums, carried by the wind, reached the ears of the French.


    Slowly, the Indians emerged from the woods, their bodies and faces painted in various colors. One of them stood out due to his size and build, even from a distance. He was like a hairless bear with long black hair flowing in the wind.


    ¡°Prepare yourselves! Check your cartridges and muskets!¡± Adam¡¯s voice rang out over the fortifications, filling every man with a surge of energy.


    Adam inspected his men, exchanging a few words with the gunners, who stood ready to fire. Discreetly, he glanced over his shoulder at the long wooden bridge, now dark and shiny from the rain. He could see an entire row of black tricorn hats and bayonets.


    Down below, in the ditch, the foundations of a new bridge had been laid. They barely rose above ground level, but below the surface, they were deep, having been sunk into stable soil to ensure the stone bridge would stand firm over the long term.


    The hardest part¡ªbuilding the two arches¡ªwas still ahead.


    Well, at least we have an escape route if things go wrong. If the ravelin falls, we¡¯ll just have to hold the bridge.


    "We are ready!"


    "Perfect! Mr. Marais, go inform Colonel de Br¨¦hant that everything is in order! Tell him we are ready to shed our blood and that this demi-lune will not fall as long as a single one of us remains alive."


    Adam, in truth, had no intention of taking things that far. His words were meant both to reassure his officer and to encourage his men. The worst thing that could happen in combat was for a unit to flee.


    If nothing was done, panic could break out, causing the collapse of a line and turning the tide of battle in the enemy''s favor. Retreat was acceptable; rout was not.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    The first British volleys rose like a thunderous roar. Their cannons, strategically positioned on a high artificial mound, opened fire on the demi-lune and the southern rampart.


    Cannonballs ricocheted off the wooden walls, behind which lay meters of packed earth and rubble.


    With each impact, a spray of wood splinters flew in all directions, but the French, well-sheltered, held their positions.


    Adam felt a deep vibration run through the ground beneath his boots. An English cannonball had struck a thick log, ripping away a chunk the size of two fists.


    He felt every impact down to his bones, which shook him far more than the thought of facing the redcoats head-on. The cannonballs tore through the battlefield at such speed and with such force that he wouldn''t even see death coming.


    Before he could realize it, he might very well lose his head.


    "Fire!"


    BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!


    The demi-lune¡¯s cannons, which seemed longer and slimmer than the French ones, fired in unison, shaking the young officer differently this time. The smoke, carried by the wind, rolled back toward them like a white wave.


    Tss!


    Adam grimaced as the acrid, burnt smell of the smoke hit his face. He was blinded, worse than if he were in a dense fog.


    Fortunately, the cloud didn¡¯t linger long over the rampart and was carried away.


    The British had taken advantage of this moment to advance, and now they were reaching their trenches. The Indians seemed to be waiting for the right moment to launch their assault.


    The French cannons roared and spat their deadly projectiles, but though they managed to kill a few enemies, it was far from enough. The British officers had minimized losses by digging zigzagging approach trenches. A cannonball might kill two or three men, but no more.


    As soon as a man fell, he was immediately carried to the rear for treatment¡ªor placed under a sheet if he had already joined the Almighty. Unflinching, the redcoats pressed on toward the fort.


    Militiamen from New York, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts also stood firm against the French cannonballs. The New Yorkers were commanded by Colonel John Johnson, the New Hampshirites by Peter Gilman, and the Massachusetts men by Colonel Richard Gildley.


    "Reload the cannons! Fire on the enemy lines, aim for the officers!" Adam shouted.


    The demi-lune¡¯s guns thundered once more, sending plumes of white smoke ahead of the grim-faced men. The cannonballs struck the enemy trenches, hurling mutilated bodies several meters into the air, but the British hardly seemed to react.


    They kept advancing at the same pace. It was dangerous.


    The Indians, led by a towering figure with a muscular frame and wielding two massive tomahawks, began to move, then broke into a run straight for the French positions. They let out primal cries and near-bestial howls that chilled the blood.


    "Turn cannons three and four! Aim for the Indians!"


    The Mohawks ran at a breakneck pace, leaping like hares, as though daring death itself. They quickly entered musket range.


    "Fire!"


    A long series of gunshots cracked across the demi-lune, and many Indians fell, but most managed to reach the deep ditch.


    With terrifying agility, they began using the wooden bridge as a ladder. Helping one another, it didn¡¯t take long for the first enemies to appear at the top of the demi-lune.


    "Damn it! Hold your positions! Don¡¯t abandon the cannons, no matter what! Gunners, keep firing! We¡¯ll drive them back!"


    Adam pointed his pistol at an Indian, likely in his thirties, and fired. The man took the bullet square in the head and fell into the void.


    The sound of his skull cracking was horrific. At such close range, the bones were pulverized.


    Quickly, Adam drew his sword and attacked an Indian trying to stand after climbing the bridge. He drove the blade into the man¡¯s hand, eliciting a piercing scream as the man struggled to free himself.


    Adam kicked him hard in the face, causing him to fall backward off the bridge.


    With the sword still lodged in his hand, he couldn¡¯t fall easily.


    Before Adam¡¯s eyes, blood gushed as the man¡¯s muscles tore under the strain. Eventually, the hand was severed when the pressure became too much. The sword, still embedded in the wooden bridge, dripped with fresh blood as Adam stared in horror at the streak it left behind.


    "Look out!"


    A loud shout nearby snapped Adam out of his stupor.


    Adam didn¡¯t have time to react, and because of that, one of his comrades was killed right in front of him.


    As if in slow motion, he saw the body of a young soldier collapse before his eyes. He could only see the soldier¡¯s back and didn¡¯t know his name.


    The black tricorne fell a short distance away before being trampled by another soldier fighting to defend himself.


    Adam¡¯s gaze met that of the warrior who had struck the fatal blow. The man was the spitting image of his Mohawk friend Tayohseron, except older and more muscular. Most notably, he lacked the scar on his belly that Tayohseron bore.


    Instead, he had two striking tattoos on each arm, which extended onto his chest.


    The young lieutenant¡¯s eyes fell on the tomahawk of the fierce-looking warrior, deeply embedded in the body of the French soldier. A long streak of red stretched from the blade as the man pulled his weapon free from the lifeless corpse.


    The warrior¡¯s gaze locked on Adam, leaving no doubt that he intended to make him his next victim. But Adam had no intention of dying that day.


    With a swift motion, Adam¡¯s blade sliced through the air, missing the warrior¡¯s eyes by mere centimeters. The Mohawk leaned back just in time to avoid the attack.


    But Adam wasn¡¯t done. Summoning all his strength, he delivered a powerful kick to his adversary¡¯s ribs¡ªan ungraceful and dishonorable move for a French officer.


    Unfamiliar with European fighting techniques, the warrior took the blow head-on, stumbling slightly but not enough to fall. Using his left arm, he blocked Adam¡¯s leg and raised his other arm to strike with his bloodied tomahawk.


    Seeing the imminent danger, Adam launched another attack with his sword. The blade pierced through the Mohawk¡¯s muscular arm, causing the warrior¡¯s eyes to widen in shock.


    A loud cry escaped his lips.


    The sword had sliced through muscle and scraped against bone. Helpless to stop it, the warrior dropped his weapon at his feet.


    Fearing another attack, Adam quickly withdrew his sword and readied himself to strike again. Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t necessary. Realizing that continuing the fight in his condition would only lead to certain death, the Mohawk retreated.


    As if his injury were trivial, the warrior used both his bloodied and uninjured arms to climb down from the demi-lune, leaving streaks of red on the damp wooden surface as he fled.


    The battle raged for nearly four hours, but neither the redcoats nor their Mohawk allies succeeded in breaching the fort.


    The rain intensified, making the fight increasingly difficult for both sides.


    As if by mutual agreement, the two armies ceased combat for the day, uncertain if it would resume the following morning.


    As soldiers and Indians withdrew, Adam brought their prisoner to the demi-lune and displayed him as a trophy before the Mohawks. The reaction was immediate; they grew restless and turned back as if preparing for another assault on the fort.


    Adam couldn¡¯t understand what the boy was shouting to his comrades, but it didn¡¯t matter.


    What mattered was making the Mohawks understand they had a hostage¡ªan important one if Adam wasn¡¯t mistaken.


    ¡°Father! Save me! I¡¯m here! It¡¯s me, Rawenniyo!¡± the boy cried out in Iroquois.


    A massive warrior, built like an athlete or even a comic book character, leaped forward like a tiger, wielding two enormous tomahawks. He roared so loudly that his voice echoed throughout the fort.


    ¡°IF YOU TOUCH A HAIR ON MY SON¡¯S HEAD, I¡¯LL KILL YOU ALL! I¡¯LL RIP OUT YOUR EYES, NOSE, AND EARS! I¡¯LL CUT OFF YOUR LIMBS AND IMPALE YOU SO THE BIRDS CAN FEAST ON YOUR GUTS!¡±


    Adam didn¡¯t understand a single word of what this man¡ªwho now resembled a furious Hulk¡ªwas shouting, but he could make an educated guess.


    Displaying the boy had been on his superiors¡¯ orders. They wanted to sow confusion, force their enemies into mistakes. But Adam thought there was a better way.


    Though he didn¡¯t speak the Mohawk language fluently, his time with the fiery-tempered boy had allowed him to pick up a few words. It wasn¡¯t enough for a conversation, but it might be enough to communicate with this man.


    ¡°YOU¡­ WARRIORS¡­ LEAVE¡­ OR¡­ CHILD¡­ DIE!¡±


    The Iroquois, including the Hulk-like warrior with the tomahawks, froze before erupting into a fury. They hurled countless insults and death threats at the French, particularly at the man holding their chief¡¯s son hostage.


    William Johnson had to intervene to prevent Chief Akwiratheka from acting alone. Eventually, the Iroquois withdrew to their main camp, but their anger was palpable.


    Later that afternoon, a heated dispute erupted between the Mohawk chief and Brigadier General John Forbes.


    Thanks to the efforts of Superintendent of Indian Affairs William Johnson, the conflict didn¡¯t escalate further. An arrangement was made to offer the Mohawk chief a chance to recover his son, held hostage by the ruthless French.

 Chapter 96: Akwiratheka

    Akwiratheka had been a formidable warrior since his youth. He had quickly grown taller and stronger than his brothers and other children his age.


    At the age of ten, he could defeat a fifteen-year-old with his fists, and by fifteen, he was as tall and strong as a grown man. At seventeen, he went hunting and returned with a massive deer, and at twenty, he single-handedly killed an adult bear that had awakened mid-winter, when it should have been in deep hibernation.


    His reputation spread far beyond his tribe, earning him the most beautiful women and the finest home for his family.


    The great Hendrick Theyanoguin had made him his adopted son, and when he was killed at the Battle of Lake George, he entrusted the tribe¡¯s future to Akwiratheka with his dying breath.


    In truth, the old man didn¡¯t have that authority. It was up to the matriarch to decide who would lead the Mohawks. Luckily for Akwiratheka, the matriarch¡ªhis adoptive sister¡ªheld him in high regard.


    She was Hendrick Theyanoguin¡¯s biological daughter, unlike him, but they were close nonetheless. They often spent long nights talking, eating, and smoking together.


    Even though they didn¡¯t always agree, far from it, she made him the leader of the Mohawks. For three years now, since Hendrick Theyanoguin¡¯s death in 1755, Akwiratheka had been doing his best to guide his people toward greatness.


    His adoptive father had frequently spoken to him of his dreams and ambitions. Though they formed a single longhouse with the other Haudenosaunee tribes, that didn¡¯t mean the Mohawks should be confined to the modest territory they currently occupied.


    They were like a people trapped between two titans locked in constant conflict, with an ally they couldn¡¯t absorb without shattering the Great Peacemaker¡¯s vision. Their only path forward was to let the red serpent and the white serpent destroy each other.


    Then, the Mohawks could take their rightful place and expand their territory to the coast.


    The English were not blind to their ambitions. They had dared¡ªperhaps too soon¡ªto proclaim that one day the Hodenausaunee would return to live in New York, and this had not been well received. But Akwiratheka cared as little for their opinions as he did for the cries of a duck about to be eaten.


    But above all, Akwiratheka was a father.


    He had many children. Some were, unfortunately, no longer with him, but he still had four sons and a daughter.


    His eldest, Kahionhes, was an adult and a force of nature, much like him. With each passing year, he resembled his father more and more. He was Akwiratheka¡¯s greatest pride, even though he still had much to learn.


    His second son, Tayohseron, was no slouch either. His main flaw was his excessive love for challenges and his overblown pride. In that respect, Tayohseron was more like his father than Kahionhes.


    His third and fourth sons were both very young. Rawenniyo had potential, but he was too impulsive and overly eager to impress the Mohawk chief, his hero. Akwiratheka had to admit that the current situation¡ªthe fact that he had been captured¡ªwas entirely his fault. It was he, not his son, who had insisted Rawenniyo accompany him. He had wanted to rush his training as a warrior, and now his son was a prisoner in this fort.


    As for Tehonwaskaron, he was too young to be involved in adult matters. Akwiratheka had decided it was best to let him play and enjoy his childhood without any concerns.


    Tehonwaskaron was endearing and often asked to ride on Akwiratheka¡¯s back. Not only did the great chief allow it, but he also enjoyed it. He loved spending time with him¡ªa privilege he had scarcely afforded his other sons.


    But none of this compared to his feelings for his only daughter, Onatah.


    She was his little princess, his treasure, his ray of sunshine, and so much more. She meant more to him than anything else in the world. While he would do anything for his children, he would not hesitate to destroy the world for his beloved daughter. Woe to the man who dared to covet her!


    ¡°Chief Akwiratheka? We¡¯re ready.¡±


    ¡°Good. My tomahawks.¡±


    The warrior respectfully handed his chief his favorite weapons, which he accepted. As Akwiratheka turned, his gaze met that of his eldest son. A flame seemed to burn in Kahionhes¡¯s eyes, but Akwiratheka had no intention of letting him join.


    ¡°No, not you, Kahionhes. You stay here.¡±


    ¡°Father, I can¡ª¡±


    ¡°Show me your arm.¡±


    Kahionhes froze under the imposing figure of his father, who towered over him by a full head.


    ¡°Your arm,¡± Akwiratheka repeated in a threatening tone.


    The warrior with long black hair obeyed and showed his injured arm. The frightening wound was hidden beneath a thick, blood-soaked bandage.


    Without mercy, Akwiratheka pressed down hard on the wound. Kahionhes grimaced immediately, his face turning as pale as fresh snow. He didn¡¯t cry out and remained standing, refusing to show his pain.


    Akwiratheka¡¯s cold gaze bore into his wavering son as he pressed even harder. Kahionhes couldn¡¯t endure it and fell to his knees.


    ¡°You stay. Watch the English.¡±


    He stepped past his kneeling son and joined the other warriors who had come with him.


    ***


    The night was long, dark, and silent. The only positive thing was that the rain had stopped.


    Adam was deeply asleep, reliving a memory of Fran?ois¡ªsomething that hadn¡¯t happened in a while.


    He was in Corbie, Fran?ois¡¯s hometown, attending a very important meeting with the parents of the woman who was supposed to become Fran?ois¡¯s future wife. She was also present, her cheeks red like those of a young girl in love.


    But Fran?ois didn¡¯t love her. He didn¡¯t even feel any sympathy for her.


    In truth, he knew very little about her. Her passions didn¡¯t interest him. She might have been kind, but he had no interest in her.


    Above all, she was very unattractive.


    Agathe Desmoulins was short and round, with oily skin marked by a difficult adolescence, dry, straw-like hair, and eyebrows so thick they seemed like a broad bar across her eyes.


    Her main asset was her parents¡¯ wealth, modest compared to French nobility but respectable to most people. This was what interested Fran?ois¡¯s parents, who wanted a profitable marriage for their son.


    They had told him¡ªor rather told Fran?ois¡ªthat love would come later, but he hadn¡¯t been convinced. Fran?ois¡¯s enlistment in the King¡¯s army had followed shortly after this first meeting.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!


    A bell rang out in the center of the fort, violently pulling him from his sleep.


    What¡ª?!


    A string of drool trailed from his mouth, but his mind was clearer than ever. In an instant, he was up and dressed.


    Learning to dress quickly was one of the first things you learned in the army, as it was essential for mounting an effective counterattack.


    ¡°The Indians are in the fort! Everyone, get up!¡±


    ¡°Quick! To arms!¡±


    ¡°Find the enemies! To the ramparts!¡±


    In no time, the entire garrison was on alert.


    Adam hurriedly left the barracks where he had been sleeping and rushed forward to locate and neutralize the intruders.


    In the darkness, only ominous silhouettes and restless shadows could be seen.


    Following an instinct, he headed to the storehouse where the young hostage was being held. By now, the boy was no longer left exposed to the elements¡ªhe would have frozen to death in this dreadful weather.


    ¡°Follow me!¡± Adam shouted to his men, their faces still worried and tired.


    ¡°Where are we going, Lieutenant?¡±


    ¡°To check that the prisoner is secure! They¡¯re probably trying to free him!¡±


    Leading about twenty men, Adam moved quickly to the southern part of the fort, where the storehouses for cannonballs, powder, and other military supplies were located. Naturally, they hadn¡¯t left the boy near these, especially the powder, for fear he might do something rash¡ªeven at the cost of his own life.


    The young officer opened the left building¡¯s door and was relieved to find the child still there, tied to a cannon carriage so he couldn¡¯t stray too far from his cot.


    Phew! He¡¯s still here!


    Adam couldn¡¯t hide his relief and immediately ordered his men to form a line in front of the door, ready to fire if the Indians decided to come this way.


    It feels like they infiltrated the fort from the north.


    ¡°Sergeant Marais, go gather information on the number and location of the enemies. If you find Monsieur de Br¨¦hant or Monsieur de Montcalm, inform them that the hostage is secure.¡±


    ¡°At your orders!¡±


    ¡°Sergeant Laroche, try to gather men to guard the ramparts. The enemy might use this attack as cover for a larger assault!¡±


    ¡°At your orders, sir!¡±


    Adam watched his two subordinates disappear into the darkness, unable to mask his own concerns. Since joining this corps, he had learned to fear the English. They were capable, disciplined, well-equipped, and cunning when necessary. They were formidable adversaries.


    Before this, he hadn¡¯t thought much of English soldiers. He had known they were strong, but that was during the First World War. His knowledge was insufficient to form an opinion of them during the Second World War, but it was clear in his mind that the British Army of the 21st century was a shadow of what it had once been.


    In a word, Great Britain was no longer frightening.


    But they weren¡¯t the only ones.


    The French Army, humiliated during the Second World War, now seemed barely capable of waging war against terrorists in Africa. To him, it had become an army of bureaucrats relying on outdated equipment and leaning on its allies.


    Without nuclear weapons, France would certainly have stopped being taken seriously long ago.


    But here, in this era, it was a titan rivaling the great colonial empires, capable of holding its ground even if they united to bring it down.


    For over a year now, he had been proud to be French.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?! Let me go!¡± the young Iroquois shouted, pulling at his chain and interrupting Adam¡¯s thoughts.


    Adam refocused his attention on him, his gaze distant. That seemed to calm the boy.


    ¡°Silence. You¡¯re loud.¡±


    ¡°Is it my father? Has he come to save me? Haha! Then you don¡¯t stand a chance! He¡¯ll crush you!¡±


    ¡°I told you to shut up, kid. I can¡¯t understand a word you¡¯re saying.¡±


    Adam had only learned a few words, and even that had not been simple. With Brother Joseph, it had taken immense patience, the kind worthy of respect from a saint.


    But those few words weren¡¯t enough to understand what this child was saying, especially given how fast he spoke. Even though he enunciated each syllable, the speed at which he uttered them left Adam unable to catch anything.


    To his ears, it was just a stream of strange sounds.


    ¡°Hey, you know all your friends are going to die because of you, right? None of them will leave here alive. Their blood will be on your hands, kid. Doesn¡¯t that bother you?¡±


    Adam¡¯s voice was eerily cold and calm, as if he were talking about something trivial. Like some mundane accident.


    Even he was surprised by it.


    What was that?


    He didn¡¯t recognize his voice¡ªmore precisely, his tone. He was somewhat aware that he couldn¡¯t speak here as he would in the 21st century. Yet, it was only now that he realized he was talking about the deaths of dozens of people as if it were nothing.


    His face turned somber as he realized he was dangerously changing because of this war.


    The child stayed silent.


    Maybe he understood what his captor meant, or perhaps he had realized that talking to this man with a large scar on his temple was a waste of breath. Only Rawenniyo could say.


    Just then, a great commotion broke out outside the building. Several gunshots rang out, accompanied by terrifying screams.


    Fuck! Now what?!


    Adam drew his pistol and cautiously peeked outside.


    ¡°Oh, shit...¡±


    Bodies lay everywhere in front of the door, both Native warriors and French soldiers. The remaining French troops were doing their best to fend off an enemy on the rampart.


    Adam watched as a long arrow struck the chest of one of his subordinates, who collapsed with a loud cry of pain.


    He couldn¡¯t help but take a step back.


    ¡°Damn it!¡±


    The commotion was drawing more soldiers, but the Mohawks seemed to hold their ground.


    Boom!


    A loud noise echoed above his head. Someone was on the roof.


    He recognized footsteps, a sign that the dreadful noise was not the sound of a lifeless body falling.


    Several Native warriors appeared in front of the building¡¯s door, forcing Adam to retreat further. He could see their intimidating silhouettes outside and hear them speaking to one another.


    The child behind him could hear them too and called for help, causing Adam¡¯s heart to leap in his chest.


    Shut up, for God¡¯s sake!


    Of course, the Natives heard him loud and clear and pushed the door open.


    Their leader, a towering figure, entered, gripping two bloodied tomahawks firmly. He had to duck slightly to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe.


    His merciless gaze immediately locked onto the young Frenchman, who had positioned himself behind the child. Adam was using the boy as a shield, pressing the barrel of his pistol against his temple.


    His finger trembled on the trigger, but Akwiratheka had no doubt the cowardly insect would pull it if he stepped any closer.


    ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer! Or I¡¯ll kill the kid!¡±


    The Mohawk chief froze, his gaze flicking between his son and the one threatening him. He didn¡¯t speak Adam¡¯s language but understood perfectly from his tone, gestures, and expression.


    ¡°Release my child, and your death will be swift,¡± he said in a deep, hate-filled voice.


    ¡°Father! Save me!¡±


    ¡°Back off, now!¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t release my son immediately, I promise you a slow, agonizing death!¡± the chief roared, his voice erupting like a volcano. ¡°You¡¯ll beg me to finish you off!¡±


    ¡°Back off! Damn it!¡±


    The tension was immense, and neither man seemed willing to back down. Inside the building, the Frenchman and the Iroquois barked threats at each other without progress, while outside, the situation grew increasingly dire for the Native warriors.


    Although they had come in force, it wasn¡¯t enough to overcome the garrison. They were being killed off quickly, forced to retreat south of the fort.


    Akwiratheka was informed amid the cries and wails, and it only fueled his fury. He refused to leave without his third son. Then he heard the Frenchman speaking in his tongue.


    ¡°You... warriors... leave... or... child... die!¡±


    The words were crude, as if spoken by someone missing half their teeth, but they were the same ones as earlier in the day.


    ¡°You want us to leave? Impossible! Not without my son! Give him back to me, now!¡±


    ¡°Father!¡±


    ¡°You... warriors... leave... or... child... die!¡±


    ¡°Is that all you know how to say?!¡±


    The chief was enraged, but every second counted. His warriors were dying, and he was making no progress.


    ¡°Chief, we¡¯re out of time! We must leave!¡±


    ¡°NO!¡±


    ¡°YOU... WARRIORS... LEAVE... OR... CHILD... DIE!¡± Adam shouted, pressing the pistol harder against the child¡¯s temple.


    ¡°FATHER!¡±


    ¡°CHIEF!¡±


    For the first time in his life, Chief Akwiratheka felt powerless. Even at the Battle of Lake George, when they had been slaughtered like dogs by the French, he had never felt this way.


    No words could capture the turmoil in his torn heart.


    The Frenchman was terrified¡ªit was obvious¡ªbut he was the one with the power to end this. He held his son, he held the gun.


    Akwiratheka would have given anything to see that pistol turned on him instead.


    The mere thought of his child lying in a pool of blood crushed him, making it impossible to think clearly.


    Finally, despite his son¡¯s cries and pleas for rescue, he stepped back.


    Adam¡¯s eyes widened as he saw the anguish on the giant¡¯s face.


    Only then did he truly grasp what he was doing. Fear was suddenly replaced by overwhelming shame, so strong it made him want to vomit.


    What am I doing, for God¡¯s sake? Am I really doing this? Taking a child hostage?


    His eyes shifted to the boy¡¯s tear-streaked face, then to his trembling pistol.


    What... what am I becoming?


    Under the gaze of both the chief and the boy, he lowered his pistol and reached for a large black iron key hanging from a nail, out of the child¡¯s reach even with a tool.


    Slowly, he inserted the key into the mechanism binding the boy¡¯s ankle. When he turned it, there was a metallic click, and the shackle came loose.


    The boy looked warily at the soldier before running to his father. The giant immediately enveloped his son in his arms, lifting him as if he weighed nothing.


    ¡°Leave,¡± Adam murmured, his armed hand hanging limply at his side.


    Akwiratheka raised an eyebrow but didn¡¯t press further. If he delayed too long, he would die with no peace of mind. Turning his back on the Frenchman as if the man wouldn¡¯t change his mind, he muttered, ¡°We will meet again, Frenchman.¡±

 Chapter 97: Change

    The nighttime attack on Fort Edward came at a high cost for both the French and the Iroquois. One-third of the Mohawks, a total of 122 brave warriors, lost their lives in less than an hour.


    For the French, the toll was just as heavy, with 145 experienced soldiers killed.


    A quarter of these losses occurred on the fort''s southern side. The company previously named after its former commander, Armand Gilbert, no longer existed.


    It had suffered too many casualties to be reformed in a short time.


    After a brief inquiry, Adam and the other survivors were reassigned to Albert Fontaine¡¯s company, which now had a full complement of soldiers.


    Fortunately, little attention was given to what had happened in the storehouse that night.


    According to the official report, Lieutenant Fran?ois Boucher and his company had gone to the southern wall to monitor the rampart and guard a prisoner. Despite their heroic efforts, the prisoner had been freed by Indians allied with the British and escaped over the southern rampart after massacring the soldiers stationed there by Lieutenant Boucher.


    The report further stated that Lieutenant Fran?ois Boucher had done everything in his power to hold off the Indians until reinforcements arrived but had ultimately been forced to release the prisoner. Luckily, the Indians, having achieved their goal, supposedly fled in such haste that they spared the lieutenant, leaving him unharmed.


    Even Adam, who had sought to hide the truth, found the report flimsy. Yet neither the commander nor the colonel pursued the matter further.


    Adam assumed these officers were too preoccupied with managing their losses to delve into such a minor detail.


    ¡°What are you thinking about, Fran?ois?¡±


    ¡°Ah, nothing,¡± Adam replied, noticing Albert Fontaine watching him with a hint of concern.


    ¡°After what happened last night, I doubt you¡¯re thinking about nothing. No one will judge you, you know. Losing your company is, unfortunately, something that happens often. I¡¯ve seen more than one captain turn to alcohol because of the guilt.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not that.¡±


    ¡°Thinking about the men you lost is entirely natural, Fran?ois. But you did nothing wrong. You made decisions and did your best to protect the south of the fort while we were engaged in the north. You¡¯re not responsible for what happened.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t listen. Of course, I¡¯m sad for my men, but that¡¯s not what I¡¯m thinking about.


    In truth, Adam couldn¡¯t stop thinking about the child and how he had used him as a human shield. He saw himself as a monster, disgusted by what he had done¡ªand nearly done.


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Albert Fontaine sighed as he looked up at the gray sky and the torrential rain pouring over the region. ¡°It¡¯s really sad that the company trained by Armand Gilbert had to be disbanded, but it¡¯s only temporary. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll soon be able to recruit and train your own soldiers.¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe it¡¯s for the best. Financially, I was running short. It was hard paying that many salaries.¡±


    ¡°Haha, yes, especially when you¡¯re stuck in a fort and can¡¯t plunder the enemy.¡±


    ¡°I heard we¡¯ll soon be leaving to join the Duke of Richelieu at Fort Carillon, heading to Louisbourg. Maybe we¡¯ll¡­ I don¡¯t know, be able to do something and earn some money.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, for now, it¡¯s complicated. As long as we¡¯re stuck here, we can¡¯t do much.¡±


    Adam and Albert looked toward the faint lights of the main British camp, barely visible through the downpour. The rain fell so heavily it felt as if God had decided to drown the world, tired of watching men slaughter each other for centuries.


    The rain smothered the lights, muffled the sounds, and washed away the smells. It was as if Adam and Captain Fontaine were the only two people left in the world.


    The water flowed over the ground, which could no longer absorb it, and spilled into the river, swollen and overflowing in several places.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m heading back to get dry,¡± the captain said, stifling a yawn. ¡°There probably won¡¯t be an attack tonight. The Iroquois have lost so many of their own they likely won¡¯t try again.¡±


    ¡°I think so too. The English will probably stay in their camp as well.¡±


    ¡°Good luck tonight. Try not to catch a cold.¡±


    ¡°As if I could. What terrible weather. Good night, Albert.¡±


    The man, partially hidden under a long brown cloak, left the royal bastion, leaving Lieutenant Boucher alone.


    Although he had been integrated into Fontaine¡¯s company and retained his rank of lieutenant, it was made clear that his responsibilities would be minimal. Albert Fontaine already had a lieutenant and two sergeants.


    Thus, despite his rank, Adam held the responsibilities of a sergeant, and his two surviving sergeants, who had luckily made it through the previous night¡¯s assault, took on the role of corporals.


    This demotion, thankfully, was only temporary.


    As Albert and before him both Br¨¦hant and Montcalm had said, Adam would likely have the chance to reform his company when things calmed down. However, he needed to be patient, as this would probably only happen during the winter, when combat would no longer be possible.


    The fact that these redcoats had launched an attack so late in the season was a risky gamble in itself. This dreadful weather was proof of that.


    I¡¯m glad to be dry. The English must regret coming here to wade through mud.


    ***


    At the same time, in a spacious tent at the center of the British camp, a heated argument was taking place between the Mohawk chief, Akwiratheka, and Brigadier General John Forbes. Their powerful voices could be heard from the camp¡¯s entrance.


    The sentries, pale-faced, pretended not to hear a thing but trembled under the relentless downpour. Those stationed at the entrance of the grand tent¡ªlarge enough to accommodate all the officers of this modest army¡ªenvied their counterparts patrolling in and around the camp.


    Despite being supported by his subordinates¡ªall high-ranking, capable officers from respectable families¡ªthe brigadier general did not seem to hold the upper hand.


    Akwiratheka was accusing the British of abandoning them the previous night, which had led to disaster. For the Mohawks, losing a hundred warriors was catastrophic.


    More than a complaint, the tone used by the Iroquois chief was that of an accuser. This disaster, which could cost the chief his position within the Confederacy, was, in his view, entirely the fault of the British.


    One only had to look into his fierce eyes to realize he barely considered these men human. Cowardice was something he could not tolerate in a warrior.


    Losing 10% of one¡¯s forces in battle was the usual figure, whether in Europe or America. That was roughly what Abercrombie had lost at Carillon, or Montcalm at the same place. But here, the Mohawks had lost three times that number!


    Any general would weep tears of blood and prepare for exemplary punishment from their government. Some had lost their lives over far less, yet Forbes did not seem particularly affected.


    "Remind that savage," he spat to the Superintendent of Indian Affairs, "that we gave them the opportunity to attack the fort, as promised, but at no point was it agreed that our soldiers would intervene!"


    William Johnson, acting as the intermediary between these two men¡ªboth more stubborn than mules¡ªwas in torment. It was like standing between two monsters.


    Suppressing his distress and fear as much as possible, he turned once more to the giant with broad shoulders, concealed beneath a thick red cloak but still clearly showing his Herculean physique and many necklaces.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The two men exchanged a glance, but William remained silent.


    "Well? What are you waiting for to translate, Mr. Johnson?" barked John Forbes, crossing his arms even tighter, as if to mimic the Mohawk chief.


    "Sir," Johnson replied, his face showing visible discomfort, "if I tell him that, he¡¯ll only grow angrier."


    "And so?"


    "General, he¡­ he might leave with all his warriors. Or, well, what remains of them."


    "He would dare?! By what right?! He committed to helping us take this fort!"


    William Johnson suspected¡ªor rather knew¡ªthat this man, who clearly understood nothing about Indians or the subtle art of diplomacy, would say something like that. It was a mistake.


    "Sir, the Iroquois are not your subordinates. They are our allies, our partners. They are not like the Hanoverians. I¡¯m afraid¡ª"


    "Just tell him what I said, Mr. Johnson!"


    The general¡¯s face, until now simply red with anger and indignation, turned as purple as a beet. He no longer bore any resemblance to the calm and refined gentleman Johnson had met just days earlier.


    William Johnson sighed in resignation and translated, softening the general¡¯s words as much as possible.


    Unsurprisingly, the Indian chief erupted in fury. His eyes, like those of a mythical beast, locked onto the finely dressed officer whose heart seemed so black.


    If a gaze could have weight, poor John Forbes would have been crushed.


    Anyone else in Forbes¡¯ position might have burst into tears or soiled themselves under such a show of power.


    "Is that what this little fool, this powdered sack of shit dressed like a woman, this miserable, gutless insect said?! That¡¯s his excuse for letting my people die?!"


    Before William Johnson could respond, the chief leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over behind him. All eyes were fixed on him, and three-quarters of the officers instinctively reached for their weapons.


    The others were too petrified to react.


    The giant, his body covered in tattoos and scars, glared at them one by one without showing the slightest hint of fear. It was as if, even one against ten, he had the upper hand.


    The commander, perfectly still in his chair despite not being immune to the psychological assault, noticed his men¡¯s state and raised a hand to calm them. While his subordinates lowered their weapons, none relaxed their posture.


    "My brother," said Akwiratheka, addressing Johnson, "tell him this: tomorrow, he will attack without the support of my warriors. We will remain only until the bodies of all our dead are returned to us. Then we will leave. We cannot lose more warriors."


    William remained silent for a moment, weighing the gravity of the words, before turning to the commander. He translated the chief¡¯s message faithfully.


    Predictably, the British officers were outraged.


    The diplomat, tasked by the King with maintaining good relations between the colonies and the Iroquois¡ªand the first to hold this position¡ªmade a significant effort to calm the situation. The English failed to understand that their allies were just that: allies, not subject to the strict rules of the British Army.


    Even the militias had to obey orders.


    "No matter! We don¡¯t need a few savages! If they want to leave, let them go to Hell!" roared the general, causing his officers behind him to tremble. "Gentlemen, regardless of the weather, I want our cannons operational day and night starting at first light tomorrow!"


    ***


    The next day, at half past six in the morning, before the sun had risen, all of Fort Edward was shaken awake by an intense bombardment.


    Adam, exhausted from his long night on the ramparts, rushed with the rest of Albert Fontaine''s company to the southern side of the besieged fort. There, he saw a thick white cloud where the English cannons were positioned.


    Albert arrived less than a minute after the young lieutenant and positioned himself between Adam and his other lieutenant, a man in his thirties named Thomas Belmaison.


    ¡°Hm? They¡¯re not forming ranks?¡± the experienced captain immediately observed.


    ¡°No, sir. It seems they only intend to bombard us,¡± Adam replied.


    He gazed thoughtfully at the enemy lines. Almost no red uniforms were visible.


    From the corner of his eye, Adam noticed his friend and second-in-command discussing something before abruptly falling silent as the Marquis de Montcalm approached the rampart. The marquis carried a long, shining spyglass, reflecting the faint sunlight barely breaking through the thick gray clouds.


    The young lieutenant watched him step onto the long wooden bridge connecting the fort to the demi-lune, where Colonel de Br¨¦hant and several other officers were already present.


    ¡°They¡¯ve stopped firing,¡± Adam muttered to himself.


    ¡°Hmm, they¡¯ll probably take a break and fire at us again in a few hours,¡± Albert murmured beside him.


    ¡°Why?¡± the young man asked, unable to suppress his curiosity despite the time he had spent serving in the King¡¯s armies.


    ¡°Because cannonballs are valuable, plain and simple. As is gunpowder,¡± Albert explained. ¡°Even if they brought large quantities of ammunition and powder with them, it doesn¡¯t mean they can afford to waste it. It takes time to produce and even more time to transport it here. If they¡¯re reckless, they¡¯ll run out of resources to continue the siege and will have to withdraw without achieving anything.¡±


    ¡°Not to mention the wear on the cannons,¡± Lieutenant Belmaison added. ¡°You can¡¯t fire a cannon continuously. It heats up quickly and could be seriously damaged if pushed beyond its limits. The gunners might even be killed.¡±


    Adam glanced at the lieutenant, who held the same rank but had a decade more experience. Slowly, he nodded. Of course, he knew this; his time enduring hell on the Oc¨¦an had taught him as much.


    Though he had never witnessed a cannon exploding, he had heard stories that chilled him to the bone. During the Battle of Ouessant nt, one of his comrades had accidentally touched a cannon. The metal had been so hot that his skin instantly burned.


    In the chaos, Adam hadn¡¯t heard the man¡¯s screams¡ªthey had been drowned out by the deafening detonations and other cries. But after their resounding victory, when the silence returned, he had seen the aftermath, and it wasn¡¯t a sight he could forget.


    The unfortunate man¡¯s palms had turned redder than an English coat and were covered in large white blisters that looked like buboes. Only cold water could soothe the pain, and even then, it returned the moment he removed his hands from the bucket.


    Adam refocused his attention on the enemy trenches, their floors filled with rainwater, and then on the camp beyond, where the British flag proudly flew.


    Slowly, the smoke from the cannon fire began to dissipate, carried away by a faint northerly wind. Out of the haze, three silhouettes emerged, like ghosts, becoming clearer as they approached the besieged fort.


    Indians? What do they want? Oh, damn, it¡¯s him! The chief!


    Though Adam didn¡¯t know his name yet, his identity was unmistakable. The man had left a strong impression on him¡ªbut unfortunately, they were enemies.


    There are two Englishmen with him, and they¡¯re under the protection of a white flag. What could this be about? Ah, they must be here to retrieve the bodies of their warriors.


    ***


    Marquis de Montcalm watched the approaching men and, despite the temptation, ordered his troops not to lower their weapons. Honor dictated that not a single hair on their heads should be harmed. That the enemy lacked honor did not change this principle.


    This was his belief, and he held it to be just.


    He folded his spyglass and left the ravelin, though not before instructing Monsieur de Hautoy to shoot these three men if anything should happen to him. He had decided to speak with them, accompanied by Monsieur de Br¨¦hant and Monsieur de L¨¦vis.


    Montcalm stepped through the fort¡¯s gates and followed the dirt road under the protective range of the French cannons.


    The white feathers on his black-and-gold tricorn hat swayed gracefully in the light breeze, while his boots made a squelching sound, reminiscent of walking on a rotting sponge. Despite his precautions, the road¡¯s dampness was ruining his attire.


    One hand rested on the hilt of his sword while the other clutched a thick pair of yellow leather gloves. He walked with pride toward the enemy, who had stopped just a few meters from the glacis.


    Montcalm recognized the Mohawk leader and the English diplomat, William Johnson¡ªa proper man, though still English. The third figure was of no consequence, just a soldier tasked with carrying the white flag.


    ¡°Gentlemen, good morning. Let¡¯s not waste time on pleasantries. What is it you want?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, Marquis,¡± Johnson replied. ¡°I am not here as a representative of His Majesty¡¯s army but rather to convey the request of Chief Akwiratheka.¡±


    ¡°And what does he want?¡± Montcalm asked, feigning ignorance.


    ¡°Akwiratheka wishes to recover the bodies of his warriors so they may be honored according to Mohawk rites, allowing them to rest in peace.¡±


    ¡°If he had not attacked, there would be no bodies to recover,¡± Montcalm responded firmly. ¡°But very well. I am willing to return his warriors. However, everything comes at a price. What does Akwiratheka offer in exchange?¡±


    William Johnson showed no surprise and turned to the Mohawk leader, who stood as tall and imposing as a mountain. Arms crossed over his well-defined chest, he locked eyes with Montcalm, who did not look away.


    On the contrary, Montcalm¡¯s gaze exuded a respectable strength¡ªthough vastly inferior and incomparable to the commanding presence in the Iroquois chief¡¯s eyes.


    The Mohawk leader listened silently to his friend, the only Englishman he truly trusted, then remained still for a moment. That moment stretched into what felt like an eternity for Montcalm and the two colonels accompanying him.


    Perplexed, Johnson glanced at the towering figure beside him. The chief stood utterly motionless, a living statue. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Johnson might have sworn the man was dead on his feet.


    At last, Akwiratheka spoke in a deep, commanding voice: ¡°In exchange for my warriors, I will return home with all my men and will not come before this fort again until the snow has melted.¡±


    Johnson faithfully translated the words, enabling Montcalm to grasp the Mohawk leader¡¯s intentions.


    Does he think me a fool? Montcalm thought. Does he believe I cannot see the flaw in such a promise? This means he could attack another fort, a village, or a convoy during the winter if he wished!


    The Marquis glanced back at the two officers standing behind him and then at the wooden walls of the fort, scarred by English cannon fire.


    All he offers is a brief reprieve with no guarantees for anything beyond Fort Edward. It¡¯s not much of a gain, but it¡¯s something.


    He furrowed his brow, feigning hesitation, though his decision had already been made.


    It¡¯s not perfect, but it¡¯s not terrible either. More importantly, I¡¯ll be rid of these corpses. The last thing I need is an epidemic.


    Slowly, he nodded.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± he said simply. ¡°I will issue orders for the bodies to be brought here. You and your men have nothing to fear; I give you my word.¡±


    Once again, William Johnson translated the French commander¡¯s words. His feelings were mixed. He was relieved for the Mohawk chief, as funeral rites were as vital to them as to Christians. But as an Englishman, he would have preferred the French to refuse.


    Such a refusal might have compelled the Mohawks to stay, potentially aiding in the capture of the fort.


    As he mulled this over, the French officers turned and headed back to their camp.


    Shortly afterward, under a light drizzle, a sort of procession emerged from Fort Edward¡¯s gates. Before a solemn line of Indians, their faces grave, over a hundred bodies wrapped in sheets were respectfully laid out.


    It was the best the French could do for such an enemy, and it was already more than anyone might have expected.


    By noon, all the Indians had left the British encampment as agreed. Brigadier General Forbes allowed them to leave and refused to see them off.

 Chapter 98: Enemy Reinforcements

    October 10th was particularly rainy. It was as if the sky had split in two.


    Yet, the English cannons, sheltered under a large tarp, continued to fire. Their heavy cannonballs tore through the downpour and struck the thick walls of Fort Edward, but they achieved nothing.


    General Forbes, whose anger had long since cooled, was now weary of this siege that made no progress.


    The morale of his men was very low, particularly among the provincials, who were threatening to return home unless they were paid. Humidity was omnipresent, and sickness had started to spread.


    Although they had made significant efforts to avoid this problem, it had not been enough.


    For now, the situation was manageable, but if nothing changed, his entire army would be incapable of fighting. He hoped the French faced the same struggles, but that was doubtful, as their living conditions were far better than his own forces¡¯.


    John Forbes let out a long sigh as he gazed outside his tent.


    The rain streaming down the thick canvas created a curtain at the entrance. The drops striking the canvas above his head made an infernal racket, preventing him from thinking clearly.


    What to do? sighed the officer as he looked for the thousandth time at the map spread out on the table in the middle of his tent. Our cannons are useless against them. If I had mortars, I could destroy their living quarters and possibly reach their powder reserves. Ah¡­ and this rain just won¡¯t stop! Damn it! I hate October!


    ¡°General! One of our sentinels has an urgent report for you!¡±


    Forbes, pulled out of his thoughts, raised his head and once again looked outside, where it was so dark one might think night was falling.


    ¡°Send him in.¡±


    Immediately, a young non-commissioned officer entered and gave a rigid military salute. He was drenched, as though he had plunged into the river, and his expression was extremely serious.


    ¡°General, our men have spotted an enemy army on the move. They are marching straight toward us!¡±


    ¡°What?! Where are they? Show me on this map!¡±


    The soldier stepped closer to the table and quickly located Fort Edward. Without hesitation, he placed his finger on a road running along Lake George.


    ¡°They were spotted here, sir. Their march is slow because of the rain, but at this pace, they¡¯ll be here in two days.¡±


    ¡°Two days¡­¡± murmured the general. ¡°When were they spotted exactly, and where do you estimate they are now?¡±


    ¡°They were spotted yesterday morning, just before ten o¡¯clock. By the time our scout returned to our base near the ruins of Fort William Henry and I traveled here, they must be in this area,¡± the soldier said, pointing to a location much farther south.


    That close?! No, it¡¯s definitely possible if they don¡¯t have artillery!


    ¡°Did your scout manage to estimate their numbers?¡±


    ¡°General, he couldn¡¯t observe the enemy column in detail, as they had sent some horsemen ahead. He was lucky to return and warn us. According to him, the enemy army stretched for at least a mile, marching three abreast.¡±


    The general bit his lower lip and quickly calculated. Based on this information, he estimated the enemy force to be about two thousand men.


    If it¡¯s just them, it won¡¯t be an issue. But if they attack us while we¡¯re stuck here, it could be disastrous!


    ¡°Anything else to report?¡±


    ¡°N-no, General, that¡¯s all. On your orders, I¡¯ll tell my men at William Henry to pull back.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Good work. You may go. Mr. Hall, I need all our officers here immediately.¡±


    ¡°At once.¡±


    The officer assisting the general disappeared into the rain and returned several dozen minutes later with Robert Rogers, whose chin was covered with a light brown beard, making him look more like a bandit.


    The ensuing discussion was intense and seemed endless. There was so much to consider that new topics constantly arose.


    Then, a soaking-wet regular soldier arrived, followed by a militia officer.


    ¡°Excuse me, General, but a regiment of provincials has just arrived.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Forbes asked, standing up in surprise.


    An officer wearing breeches and a red coat under a navy-blue overcoat stepped forward and removed his black tricorn hat as a sign of respect. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and piercing eyes that seemed to analyze everything methodically.


    ¡°Apologies for the late arrival, General. We¡¯ve come from Virginia and faced atrocious weather nearly the entire way. I bring six hundred men and two mortars with me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s excellent. Unfortunately, you¡¯ve arrived too late, Colonel¡­¡±


    ¡°Washington, General.¡±


    ¡°Colonel Washington. We¡¯re about to lift the siege. Enemy reinforcements are on their way and will force us to fight on two fronts.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Is it truly impossible to take this fort before the enemy arrives? With my men and these two mortars¡­¡±


    ¡°Colonel,¡± the brigadier general interrupted more sharply, returning to his seat, ¡°we¡¯ve been stuck here long enough to know that this fort won¡¯t fall with a few more militia and two mortars. The enemy could arrive tomorrow or the day after. We won¡¯t have time to take the fort, and even if we did, we¡¯d be left with a partially ruined position.¡±


    ¡°In that case, perhaps we can stop these reinforcements from arriving! With your men, General, we could surely¡­¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± roared the officer, slamming his fist on the table. ¡°When I need the advice of a mere militia colonel, I will ask for it. Until then, remember your place! Have you seen the state of our men? They have no will left to fight, and some of the provincials want to leave. On top of that, part of my army is sick. And let¡¯s not even start on our supply issues!¡±


    He let out a deep sigh, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He continued more calmly, looking the man straight in the eye.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°This siege is a failure. I regret that you and your men came for nothing, but it¡¯s over.¡±


    George Washington looked uncomfortable and disappointed, but there was nothing more he could do. He glanced at the other officers, who avoided his gaze, and gave a military salute before withdrawing.


    ***


    On the southern rampart, all the French soldiers gazed in astonishment at the spot where the English had set up their camp.


    Everyone was silent.


    On the morning of October 11, as a fine drizzle resembling an ordinary mist blanketed the region, it was noticed that the enemy was breaking camp.


    The cannons, like the dreary landscape, were eerily silent, as if something terrible was about to happen. Montcalm, like every soldier in the fort, remained on high alert, fearing a trap.


    But nothing happened.


    The tents were folded, the cannons loaded onto wagons along with the remaining ammunition, the cooking pots emptied, and the fires left to burn out on their own.


    ¡°They¡­ they¡¯re really leaving?!¡±


    ¡°It¡­ it seems so¡­¡±


    ¡°So¡­ we really¡­?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve won!¡±


    ¡°Hurray!¡±


    ¡°Another victory!¡±


    ¡°We did it! We held out!¡±


    ¡°Long live the Marquis de Montcalm!¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    Soon, cries of joy echoed throughout Fort Edward. Smiles so bright lit up every face that the gray sky no longer seemed as dreary.


    Adam joined his comrades, expressing his relief, for like all of them, he was exhausted. Food had been so rationed that portions had been cut, and the wine diluted even further.


    If the enemy hadn¡¯t given up, the siege could have become dire in less than ten days. Eventually, the French might have been forced to launch a sortie in a desperate attempt to break the siege.


    Adam hadn¡¯t seen his reflection in days, but he knew he looked utterly worn out. It showed especially in his eyes, which bore the marks of countless sleepless nights.


    He looked like a panda, though there were worse sights to behold.


    Monsieur de Bourlamaque, leaning on his heavy crutch to compensate for his missing leg, resembled a ghost. Beneath his powdered wig, his hair had turned entirely white overnight.


    By some miracle, he had survived the amputation, but he would no longer be able to serve the King on the battlefield.


    Pale as a sheet from his ordeal, he stood on the southern rampart among his men, raising his black-and-gold tricorne. A faint, yet genuine smile lit up his drawn face.


    Monsieur de Br¨¦hant, stationed on the Royal Bastion, did the same, sharing in the moment of joy with his comrades, whether from his cherished Picardie Regiment or elsewhere.


    Monsieur de Hautoy, on the other side of the fort, watched the English with suspicion as they lowered their flag before rejoining the rest of their departing troops.


    Only Montcalm remained calm¡ªat least outwardly.


    Seeing him so composed, Adam felt a flicker of doubt creep into his mind.


    W-What? Is something wrong? A problem?


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Fran?ois? You look worried,¡± Albert remarked.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably nothing. It¡¯s just¡­ the commander looks so serious. I wonder if this is a trick to make us drop our guard.¡±


    The captain glanced over Adam¡¯s shoulder and saw the marquis, strangely silent, as if all these celebrations were far too premature.


    ¡°Hmm, I don¡¯t think so. Breaking and setting up camp isn¡¯t something done lightly, you know? I think they¡¯re really gone.¡±


    ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll pursue them?¡±


    Adam spoke without thinking, but the answer came to him the moment the words left his mouth.


    No, he won¡¯t. Not after what happened last time. We suffered heavy losses trying to make the English regret besieging us.


    ¡°It¡¯s very unlikely. The fort¡¯s walls need to be inspected and repaired, and more importantly, we urgently need to replenish our supplies. Chasing after an enemy far stronger in numbers would be incredibly risky.¡±


    The young man said nothing but nodded slowly, showing he understood.


    The military engineers were responsible for planning and organizing the troops, but as soon as Adam stepped outside, he couldn¡¯t resist circling the fort to assess the extent of the damage.


    The English cannonballs had ricocheted off the sturdy timber of the region, but each impact had gouged large chunks out of the material, leaving immense craters in the cleverly assembled logs in certain spots.


    Here and there, enemy cannonballs lay in the mud, blackened and slightly deformed.


    Immediately, the French got to work dismantling the painstaking trenchwork the English had built around their encampments.


    Adam was assigned to the eastern side of the royal bastion with a dozen soldiers, a third of whom came from his previous company. Armed with shovels, they began the arduous task of filling in the trenches and communication lines.


    Under a light, cold drizzle, they labored hard and made slow progress. The earth was heavy, but the real challenge was the mud, which nearly reached their ankles. Each step took considerable effort, as if the ground itself was trying to trap and swallow them like quicksand.


    By the end of the day, they had managed to fill in only the most significant approach line, the one running from the woods to the base of the glacis in front of the royal bastion.


    When Adam returned with his team, covered in mud from head to toe, he noticed that the other teams had accomplished about the same. Nevertheless, their efforts had erased 70% of the siege¡¯s traces¡ªexcluding the impacts on the ramparts.


    Oh, damn! I hurt all over! My legs are gone... my arms are gone... my back is gone... Just finish me off already!


    His mud-caked hands were clawed like a bird of prey¡¯s talons, trembling and as weak as an old man¡¯s. He had worked so hard he could barely move his fingers.


    I can¡¯t even close them properly anymore! he lamented, gazing at them with despair.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d been left in such a miserable state. After the previous siege and his brief stay with the Mohawks, he had been ordered to do the exact same task. For two days, he had filled in holes deep enough to bury a man standing upright.


    The fact that the earth had been piled along the trench edges to serve as cover hadn¡¯t made the job much easier. Still, he knew that digging a trench was even harder, as it involved breaking through compacted soil.


    He plunged his hands into a large bucket of murky brown water, scrubbing to clean them. The water was so cold it felt like plunging his hands into ice. The longer he kept them submerged, the more it burned, as though they were on fire.


    Unable to bear it after barely thirty seconds, he pulled them out abruptly and scrubbed harder, half to clean them and half to warm them.


    Fuck, it¡¯s freezing! Couldn¡¯t they at least heat the water a little? I¡¯d kill for a hot shower! I just want to clean myself properly!


    It was one of the things he missed most since being transmigrated to this era. Simply turning a faucet for potable water had been a luxury, but being able to choose the temperature? That had been paradise.


    Sadly, that paradise was now far out of reach.


    If he really wanted hot water, he would need to heat it in a pot¡ªa process that consumed a lot of wood¡ªand pour it into a wooden tub already filled with cold water to save time. He¡¯d likely have to repeat the process several times, as the water cooled rapidly.


    However, this wasn¡¯t an option for everyone. He himself had only experienced it once, in an inn in Germany in the dead of winter.


    Ordinary soldiers had to make do with cold water for very basic washing, which explained the overwhelming stench that lingered in the barracks.


    Ugh! Blisters everywhere, and half of them have burst...


    Adam winced as he massaged his hands and stepped aside from the bucket to let the next man take his turn. He then came across Captain Fontaine, who was chatting with young Martin Morrel de Lusernes, Jean-Baptiste Gauthier, and Andr¨¦ Louis.


    ¡°Ah, Fran?ois! Have you heard the latest news?¡± said Morrel de Lusernes enthusiastically, his broad smile still visible on his dirt-streaked face.


    ¡°Hm? No, what is it?¡±


    ¡°Riders arrived at the fort while we were out filling trenches. The duke of Richelieu¡¯s army is nearby! He¡¯ll be here tomorrow!¡±


    ¡°Really?!¡±


    Adam¡¯s eyes widened in amazement, and he instantly understood why the English had decided to lift the siege.


    ¡°That means we¡¯re finally leaving this place! Haha!¡±


    The young man radiated excitement, as though he were on his way home. The other captains showed less outward enthusiasm, but they too were thrilled to leave Fort Edward behind.


    Seeing the same landscapes every day and constantly defending the frontier had been exhausting. Everyone had been waiting for this day and hoped not to return anytime soon.


    ¡°Too bad he didn¡¯t arrive while the redcoats were still here. That would have been fun to watch,¡± Adam sighed, gazing at the now orange, nearly golden sky.


    Everyone smirked, imagining the scene that unfortunately hadn¡¯t come to pass.


    Just as young Morrel de Lusernes had said, the old marshal¡¯s long marching column arrived at Fort Edward on the morning of October 12th.


    The duke of Richelieu, dressed like a true general heading into battle, entered Fort Edward at the head of his troops on a horse as black as his cuirass, through which he wore a crimson sash. His long, gold-ornamented sword swung against his thigh as slender as his arms.


    Behind him, his force of about two thousand men marched three abreast to the beat of a drum. They all looked utterly exhausted.


    In the crowd, Adam spotted P¡¯tit Pol, Jules, Charles, Jean, and Louis. His heart leapt at the sight of them, as it felt like an eternity since he¡¯d last seen them.


    My friends! They look worn out! Poor guys! With any luck, we¡¯ll have some time to catch up and rest! We¡¯ll have so much to talk about!

 Chapter 99: The Old Rogue

    The troop personally commanded by Monsieur le Duc de Richelieu looked so worn out that one might have thought they had returned from hell. Every man wore a dreadful expression.


    They were in as lamentable a state as their equipment. Some could barely walk, forced to make do with shoes split open at the toe, resembling the gaping maw of a crocodile.


    When they were finally allowed to rest, almost all the soldiers, who looked like beggars, collapsed. They resembled puppets whose strings had been cut. Adam even saw several fall asleep immediately against a wall, clutching their muskets tightly.


    He found his friends sitting on the ground against the main barracks. With permission from Captain Albert Fontaine, he went to join them.


    Jean was the first to react.


    He leapt to his feet and rushed toward his friend, whom he hadn¡¯t seen in so long.


    ¡°Fran?ois! Ahaha! It¡¯s been ages!¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡±


    Before Adam could react, he was lifted like a child by the burly man, who seemed more confined than ever in his uniform, now as gray as the sky after so many hardships.


    Adam felt like he was in a car crusher. The powerful muscles of his friend squeezed him so tightly that his bones seemed on the verge of breaking. Fortunately, Jules intervened to rescue him.


    ¡°Jean, take it easy. Look at him, you¡¯re crushing him.¡±


    ¡°Oops, sorry! Haha!¡±


    Like an oversized child, Jean gave him a huge grin while still holding him close to his chest before finally setting him back on the ground.


    ¡°You really should be careful with your strength, Jean,¡± Jules commented as he got up with difficulty, his legs visibly trembling. ¡°One day, you might hurt someone without meaning to.¡±


    The big man lowered his gaze and wiped the silly grin off his face. He apologized again, more seriously this time.


    ¡°Hey, Fran?ois. How are you?¡± he asked warmly, giving his friend a hug without trying to break all his bones.


    ¡°I¡¯m alright. It¡¯s been a while. What¡¯s it been, a month?¡±


    ¡°A little more. We¡¯re already halfway through October.¡±


    ¡°Goodness, that¡¯s right! Time flies so fast! Oh, happy belated birthday, by the way. Sorry for the delay.¡±


    ¡°Haha! Thanks! Don¡¯t worry about it. It¡¯s not like you could send me a letter just for that. Ah, I feel old.¡±


    ¡°Pfff! Hahaha! Old?! You¡¯re making me laugh! You¡¯re only twenty-one! If you feel old now, what¡¯ll it be when you¡¯re thirty?¡±


    ¡°You sound like my father,¡± Jules chuckled.


    Jules said it jokingly, but he truly felt old. He saw his friends aging visibly since the war began, and he had seen his reflection in a mirror. What he saw was no longer the charming young man who had enlisted in the King¡¯s army but a veteran already worn down.


    What shocked him most were his eyes.


    He found them darker and emptier, as if a light was missing behind his handsome brown eyes. Perhaps it was his innocence or naivety that he had lost.


    Exactly one year ago, they were still in Saxony, and part of the Duke¡¯s army had been sent south to assist Prince de Soubise in his fight against the King of Prussia.


    So many things had happened in just one year!


    ¡°There¡¯s a bit too much noise here. We can barely hear each other. How about we move somewhere else?¡±


    ¡°If you want,¡± Jules agreed.


    ¡°But not too far. We¡¯re exhausted,¡± whined P¡¯tit Pol, who seemed to wake up.


    Adam smiled and led his friends to a quieter corner of the fort. It was between the southern rampart and the munitions depot, near the ramp leading to the royal bastion.


    The small group of friends formed an irregular circle and settled as comfortably as possible. Fortunately, even though the sky was overcast, it wasn¡¯t raining.


    "So, what was it like, being in English territory?¡± Adam asked to restart the conversation.


    ¡°Well, not very different from here, I¡¯d say,¡± Louis replied, yawning loudly. ¡°Trees, mud, a few settlers in houses that look like hunting cabins, and that¡¯s about it.¡±


    Charles nodded.


    ¡°When I see their villages, it feels like stepping back a century. Everything is so... rustic. The English settlers barely had anything of value.¡±


    ¡°You pillaged them?¡± Adam asked, more out of curiosity than judgment.


    He wasn¡¯t in a position to condemn them; in Germany, he had done plenty of pillaging, mainly to eat. More than once, he had been forced to be violent with locals to take eggs, chickens, or some grain.


    ¡°Of course!¡± Charles replied honestly, pulling out a cloth to clean his musket. ¡°But honestly, they seemed poorer than our beggars back in France. We got a few nice trinkets, but that¡¯s it. We mostly took weapons, powder, and artillery pieces from a fort. What was it called again?¡±


    ¡°Who cares,¡± Jean replied brusquely, crossing his arms over his chest, which immediately made Adam think of the massive Indian chief. ¡°We besieged them and crushed them! We took everything we could, but there was too much stuff.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I believe it was one of their forts dedicated to storing munitions and weapons for their other forts further north,¡± Louis continued, recalling the scene. ¡°When Monsieur the Duke of Richelieu saw that we couldn¡¯t take more, he ordered it to be set ablaze.¡±


    ¡°Ahahah! If you had seen it, Fran?ois! It was a massive fire! And when it reached the barrels of powder... Boom! Everything exploded! It was incredible! Even the Duke¡¯s horse got scared and almost threw him off! Bwahaha!¡±


    Adam imagined the scene: a fort similar to Fort Edward engulfed in flames, surrounded by towering trees and enthusiastic soldiers, their faces illuminated by the blaze, guarding an immense war bounty. He pictured a tall column of orange and yellow flames, accompanied by an even taller column of ink-black smoke.


    Finally, he imagined a massive fireball at the fort¡¯s center, shaking the ground and trees with an infernal roar.


    If Fort Edward had fallen, I wonder if the English would have done the same? No, probably not. They¡¯ll certainly try to reclaim it next spring to then retake the southern shore of Lake George. They need that site to command their subsequent military operations or simply to hold the frontier.


    ¡°And the prisoners? What did you do with them?¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s partly because¡ªor thanks to them¡ªthat we turned back. I¡¯m sure that if not for them, the old rogue would have taken us further south.¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°The old rogue?¡±


    Adam¡¯s friends, including P¡¯tit Pol, who was half-asleep but apparently still following the conversation, smiled with a certain pride.


    ¡°That¡¯s the nickname we gave the Marshal. Apparently, the English call him that too. Anyway, we took so many prisoners in September¡ªsettlers and soldiers¡ªthat we could barely control them. So instead of releasing them, the Marshal decided to turn back.¡±


    ¡°Yes, not to mention that we were too exhausted to continue. Look at us,¡± Charles said, now cleaning the inside of his musket barrel. ¡°We look like nothing. Have you seen our men¡¯s shoes? They¡¯re all damaged, barely usable!¡±


    Adam had indeed noticed and felt sorry for them.


    ¡°Looks like it wasn¡¯t easy for you.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, but if you want my honest opinion, that¡¯s not even why the old rogue pulled back. While we were pillaging one of their villages, one of the settlers mentioned hearing a rumor that they were planning to take Louisbourg before winter.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that. I heard about it by accident,¡± Adam recalled. ¡°It¡¯s what the Duke wrote to Monsieur the Marquis de Montcalm. It¡¯s the remnants of the army we defeated at Louisbourg, I think, who want to try their luck again, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I believe so,¡± Jules confirmed, though he wasn¡¯t entirely sure. ¡°Apparently, it caused a lot of stir in the colonies. Their failure, I mean. I think it¡¯s the capture of their general that hurt them the most.¡±


    ¡°I hope he¡¯s rotting in a dungeon!¡± Jean spat, scowling furiously. ¡°That¡¯s what they all deserve!¡±


    ¡°Impossible,¡± Adam replied without hesitation, shaking his head. ¡°He¡¯s a nobleman, English or not. We can¡¯t treat him poorly, because that would mean the English could do the same with our officers. If they go so far as to exchange gifts on the battlefield, it also means they treat each other with respect after the battle.¡±


    P¡¯tit Pol lazily opened an eye and murmured, ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯s in a fine house, maybe even a castle, sleeping in a soft bed, drinking good wine, and eating better than us, the soldiers of France.¡±


    Adam nodded, imagining the poor enemy general in his gilded prison, surrounded by servants and fine furniture, while they, poor souls, waded through mud and ate whatever they could find.


    ¡°So the English are going to attack Louisbourg¡­ We¡¯ll never make it in time. The journey is too long.¡±


    ¡°I think so too, but we have to try,¡± Jules said with conviction.


    P¡¯tit Pol frowned and made a face.


    ¡°Try what? It¡¯s already mid-October! The roads¡ªif you can call them roads¡ªare terrible, and we¡¯re all exhausted! If the redcoats really want to attack, it¡¯s now or never! After that, it¡¯ll be too late!¡±


    ¡°P¡¯tit Pol is right,¡± Louis said, shaking his head with a grim expression. ¡°By the time we get there, it¡¯ll already be November. The city will probably have fallen.¡±


    ¡°You too, Louis?!¡± Jean exclaimed, his face red with anger. ¡°But you¡¯re all forgetting that a city doesn¡¯t fall just like that! Even when it was besieged by the British army last summer, it didn¡¯t fall easily! Maybe¡ªno, I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll arrive at just the right moment! Then we can cover ourselves in glory, earn promotions, and get a good meal!¡±


    Adam raised a skeptical eyebrow but had to admit his close friend had a point. He was well aware that a siege could last weeks, even months. He had even heard of sieges that dragged on for years, though those must have been very rare.


    Not all cities could hold out that long, with food supplies being limited. He also understood that health in a besieged place could play as decisive a role as morale, the number of soldiers, or the amount of gunpowder.


    Finally, the strategies deployed by opposing generals had to be taken into account.


    He didn¡¯t know what kind of man the new British commander would be, but if he were competent and determined enough, he could indeed take down a fortified city with a reduced number of soldiers in a short time.


    Anything is possible. Everything will depend on our enemy. If he¡¯s a fool, so much the better. If he¡¯s a strategist¡­ better not to think about it. What¡¯s certain, as Jules said, is that we have to try. Doing nothing is giving the enemy an advantage.


    His gaze rested on the thick earthen walls of the fort, which had become as familiar to him as his own living room.


    I just hope the English won¡¯t come back once they realize a significant part of the garrison is gone.


    The Duke¡¯s army didn¡¯t stay long at Fort Edward. Their lengthy detour had only been because the fort was under siege. Since that was no longer the case, the Duke could take the men he needed to reinforce and, if necessary, come to the aid of Louisbourg.


    It was all the more pointless to linger here, as there was no food for him and his men. They rested for a single day, which passed in a blur, and at dawn on October 13, 1758, a strong force of nearly three thousand men departed Fort Edward.


    Almost immediately, the frontier fort seemed calm, almost lifeless. Montcalm had to hold out with a reduced garrison but with the promise of soon receiving reinforcements recruited from the north. Volunteers had flocked to join the royal army following their successive victories.


    For now, these recruits were still in training, but soon they would be ready to serve faithfully under the proud banner of the King of France.


    By noon, Richelieu¡¯s troops reached the ruins of Fort William Henry and the provisional British camp that had been reduced to ashes. From that point onward, the journey became arduous, as there were no rafts this time to help them cross the lake. They were forced to follow the long body of water on foot, ascending and descending fortunately low hills.


    It wasn¡¯t until late afternoon the next day that they arrived at Fort Carillon. Unlike Fort Edward, it had not changed since their last visit.


    On the Duke¡¯s orders, several pieces of artillery and carts filled with supplies and equipment were taken. Most of the provisions came from pillaging English territory. However, no additional men were recruited there, as the fort already housed a small garrison.


    Fort Carillon was no longer the southernmost French stronghold, relegating it to a mere relay point.


    Five days later, after an exhausting march along the Richelieu River¡ªnamed not after the Marshal-Duke but after a fort named in honor of the Cardinal and minister of Louis XIII¡ªthey arrived near Montreal.


    Knowing his army could not continue marching through the wilderness much longer, the Marshal allowed his men to rest for half a day. This might have seemed generous in his mind, but in reality, it was more cruel than denying them rest entirely.


    It was like offering a glass of water to a man dying of thirst in the Sahara: it was what he wanted, but it could not satisfy him. Once the man emptied his glass, he could only look at the one who had given him the precious water and beg for more.


    Adam saw discontent rise rapidly in the Duke¡¯s army and, naturally, alerted his captain. The captain had already noticed and had reported it to the high-ranking officers. But nothing could be done.


    The afternoon passed so quickly that most men could do nothing but sleep. They weren¡¯t in Montreal itself but a few kilometers to the east, meaning there were no taverns or other forms of entertainment.


    At best, there were farms where the men could eat fresh produce.


    It was on this occasion that Adam discovered something scandalous.


    ¡°What?! You¡¯re feeding them to the animals?!¡±


    ¡°Well, yes? Why?¡±


    ¡°W-why?!¡±


    Adam nearly choked on his own saliva and began coughing violently, drawing the attention of several comrades, including his friends.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Louis asked, holding a small pot of fresh, still-warm milk.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?! These fools have patates and are feeding them to their animals!¡±


    ¡°Patates?¡±


    Everyone stared blankly at the young lieutenant and then at the strange, small, round root in his hands, covered in dirt and slightly yellow.


    ¡°They¡¯re not supposed to, right?¡± the farmer asked worriedly. ¡°They won¡¯t get sick, will they? I started growing them two years ago, and it didn¡¯t seem to bother them. I know others who do the same.¡±


    Adam¡¯s eyes widened, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cry. Thankfully, he wasn¡¯t the only one who knew that potatoes were edible for humans.


    ¡°Is that what you call ¡®cartouffles¡¯ in the north?¡± asked a soldier in his thirties or forties from Franche-Comt¨¦. ¡°Where I¡¯m from, we also feed them to animals, but sometimes we eat them when there¡¯s nothing else. We cook them in ashes, peel them, and eat them with pepper.¡±


    ¡°You eat that?!¡± Charles choked out, disgusted. ¡°But it grows underground!¡±


    ¡°So do carrots,¡± the soldier immediately retorted, crossing his arms.


    ¡°S-so it¡¯s safe?¡± asked the farmer, now worried about his animals.


    ¡°Yes, yes. No problem. It¡¯s just that some people think they¡¯re bad, but that¡¯s nonsense. Some even say they cause the plague and other diseases. Don¡¯t listen to them.¡±


    Adam watched the conversation in astonishment, once again realizing how backward this world was.


    How could potatoes make people sick? The plague? Ridiculous! If that were true, we¡¯d all be dead by now!


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you a way to cook them!¡± Adam declared with rare determination. ¡°They¡¯re delicious and very nutritious!¡±


    ¡°Fran?ois?¡±


    Ignoring the surprised looks from his friends, Adam grabbed several fine potatoes, peeled them, and tossed them into a large black pot of water. They lit a fire, and soon the water was boiling.


    With the tip of a knife, he checked the cooking progress several times.


    When satisfied, he removed the potatoes without wasting the hot water, which could be reused for another batch. He now had boiled potatoes, but he wasn¡¯t about to leave them plain.


    With butter and a little salt, they¡¯re great, but I feel like making mashed potatoes.


    Without mercy, he mashed the potatoes in a new container and added a splash of milk, a knob of butter, and a pinch of salt.


    ¡°The mash is ready!¡±


    When he looked up, he saw a good thirty men gathered around the pot. Everyone wore the same expression: they were hungry and eager to try this dish.


    Each man handed over his bowl, and in an instant, the pot was emptied. For everyone, even Adam, who was used to instant mashed potatoes that only needed hot milk, it was a revelation.


    As with their brief rest, everyone looked at him unsatisfied, as if he hadn¡¯t made enough.


    T-they wouldn¡¯t hit me if I don¡¯t make more, would they?


    ¡°I... I¡¯ll make more.¡±


    Everyone nodded like machines, and the farmer returned with more potatoes.


    On the morning of October 19, under clear, dry, and cool skies, they resumed their march, dragging their feet. It took them three more days to reach Quebec, only to be informed that it was no longer necessary to rush to Louisbourg.

 Chapter 100: Heroes

    As soon as Marshal Richelieu¡¯s army arrived in Quebec, the heart of New France, it was clear that the atmosphere was very strange.


    Everything suggested that something significant had happened in their absence.


    Adam, walking at a steady pace despite his aching feet and burning legs, curiously observed the city¡¯s streets. Everyone marching alongside him tried to make sense of what could be putting the people of Quebec in such a state.


    Richelieu left his men under the care of the officers accompanying him and headed alone toward the fort to meet the aging Governor Vaudreuil.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant exchanged a few words with the other colonels and majors about what they could do and what they absolutely could not allow.


    If they decided to give the men free rein in the city, it was almost certain they would cause trouble in every corner of Quebec. Of course, in case of an emergency, they would have to run after them, wrest bottles¡ªor worse¡ªout of their hands.


    ¡°Hey, Captain, when can we head out?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! We need some rest!¡±


    ¡°And wine!¡±


    ¡°And good food!¡±


    ¡°And women!¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes!¡±


    The colonels watched the men grow increasingly restless, and it had only been five minutes since the marshal had left. Finally, they authorized the men to explore the city but strictly ordered them not to cause any trouble under penalty of severe punishment.


    Almost immediately, Adam saw the army scatter and spread throughout the city as if they intended to loot it. Most of the men went off in search of a tavern or an inn.


    ¡°Fran?ois,¡± said Albert Fontaine, placing a large hand on his shoulder, ¡°stay a moment, please. I want to learn more about what¡¯s been going on.¡±


    ¡°Same. I had no intention of getting drunk.¡±


    ¡°Good. Let¡¯s find a local who can help us. Do you see anyone, Lieutenant Belmaison?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, what about those soldiers over there?¡±


    Adam turned and spotted a small group of soldiers near the fort, guarding the cannons of a battery overlooking a wide stretch of the Saint Lawrence River. They looked young and fresh, as if they had just enlisted.


    They exuded a strange energy that Adam quickly identified as enthusiasm¡ªthe kind that follows enlistment in the King¡¯s army, just before realizing you¡¯ve been swindled.


    ¡°Hello, gentlemen,¡± began Captain Rivi¨¨re, waving to start a conversation. ¡°Quebec seems quite lively, doesn¡¯t it? Do you know why?¡±


    The three young soldiers stopped talking among themselves as soon as they saw the group of officers approach and hurriedly snapped to a rigid salute, just as they had been taught on their first day.


    ¡°Yes, Captain! Louisbourg was attacked during the night of October 13th to 14th, and our soldiers successfully defended the city! We even managed to kill the enemy commander!¡±


    ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s why¡­¡±


    Adam let out a small sigh of relief, though part of him felt disappointed.


    So we made this entire journey for nothing?


    He shifted his stance slightly to relieve his aching right leg, but doing so only put more strain on his equally sore left leg.


    Hurgh! If we had known it would end like this, we would certainly have taken our time coming here. Tch. I would have liked to play a role in the battle. If I¡¯d distinguished myself, perhaps I could have been promoted to captain.


    ¡°Do you have the details?¡± asked Albert Fontaine, though the young soldiers seemed ready to share everything.


    ¡°Yes! Well, the English first scouted the area by sending one of their ships close to the city, and when they saw there were almost no ships in the harbor, they decided to attack it during the night. Their soldiers landed east of the harbor, far enough not to be detected, and used the darkness to carry small boats through the woods to the port.¡±


    ¡°W-wait, they carried boats from their landing point to the port?!¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir! And because the weather was bad, the soldiers and sailors aboard our ships in the harbor didn¡¯t see them coming! But that was only part of their force! The main group stayed on land and circled around to one of the gates.¡±


    ¡°It seems,¡± continued a second soldier, who barely looked old enough to be an adult, ¡°that the enemy commander was aboard the first boat. They killed our soldiers guarding the gate and opened it to let their comrades in. We lost many men there,¡± he added sadly.


    ¡°It¡¯s said throughout the city that their commander¡ªI think his name was Wolfe¡ªfought valiantly with a sword in hand and killed the officer on duty. Then they quickly advanced, killing all our soldiers defending that part of the city, but those men managed to inflict heavy losses on them. They¡¯re heroes!¡±


    ¡°Yes, real heroes,¡± confirmed the first, nodding vigorously. ¡°They allowed our garrison to organize and prevent the enemy from reaching the fort. From what we were told, our soldiers blocked all the streets and killed every redcoat who had scattered to loot and burn the city.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s when their commander is said to have been killed. Because they couldn¡¯t advance any further and their leader was dead, they began to retreat. It was chaos, from what we were told, and that¡¯s largely why we managed to drive them out of the city so easily.¡±


    Adam, Thomas Belmaison, and Albert stood speechless. They hadn¡¯t expected the battle to end like this and so quickly. For the English, it must have been a severe blow.


    "Do you know how many of them there were and how many of us?"


    "Um, I think we had about the same number of men as they did, barely three thousand," replied the third soldier, hesitating visibly as he immediately glanced at his comrades for confirmation.


    The three officers thanked the soldiers and wished them well before walking away.


    Lost in thought, they remained silent for a moment.


    This is big news! No wonder the people of Quebec are in such high spirits! Ah, how I wish I could have been part of that! But, well, I can¡¯t be everywhere at once. At least I¡¯ve done my share in other battles; that¡¯s what I need to remember.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    A faint smirk appeared on Adam¡¯s face as he thought back to everything he¡¯d experienced since their rescue of Louisbourg. It already felt like a distant memory, considering how much had happened in just a few months.


    We saved Fort Carillon, attacked Fort Edward, attacked Fort Miller, fought a small army, captured Albany, and defended Fort Edward twice! I even got to see what an Indian village looks like! Can those who stayed in Louisbourg say the same?


    "Captain? What do you think we¡¯ll do now that Louisbourg is out of danger?"


    Albert Fontaine turned to his loyal lieutenant, who seemed intrigued by the city¡¯s growing excitement.


    "Louisbourg is definitely safe, at least until next spring. But we might still have time for one more action. It¡¯ll depend on what they¡¯re deciding up there."


    "You mean the Duke and the Governor?" Adam asked, glancing at the tall building overlooking the impressive river.


    "Exactly. The enemy that attacked Louisbourg was clearly the remnants of General Amherst¡¯s army. They must have come from somewhere. I don¡¯t know much about the major cities in this region, but there¡¯s bound to be a gap in the enemy¡¯s defenses."


    "So," Lieutenant Belmaison chimed in, "you think we¡¯re going to attack British territory? Isn¡¯t that a bit risky?"


    The captain, despite his experience in the previous war, knew no more about this continent than his two comrades. Still, he believed he could guess what the old Marshal would do.


    "Winter isn¡¯t here yet, but it will be soon, that¡¯s true. I¡¯ve heard it can be brutal in this region, much worse than in Germany. Hmm. If I¡¯m right, as long as the snow doesn¡¯t fall, the Marshal will keep the operations going. I¡¯m certain we¡¯ll try something."


    Adam nodded slowly and glanced around, watching the soldiers mingle with the settlers. Soon, he noticed they were beginning to hear the good news. It didn¡¯t take long for victory songs to echo throughout the city.


    The young lieutenant sighed in resignation, already imagining himself running around trying to round up the men in his friend¡¯s company.


    Well, let them enjoy themselves while they can. I just hope no bad news comes to ruin the celebration.


    Albert Fontaine led him toward the heart of the city, and together they entered a bustling inn, naturally packed with hungry soldiers. The room was so crowded and noisy that one had to shout to be heard and elbow through the crowd to reach the counter.


    "Food and drink for the three of us! Bring us a good bottle!"


    "Albert?"


    "What? I said no getting drunk, not no drinking at all, hehe."


    ***


    Meanwhile, in the governor of New France''s office, Monsieur de Richelieu was analyzing reports and studying the maps presented by his interlocutor.


    Everything seemed to have been prepared to explain the situation to him as soon as he arrived.


    They were all spread out before him like tarot cards.


    The account of events, accompanied by the figures from the confrontation, was clear.


    As the marshal reviewed the events of the night of October 13th to 14th¡ªless than a week earlier¡ªthe governor observed him silently, seated behind his wide desk. His large, timeworn hands rested on the ornately carved armrests decorated with gold leaf.


    All that could be heard was the chirping of a few birds outside, the rustle of paper, and the mechanism of an exquisite clock.


    "I see," sighed the veteran soldier. "I understand the situation better now. Thank you, Governor."


    "You¡¯re welcome; it¡¯s only natural. One of our ships is already en route to Europe to inform His Majesty of what has happened. We were lucky this time, once again. This marks three attacks in two years, not counting the one the English canceled last autumn."


    "That¡¯s quite a lot," the marshal agreed. "It¡¯s therefore likely they¡¯ll aim to break through here again next spring."


    "Probably, yes. I repeat myself, but this city is vital to the security of New France. Fortunately, you left part of your forces here! Otherwise, this place might already be under British control!"


    The old Duc de Richelieu, who was nearly the same age as the governor, maintained an impassive expression, though inwardly he congratulated himself on the decision. In some ways, it was thanks to him that Louisbourg hadn¡¯t fallen.


    "Ah, that reminds me. I received some important news from France two days ago. It¡¯s not fresh, of course, given the distance, but I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find it interesting."


    "Oh? What¡¯s happened?"


    "First, you must recall that large fleet you faced in the waters of Brittany, correct?"


    "Of course! A splendid victory," the marshal commented with a predatory smile.


    "And a great humiliation for the British. Their admiral, Edward Hawke, was sentenced to death by the court-martial convened to try him and several captains. This happened over a month ago, so I believe he has already been executed."


    "Really? How tragic. The English are such cruel people. Do they truly tolerate no failures?"


    The old governor shook his head, his face marked with concern.


    "This will likely push their officers to become far more aggressive, both on land and at sea. I am very worried about the future of this war."


    "Don¡¯t worry, Governor. Our own officers lack neither courage nor resolve."


    "True, and that provides the perfect transition to the second piece of news I have for you."


    "Oh? There¡¯s more?"


    "Indeed, I believe this is the most significant development in this conflict since the diplomatic reversal of alliances. Last month, the Prince of Soubise carried out a landing on the English coast. He took advantage of the English focusing on a raid against our shores to strike several towns and villages along England¡¯s southern coast."


    "Really?! He did that?!"


    The old marshal had every reason to be surprised, for while English raids on their port cities were commonplace, the reverse was almost unheard of due to the overwhelming British naval presence in the Channel.


    "Indeed, sir. In truth, he was quite fortunate. He might never have succeeded had our enemies not been so preoccupied with harassing us here. They had intended a landing near Brest but suffered heavy losses without achieving anything. Furthermore, Parliament and His Britannic Majesty had recently sent out a large fleet, leaving the Channel far less secure when the prince set sail with his men."


    "Incredible! It seems I was wrong about that man."


    The marshal had not held a high opinion of the prince, seeing him as a spoiled child given significant resources to compensate for his incompetence. It was hard to believe that someone like him could achieve such command without the support of the king¡¯s mistress.


    On reflection, perhaps this operation wasn¡¯t entirely his own. He might simply have executed someone else¡¯s idea, pressured by his protector.


    "Where exactly did he attack?" the marshal asked the governor.


    "According to this letter, he conducted several landings in the Hastings area before re-embarking to strike other towns further east. There was reportedly a significant engagement off the village of Margate. Thanks to Monsieur de Conflans'' command, His Majesty achieved a decisive victory, opening the way to other major cities."


    "T-they¡­ They didn¡¯t attack London, did they?"


    "Impossible! Even with a fleet twice the size, it¡¯s uncertain they could have succeeded. However, they did completely destroy Sheerness and caused significant damage to the port and arsenal at Chatham."


    "I-incredible! That brat keeps surprising me! Ahahah! I¡¯ll have to drink with the lad to congratulate him! His Majesty must be delighted!"


    "Sadly, sir, that won¡¯t be possible. The Prince of Soubise, alas, lost his life at Sheerness. It was the Marquis de Lafayette who struck Chatham to avenge him."


    Immediately, the marshal¡¯s joy dissipated. Though he hadn¡¯t gotten along well with the prince, it wasn¡¯t to the extent of wishing his death.


    "The Prince of Soubise is dead¡­ Then let us drink to his memory."


    The governor said nothing, filling their glasses generously with fine Bordeaux wine. The bottle was exquisitely crafted and, when opened, released a powerful aroma that filled the room, quieter than a cathedral.


    Simply from the scent, one could discern the origin of the grapes that had gone into producing the ruby-colored drink. It danced in the fine glass like a stormy sea and whispered words of love.


    Whether an enthusiast or a connoisseur, one couldn¡¯t help but be captivated by such a sight. Yet the two men didn¡¯t react.


    They drained their glasses in one go and remained silent for a long time, each contemplating his empty glass.


    The atmosphere turned strange, like a funeral vigil.


    Finally, the governor broke the silence, which was beginning to feel oppressive.


    "What do you plan to do, sir?"


    "Hmm¡­ You mentioned that a large fleet had left England. Do we know where it¡¯s headed?"


    "According to our spies in London and near the Isle of Wight, it is meant to reinforce the British colonies. Parliament apparently struggled to gather enough sailors and soldiers."


    "That¡¯s troubling. They could shift the balance of power. Will we receive reinforcements?"


    "It¡¯s planned, but I have no details. All I know is that they will not be escorted by Monsieur de Conflans. He is tasked with retaking Saint-Louis of Senegal from the English before heading to India."


    "I see. Well, so be it. I¡¯ll act alone and hope our reinforcements arrive during the winter. Let¡¯s see, the enemy comes from Halifax, correct?"


    "Yes, that¡¯s right."


    "Then that¡¯s where I shall strike."

 Chapter 101: A Shitty Time

    The flickering light of an almost completely melted candle softly illuminated a very simple wooden table, slightly wobbly and sticky from spilled alcohol. It reflected off the three bottles placed in the center, making them gleam like gold.


    Adam, hypnotized, stared fixedly at the small dancing flame as if it would go out if he blinked.


    The smell of alcohol dominated the air around them, competing with the stench of the many soldiers gradually falling asleep where they sat.


    The innkeeper, his wife, and their son could finally catch their breath and had begun cleaning up, though they certainly wouldn¡¯t finish for several hours. First, they¡¯d have to deal with all these grimy soldiers, most of whom were passed out drunk.


    Oh, it¡¯s beautiful...


    Adam¡¯s head swayed gently as if it were no longer as stable on his neck as before. He couldn¡¯t focus and barely noticed what was happening around him.


    Thomas was nodding off while Albert tried to build a pyramid out of whatever he could find on the table. It looked more like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, tilting dangerously to one side.


    A loud crash woke Thomas and snapped Adam out of his daze.


    "Ah, d-damn. I¡¯ve dropped¡­ dropped it all¡­" Albert muttered, barely reacting.


    Wine stained his white-grey officer¡¯s uniform, which was now in the same sorry state as Adam. It looked like blood spilled on snow.


    The three men sat on wooden chairs as simple as the table, slouching halfway, their backs partially resting against the rigid chair backs. Their faces were flushed, their breathing deep as if they were sleeping, and their minds as muddled as if they were lost in a thick fog.


    Adam cast a hazy glance at his friend, who was already trying to rebuild his pile, as focused as if he were attempting some grand feat.


    ¡°Kukuku!¡±


    A strange, stupid laugh escaped Adam¡¯s lips, and he nudged the table slightly with his right foot. Instantly, the pile toppled again.


    ¡°Hahaha! You¡¯re t-terrible!¡± Adam slurred, his mouth dry and his vision blurry.


    ¡°T-the table m-moved! H-hey, I n-need that!¡±


    Adam easily dodged Albert¡¯s hand and grabbed a tin cup, filling it with wine from the third bottle. He couldn¡¯t even taste it anymore, let alone tell if it was good or bad.


    He was just thirsty.


    Taking big gulps, he drained the wine but couldn¡¯t refill his cup because Albert snatched the bottle from his hands to pour himself a drink. Downing it in one go, Albert set his cup down as if trying to make as much noise as possible.


    ¡°Ah, that hits the s-spot! H-hey, the bottle¡¯s almost e-empty.¡±


    ¡°W-we can g-get anoth¡­ another one, p-please?¡± Adam asked, turning to the couple working behind a wide counter that had just been cleaned.


    The innkeeper approached, frowning, and threw a damp cloth over his shoulder.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ve had enough to drink, gentlemen. Maybe it¡¯s time to head home, eh?¡±


    ¡°C-come on! P-please, just one more!¡± the young lieutenant pleaded, trying to speak as clearly as possible to mask his drunkenness.


    ¡°Y-yeah! Just one more!¡± Albert echoed, slapping the table with his palm. ¡°Then we¡¯re d-done!¡±


    The innkeeper clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, revealing muscles solid enough to command respect from most of the King¡¯s soldiers.


    ¡°Do you even have enough to pay?¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah, of course! Uh¡­ W-wait¡­¡±


    Albert fumbled through his belongings but only found a few coins¡ªnot enough to pay for another bottle of wine, not even the cheapest one.


    ¡°A-ah, I-I think I¡¯ve got enough?¡± Adam stammered, unsure of the amount in his hand. He rolled a few coins around, trying to count them.


    Damn it, I can¡¯t even think straight, let alone calculate¡­


    To be fair, like measurements of distance or weight, France¡¯s pre-Revolution currency system wasn¡¯t easy to grasp: there were louis, livres, ¨¦cus, sols (or sous), liards, billons, and deniers.


    Making conversions in their current state was utterly impossible.


    Adam handed the innkeeper what he had and asked if it was enough to cover a bottle for him and his friends.


    ¡°Barely, but it¡¯ll do,¡± the innkeeper said, turning his back to the table to hide a sly, greedy smile from his clients. ¡°I¡¯ll get one of my bottles¡ªa fine wine.¡±


    ¡°Th-thanks, mate! Ah, F-Fran?ois, you¡¯re so k-kind! Sniff, hey, don¡¯t let anyone say you¡¯re not kind, okay? Nobody!¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah!


    ¡°You¡­ You¡¯re the b-best, you¡­ you know that, right?¡±


    ¡°N-no, I¡¯m not the b-best! You¡¯re the best!¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°No! Y-you are! Sniff! Ah, why am I crying?¡±


    For some inexplicable reason, Albert had started crying, and snot was beginning to drip from his nose.


    ¡°T-T-You know, everyone loves you,¡± Albert stammered to Adam. ¡°You¡¯re an e-exe... excel¡­ uh, excellent captain.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m n-not a captain, you know,¡± muttered the young man, playing with his empty cup.


    ¡°Y-you are! It¡¯s just that¡­ that you don¡¯t have the rank yet, that¡¯s all. They¡¯ll¡­ they¡¯ll give it to you soon, for sure! Y-you really deserve it!¡±


    ¡°No! The officers w-won¡¯t want that,¡± Adam mumbled, his face redder than a tomato.


    ¡°W-why not?! That would be so stupid!¡±


    ¡°Because all my m-men died because of me, sniff! It¡¯s my fault everyone¡¯s dead! Boohoohoo! I¡¯m terrible! The worst! I¡¯m so ashamed! If Captain Gilbert were here¡­¡±


    Adam buried his tearful face in his arms and leaned on the table as if to fall asleep. His shoulders trembled as silent sobs wracked his body.


    ¡°D-don¡¯t say that! It¡¯s not true that it¡¯s your fault! Otherwise, y-you¡¯d have been punished, d-don¡¯t you think? C-come on, don¡¯t cry! I-it¡¯s war, these things h-happen.¡±


    Far from being comforted, Adam cried harder, downing the remainder of the third bottle, which tipped and rolled to the edge of the table. If the tavern keeper hadn¡¯t intervened, it would have fallen and shattered on the alcohol-sticky floor.


    ¡°You¡¯re s-so kind, Albert! Sniff! It really is a shitty time!¡±


    ¡°P-perfectly! It¡¯s a s-shitty time! Sniff! Let¡¯s drink to that!¡±


    ¡°TO THIS SHITTY TIME!¡±


    ¡°TO THIS SHITTY TIME!¡±


    Lieutenant Belmaison, slightly more awake, hadn¡¯t followed the conversation but joined in their toast to a shitty time. All three downed their glasses simultaneously.


    Adam wiped his chin with his sleeve where wine had dribbled and leaned heavily against the back of his chair. His red eyes and unfocused gaze fixed on the ceiling of the tavern in a strange sort of reverie.


    Yeah, it really is a shitty time. The future isn¡¯t perfect, but at least the continent isn¡¯t plunged into war every ten years¡­


    ¡°You know,¡± Adam said, his tone suddenly thoughtful and sober, ¡°I didn¡¯t choose to be here. It was an accident.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one in that situation, believe me,¡± Albert replied, equally serious.


    Adam turned clumsily to his friend, giving him a strange look.


    ¡°I doubt it.¡±


    ¡°I swear. T-there are plenty of people who joined because they had no other choice. M-most probably thought they¡¯d earn a good living based on the enlistment bonus.¡±


    ¡°What a scam.¡±


    ¡°Hmm? I don¡¯t know that word, but I think I get what you mean. You¡¯re saying it¡¯s a swindle?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°Then yeah, it¡¯s a scam. But still, there will always be people who sign up, and do you know why?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because there will always be poor souls ready to risk getting themselves killed on a battlefield for the chance to have something to eat. You see, even if we went hungry sometimes, we always had the option to pillage the enemy. But in the cities, you can only die in a corner and end up in a mass grave.¡±


    Adam said nothing. He had never known anything like that, so he couldn¡¯t truly grasp what his friend had been through. Famine had long disappeared. Food was everywhere. Like water, all one had to do was reach for it.


    ¡°Despite all our hardships, our situation didn¡¯t improve. We wasted away before each other¡¯s eyes. I lost a brother and a sister. My mother died of grief not long after. My father held out longer, but one afternoon, my brother and I found him hanging from a tree behind the farm.¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Why? It was a long time ago, and it wasn¡¯t your fault,¡± Albert said, brushing away a fly that had been buzzing around him for a while. ¡°My brother, Jacques, was young and good with his hands. I found him an apprenticeship with a weaver. From what I hear, he¡¯s doing pretty well¡ªmarried and even a father now. Can you believe it?¡±


    A small, sad laugh escaped his chapped lips.


    ¡°But me¡­ Ah, I didn¡¯t know how to do anything. And then there was the war. They promised me a bonus, two meals a day, the glory of serving in the King¡¯s armies. They gave me the right to proudly wear the white uniform and assured me I¡¯d have the chance to distinguish myself. They promised me the world. Instead, I saw death, disease, and every sin under the sun. And you know what?¡±


    ¡°...What?¡±


    ¡°When the war ended, I¡¯d gained nothing but a few ranks and a little money. I could¡¯ve left, tried to start a new life. I made some good friends and even got partnership offers, but I turned them all down because I realized that after everything I¡¯d seen, everything I¡¯d done, I couldn¡¯t live a normal life anymore.¡±


    Adam looked at his friend with sadness, unable to find words to console him. He could see Albert¡¯s pain but felt powerless to help.


    Am I going to end up like that when all this is over? I¡¯ve asked myself that question many times, but I still don¡¯t have an answer. Will I be able to return to my old life after everything I¡¯ve been through?


    ¡°My hands are so dirty,¡± Albert continued, staring intently at his palms. ¡°I quickly realized something, you see? My place isn¡¯t in the fields, a shop, a factory, or a town¡ªit¡¯s on a battlefield. I don¡¯t know how to do anything else. Luckily, I figured that out early. If I¡¯d left at the end of the last war and re-enlisted for this one, I would¡¯ve had to start my military career all over again as a common soldier.¡±


    Adam looked at Lieutenant Belmaison, whose expression was equally somber, his gaze fixed on the alcohol in his small iron cup. He seemed lost in thought, perhaps recalling his past.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think my place is on a battlefield,¡± Adam murmured. ¡°One day, I¡¯ll go home and pick up my life where I left it.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s what you believe, then hold onto it. Don¡¯t lose hope, and don¡¯t lose sight of that goal.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°But if you decide to stay in the royal army, I think you could go far. As I¡¯ve said before, the men respect you more than you realize, Fran?ois. You have a talent for command. Of course, you still have a lot to learn, but all you need is time. There are plenty of people who, despite having time and money, don¡¯t have half your ability to lead men. It would be a shame to waste it.¡±


    Adam once again fell into a deep silence. He watched as Captain Fontaine poured himself another glass of wine, though this time he drank it more slowly, as if savoring it.


    The young man declined the bottle and left his chair.


    Immediately, he realized he had no strength in his legs, and the floor felt as stable as the deck of the small trading ship he had boarded earlier that year to leave Germany and reach Brest.


    Oh, damn! Easy, easy! Why is the ground moving so much?


    Weaving between tables and chairs, he made it to the tavern¡¯s front door and realized he had stayed much longer than planned, drinking wine the entire time. And all that time, he hadn¡¯t eaten anything.


    That had only made the alcohol hit harder.


    He tried his best to walk straight, but it was almost impossible to hide his sorry state.


    About a hundred meters away, near the church garden, he crossed paths with the Marquis de Br¨¦hant. The latter spotted him quickly and approached.


    Crap! The colonel! He¡¯s going to notice I¡¯m drunk!


    ¡°Colonel,¡± Adam said simply, giving a proper military salute.


    ¡°Lieutenant Boucher. I¡¯m looking for Captain Fontaine. Have you seen him?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, sir. He¡¯s inside that building, the one with the flowerpot. He¡¯s with his lieutenant and several of our men. Most of them are¡­ well¡­¡±


    ¡°I understand. That¡¯s not a problem. We¡¯ll be staying in Quebec for a few days. Our men can rest. However, the governor informed us that not all of us can stay inside the city. There isn¡¯t enough lodging, and billeting with the locals would be too much of a burden.¡±


    ¡°So, where are we going to sleep? Outside the city walls?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. He¡¯s provided us with materials to set up a proper camp. Our men have already started pitching tents. Go there now.¡±


    ¡°At your orders!¡±


    Adam stood motionless in the middle of the wide street for a moment, and when he was sure the colonel had left, he let out a deep sigh of relief.


    Phew! He didn¡¯t say anything! I thought for sure he¡¯d realize I was drunk!

 Chapter 102: The Laundresses

    The next morning, Adam woke up feeling a dreadful nausea inside a tent he shared with three others.


    Right away, he noticed how fresh the air was at this early hour. It felt as if snow might start falling any moment.


    ¡°H-hurgh!¡±


    Adam rushed out of the tent without bothering to close his jacket and emptied the entire contents of his stomach at his feet. A strong smell hit his nose, accompanied by a harsh acidic taste on his tongue.


    ¡°HURGH!¡±


    He vomited even harder, forcing him to bend over double.


    Damn it! Ah... I-I hate v-vomiting!


    His face, paler than his coat, changed several times, and after nearly two minutes of staying still, he finally straightened up. His forehead was covered in sweat, and he looked like he hadn¡¯t slept all night.


    Shaking, he sniffed loudly and spat out a sticky substance onto the damp grass.


    Never again will I get drunk. If it ends like this, it¡¯s just not worth it.


    Adam was, however, painfully aware that this wasn¡¯t the first time he had made such a promise. There had been occasions when he drank so much that he forgot nearly everything he had done during the evening.


    Of course, he always paid a heavy price afterward with migraines and nausea.


    There was even that one time he sang the French national anthem¡ªwell, at least the first verse. He had made a complete fool of himself that evening because it was far too early to say such dangerous words.


    The people of France, even if they didn¡¯t particularly like the current king, were deeply attached to the monarchy.


    Even the great philosophers of the Enlightenment didn¡¯t want to go that far¡ªthey only sought to diminish the king¡¯s power slightly to grant more authority to France¡¯s parliaments.


    Fortunately, the first verse wasn¡¯t too incriminating. The tyranny one must guard against could just as well refer to a foreign nation¡ªEngland, for instance.


    Thinking back on it, shame washed over the young lieutenant.


    What an idiot I was! Oh, I hope I didn¡¯t say anything too strange last night!


    No matter how hard he tried to remember, nothing came to mind. Luckily, his memory was clear on most of the essentials.


    Adam closed his eyes for two seconds, and when he reopened them, he felt a little better. He glanced at the sky and saw only a few clouds¡ªthere was no risk of rain in the coming hours.


    Like a zombie, he wandered between the tents and slumped heavily next to a pot over which someone had just lit a fire.


    The one who had lit it was Lieutenant Belmaison. He also looked unwell, but far better than Adam.


    ¡°Lieutenant Belmaison.¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Boucher.¡±


    ¡°What are you making?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just heating water to freshen up a bit.¡±


    Adam nodded, strongly approving of the idea, even though he thought the pot was quite small.


    ¡°How is it? Hot enough yet?¡±


    Instead of replying, Lieutenant Belmaison dipped his finger into the water.


    ¡°Not yet.¡±


    Adam dragged over a log and sat on it. The small fire made a soft crackling sound that made him want to fall asleep. He might have dozed off if the air hadn¡¯t been so cold.


    Minutes passed slowly without the two men exchanging a word. Neither of them was particularly bothered by the silence¡ªit was fine just as it was.


    The camp gradually woke up, but most soldiers were still sleeping. Like Adam, Thomas, and Albert, they had taken full advantage of their free time to release the tension that had built up over the past days and weeks.


    Adam knew how grueling their daily lives were. Without these moments of peace amid the war, these men would have lost their minds.


    Letting off steam was important. Perhaps that¡¯s why it was so common for towns and villages that fell into their hands to end up pillaged and burned.


    Destroying and stealing something seemed to have a numbing effect on the soldiers of this era. For a brief moment, they forgot just how mentally and physically exhausted they were.


    Adam, who had endured as much as any of these men, now understood why people of this time acted the way they did. He had understood it for a long time because he himself had felt the need to stop thinking and act like an animal.


    Destroy everything to avoid exploding, and drink beyond reason to forget one¡¯s problems.


    But everything was temporary, and reality inevitably came knocking again.


    ¡°It¡¯s ready,¡± said Thomas, satisfied with the water¡¯s temperature as he poured it into an empty bucket. ¡°We can share the water. I don¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll just need some help shaving. Is that all right?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Adam quickly replied, shaking his head.


    He had done it several times and found it quite relaxing. However, he didn¡¯t have any equipment of his own. Fortunately, the veteran with the serious face had everything he needed¡ªhe even had a full kit stored in a very nice box.


    The two men removed their long white coats, their red jackets with gold buttons, and their white shirts before starting to clean themselves with simple damp cloths. It was only then that Adam noticed Lieutenant Belmaison¡¯s physique wasn¡¯t bad at all.


    Like him, he was slim but not skinny, and fairly muscular. He had the build of a high-level athlete.


    ¡°Is there a problem?¡± he asked in an emotionless tone upon noticing his colleague observing him.


    ¡°N-no, nothing,¡± Adam replied, putting on a slightly embarrassed look.


    Lieutenant Belmaison didn¡¯t pay much attention to his colleague and resumed his washing. Adam did the same, turning slightly so their eyes wouldn¡¯t meet.


    As soon as the warm water touched his dirty skin, Adam felt a surge of emotion overwhelm him.


    It was so gentle, so pleasant, that he felt as though graceful fingers of a young woman were caressing him. He was no longer accustomed to such luxury, though it was such a small thing.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He felt like crying with joy.


    But, as Thomas had said, the water cooled quickly. The air was also quite chilly, so neither officer lingered.


    ¡°I¡¯m done. Can you shave me? Here¡¯s the foam.¡±


    Adam slipped on a somewhat clean shirt¡ªmeaning the least dirty one he owned¡ªand walked over to his colleague, who had seated himself on a large dark stump. He whipped up a foam that resembled a fluffy cloud and applied it wherever needed with a kind of brush.


    Then, he picked up a sharp, long blade and brought it close to the neutral face in front of him.


    ¡°Turn your head a bit. Very good, I¡¯m starting.¡±


    Slowly, he ran the razor blade across the officer¡¯s cheek, the edge gliding without meeting any resistance. Over time, Adam had become quite skilled with such a tool.


    It was amusing: his first experience with a razor had been in this era, and it wasn¡¯t an electric shaver or a cheap disposable gadget. Everything in this kit seemed valuable.


    With a wide and elegant gesture, Adam slid the blade across the man¡¯s throat, where the skin was most delicate, but not a drop of blood was spilled. He continued, and in no time at all, he was done.


    ¡°Here, a towel.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Would you like me to shave you?¡±


    Adam hesitated and ran a hand over his cheek. It was only then that he realized he was indeed starting to grow a bit of stubble.


    ¡°Oh, sure, I¡¯d appreciate that.¡±


    Thomas stood and invited Adam to sit on the stump. Following the same procedure, Lieutenant Belmaison finished in less than three minutes.


    When Adam ran his hand over his cheek again, it was smoother than a baby¡¯s bottom.


    ¡°Oh, that feels good. I feel much better.¡±


    Lieutenant Thomas Belmaison glanced briefly at Adam but said nothing. He simply and methodically placed the tools back in their slots before carefully closing the kit.


    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s possible to go into town? Or do we have to stay in the camp?¡±


    ¡°No idea. I¡¯m not the one to ask about that.¡±


    Adam nodded, slipped on his jacket and coat, and looked around to orient himself. He headed toward the usual area where the officers¡¯ tents were set up.


    While the Marshal Duke of Richelieu was lodged within the fort, the other officers had to stay in the camp to ensure order was maintained. This naturally included Colonel de Br¨¦hant.


    The colonel was already awake and finishing his grooming. With a certain grace, he put on the last elements of his uniform one by one and completed the ensemble by placing an elegant powdered wig on his head.


    It was expertly made and perfectly fitted, likely because it was custom-made. It was so well-crafted that every hair¡ªsince it was indeed real human hair and not horsehair¡ªlooked natural.


    ¡°Good morning, Colonel,¡± Adam said, offering a stiff salute. ¡°I apologize for disturbing you, but I¡¯d like to know if it¡¯s possible to go into town.¡±


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant turned to the young lieutenant he had supported in achieving his current rank and thought for a moment.


    ¡°At ease. Well, after discussing it with the major, we¡¯ve decided not to conduct training today and to postpone it until tomorrow. Likewise, we¡¯ll hold a troop review in the presence of the Marshal and the Governor. All men have leave until then, provided they don¡¯t cause any disorder. You may go and do as you wish under that condition.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Colonel!¡±


    ¡°But take this opportunity to have your laundry washed. We represent the King. When one of His Majesty¡¯s soldiers appears as poorly as you do, it reflects poorly on His image.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir! I¡¯ll take care of it immediately!¡±


    ¡°Good. Will that be all?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Colonel! Have a good day, Colonel!¡±


    Adam returned to his tent, where the other occupants were beginning to wake up, and hastily packed all his laundry. He informed Lieutenant Belmaison of his plans so he could notify Captain Fontaine in turn, and then left the camp.


    In fact, the camp wasn¡¯t located precisely outside the walls but between the old rampart and a new line of fortifications under construction. The growing town had become too cramped behind its long wall dotted with bastions.


    Behind this second line lay the vast plains of Abraham. They were partially occupied by fields, though some wooded areas remained.


    Adam had no trouble entering the town, already fully awake and bustling with activity.


    The settlers went about their business peacefully, as if the war were merely an illusion and would never reach them. The colonial women, dressed simply like those in France or Germany, helped their husbands with all their might.


    As soon as he reached the upper town¡¯s center, he was plunged into a tumult that grew louder as he approached the market, where numerous temporary stalls had been set up.


    Adam''s worn, mud-covered shoes no longer kept his feet dry, but as he had for weeks, he ignored the discomfort. He was focused on finding someone to wash the pile of dirty laundry he carried firmly under one arm.


    Even with a nose dulled by exposure to the foulest odors, he had to admit his clothes reeked. As for his body, it wasn¡¯t in much better shape. A quick wash with warm water hadn¡¯t improved the situation.


    ¡°Hey, watch it, boy!¡±


    Adam leapt out of the way of a heavy cart carving deep ruts in the sticky black mud, only to realize he¡¯d stepped into animal dung¡ªhorse or something larger. He quickly wiped his boots on a plank lying in the road, but the damage was done.


    Irritated, he glanced back at the cart, which was piled high with crates and large, iron-banded barrels. Behind it came more wagons, forming what looked like a convoy. The goods had likely come from the lower town, where two small merchant ships were docked.


    The streets buzzed with merchants calling out their wares:


    ¡°Freshly baked corn cakes! Best in town, just out of the oven!¡±


    ¡°Firewood! Stock up for winter while you can!¡±


    ¡°Salted and smoked cod! Top-quality catch!¡±


    ¡°Fresh fish, caught just for you!¡±


    ¡°Fresh eggs, 5 sous a dozen!¡±


    ¡°Warm bread, 2 sous a pound!¡±


    ¡°Come get my candles! Cheap and long-lasting! 25 sous a pound!¡±


    Overwhelmed by the noise and activity, Adam made his way to the lower town, where goods were still being unloaded. He headed straight for a group of women singing as they worked, scrubbing laundry with vigorous determination.


    ¡°Excuse me, ladies, could you wash my clothes? I also have this coat I¡¯m wearing.¡±


    A plump woman with rosy cheeks and weathered hands turned to scrutinize him. His striking blue eyes and handsome face caught her attention. If she¡¯d been 25 years younger, she might have tried her luck with him, but those days were long gone.


    ¡°Ladies? Hah! Do you see any ladies here, girls?¡±


    ¡°Hahaha!¡±


    Adam flushed as the laundresses burst into boisterous, shameless laughter.


    ¡°No problem, handsome. Let me see what you¡¯ve got. Ah, it¡¯s less than I expected. Should be quick, but as you can see, we¡¯re swamped. Is it urgent?¡±


    ¡°Quite. I¡¯ve got a troop review tomorrow, and I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ll be staying in Quebec.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re with those soldiers who arrived yesterday! We can work something out, but it¡¯ll cost extra.¡±


    Adam reached for his pocket, only to remember he¡¯d spent his last coins on a bottle of liquor the night before.


    ¡°Damn.¡±


    ¡°Problem, sweetheart? Not enough money?¡±


    ¡°No money at all,¡± Adam muttered, realizing too late how poorly this might go over with the person he was asking for a favor.


    ¡°Ah, soldiers. Always broke. No coin, no clean clothes.¡±


    Regret weighed heavily on Adam, particularly over his indulgence the previous night.


    ¡°C-could I do something for you in return?¡±


    The women, intrigued by the exchange, leaned closer. A few grinned, expecting their colleague, Martine, to take advantage of the soldier¡¯s predicament.


    Martine sized him up, noting his muscular build and resigned expression.


    ¡°Well, as you can see, we¡¯ve got plenty of work. We could use a hand.¡±


    To her surprise, Adam agreed instantly. ¡°Alright. Where do I start? Here?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yes?¡±


    Martine watched, bemused, as Adam removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves to reveal his powerful arms, and joined the women at work. The laundresses paused, gawking at this curious sight.


    Men sometimes helped with laundry, but only with the heavy lifting¡ªnever the actual scrubbing. But Adam, accustomed to washing his clothes in military camps, dove in without hesitation.


    Though less skilled than the women, he made up for it with sheer energy.


    Fuck, this water¡¯s freezing! How do they do it? These women are machines! he thought.


    Thanks to Adam, the group made progress a little faster, and the mountain of laundry disappeared. With red, trembling hands, he wiped his forehead, which was covered in sweat as if he had been walking for hours under a blazing sun.


    Because it was a time-consuming task, he chatted with the women and learned a lot about life in Quebec and New France in general. These women led difficult lives, like the rest of the settlers, but they didn¡¯t complain. They had work and earned an income that supplemented their husbands¡¯ wages.


    There was no shortage of work, quite the opposite. There were many needs, but because there were not enough hands, they had to make up for it by organizing themselves in the smartest way possible.


    The arrival of prisoners of war had partly eased the pressure on the settlers. What surprised Adam was that these prisoners, who had arrived in groups over the summer because the marshal didn¡¯t want to separate families, had been integrated as ordinary settlers.


    Adam feared they might be treated like slaves. He assumed that what had worked in their favor was that most of these people were of Germanic origin.


    Among all these people, these new settlers, one man quickly stood out. He was none other than the former mayor of Albany: Sybrant van Schaick.


    Despite his condition, he had managed to create a business and was now supporting eight people. As the great businessman he was, he quickly identified the needs of the locals and responded by offering transportation services to facilitate exchanges between the various cities along the St. Lawrence.


    He began by investing in sturdy harnesses and was already thinking about improving the river network by building large barges.


    When Adam heard this, he was surprised and suggested that he should start by improving the roads so they wouldn¡¯t turn into mud pits at the first rain. This was something he had once said to young Martin Morrel of Lusernes.


    What he didn¡¯t know was that one of the laundresses was the wife of one of Sybrant van Schaick¡¯s employees, and the following day, the husband, named Andrew Lewis, spoke to his employer to share this suggestion.


    History forgot Andrew Lewis, but not Sybrant van Schaick, who became one of the greatest fortunes in New France.

 Chapter 103: Tournament

    Adam was starting to feel hungry, but he didn¡¯t have a penny to pay for a good meal, so he decided to head back to the camp.


    Although he was only wearing breeches, a shirt, and a vest, he wasn¡¯t cold. The weather was clear, and the sun was as warm as in September.


    Compared to the day before, the temperature had risen by almost ten degrees. If nothing changed, it would exceed 25 degrees Celsius by mid-afternoon.


    For now, the weather was just perfect.


    Ah, this feels good! Finally, some warmth! It makes you want to do nothing but enjoy the day!


    Behind him, the St. Lawrence River sparkled like a stream of diamonds. If the water weren¡¯t so cold, he might have taken a swim.


    His hands, still sore from the intense morning work, trembled slightly. That¡¯s why he kept them warm and close to his body.


    Unfortunately, his breeches didn¡¯t have any pockets. It was a real shame because pockets had been so useful in his own time that he couldn¡¯t imagine a pair of jeans without them.


    More than once, he¡¯d been caught off guard since arriving in this era.


    His coat, currently drying in the sun along with the rest of his clothes, had several pockets, but they weren¡¯t practical. There were two on each side, long and nearly vertical.


    To distinguish between regiments, the shape and number of pockets as well as the number of buttons were varied. In the Picardie regiment, for instance, there were two pockets on each side, each flap featuring three rows of three buttons.


    Sniff sniff


    Adam caught a delicious smell coming from one of the main streets of the upper town, the one leading from Fort Saint-Louis to the parade square. There were several shops there, but those essential to the town and colony¡¯s livelihood were located in the lower town.


    Rather than shops, it would be more accurate to call them warehouses for exporting what was considered New France¡¯s wealth: furs. For many nobles in mainland France, this was the only reason to keep this unprofitable colony.


    It smells so good! Damn! My cheeks hurt!


    The young man felt like crying. Such a delightful smell was tickling his nose, yet he couldn¡¯t eat what was producing it.


    Freshly baked bread! Roast pork! A soup full of delicious vegetables!


    Heartbroken, Adam continued on his way and arrived at the camp, where large pots were heating in various spots. White smoke rose gently into the air before slowly dissipating.


    A light breeze from the south carried a pleasant, though not outstanding, smell to the camp¡¯s entrance. Adam approached one of the pots, surrounded by a large group of soldiers as if it were the baby Jesus, and tried to identify what was being cooked.


    Despite his experience, he couldn¡¯t figure out what he was about to eat.


    Finally, the marshal¡¯s soldiers began to be served. When Adam¡¯s turn came, he discovered it was just a yellowish porridge, probably made from grains, mixed with some vegetables and a bit of meat.


    The sight wasn¡¯t appetizing, but it had been a long time since Adam had been picky about food. What mattered was having something in his stomach, not the taste.


    With a face as expressionless as a blank mask, he stepped aside and began to eat his porridge.


    Without the vegetables and especially the lard, it would have had no taste at all. Eating this stuff wouldn¡¯t have been much different from chewing cardboard.


    Still, he quickly finished his bowl, which he immediately cleaned so it could be reused later. He put it away with his belongings under his tent and noticed a rugby match about to take place.


    The field boundaries had just been set up, and the teams were forming.


    Adam quickly spotted some familiar faces in the blue team. The most notable was, of course, Jean, who towered over all the other players by at least a head.


    He wasn¡¯t the only giant playing, though, as the opposing team had a few grenadiers.


    Did they bring the ball with them? The guys left at Fort Edward must be pissed, the young man thought, crossing his arms with a slight smile.


    Adam didn¡¯t notice Captain Fontaine approaching.


    ¡°Your game is becoming very popular, Fran?ois. It was truly a great idea. The soldiers are in good spirits.¡±


    ¡°Ah, Albert. Yes, it seems so. Did you sleep well?¡±


    ¡°Deeply, yes. Well? No.¡±


    ¡°Really? Nightmares?¡±


    ¡°Worse. I vomited in my sleep.¡±


    Adam turned sharply toward his friend and noticed he wasn¡¯t wearing his uniform. His face looked awful, as if someone had dunked his head in a toilet.


    He indeed gave off a powerful smell that made Adam¡¯s hair stand on end.


    As if reading his mind, Albert Fontaine grimaced.


    ¡°I know. I stink, don¡¯t I? I tried to get rid of the smell, but nothing works. I took a bath in town and gave my clothes to a laundress. She robbed me blind.¡±


    ¡°You still had money left after last night?¡± the lieutenant asked, surprised. ¡°I didn¡¯t. I still don¡¯t, in fact.¡±


    Albert smiled slyly, like a fox.


    "I left part of my money with the major to make sure I wouldn¡¯t spend it all. Looks like that was a smart move."


    "Not too bad of a headache?"


    "Surprisingly, no. I guess I¡¯m used to it. I might not handle alcohol well, but the next day, I don¡¯t get terrible migraines."


    "Lucky you."


    "Hmm, not really. I think that¡¯s why I drink so much. I let my guard down, thinking I¡¯ll be fine."


    "And then you end up puking on yourself."


    The two officers smiled as the game kicked off. The ball quickly ended up with Jean''s team. Like an unstoppable tank, Jean barreled forward, brushing aside his opponents until he met his match.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The grenadiers sprang at him, taking him down like a ripe stalk of wheat. It took two of them, but they finally managed to bring him to the ground.


    The opposing team seized the ball and ran in the opposite direction to the cheers of the spectators.


    The ball passed swiftly from hand to hand until it was intercepted by the young and agile Martin Morrel de Lusernes.


    As fast as lightning, he dashed forward and placed the ball behind the try line with no pressure, as his opponents had been left far behind.


    "Yes! Well done!"


    Watching the spectators get caught up in the game, Adam couldn¡¯t help but smile even more.


    For a brief moment, he felt like he was back in his own time, watching an official match between two great teams. Everything wasn¡¯t perfect, but he thought that with time, they could create proper jerseys and a worthy ball.


    The excitement of the match outside the camp drew many onlookers, including settlers and Indians. While it wasn¡¯t the first game held in Quebec, for some spectators, it was the first they had ever seen.


    It was intense and full of emotion from start to finish.


    It wasn¡¯t necessary to understand the rules to see how fascinating the game was. Many even felt an urge to participate.


    The settlers stayed long after the match to chat among themselves and with the soldiers. Their interest was immense, and they hoped to see another game soon. They weren¡¯t disappointed, as a second match was organized just a few minutes after the first one ended.


    This gave Adam an idea.


    "Hey, Albert, what if we organized a tournament?"


    "A tournament? You mean a competition with multiple teams and all that?"


    "Yes! It¡¯s a good idea, isn¡¯t it?"


    "It¡¯s an excellent idea. Come on! Follow me! Excuse us, guys! Coming through!"


    The two officers quickly made their way to the field and entered the playing area, surprising the players. Curious, they gathered around them.


    "So, would you all be interested in holding a sort of competition?" Adam proposed. "We¡¯d organize several matches, and the winners would face the winners of other matches until there¡¯s only one team left!"


    The captains, though there weren¡¯t really official ones at this level, didn¡¯t have time to think it over before the players enthusiastically approved. Their excitement made Adam smile.


    "We should let the others know," Adam said. "And make some kind of chart so everyone knows who¡¯s playing against whom."


    "Hmm, sounds like a good plan. Do we replay the last match?"


    "They must be exhausted. And the winners might not agree. Let¡¯s find them and talk about the idea, then decide."


    The start of the second match was slightly delayed as they organized the first-ever rugby tournament in history. A list of the teams was written down, each assigned a number.


    Once enough teams had signed up, they drew lots to determine the matchups.


    Under the curious gaze of spectators, they explained the concept and announced the pairings. Everything was approved, and the first match, between Team 3 with white armbands and Team 7 with blue armbands, began.


    If the previous match had been intense, it was nothing compared to this one. It was so fierce that several players had to be taken off the field. It served as a warning for the subsequent games.


    The next match, between Team 1 and Team 4¡ªJean and Martin''s team¡ªwas less violent and much more strategic. Learning from their first match against what was now Team 2, they played smarter and assigned roles.


    Jean, with his monstrous strength, became a hero for his team, as did Martin, who scored no fewer than three tries!


    The matches continued throughout the afternoon under a radiant sun, drawing even more spectators. Unfortunately, it wasn¡¯t a proper stadium with nice stands. Many couldn¡¯t see the grand spectacle.


    Martin, who wasn¡¯t very tall, noticed this when it was his turn to watch from the sidelines. If he hadn¡¯t been a player, he might not have seen the incredible match between Team 2 and Team 5.


    The game was so close that the winner was decided by just one point. Team 2, with their formidable grenadiers, advanced, while Team 5, dejected, looked as if they had suffered a crushing battlefield defeat.


    "All teams, gather around!" Albert Fontaine called from the center of the field. "Thank you. Well, it¡¯s getting late, and we¡¯ve only completed the first round. Half the teams have been eliminated, but there are still three matches to go before we crown the champion of this competition."


    "We¡¯re going to ask you to come back here tomorrow after training for the next rounds," Adam announced calmly. "The first match will be Team 7 versus Team 4, followed by Team 2 against Team 8. Does that work for everyone?"


    As no one objected, Adam nodded in satisfaction.


    "Excellent. In that case, thank you all. You all played very well. If your teams were eliminated, it¡¯s no big deal. Maybe next time will be your turn. And for those playing tomorrow, rest well. We¡¯ll count on you again to play honestly. We don¡¯t want the marshal to decide to ban rugby, do we?"


    The players smiled and laughed together, happy and satisfied to have let off steam on the field.


    Even those who had been eliminated seemed in good spirits, promising themselves to do better in the next tournament.


    This is so cool! It went really well! Ah, one day, we¡¯ll need to build a real field with stands and everything! I¡¯ll have to talk about it with Martin. No, that won¡¯t work. I need someone with more authority to bring it up with the governor.


    ***


    At the same time, the Marshal Duke of Richelieu stood over a large map spread out on governor Vaudreuil¡¯s desk.


    The atmosphere was as serious as in a courtroom. The governor barely dared to breathe or move in his own office.


    On the polished floor, every sound seemed amplified.


    The imposing man, dressed entirely in blue, was as silent as the one who had been appointed commander of the King¡¯s armies in New France.


    He stood near a tall window overlooking the fortress courtyard, where soldiers were moving about, his hand resting on his round belly, compressed by refined but overly tight clothing.


    Across the thick walls of the fort, he could see the few cannons, black and massive, guarding the river. Only a soldier standing near one of them could truly grasp their colossal size.


    On one of the bastions, atop a tall pole resembling a long spear, the white flag dotted with golden fleurs-de-lis fluttered peacefully in the wind.


    "Do we really have no maps more precise than this?" asked the Marshal Duke, raising his head to look at the governor, breaking the heavy silence that had reigned in the room.


    "I regret to say, my lord, that this is all we have."


    "Ah, I don¡¯t see how I can plan an operation with so little information about the enemy," sighed the old marshal, turning his gaze back to the map provided by the governor. "They have batteries, that¡¯s clear, and they¡¯re marked here, but I don¡¯t know how many cannons they have, their calibers, or their orientations."


    "I understand, but it¡¯s not as if we can just go there and draw a proper map. I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ll have to make do."


    The old marshal heaved a deep sigh and nervously tapped the surface of the desk, beautiful despite its simplicity, near the edges of the map adorned with several annotations.


    "Men are precious, Governor. You know that better than anyone. I can risk my soldiers¡¯ lives; that¡¯s not the issue. But I must know what I¡¯m sending them into to determine where to attack and minimize my losses. I know people say many things about me, but I am not a madman."


    The marshal sighed again, his expression conflicted. Deep wrinkles appeared on his brow as he frowned.


    Due to the remoteness of New France, his powers were far greater than they would be on the Old Continent. Of course, the authority to take initiatives came with a crushing responsibility that demanded caution.


    "And we don¡¯t even know the size of their garrison. No, that¡¯s not the most important thing. This town is small. I have more men in my camp than there are colonists in Halifax. What I truly need to know is the number of enemy cannons, including those aboard ships. They have a decent port, though inferior to Louisbourg, which means there will likely be a few warships, possibly first- and second-rate vessels. Governor Vaudreuil, how long will it take for the frigate we sent yesterday to return?"


    "I-I¡¯m afraid it will take some time, sir. It takes one to two weeks to get there, so about three weeks in total."


    "Three weeks¡­" murmured the marshal, visibly displeased.


    But what could he do? Halifax was far away, nearly 1,500 kilometers, and the ships were cruelly dependent on winds and currents for speed. That was roughly the equivalent of the distance between Sicily and the Strait of Gibraltar or between New York and Florida!


    If he wanted the necessary information to quickly capture Halifax without losing his army, he would have to wait¡ªjust as he would wait months for updates from other theaters of war across the globe.


    If the war were to end today, he wouldn¡¯t receive the news for a month and a half or even two months or more in case of delays!


    "Very well. In that case, I¡¯ll wait for a while in Quebec to let my men rest, and then I¡¯ll move them closer to my objective. We¡¯ll leave for Louisbourg in four days. In the meantime, I¡¯ll rely on your hospitality, Governor."


    "Rest assured, neither you nor your men will lack anything."


    Marshal Richelieu nodded and cast one last look at the map of Halifax and its surroundings. He wondered what he would do with it once he captured it because, in his mind, its fall was inevitable after two successive disasters at Louisbourg.


    Depending on the situation, he would have to settle for burning it to the ground. Otherwise, he would keep it to establish an advanced base in the region. From there, he could more easily launch further operations against the colonies.


    A cruel smile, befitting the worst of bandits, formed on his thin lips.

 Chapter 104: Ryckje Van Schaick

    The prisoners of war brought to Quebec under heavy guard¡ªmore accurately, forcibly relocated under the threat of muskets and bayonets¡ªgenerally lived a peaceful life in New France. Yet they never forgot that their presence there was not of their own free will.


    Their anger matched their sorrow.


    Faced with these emotions, born of injustice or perhaps the loss of a loved one, there were only three possible paths: accept their fate and integrate by renouncing their identity as subjects of King George II; wait out the storm and hope to one day return home to rebuild their former lives; or fight back.


    The majority of the displaced¡ªhostages until His British Majesty either secured their release through force or gold, or until the war itself ended¡ªchose to wait and observe.


    The French, who were said to be vile, dishonorable, and wretched, treated them well and assigned them various tasks. They could even earn a little money through hard work in shops, warehouses, or the fields surrounding the city.


    But an increasing number of them were slipping into the first category: the traitors. The opportunists.


    They had renounced the oath they had never spoken, for it was instinctive. They had turned their backs on King George II and the glorious flag uniting England and Scotland.


    And why?


    In the hope of being treated just a little better than their former neighbors.


    Their hearts had been corrupted by the honeyed words of the French enemy. Yet to Ryckje van Schaick, there was no doubt that all these words, all these promises, were nothing but a web of lies, a subtle poison that transformed honorable people into docile dogs.


    Worse, they had willingly become the submissive slaves of the French! They bent over backward to serve them, showering them with flattery and bowing low in exchange for a few privileges.


    To her horror, Ryckje had watched her father¡ªonce the mayor of Albany, a man she had thought respectable¡ªbend the knee. Now she saw him groveling before the governor of New France and the demon accompanying him, the Duke of Richelieu.


    The man she once admired now filled her with disgust. Simply being in the same room as him made her want to vomit.


    It was as if he had forgotten that her brother, Goosen, had been killed by these monsters.


    She clenched her teeth and endured in silence. In their house¡ªwhich wasn¡¯t truly theirs, as they were lodging with a couple who might have seemed charming if they hadn¡¯t been French¡ªshe had no one to confide in.


    Even her mother, Alida, was beginning to fall under their spell. Alida tried to converse with the women of Quebec and to learn their grating, barbaric language.


    She seemed so proud whenever she managed to utter a word or two in front of Charlotte Fraisier, their hostess.


    To Ryckje¡¯s utter dismay, even her younger sister Maria seemed to be falling for these people. What had started as simple curiosity had turned into fascination.


    Maria had thus lost her innocence, and her heart had been poisoned by French venom.


    The cause? A ball game of extraordinary violence.


    Maria had attended one of these matches with their father during one of his breaks and had immediately been captivated. That evening, she spoke incessantly about the game throughout dinner.


    Ryckje held back tears but silently wept into her pillow that night as she lay in the bed she shared with her beloved little sister.


    It was that night she made a radical decision that would change her life.


    ***


    ACHOO!


    Adam, bent over by a forceful sneeze, wiped his nose roughly with the sleeve of his coat, which struggled to keep him warm.


    The warm and sunny day from three days ago felt like a distant memory. That night, after the world''s first rugby tournament, the wind abruptly shifted from south to north, bringing a sudden drop in temperature more fitting for the season.


    At the warmest point of the day, it barely reached ten degrees.


    Adam was grateful to have clean clothes, as washing anything in this weather was a challenge. Yet the brave washerwomen still plunged their weary hands into the icy waters of the St. Lawrence River to do their work.


    He blew into his hands, watching a thick cloud of white breath rise between his fingers and drift into the cold air.


    The sky was a uniform gray, and he suspected snow would start falling any moment.


    Having endured a harsh winter in Germany, he wasn¡¯t eager to face another. Though he¡¯d never set foot in America before arriving in this body, he had heard terrifying stories about winters here.


    He¡¯d also seen pictures that literally sent chills down his spine¡ªschool buses turned into frozen statues, the sea frozen solid, snowstorms burying everything under meters of powder, and icicles hanging from every roof.


    While he liked snow, there were limits.


    Adam might have tolerated all of it if he had the comforts of modernity at hand, but here and now, that wasn¡¯t the case. Lighting a room was expensive, staying warm cost a fortune, and dressing warmly wasn¡¯t an option since, as a soldier, he had to wear his uniform.


    Under his jacket, he wore every shirt he owned, had wrapped a thick scarf around his neck, donned woolen stockings, and wore gloves to protect his hands. That was the best he could do.


    ACHOO!


    The streets of Quebec were nearly deserted. Naturally, in this biting cold, no one was chasing after a rugby ball. Even Captain Gauthier, now obsessed with the sport, preferred to stay warm.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Fran?ois! W-wait for me!¡±


    Adam turned at the sound of his name, which felt increasingly like his own. Responding to it had become as natural as responding to terms of endearment in a couple.


    He spotted Martin Morrel de Lusernes, bundled up in layers of clothing to combat the biting cold.


    They¡¯d been told quite clearly that if they were cold now, they weren¡¯t prepared for the months ahead.


    Adam believed it, imagining temperatures plummeting to minus twenty Celsius.


    ¡°Why are you running like that, Martin? Is something wrong?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wearing three breeches,¡± Martin replied, out of breath.


    ¡°And does it help?¡±


    ¡°Not really. I¡¯m still freezing. Aren¡¯t you cold dressed like that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m freezing. I¡¯m heading to the inn to warm up. They¡¯ve got a big fireplace. I earned some money last night telling stories to the patrons. I¡¯ve got enough left for a good omelet with cheese and bacon.¡±


    Martin swallowed audibly, imagining a steaming, hearty omelet placed before him while warming his feet by the fire.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you!¡± he declared with determination, his cheeks as red as if he¡¯d been drinking.


    Perhaps he had been, as it was a good way to warm up.


    ¡°No problem, but I can¡¯t pay for your meal,¡± Adam said.


    ¡°No, no, absolutely not! I¡¯ve got money!¡± Martin said, shaking a rounded pouch that seemed quite heavy.


    ¡°What¡¯s all that?¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s what¡¯s left of the money my father gave me when he sent me to the barracks. It¡¯s not company money, I swear!¡±


    Adam smirked as the young man defended himself as though he¡¯d been accused of theft. Shaking his head, he kept walking.


    Inwardly, he admired Martin. The young man was very sensible and responsible, clearly distinguishing between his personal funds and the company¡¯s money.


    A captain wasn¡¯t just a commander; he was also a manager. He had to provide recruits for His Majesty whenever he returned from leave (a task also shared by lieutenants and sergeants) or simply to replenish his ranks. He was responsible for clothing and equipping them.


    Fortunately, for all that, the king was relatively ¡°generous.¡± A captain¡¯s personal pay was three livres per day, with an annual allowance of 150 livres for recruiting expenses and 1,500 livres for equipping and maintaining his troops (due to France being at war; otherwise, he¡¯d receive only 750 livres).


    All of this seemed wonderful, but for a single year, it was ridiculous. It was no coincidence that most captains from humble backgrounds ended up ruined.


    Perhaps it was intentional, a way to ensure these positions were left to the wealthy, especially the nobility?


    ¡°What are you thinking about?¡±


    ¡°Oh, nothing, I just got lost in thought.¡±


    Martin didn¡¯t press further and simply walked alongside his friend. Naturally, they fell into step with each other.


    They entered a wide, partially cobblestone-paved street, covered in mud, garbage, and piles of dung, some of which had been trampled.


    As they passed by a cobbler¡¯s shop, the two young men saw a beautiful young lady approaching from the opposite direction. She couldn¡¯t have been older than seventeen.


    She was stunning despite her humble clothes and stoic expression. Her skin was incredibly pale, almost milky, her lips as pink as a vibrant flower, her eyes hazel, and her hair seemed almost coppery.


    For a brief moment, the two French officers felt her gaze upon them, and their young hearts leapt.


    Inwardly, Adam knew she was about his age, and even if she hadn¡¯t been, one would have to be mad or blind not to feel something upon seeing such beauty.


    Strangely, Adam immediately thought of someone else.


    She¡¯s gorgeous, yet I think she¡¯s a step below that young Indian girl.


    Despite this thought, he felt his cheeks grow warmer. Martin was no different¡ªif anything, he was worse. His face turned redder than the scarf protecting his neck.


    At the same time, the two companions turned to admire the young lady one last time. But what they saw caught them entirely off guard.


    Out of nowhere, the young woman produced a long, sharp knife in her right hand and raised it above her head, ready to strike Martin.


    In what felt like slow motion, Adam saw the blade descending toward his friend, who struggled to react. The woman¡¯s face was now filled with hatred.


    Like a ferocious lioness pouncing on her prey, her eyes widened, her teeth clenched, and her fingers gripped the knife¡¯s handle so tightly they turned white. Two long strands of hair fell across her face.


    ¡°Martin!¡±


    The captain reflexively raised his arms to protect himself, accidentally blocking the attack.


    The assailant wasn¡¯t very strong¡ªnot like that young Indian who had tried to kill Martin during an ambush on the road north of Fort Edward. Simply blocking the attack forced the young woman to step back two paces.


    But far from discouraged, she launched herself forward again, still focused solely on Martin, likely seeing him as the weaker of the two soldiers.


    ¡°Rhaaa! Die! I¡¯ll kill you!¡± she screamed in English, her voice brimming with hatred.


    Once again, she achieved nothing. Martin blocked her attack, this time with Adam¡¯s help, as he grabbed her knife-wielding arm.


    Martin firmly seized the hand clutching the knife and forced her to loosen her grip¡ªa difficult task, as she screamed and struggled like a demon.


    Finally, the knife fell into the mud.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you! I¡¯ll kill you all!¡± she repeated over and over in her language, as if summoning the strength to fulfill her sinister goal.


    Like a rabid animal, she bit deeply into Adam¡¯s right arm, but he refused to let go.


    ¡°Damn, she bit me! She¡¯s insane!¡±


    Adam was bleeding but hesitated to strike a woman. Instead, he quickly shifted his strategy, moving behind her to restrain her. Wrapping his arms around her, he immobilized her completely. It was as if she were chained.


    ¡°For heaven¡¯s sake, calm down, miss!¡± cried Martin, addressing the young woman who was still thrashing about, now stomping on Adam¡¯s feet in a frenzy to break free.


    ¡°Ow! She¡¯s not listening! Hey, calm down! Calm down! Stop moving!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill all of you damn Frenchmen! Every last one! I curse you all!¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem willing to cooperate! Oh, reinforcements are coming!¡±


    Indeed, the commotion on the street had drawn attention. Gradually, a crowd formed around the young woman, who was fully restrained in the mud and horse dung.


    The young lady now looked nothing like an innocent beauty but rather a madwoman escaped from an asylum.


    At that moment, Sybrant Goosen van Schaick arrived, his face pale.


    ¡°Ryckje! Th-that¡¯s my daughter! Let me through! She¡¯s my daughter!¡± he cried with surprising force, alternating between French and English as the crowd parted for him.


    Attempts were made to explain the situation to him, and his face turned ashen. His gaze fell on his poor daughter, now covered in mud. For a brief moment, he saw her tear-streaked face, and his heart tightened to the point of breaking.


    Eventually, the city and fort authorities intervened, arresting the former mayor of Albany¡¯s daughter.


    The knife was collected as evidence, and the two officers were naturally taken to the fort for questioning.


    ***


    The investigation was straightforward, and the findings were damning for the young woman. Despite her age, she faced severe consequences, especially during such troubled times.


    Attacking a French soldier was a grave offense. People had been hanged for less.


    Her age didn¡¯t work in her favor, as boys her age were sent to battle. What¡¯s more, the two men she had attacked with a knife were officers¡ªone a captain, the other a lieutenant.


    But she was a girl and still under the authority of His Majesty, the British King. Executing her could have severe repercussions for their own prisoners in the colonies and Great Britain.


    The officers and the elderly Governor Vaudreuil were in a very difficult position. They had to be firm enough to deter other prisoners of war, who lived almost freely in the towns of New France, but not so harsh as to provoke a cycle of cruelty that might not end until the conflict was over.


    Ryckje only realized the gravity of the charges too late and broke down in tears.


    This pitiful sight didn¡¯t leave the governor unmoved, but it had no effect on the old marshal. The colonel was as torn as the governor.


    Of course, the young woman¡¯s father sought to defend his child, but here in Quebec, he was nobody. His utility was acknowledged, but that had nothing to do with Ryckje van Schaick.


    To avoid this heavy responsibility, Adam and Martin were consulted. They were asked whether they wished to press charges for attempted murder of officers of the King.


    Both were surprised but didn¡¯t show it. Without the need for discussion, they declined and forgave the act.


    This was relayed to the accused, who no longer had tears left to shed.


    It was precisely what the colonel, marshal, and governor had hoped for to lighten her sentence.


    ¡°Ryckje van Schaick, daughter of Sybrant Goosen van Schaick and Alida van Schaick, born in Albany, we sentence you to forced labor until His British Majesty decides to proceed with a prisoner exchange or pay a ransom for your release. You will be placed under the care of the Augustinian nuns at the General Hospital, where you will be reformed.¡±


    The young girl, though she had narrowly escaped the gallows, collapsed to her knees in despair.

 Chapter 105: Back To Louisbourg

    The few days of calm spent in Quebec were greatly appreciated by the Duke of Richelieu''s soldiers, but all agreed they passed far too quickly.


    It was with regret that they left the city behind and boarded several ships of varying sizes to head toward Louisbourg.


    During the week-long journey, they had strong, steady winds from the north.


    The swells were impressive, making the ships sway like toys. The hull of the ship carrying Adam creaked so terribly that he feared it might split in two.


    Just like during his first experience at sea, he quickly fell ill.


    His face pale¡ªalmost ghostly¡ªhe leaned over the railing, closing his eyes to avoid looking at the wild waves surrounding the ship or the horizon rising and falling like an out-of-control elevator.


    Far less impressive than the ocean, the elegant frigate Ar¨¦thuse was much less stable on the water.


    He clung tightly to the wooden railing as though afraid of falling overboard, and he wasn¡¯t the only one. The cool wind, laden with sea spray, whipped against his face, occasionally sending salty droplets onto his skin.


    His black-and-gold tricorne, firmly perched on his head, threatened to fly off at any moment and couldn¡¯t stop some long strands of hair from falling into his eyes.


    ¡°BLEURGH!¡±


    A horrible noise beside Adam reached his ears, making him shudder.


    Jean, the titan with muscles of steel, was handling the swells no better and noisily vomited a thick, yellowish liquid. Despite the force of the stream, it all ended up splattered against the Ar¨¦thuse''s hull due to the wind.


    Had they been smarter, they would have positioned themselves on the opposite side to have the wind at their backs.


    ¡°B-Bleurgh!¡±


    Adam felt a spasm rise within him, something surging quickly from his stomach to his mouth. He furrowed his brow tightly and opened his mouth wide.


    Because his stomach was empty, all he brought up was saliva and bile, terribly acidic.


    His legs shaky, he buried his sickly face into his arm as though trying to sleep. He was indeed exhausted, but it was impossible to sleep in that position with the ship rolling so violently.


    Weaker than he¡¯d been in a long time, he swallowed and immediately tasted the awful bitterness in his mouth.


    I-I can¡¯t take this anymore! I¡¯m sick of vomiting!


    Since boarding, Adam seemed to have aged ten years. Large dark circles had formed under his eyes.


    Jules and Charles approached with the gait of drunkards, so unstable was the deck, and leaned on either side of their two queasy friends. Though not actively vomiting, they didn¡¯t look much better off.


    ¡°You hanging in there?¡±


    ¡°I feel like I¡¯m d-dying,¡± Jean groaned, lifting his head but not daring to move away from the railing.


    ¡°Could be worse. I think¡­ I think I¡¯ve got nothing left to throw up.¡±


    ¡°Well then, you can only get better from here, haha!¡±


    Charles chuckled at Jules¡¯s joke, but Adam was in no mood. He let out a faint sigh and gazed at the ocean, gray as steel.


    ¡°Good thing it¡¯s only this. Can you imagine if we were caught in that storm over there?¡±


    Adam turned his gaze to the southwest, where the sky was as black as ink. It was a terrifying sight, even at this distance.


    Occasionally, flashes of light illuminated the ominous clouds.


    The young man couldn¡¯t imagine what it would be like to be inside such a monster.


    ¡°Brings back memories¡ªand not good ones,¡± Charles remarked.


    ¡°O-oh? What memories?¡± Jean asked in a trembling voice.


    ¡°The massive storm we sailed through to reach the New World.¡±


    Adam immediately nodded, recalling the monster that had nearly sent them all to Neptune¡¯s realm. That threatening sky indeed resembled the one they had left behind after narrowly escaping death.


    I want to forget that! Never again do I want to go through something like that! Never again! I thought we were all going to die!


    Despite being whipped in the face by his own hair, the young man couldn¡¯t stop the memories of howling winds, the sight of towering waves that seemed ready to swallow the ocean whole, the sailors¡¯ screams, the creaking timbers, and the straining ropes crying for help.


    Though he had escaped death more times than he could count in just over a year, that storm had traumatized him. For reasons unknown, he made a distinction between dying from a bullet, a cannonball, disease, a knife, or a bayonet, and dying in a shipwreck.


    The last possibility seemed terrifying beyond reason.


    The convoy, consisting of only five ships, arrived on November 2 in the sheltered harbor of Louisbourg. To their great surprise, it was already partially occupied by an impressive squadron.


    There were warships¡ªtwo of which were in pitiful condition¡ªas well as numerous cargo vessels.


    All the soldiers gathered on the decks of their respective ships, trying to see what was happening and figure out where the newcomers might be from.


    As soon as they entered the harbor, they were greeted by the sound of cannon fire, and anchors were quickly dropped. Here, French ships were as protected from the English as they were from storms and even ice, unlike on the Saint Lawrence.


    Quickly, the longboats were launched.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The old marshal was among the first to set foot on land. Adam, on the other hand, was among the last.


    By the time it was his turn to disembark, the marshal had already disappeared, likely to meet with local authorities, both civilian and military, to learn what had transpired since the summer.


    Adam looked around and saw that amidst all this commotion, there were almost only men in white coats. It felt as though the town was populated exclusively by soldiers.


    On the wooden and stone docks, heavy crates, cannons, barrels, and other items were being unloaded nonstop. No one stood idle.


    There were even a few animals, particularly horses.


    ¡°Fran?ois, you have to hear this!¡±


    Adam turned to see Martin Morrel de Lusernes waving to get his attention. He stood with several other captains, as well as a few junior officers. They all wore expressions of utter disbelief.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Adam asked as he approached, discreetly observing the men he didn¡¯t recognize.


    ¡°These gentlemen arrived in Louisbourg two days ago and have some unbelievable stories to tell. They¡¯re under the command of the Duke of Broglie.¡± (Reminder: pronounced "Breuil")


    ¡°Broglie?¡±


    Adam hadn¡¯t forgotten that name. It meant these soldiers had served in Saxony and Hanover, just as he had.


    ¡°Sir.¡±


    ¡°Captain, good day.¡±


    One by one, Adam respectfully shook the hands extended to him. Once the pleasantries were over, they got down to business.


    ¡°You¡¯ve missed quite a bit, you know? Europe is far from quiet despite the fall of Hanover and Prussia.¡±


    ¡°Oh? What¡¯s happened? Nothing too serious, I hope?¡±


    ¡°Well, a little serious!¡± said a captain with dark eyes and hollow cheeks. ¡°We¡¯ve suffered several attacks on our coasts¡ªSaint-Malo, Rochefort, and Brest¡ªbut the most important thing is that we managed to strike back!¡±


    ¡°We¡­ we attacked English ports?!¡±


    ¡°Not just that! We destroyed one of their arsenals! They say the King of England was so furious he collapsed! We also sank several English warships during the crossing. It¡¯s a great victory!¡±


    Adam felt his heart swell with joy, even though, as a modern man, he should at best feel sorrow at such violence and loss. Yet he could feel his heart pounding and his blood boiling with excitement.


    ¡°Really?! That¡¯s incredible!¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it? Haha! We were still in Hanover, so we missed the spectacle, unfortunately. They say at Sheerness¡ªor something like that¡ªPrince de Soubise turned all the cannons of the place toward the town before burning it to the ground, then had all the cannons thrown into the sea. Ah, what a pity he lost his life¡­¡±


    Prince de Soubise is dead? Oh!


    Adam had never met the man, even though they¡¯d been at the same place during Rossbach in November 1757. Everything he knew about him was merely rumors and hearsay.


    If what this man said was true, then France was definitively winning the war! With any luck, I¡¯ll be back in France next year! This is truly good news!


    ¡°Oh, that reminds me,¡± said the hollow-cheeked captain, ¡°you probably don¡¯t know, but the Duke of Brunswick-L¨¹neburg is dead. He was killed while trying to ambush one of our troops. Ah, that rascal gave us hell! We chased him for months!¡±


    ¡°Ah, him! Yes, he is¡­ well, he was a slippery one! I hope he suffered!¡± said Captain Gauthier through gritted teeth.


    Adam shook his head but could understand. All winter, they¡¯d played a game of cat and mouse with him and his men. He had proven to be a formidable adversary, apparently right to the end.


    ¡°As soon as he was killed, peace returned to the region. It just goes to show you shouldn¡¯t underestimate the strength and influence of a single man. We returned to France as quickly as possible and boarded the squadron you saw.¡±


    ¡°What a shame,¡± said another officer with a nose as round as a ping-pong ball, ¡°that we missed the British squadron. We also lost time because of a traitor.¡±


    ¡°What? What¡¯s this about?¡±


    ¡°Well, it turns out a resident of Brest had been working as a servant for the English for years! He tried to set fire to the arsenal¡ªthe fool! Of course, he was arrested in time, but it delayed our departure by a few days.¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t so bad, huh,¡± said the hollow-cheeked captain. ¡°That way, we avoided that monstrous storm. By God, it was terrifying, even from a distance!¡±


    At once, Adam recalled the dark skies they had seen far off during their journey.


    ¡°You escaped that?! Well, you were lucky!¡± Adam said, trembling involuntarily.


    ¡°You have no idea! You see those two ships? The one missing a mast and the one listing dangerously? That¡¯s all that¡¯s left of the British squadron that preceded us. Apparently, they got caught right in the middle of the storm. It¡¯s a miracle they didn¡¯t sink with the others.¡±


    ¡°W-with the others?¡±


    ¡°There were more than fifteen warships, from what I heard.¡±


    ¡°My God.¡±


    Adam¡¯s heart skipped a beat as he imagined over ten massive ships, each carrying hundreds of brave sailors, sinking in an instant amidst a raging sea. A cold bead of sweat ran down his back, sending a shiver through his spine.


    ¡°A-are there¡­ any survivors?¡± asked Andr¨¦ Louis with visible emotion, as shaken as Adam.


    "Nobody knows. Those two ships might be the only survivors of that squadron, or there could be others. We found these two purely by chance, practically immobilized, two days after the storm. The one listing to starboard was incredibly lucky."


    "What happened to it? Looks like it''s sinking."


    "That''s because it is. The whole journey back, we had to keep pumping and bailing seawater, which kept pouring in through several breaches we couldn¡¯t seal. Apparently, it suffered a violent collision¡ªlikely with another ship."


    The officers, though enemies of the men aboard, couldn¡¯t help but pity them. After all, they were not heartless monsters.


    War compelled them to fight one another, but it could not force them to hate. The French¡ªat least in Adam¡¯s experience¡ªeither despised or were indifferent to their British counterparts.


    It wasn¡¯t unlike the rivalry one might feel toward the supporters of an opposing sports team. It was far from the fierce hatred that would make Adam¡¯s friends rejoice at such news.


    Oddly enough, this attitude could change drastically depending on the circumstances.


    After all, they had danced and sung when Hawke¡¯s fleet was dashed against the rocks near the Isle of Ouessant.


    It was peculiar, and yet Adam found nothing unusual about it.


    "And the English? What happened to them?" Martin Morrel suddenly asked.


    "Well, naturally, we captured them all and locked them up. Apparently, they¡¯ve been housed in a brand-new prison near the fort. Honestly, I¡¯m a bit jealous¡ªwe¡¯re packed like sardines, and many of us are stuck aboard ships for lack of housing."


    Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise, and he wasn¡¯t the only one.


    "W-wait, are there that many of you? How many men came with Monsieur de Broglie?"


    "Oh? I didn¡¯t tell you? There are four thousand of us, not including the ''colonists.''"


    "Colonists? You brought civilians all this way?!"


    The officers all choked at the thought of women and children enduring the same conditions as them. The journey had been grueling enough for soldiers; they could scarcely imagine what it must have been like for less hardy individuals.


    "Yeah. But, of course, we weren¡¯t all on the same ships! They were on cargo vessels to avoid any... incidents."


    Adam approved of this wise decision. Placing men and women together in such confined spaces for weeks at sea would inevitably lead to trouble. After long periods at sea, tempers frayed, and nerves could snap unpredictably.


    The small group of officers left the port and entered the town, which still bore traces of the battle fought there some time ago.


    Unbeknownst to Adam, he walked over the very spot where Brigadier General James Wolfe had fallen on October 13.


    The town seemed bustling, but this was only due to the large number of soldiers present. Louisbourg was not as populous as Quebec and remained primarily a military stronghold. It lacked everything.


    "It looks like market day," Martin remarked.


    "Indeed, but don¡¯t be fooled. Once we leave, it¡¯ll feel empty and desolate," Albert replied confidently, pulling his coat tighter against a strong gust of wind.


    "With any luck, these new colonists might change that and help develop the town."


    The round-nosed captain chuckled softly and shook his head.


    "You haven¡¯t seen the colonists. They¡¯re not much to speak of."


    "What do you mean? What are you saying?" Martin asked innocently, while the other officers began to imagine the worst.


    "Let¡¯s just say they aren¡¯t exactly the ideal candidates the governor probably dreamed of. They weren¡¯t really volunteers."


    "W-we forced them to come here?!"


    The officer smiled strangely and answered the young man¡ªstill practically a child in his eyes¡ªwith a question of his own.


    "Would you have come here to rebuild your life from scratch, knowing you¡¯d likely never return to France?"


    Martin Morrel de Lusernes opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Adam answered for him in his head.


    No, of course not. Who would leave everything behind for such an uncertain future? Only desperation could drive someone to live here.


    "They¡¯re prostitutes, orphans, even criminals that we brought here. From what I¡¯ve heard, they weren¡¯t even given the choice between prison and New France. Honestly, I think at least half of them would¡¯ve preferred to stay in jail."

 Chapter 106: The Orphan With Empty Eyes

    In Louisbourg, several construction projects had been launched simultaneously, but the work had fallen behind due to the weather. Soon, everything would come to a halt because of winter.


    As that gaunt-faced captain had said, the locals had built a proper prison large enough to house many inmates. It was a large square structure with small rectangular windows, enclosing a central courtyard.


    This prison had been constructed in the southern part of the city, near the Queen¡¯s Bastion.


    Although the town wasn¡¯t vast, there were still many small plots of land available for building. Houses were sparse and scattered across a remarkable grid of right-angled streets.


    Seeing this, newcomers could be forgiven for wondering if nothing had been done since the fortress was first built. Indeed, Louisbourg appeared lacking in infrastructure.


    For those who had just arrived, though, this was ideal, as they were free to settle wherever they wished. Naturally, they could decide what kind of trade they wanted to start. The only problem was that both homes and shops had to be constructed first.


    Listening to conversations, Adam learned that there were also plans to build new barracks to house troops and their officers passing through the town.


    Apparently, they also intended to construct a new hospital, as the old one, located in the heart of Louisbourg, had been deemed too small for the town''s needs, especially during crises like an influx of wounded or an outbreak of disease.


    Rumor had it that the many civilians arriving by ship from the Old Continent were just the first wave, and His Majesty Louis XV supposedly planned to send many more to populate New France.


    The governor couldn¡¯t leave these poor people, already unhappy about being on this continent, exposed to the elements. They needed to be given shelter and soon after, work.


    Both had been promised by the King¡¯s officers when they came to recruit them. They had even been assured that they would not have to pay any taxes for the first few years.


    This generosity was the bare minimum since these people had lost everything in a very short amount of time.


    Much was expected of the women in particular, as it was urgent to increase the birth rate in New France. With each passing year, the gap between the King¡¯s lands and the thirteen British colonies grew wider.


    If nothing was done, it wasn¡¯t inconceivable that the British colonies might absorb French territories simply through demographic strength. They could raise armies of thousands by calling upon their provincials.


    No local officer wanted to witness such a painful spectacle, which was why they kept writing to His Majesty.


    Fortunately, he seemed to have decided to listen to them. It didn¡¯t matter if the women sent were of questionable virtue¡ªas long as they could bear healthy children, anything seemed acceptable.


    While wandering through the town, Adam quickly noticed that there were also many children.


    They didn¡¯t appear any happier than the adults who had been dragged here, but their eyes betrayed a strong curiosity. Adam spotted a child walking past him, around eleven or twelve years old, with very wavy chestnut hair that fell in thin strands before his eyes.


    The boy wasn¡¯t dressed well for the season. In fact, what he wore looked like old clothes hastily gathered and generously donated. It wasn¡¯t unlikely that his brown breeches, oversized shirt, and small brown vest had been through two or three other owners before ending up on him, as well as his little leather shoes.


    The boy noticed he was being observed and turned toward Adam. Their eyes met, and Adam was shocked.


    His eyes¡­ My God, what¡¯s¡­ Why are they so dark? It feels like staring into a bottomless pit!


    Adam froze in the middle of the street, which caught the attention of his friends, who were ten meters ahead.


    It¡¯s like looking at a dead person¡­ How can a child have eyes like that?


    Eventually, the boy turned away and continued on his path. Soon, he disappeared entirely into the crowd of soldiers, and Adam felt a lump form in his throat¡ªsomething he recognized as regret.


    I-I should have talked to him. Why didn¡¯t I do anything?


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Albert asked, approaching his friend with a concerned look.


    ¡°Huh? What?¡±


    ¡°Is something the matter? You stopped in the middle of the street like you¡¯d seen a ghost.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, it¡¯s nothing. I just saw a kid and¡­ forget it.¡±


    Albert looked around but saw nothing unusual.


    ¡°A kid? What was special about this kid?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just that¡­ how can I put this? He had eyes that no child should have. It surprised me, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Albert frowned and shook his head.


    ¡°Maybe he just arrived in New France. If that¡¯s the case, well, he¡¯s probably been through a lot.¡±


    Adam remained silent and nodded slowly.


    Since being here, in this time, he had truly come to understand how modern children had it easy.


    Having the right to play, to waste time watching TV or videos online, to go to school, to buy new clothes, or simply to think about what they wanted to be when they grew up.


    Here, that wasn¡¯t the case, and it probably applied even to the children of nobles.


    Children often died very young, and if they lived long enough, they helped their parents work. And since the French population was mostly rural, that almost certainly meant most children in France helped in the fields, from sunrise to sunset.


    Their futures were, in a sense, already mapped out. Just as people seldom moved¡ªoften being born, marrying, having children, and dying in the same town or village¡ªpeople of this era usually took up their father¡¯s profession.


    Fran?ois¡¯s father, for example, was a merchant, a butcher, just like his own father and his grandfather before him. If Fran?ois hadn¡¯t joined the Picardie regiment, he would have married Agathe Desmoulins, become the son-in-law of one of the most prominent merchants in Corbie, and in turn become a merchant himself.


    If he had children, they would undoubtedly have become merchants as well, and so on.


    It was tragic but terribly common at the time. Of course, it wasn¡¯t a hard-and-fast rule. A pharmacist¡¯s son could pursue a military career, become an artist, or a skilled laborer, but changing one¡¯s destiny wasn¡¯t something everyone could achieve.


    It all depended on the person¡¯s abilities, connections, financial means, and, of course, luck.


    These children who were sent to New France were all unlucky to varying degrees. Most often, they were orphans. The cause didn¡¯t matter; it could be war or disease.


    They could also be, and this happened more often than one might think, abandoned in a public place or left at the door of a religious institution.


    ¡°You know, Fran?ois, many children don¡¯t have parents. If they¡¯re lucky, they grow up in good conditions in an orphanage or hospice. But even for them, life hasn¡¯t been easy. Thomas, for instance, grew up in a hospice. Well, from what he told me about his childhood, he might have been better off growing up on the streets.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Adam thought about Lieutenant Belmaison¡¯s well-sculpted body. He had seen it up close during their washing and shaving in Quebec.


    He had indeed noticed many marks and scars but assumed they were from war.


    ¡°Adults can be cruel, but children can be just as cruel, if not more so. As soon as he was old enough, he enlisted¡ªnot for glory or money, but to escape that place. He almost never talks about it, not even with me, and we¡¯ve known each other for almost fifteen years. That boy you saw has probably been through trials we can¡¯t even imagine. Maybe here, he¡¯ll be able to lead a peaceful life.¡±


    ¡°I hope so,¡± sighed Adam, turning one last time toward the place where the boy had disappeared.


    ¡°What do you think will become of him? And the other children?¡±


    Albert shrugged.


    ¡°No idea. For now, they must be housed together. Maybe they¡¯ll be placed in foster homes. The best they can hope for, I think, is to be apprenticed. That way, they¡¯ll learn a trade and become independent in a few years. Then they can think about starting a family, here or in another New France town.¡±


    ¡°Apprenticeship¡­¡± Adam mused, imagining himself in the place of those children, exploited by an adult and paid a pittance.


    It¡¯s like becoming a slave, isn¡¯t it? Is that really the best they can hope for?


    This old system might seem cruel, but it was indeed the best option for a young boy. Under the supervision of an artisan, he could learn all the tricks of a trade, even if, at first, he would only do the most menial tasks like cleaning and organizing.


    This was the usual path for artisans, and not only in France.


    For girls, it was more complicated because their destiny was to become competent wives and then caring mothers. They prepared for these roles from a young age, mainly with guidance from female figures in their lives.


    This was naturally the case for orphaned girls as well, when they were placed under the care of nuns.


    The best they could hope for was to become a servant in a good family. It was common in bourgeois households to see servants as young as fourteen. Sometimes even younger servants could be found.


    Some of the prettier ones might hope to become the mistress of a wealthy businessman and be supported for life if they bore an illegitimate child. But again, there were no rules. Every case was unique.


    In the worst cases, like the most unfortunate boys, these children would meet a premature end in a dark, dirty alley after being exploited to the bone and abused repeatedly.


    For them too, coming to the New World represented a glimmer of hope. It was a chance to start over and possibly lead a good life.


    Because these children had little to lose, they were the least resistant to the King¡¯s offer.


    I hope all these children have an easier life in New France. Damn, what a shitty time to live in!


    Later that day, Adam found himself alone, away from the bustle caused by the presence of several thousand soldiers.


    He needed some peace and quiet.


    All this activity, this constant noise¡­ Now I have a headache.


    That was why he had moved away from the port and was walking alone through the clean, well-organized streets of Louisbourg.


    He had wanted to go to a church, but surprisingly, there wasn¡¯t one in Louisbourg. That had deeply surprised him, as he had understood that religion played a significant role in society at the time. So, he had asked some locals about it.


    It hadn¡¯t taken him long to get answers.


    Just because they don¡¯t want to pay an additional tax, they gave up on building a church?! the young man silently fumed. Idiots! The residents can¡¯t afford to finance it¡ªfine¡ªbut the local authorities¡­ Ugh! It drives me mad! Why does it drive me mad?!


    The residents he spoke to were genuinely sad about this deadlock, but listening to them, they seemed truly powerless, unable to pay more even though building this church was their most cherished wish.


    Damn it! I¡¯m sure there are people in Louisbourg who could afford to finance it! Stingy bastards! Because of you, the residents have to go to the King¡¯s bastion! Damn, that¡¯s a military zone! Are they really this stupid, or are they doing it on purpose?!


    Adam couldn¡¯t understand the inaction of the local authorities. From his perspective, it was imperative to strictly separate civilian zones from military zones.


    But for some strange reason, what shocked him most about this story was that a city of this size didn¡¯t have a church! It infuriated him, as if he were confronting human stupidity for the first time.


    He wasn¡¯t certain, but he assumed this reaction was due to the lingering influence of Fran?ois.


    Such incomprehension couldn¡¯t come from him, because in 21st-century France, there were far more secular people than religious ones.


    Before finding himself in this body, he had no religious convictions. He felt nothing but indifference toward those who, unlike him, had faith, no matter what kind.


    Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Buddhist¡ªhe didn¡¯t care as long as it remained private. That, to him, was la?cit¨¦, and it suited him perfectly.


    But here, it was the opposite. Religion was everywhere. He had even prayed several times outside of Mass, mainly hoping that some higher being would watch over him during battle.


    It was only then that he realized this change.


    Why am I getting so worked up? H-Have I become a believer?


    Adam thought for a moment without reaching a conclusion and noticed he had arrived at the edge of the town, near one of the gates that crossed the rampart. This one was simply called the Queen¡¯s Gate.


    Looking around, he spotted the young orphan with dark eyes. The boy was sitting on the damp, cool grass covering the high embankment behind the wall. His small legs were folded against his body, and he hugged them tightly, as if trying to form a ball.


    His eyes, closer to a black hole than a simple well, seemed to gaze into nothingness.


    It¡¯s the boy from earlier¡­


    Adam scanned the surroundings and noticed that everyone nearby ignored or failed to notice the boy. It was as if he were invisible, but to Adam, he was the only thing visible.


    He pressed his lips together slightly, hesitated, and decided to approach.


    If the boy noticed him, he didn¡¯t show it and remained perfectly still. He barely moved when Adam stopped in front of him, slightly to the side so as not to block his view.


    ¡°Good evening! Uh, can I sit here?¡± Adam asked in a tone he tried to make friendly but found silly even to himself.


    The boy vaguely glanced at Adam and at the hand pointing to the grass beside him but said nothing. Adam wasn¡¯t offended, expecting such a cold response, and settled in as comfortably as possible.


    In summer, it would have been a great spot to rest. He would¡¯ve even regretted that there weren¡¯t trees on the embankment to provide some shade.


    ¡°My name¡¯s Fran?ois. What¡¯s yours?¡±


    The boy remained silent for a moment, and just as Adam was about to carry the conversation on alone, he heard the boy¡¯s broken voice.


    ¡°Philippe.¡±


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Philippe. Ah, it feels good to sit down for a bit. And the peace and quiet too. I just arrived in town. You got here two days ago, right?¡±


    The boy didn¡¯t turn his head, but Adam felt his gaze on him. It was as if he were asking why Adam had come to talk to him.


    ¡°That must have been an exhausting journey. I heard you avoided a massive storm. You were lucky. We weren¡¯t so lucky. We were terrified that day. I thought we were going to sink and all die.¡±


    ¡°Death¡­ isn¡¯t necessarily a bad thing,¡± the boy whispered in a barely audible voice, lowering his head slightly so his dark eyes disappeared behind thick strands of hair.


    ¡°For some, I suppose. But you know what? I¡¯m sure that among all those who think that, a lot change their minds at the last second when they realize they¡¯re at the end of their lives.¡±


    The boy lifted his head, revealing a scornful frown.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Life is crap. It only brings suffering to those who already suffer. The more you fight, the worse the pain gets.¡±


    ¡°Well, well, you¡¯re quite the pessimist!¡±


    ¡°Realist,¡± the boy retorted coldly, his eyes darker than before.


    ¡°Hmm, you seem pretty set in your beliefs, Philippe.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got experience.¡±


    Adam turned toward the boy and smiled sadly.


    ¡°We all do¡­ Everyone has their struggles, but we all have to keep moving forward.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the point if it just leads to more pain later?¡±


    ¡°A life isn¡¯t made up of only pain, you know? There¡¯s also joy.¡±


    ¡°Not for everyone. And when it comes, it never lasts long.¡±


    ¡°Does that make it any less important? Any less precious?¡± Adam asked, staring straight ahead. ¡°It¡¯s because it doesn¡¯t last that we can truly appreciate it. And when it passes, it becomes something else.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± the boy asked curiously.


    ¡°Memories. Precious memories that warm your heart when everything goes wrong.¡±


    The boy hesitated before nodding slowly. He hadn¡¯t had many good moments, but it was true that he cherished their memory.


    ¡°When you die,¡± Adam continued, ¡°everything disappears, doesn¡¯t it? You no longer think of the bad times; you forget them, but you also forget the good ones¡ªthe acts of kindness, the laughter shared with friends, the smiles. And if you¡¯re the one who ends your life, it¡¯s even sadder because you give up on moments you¡¯ll never know.¡±


    The boy clenched his fists on his knees and felt a tear run down his cheek. Yet Adam wasn¡¯t finished.


    ¡°The friends you¡¯ll never make because you gave up too soon, the conversations you¡¯ll never have¡­ the love you¡¯ll never know. Losing your life for anything other than old age is tragic because you inevitably miss out on so many important moments. That¡¯s why I think that among all the people who choose death out of ease or cowardice, many regret it at the last moment when it¡¯s too late to turn back.¡±


    Philippe discreetly ran a hand over his wrist, gently tracing a long brown scar. He remained silent, though.


    ¡°What will my future look like if I stay here?¡± he asked after a long silence, his voice smaller than a mouse¡¯s squeak.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have magic powers, you know? I suppose your future is in your hands. It¡¯s up to you to decide who you want to become. You just have to make the right choices and do your best. I believe that here more than anywhere else, your efforts will be rewarded. Look at this town, for example. What do you think of it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ small?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s more underdeveloped. Have you seen big cities before? Well, the important people here want this place to look like them. So, there¡¯s a lot of work to do. Sounds like a good starting point, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Adam noticed the boy¡¯s eyes had become a little less dark. He seemed to be deeply pondering as he looked at the houses and soldiers.


    Seeing this, the young man smiled, stood up, and stretched thoroughly.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s getting late, and I¡¯ve got work to do too! Let¡¯s go! Philippe, it was nice talking with you. See you around!¡±


    Philippe watched the strange soldier walk away and found himself smiling, something he hadn¡¯t done in years. He stood as well and headed toward a group of adults building a long structure to see if he could be of any help.

 Chapter 107: Halifax

    As the days passed, the temperatures in Louisbourg kept dropping. The locals, accustomed to the region¡¯s harsh winters, bundled up a bit more than usual but didn¡¯t seem overly bothered.


    The newcomers, however, shivered in the cold. For them, it wasn¡¯t just a gradual decline¡ªit felt as though the weather had leaped directly from October to January.


    Adam and his companions tried to appear tough, unbothered like stoic monks, but in truth, they were struggling to keep from freezing. They seized every opportunity to warm themselves by a good fireplace, shielded from the near-constant wind blowing from the north and northeast.


    Unfortunately, they weren¡¯t there as settlers but as soldiers. This meant they had to train rigorously outdoors, enduring the wind, rain, and even hail.


    One such training session had just ended, and it had been so intense that Adam felt like he was suffocating in his uniform and the many layers of clothing underneath. A salty bead of sweat fell into his right eye, and a burning sensation instantly gripped him.


    Despite rubbing his eye, the discomfort lingered.


    Damn it, I must look like an idiot, he silently grumbled, keeping one eye closed. They¡¯re probably wondering what the hell I¡¯m doing.


    Albert Fontaine¡¯s company marched calmly in tight ranks across a long wooden bridge spanning the deep moat surrounding the city. The bridge was well-made, but the peeling paint in many places gave it an impression of being unreliable.


    The small troop then passed through the Queen¡¯s Gate and entered the city.


    Several buildings were under construction on either side of the street, but much work remained to be done.


    Wood was the most commonly used material, and fortunately, there was no shortage of trees on the island. All it took was to cut down a few large trees, strip the branches, and shape the trunks into good planks and sturdy beams.


    It might have seemed complicated¡ªAdam certainly wouldn¡¯t know where to begin¡ªbut here, everyone appeared skilled in the craft. Of course, some were far better than others, but with patience, endurance, and a bit of ingenuity, even an ordinary person could build their home.


    Adam had been amazed at the energy ordinary people could muster when it was for their own benefit. What surprised him even more, and seemed incomprehensible, was the absence of a church in Louisbourg.


    What was lacking now, as the town teemed with workers, were tools. Saws and hammers were in the highest demand.


    The houses currently being built all looked the same, resembling little more than shacks barely suitable for storing tools. That was Adam¡¯s honest opinion, being accustomed to solid concrete homes with large double-glazed windows.


    But here, in this part of the New World, what they were building was considered entirely ordinary.


    Still, there were stark disparities among the towns on this continent. From that perspective, Louisbourg seemed behind, especially when compared to giants like New York, where many brick houses had been constructed and the streets were paved.


    There were indeed solid brick structures in this town, but making bricks took time and effort. The little that was produced¡ªtypically in the summer when bricks could dry in the sun¡ªwas reserved for the most important buildings and for chimneys in ordinary homes.


    In recent days, the young lieutenant had thought long and hard, discussing his ideas with his friends. A preliminary plan had emerged to improve living conditions for locals, both in Louisbourg and elsewhere.


    The idea was to build a massive workshop to produce hundreds of bricks daily, which could then be used to construct beautiful and sturdy homes that could withstand years, the climate, and even fire.


    This idea was particularly appealing for Fort Edward, as it would be easy to source raw materials in the region. The soil, being highly clay-rich due to the many rivers, meant one could literally scoop up good-quality clay from the ground.


    In fact, there was so much clay that it wasn¡¯t inconceivable to make the area the largest brick production site in New France! All that was needed was an initial investment to build storage facilities and kilns suitable for brick production.


    Moreover, the kilns could eventually be built using the new bricks themselves!


    Of course, many hands would be needed to extract the clay, transport it to the production site, remove undesirable elements like roots or dead leaves, mix it with sand into a homogeneous blend, mold the bricks, and finally dry and fire them. But if Fort Edward remained an important frontier fort, the soldiers could be tasked with developing the industry.


    If this plan were approved, Adam had no doubt Fort Edward could one day become a significant and economically strategic location! A small town might even spring up there, and the fort could be equipped with proper ramparts!


    Together, they had approached Colonel de Br¨¦hant to share the idea. He found it somewhat intriguing and brought it up to the marshal-duke, who was unsure what to make of it and wrote to Governor Vaudreuil.


    Adam had high hopes and thought that perhaps this idea could positively impact his career. For now, though, he had to wait, as it would take time for the letter to reach Quebec and for a reply to arrive.


    On Monday, November 13, 1758, under a light but icy rain, the frigate La Ch¨¨vre entered the port of Louisbourg.


    The sailors quickly went to work, furling the few white sails that were still deployed.


    The pilot skillfully guided the ship through the calm waters of the small harbor, maneuvering between anchored vessels. Soon, the frigate¡¯s heavy anchors were cast into the sea, sending up large splashes against the black-and-yellow hull.


    Then, two muscular sailors threw ropes over the bulwarks, which were deftly caught by men on the docks.


    Once La Ch¨¨vre was moored, a long, dark wooden gangway was installed to allow the sailors to disembark.


    The captain, a gruff man in his fifties with gray eyes that reflected extensive experience at sea, stepped onto the gangway. It barely flexed under his weight as he began his descent. His tall black leather boots clapped loudly, like those of a general inspecting his troops.


    Finally, after a long journey, he could set foot on land.


    Above him, a few seabirds glided peacefully, letting out loud cries that sounded like mocking laughter.


    With a brisk step, he crossed the port and entered a bustling Louisbourg, despite the weather.


    When he had received his orders, he had departed from Quebec. He had sailed past Louisbourg but hadn¡¯t stopped. It had been at least a month since he last came to this city, and he immediately found it changed.


    Yet, a month was little time. Years could pass without anything changing.


    The captain furrowed his brow, two thick lines above his ash-grey eyes, from which a few stray, unusually long hairs protruded.


    How has this city changed so much? Did something happen while I was away? Hmm? It looks like houses are being built everywhere.


    Among the soldiers, the old captain noticed many settlers of all sexes and ages. Everyone seemed to be participating, even soldiers who weren¡¯t meant to stay. It was a curious sight, but he didn¡¯t slow his pace and continued toward Governor Drucourt¡¯s office.


    The old captain presented himself at the entrance of the long stone building, pierced with multiple tall windows and smoking chimneys, and was quickly led to the office of the highest authority in the city.


    He was in a meeting with Marshal-Duke Richelieu and several high-ranking officers. The meeting was interrupted, and he was allowed to deliver his report before these gentlemen.


    ¡°Governor, Marshal, gentlemen, I have just returned from my reconnaissance mission to Halifax.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes! We¡¯ve been eagerly awaiting you, Captain,¡± said Governor Drucourt enthusiastically, making a small gesture with his hand to invite the man closer. ¡°Tell us everything.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I approached as closely as possible without endangering my ship and crew. The English were none too pleased and fired their cannons, but fortunately, they were unable to hit us.¡±


    ¡°Very well, very well! You did the right thing, Captain! Were you able to locate and count all their cannons?¡± asked the governor, pulling out a map.


    ¡°I believe I have a fairly precise idea, sir,¡± replied the sailor, retrieving a small leather-bound notebook from the inner pocket of his coat.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    He began describing in detail what he had seen, showing his sketches made under the threat of English artillery. Notes were quickly added here and there to the map, which became much more detailed in a short time.


    Finally, the old marshal nodded in satisfaction.


    ¡°This is excellent work, Captain. This information will be invaluable. Gentlemen,¡± he said, turning to his colonels, ¡°alert your regiments: we will board every available ship in two days! In the meantime, we must draft a plan of attack!¡±


    ***


    The massive fleet departed Louisbourg on the morning of November 16 instead of the 15 due to bad weather, arriving on the afternoon of November 23 at the entrance to Chebucto Harbour, or Halifax.


    A few ships were well sheltered there, but the HMS Namur was absent as expected.


    Admiral Boscawen had left weeks ago to return to England on the King''s orders. After the disastrous summer in Louisbourg, he was to be replaced by another skilled officer, Sir Peter Parker, while Boscawen was tasked with securing the English Channel.


    The odious French attack on southern English ports had shocked all of Europe, but for the English, it was an unspeakable humiliation.


    Unfortunately, Admiral Parker and his squadron had not yet arrived in the New World.


    In truth, they never would. His squadron had been caught in the terrifying storm observed from afar by Adam and his old friends.


    The terrifying, imposing, majestic HMS Royal George, struck by lightning, lost its mainmast and sank instantly, taking several hundred brave sailors and as many soldiers destined to reinforce the northern colonies and Nova Scotia with it.


    ***


    Halifax was weaker than ever. The causes were many, but analyzing them was now pointless. The focus was on dealing with the consequences.


    From the shore, regular British army soldiers and hastily gathered militia watched as the French ships passed west of Red Island and Cornwallis Island (now McNabs Island) to approach the city.


    Ignoring the numerous shots fired from the various forts and batteries guarding the harbor entrance, the formidable French vessels forced their way through and launched themselves, like sharks drawn to fresh blood, at the English ships.


    The English ships had no time to react, not even to weigh anchor, leaving them defenseless.


    Before their terrified eyes, they witnessed a massacre.


    The French cannons, led by the Princess Amelia, suddenly opened fire on their hapless ships.


    It was a one-sided battle.


    Several ships were sunk before they could even offer any real resistance.


    At the same time, reports reached Lieutenant-Governor Monckton, the highest-ranking officer on-site since the previous governor, taken by illness, had not been replaced, that enemy troops were landing at Pleasant Point, where the Sandwich River (or Hawk River) emptied into the sea.


    ¡°Sir! What are your orders?!¡±


    ¡°Send all our men! Every single one of them! Call on the civilians! Halifax must not fall!¡±


    His face had turned so pale it seemed he had been bled excessively. His features, distorted by panic, screamed that he had already lost control of the situation.


    From their vantage point, the two officers watched as one of their anchored ships, already engulfed in flames and visibly sinking, suddenly exploded, sending a shower of smoldering debris in all directions.


    ¡°Almighty God!¡± exclaimed the officer, his face etched with fear and surprise.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there!¡± barked the lieutenant governor, spraying the officer with spittle. ¡°Hurry! Every second counts!¡±


    ¡°A-a-as you command!¡±


    The officer disappeared, leaving the lieutenant governor alone, his hands trembling like leaves. Despite the numerous forts surrounding Halifax, meant to defend the city against a land assault, he already knew all was lost, for they were virtually deserted.


    A great number of his men had tragically perished under the orders of that madman James Wolfe, to whom Monckton nonetheless owed his life, as Wolfe had enabled his escape during the first assault on Louisbourg.


    Monckton was in a desperate situation. He had relied on his enemy¡¯s wisdom not to launch an assault at this time of year, but the French had thought otherwise. They had left him no time to rebuild his forces.


    Wisdom dictated that he not mount a futile resistance, but if he didn¡¯t offer at least some opposition to these damned French, his name would forever be stained with shame.


    His eyes fixated on the French fleet ravaging his port and his ships, which were sinking faster and faster into the icy waters of the harbor. The waters were not deep enough to fully swallow the British warships; now, only the masts jutted above the surface.


    ***


    At the same moment, south of Halifax, the French advanced rapidly, encountering no major obstacles.


    Led by the marshal duke himself, clad in his gleaming cuirass, they stormed a small fort that quickly fell into their hands. The garrison had mounted a heroic resistance, but the disparity in strength was such that they could only buy a few minutes for their comrades elsewhere around Halifax.


    With this outpost taken, the road to Halifax was now clear.


    All the soldiers who tried to stop them inevitably fell in battle or retreated under the crushing pressure exerted by the French forces.


    Adam marched briskly alongside his superior, Captain Fontaine, and used his pistol to shoot a redcoat who had appeared in his line of sight behind a massive tree with bare branches.


    ¡°Forward! Don¡¯t stop! Kill any armed Englishman!¡±


    Behind him, a mass of soldiers, armed to the teeth, marched at a swift pace, as if on parade¡ªminus the orderliness.


    Bullets whizzed over their heads, and occasionally a cry of pain rang out amidst the sounds of footsteps and gunfire. But the French soldiers did not slow.


    This is our victory; they should know when to admit defeat, Adam thought as he stepped over a body.


    It wasn¡¯t a regular soldier but a militiaman, an ordinary man handed a weapon and ordered to die for His Majesty¡¯s glory.


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°Watch out! Enemies approaching!¡± someone shouted from the front of the formation.


    ¡°Form up! Three ranks!¡± Albert Fontaine immediately commanded. ¡°Fire!¡±


    Hundreds of musket shots erupted simultaneously, and dozens of men across the way fell as if struck by lightning.


    Adam grimaced, ordering his subordinates to reload their muskets. Positioned on the flank but in the front line, he reloaded his own weapon, aiming it at the enemy lines and waiting for the captain¡¯s order.


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    Another white plume spread from the long line of muskets, and more cries of agony resounded from the other side.


    What a waste. They should just surrender.


    The French continued their advance toward the city, surrounded by a deep ditch and a palisade. Five small forts encircled the area, but as the marshal had predicted, the two that could have posed a serious threat fired barely a shot.


    ¡°Forward! Today, Halifax falls! Take those forts!¡±


    Behind Adam, the soldiers let out a thunderous cheer that shook the air.


    The young officer was suddenly struck by a chilling shiver he could not explain.


    ***


    Inside the small town, panic reigned. Only a handful of men remained¡ªjust enough to maintain order and protect the governor¡¯s residence.


    The residents of Halifax, like Lieutenant Governor Monckton, knew all too well that they could not defend the town. They simply lacked the soldiers to do so.


    As soon as they heard the story about a French frigate boldly sailing close a week earlier, as if to taunt them, they knew an attack was imminent. They were aware that the lieutenant governor had dispatched the HMS Pembroke to request reinforcements, but as far as they knew, no response had arrived.


    For his part, Monckton understood that this small town¡ªa dwarf compared to cities like Boston or New York¡ªwould fall within a day if it were attacked. That belief became an undeniable certainty when he saw numerous French sails covering the horizon.


    The only reason the settlers hadn¡¯t descended into full panic earlier was the faint hope offered by the few warships anchored in the vast harbor behind Halifax. But now that those ships had all been lost, the people had no doubt about the town¡¯s grim fate.


    Despair quickly gave way to madness. As Halifax teetered on the brink of falling, looting broke out.


    Fools! Why are they doing this? Do they truly believe the French will let them keep the spoils of their looting? They should be using that energy to fight!


    ¡°Sir,¡± a young officer burst into the room, ¡°it¡¯s chaos out there! Several fires have been reported! We¡¯re running out of time! We have to leave!¡±


    ¡°And go where?!¡± retorted the lieutenant governor, his eyes red-rimmed. ¡°And how?! The French control the harbor¡¯s entrance and have us surrounded! We have nowhere to flee!¡±


    ¡°Th-then, we must negotiate our surrender!¡±


    Robert Monckton suddenly seemed to calm down, surprising the young officer. The lieutenant governor slowly nodded, resigned.


    Fate had decidedly turned against them.


    Seeing no escape for himself¡ªor for the people of Halifax¡ªMonckton left the building, escorted by a few soldiers they had managed to gather, and headed toward the palisade surrounding the town. Summoning all his courage, he faced a vastly superior enemy preparing for a general assault and signaled with a white flag that he wished to parley.


    ***


    Adam heard Captain Fontaine¡¯s order and repeated it in turn.


    The soldiers raised their smoking weapons, bayonets fixed at the ready. They stood poised to launch an assault on one of the forts surrounding Halifax.


    At the foot of the fort, however, a white flag had been spotted.


    The marshal-duke had granted the enemy commander¡¯s request, and the two men were about to meet outside the town under the wary gazes of surviving soldiers and a few militiamen struggling to resist fleeing in terror.


    All were silent. The French ships, too, had ceased firing.


    Lieutenant Governor Monckton stopped halfway and struck a pose, signaling that he would go no further. He wore his finest attire, his shoulders draped in a thick scarlet cape to ward off the cold.


    His hands were clasped behind his back to hide his nervousness, but fearing he might offend his counterpart, he changed his stance. One hand rested on the gilded hilt of his sword while the other went to his hip, but deciding that made him seem impatient, he altered his pose again, keeping his left hand close to his body.


    Very discreetly, he wiped his now-sweaty palm on his blue-and-gold coat. He didn¡¯t want the enemy commander to notice his unease if they happened to shake hands, though there was no reason to assume they would.


    Behind him stood a boy of fifteen at most, his hair vividly red and his freckled face pale. He held the Union Jack as straight as he could, though Monckton noticed out of the corner of his eye that the boy was trembling with fear as if standing naked in the snow.


    The lieutenant governor¡¯s attention returned to the approaching officer.


    Unlike Monckton, this man wore a cuirass, giving the impression that, despite his advanced age, he was ready to draw his sword and strike him down. Monckton instantly regretted not donning similar armor, thinking it might have earned him greater respect in the negotiations.


    Unfortunately, it was far too late for regrets.


    The Marshal-Duke de Richelieu¡ªthe man who had seized Minorca, captured the King of Prussia, and saved Louisbourg the previous summer¡ªnow stood before him.


    His gaze was so cold, so ruthless, that his eyes seemed to shine like a full moon. To Monckton, it felt like standing before an executioner.


    ¡°I¡­ I am Robert Monckton, l-lieutenant governor of Nova Scotia,¡± he finally stammered, praying he didn¡¯t stumble too much in front of this man.


    The French officer did not respond immediately, merely observing the smaller, insignificant man before him, barely worthy of acknowledgment.


    ¡°I am the Marshal-Duke de Richelieu, commander of this army and all the troops of New France. You wish to negotiate?¡± he asked with undisguised contempt.


    ¡°Y-yes. For safe passage for myself, the townspeople, and the soldiers. I also request the honors of¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Robert Monckton froze as if petrified by Medusa. His mind went utterly blank. He thought he had misheard.


    ¡°W-what?¡±


    ¡°I said no. There will be no honors of war. There are no soldiers left in your town¡ªor barely any. Your ships lie at the bottom of your harbor, and you are on the brink of siege without the ability to resist. Surrender the town and hand over your weapons, and you will be treated properly as prisoners of war. Refuse, and you will all die here.¡±

 Chapter 108: Shock And Sorrow

    The morning mist was slowly lifting over Halifax Harbor, revealing the imposing silhouettes of French warships anchored primarily in the wide basin north of the city. The white flag adorned with the fleur-de-lis fluttered proudly from their masts.


    In the city, a heavy atmosphere prevailed, marked by a tense silence broken only by the clinking of weapons and the rhythmic steps of French soldiers'' boots. The fearful residents were gradually emerging from their homes as the curfew had ended.


    In the governor''s office, located on the top floor of an elegant mansion overlooking the central square, Marshal-Duke de Richelieu waited, surrounded by his officers. The room was steeped in palpable tension.


    Their victory was not the result of a bloody battle but of a relentless strategy, similar to the one at Minorca. Halifax had surrendered swiftly, sparing lives and preventing the city from being pillaged.


    Lieutenant Governor Robert Monckton stood before Richelieu, appearing as a broken man. His hunched posture and downcast eyes revealed the shame that weighed heavily on him.


    The contrast with the elderly French officer, sitting upright in his chair and exuding authority despite his age, was striking. Richelieu, clad in a gleaming cuirass, radiated an aura of power and absolute control.


    Outside the building, drums suddenly began to beat, breaking the silence interrupted only by the gentle crackling of a fire in a large hearth.


    In front of the governor¡¯s house, a crowd was gradually gathering. French soldiers formed a security cordon to keep them at a distance.


    Three trembling men, their hands bound, cast desperate glances around them. From their position, they could see the faces of the men and women who had gathered in significant numbers to witness their execution.


    Slowly, the makeshift executioners looped thick ropes around their necks.


    The drums grew louder, heralding the inevitable. With a sharp kick, the chairs were overturned, and the bodies dropped into the void in an eerie silence.


    The thick ropes tightened, and the three men began to convulse, their feet dangling mere inches from the ground. Their faces contorted in agony, turning red, then blue, and finally purple as they asphyxiated.


    At last, after more than a minute of suffering, they ceased to move.


    The small square fell silent, the stillness broken only by the whispered prayers of the town¡¯s inhabitants. The soldiers then dispersed the civilians who had come to witness the execution, ordering them back to their homes.


    In the office, Richelieu regarded Monckton with calculated coldness.


    ¡°Thank you for your cooperation, Lieutenant Governor. France will not forget it.¡±


    His voice was soft, almost honeyed, but each word carried an overwhelming weight. Monckton, sweating profusely, nodded without a word. He had nothing to add, other than a fervent wish that this day be erased from his memory¡ªand England¡¯s.


    The previous night, several incidents had occurred in the city¡ªisolated acts committed by desperate or unhinged individuals. Some were killed on the spot, but others had attempted to flee.


    Quickly identified, Richelieu had called upon Monckton to track them down and help bring them to justice. These three men had killed French soldiers and were hanged for it.


    Thanks to Monckton, everything had been resolved swiftly.


    Richelieu had ensured the example was clear for all: resistance was futile, and any act against a French soldier would be met with severe punishment.


    Rising slowly, Richelieu moved around the large, solid wooden desk. He stopped before Monckton, towering over him.


    ¡°Your ship should be ready. If our paths do not cross again, I bid you farewell.¡±


    He extended a hand toward Monckton, a gesture laden with provocation. Monckton, despite his humiliation, shook the proffered hand, immediately feeling the firm, crushing grip of the marshal.


    With an almost imperceptible smile, Richelieu released his grip, allowing Monckton to slip away in silence. Unfortunately for him, his destination was not the British colonies but Quebec.


    ***


    In the streets of Halifax, French soldiers were everywhere.


    Barely after the surrender was signed, they had deployed with remarkable discipline. Companies manned the city gates, others took up positions on the ramparts, replacing British guards, while some soldiers managed the harbor.


    The English banners had been swiftly lowered, replaced by the French colors¡ªa symbol of domination that prompted silent tears among the townsfolk.


    No one dared intervene.


    The white uniforms of the French troops stood out against the wooden and gray stone facades. Orders shouted in French echoed through the streets, imposing a new rhythm on the city.


    The British garrison¡ªwhat little remained of it¡ªhad naturally been disarmed and escorted out of the barracks without violence, in keeping with the marshal¡¯s promises. This measured treatment was intended to preserve the reputation of the French army, tarnished by less honorable precedents in the region.Stolen story; please report.


    A curfew had been imposed as soon as the French army entered the city, and only at dawn was an official proclamation read in the market square. It announced the formal annexation of the city in the name of Louis XV.


    The residents, confined to their homes, watched as French patrols ensured compliance with the new rules. These measures, though temporary, marked a dramatic shift in the daily lives of the colonists.


    Unlike Albany, Richelieu had no intention of deporting Halifax¡¯s approximately two thousand inhabitants. He sought to quickly restore economic activity while firmly establishing French authority.


    Despite this moderate approach, tension was palpable. Silence reigned, interrupted only by the sound of boots and the echoes of commands.


    At the edge of the town, in a small fort now occupied by the French troops of the Picardie regiment, Adam and his dear friends were gathered in a small room. Sitting on the floor, they all wore the same expression: a mixture of shock and sorrow.


    Their eyes, red and swollen, betrayed their emotions. Only Jean, the gentle giant with a tender heart, was crying.


    If Adam, Charles, Louis, and Jules were not shedding tears, it was only because they had none left to cry.


    They surrounded the lifeless body of their friend, P¡¯tit Pol. The young man, lying in the center of the room, wrapped in a large white sheet that revealed only his youthful face, seemed to be sleeping.


    He looked so peaceful.


    This starkly contrasted with his final moments.


    Adam, hands clasped, was motionless. His eyes stared into the void. Beside him, Jean sobbed loudly, unable to contain his grief.


    Everyone was silent, lost in thought, memories¡ªboth happy and bitter. The weight of their friend''s loss made the air heavier, harder to breathe.


    The only sounds were the wind brushing against a small square wooden-framed window¡ªthe room¡¯s sole window¡ªand Jean''s sobs.


    Time seemed to stretch endlessly in this dark room, dimly lit by the flickering light of a candle and a pale natural light from outside that appeared as somber as the grieving group of friends. Each minute passed like an eternity.


    Adam''s heart felt shattered. It was as if it had been crushed, ground, and blended before being replaced in his chest. Yet he sat there, stoic, keeping watch over his friend one last time, unable to take his eyes off P¡¯tit Pol''s face.


    He thought back to the events of the previous day, to what had led to this situation.


    Everything had been going well, and nothing had hinted at such horror. The French army had lost very few men, given their overwhelming numerical superiority.


    The English commander had capitulated under the might of the old marshal, and they had entered Halifax as though this town, which hadn¡¯t even existed ten years earlier, had always been theirs.


    Several buildings had been burned, and looting had begun even before their arrival. At first, they found it absurd, but they were soon ordered to restore order. The high command seemed determined to preserve the town.


    It was upon entering a house, scarcely better than a trapper''s cabin, that the group of friends caught a man red-handed with a musket¡ªmore a hunting weapon than one for war.


    Cornered, the man threatened Adam and his friends, all of whom were made nervous by the barrel aimed at them.


    In that stalemate, someone entered the building, and there was a scuffle. P¡¯tit Pol, pushed from behind, stumbled to regain his balance, which the gunman misinterpreted.


    He fired.


    Naturally, the man was immediately shot down.


    P¡¯tit Pol collapsed but did not die instantly. He was bleeding profusely and in great pain. Adam could still hear his cries.


    His last wish was one impossible to fulfill. He wanted to go home.


    Then he took his final breath, surrounded by his friends, who held him in their arms.


    The next day, Halifax''s inhabitants were allowed to move about the city but not to leave it.


    The weather was splendid that day. There wasn¡¯t a cloud in the sky. As a result, the air was particularly cold.


    It was under these circumstances that funerals were held for the French soldiers and sailors who had fallen during the operation.


    The British military and civilians did the same but in a separate area.


    Adam, Louis, Charles, Jean, and Jules stood gathered around a rectangular grave. A few other soldiers were also present to bid farewell to the one everyone called P¡¯tit Pol, as though it were his real name.


    The entire company came to pay their final respects.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant was also present. He had four funerals to attend that morning.


    In the absence of Catholic priests¡ªthose in Acadia had been removed before the Acadian deportation in 1755 to deprive the population of guidance that might have helped them avoid, perhaps, the terrible fate they were still enduring on this vast island¡ªthe colonel took the lead.


    ¡°Gentlemen, we are gathered on this sorrowful day to bid farewell to Hippolyte Richard Antoine Berlotin, born January 6, 1738, in Corbie, deceased November 23, 1758, in the service of the King.¡±


    Only the colonel''s calm and solemn voice could be heard. Before him, the young soldier lay in his hastily built coffin, waiting to be lowered into the grave his friends had dug.


    ¡°Hippolyte, or P¡¯tit Pol to all who knew him well, joined the royal army with his friends here present. I invite them to speak if they wish to say a few words about their comrade.¡±


    They had previously agreed that Jules would speak. Clenching his fists and with red-rimmed eyes, he pulled a small piece of paper from his white coat.


    ¡°P¡¯tit Pol, from the moment we spoke for the first time, I knew we would become good friends. I wasn¡¯t wrong, because you were always there for me, just as you were always there for Jean, Louis, Fran?ois, and Charles. You were¡­ You were always cheerful, always smiling, imaginative when it came to playing pranks on those around you. With your faithful accomplice, Fran?ois, you got up to all sorts of mischief! I remember, for instance, the time you placed a big pile of cow dung on the church porch. You covered it with dead leaves, set it alight, and knocked on the church door to draw out the priest. The poor man, suspecting nothing, tried to stamp out the fire and ended up ruining his robe and shoes and had to wash his feet.¡±


    The soldiers chuckled softly at the story, and Adam smiled, hearing it for the first time. Even the colonel allowed himself a small grin.


    ¡°We were inseparable, and it was so we wouldn¡¯t be parted that you joined the Picardie regiment. Despite the hardships, you stayed strong, and even when things were tough, you tried to lift our spirits. Today, you¡¯re gone, and there¡¯s no one to make us laugh. You leave a great void in our hearts, P¡¯tit Pol, but look at how many have come to say goodbye. See how many friends you have. We will truly miss you.¡±


    Jules silently folded his paper and returned to his place. One by one, Jean, Louis, Charles, and finally Fran?ois placed a comforting hand on his shoulder to tell him it was a fine speech.


    The colonel resumed the ceremony, saying a prayer and reading a passage from the Bible before asking if anyone had objects to place in the coffin.


    Unfortunately, it was no longer the season for pretty flowers. The simple wooden box was closed and nailed shut.


    Finally, using ropes slipped beneath it, the coffin was slowly lowered into the grave. The ropes were retrieved, and under the tearful eyes of the friends, the grave was filled in. A wooden cross with the deceased''s name engraved on it was placed above.


    Adam thought he had no tears left to cry, yet he felt them come and flow endlessly. Beside him, it was no better. Jean, for his part, was like a fountain.


    His heart-wrenching sobs could be heard from afar.


    Gradually, the soldiers dispersed, leaving the grieving friends alone.

 Chapter 109: Major Cope

    Three days passed at a frightening speed in the lands of Nova Scotia.


    During this time, the French took control of this vast territory, which was not very difficult since the English villages and forts were located only along the coast.


    Marshal Richelieu had dispersed his impressive troops to conquer everything in one fell swoop. Fort Edward, located just a few kilometers to the north on the other side of Nova Scotia, was the first to fall under French control. Outnumbered more than ten to one, the English had no choice but to raise the white flag.


    The same scenario repeated itself at Fort Anne, in Annapolis Royal, to the west of the territory.


    However, things were more complicated at Fort Lawrence. From Fort Gaspareaux, the French captain Charles Deschamps de Boish¨¦bert launched an attack with the support of his Mi¡¯kmaq and Acadian allies.


    The small number of men at his disposal meant he suffered significant losses during the operation.


    Thus, when Richelieu''s soldiers arrived, the fort, which protected the British territories at the entrance to the peninsula, was already in their hands.


    With each passing day, the French gained more ground. The British settlers, panicked¡ªespecially those living in the western part of the peninsula¡ªattempted to flee to nearby colonies, but many were captured before they could escape.


    Adam took an active part in the conquest of Nova Scotia but did not particularly distinguish himself.


    The death of P¡¯tit Pol had awakened a new emotion in his heart: hatred. For the first time, in this life or the previous one, he burned with the desire to kill.


    Because the one who had taken his friend¡¯s life was a British settler, his rage was directed at those people. During the operation at La H¨¨ve, he was reprimanded by Albert.


    Albert had taken him aside, spoken to him quite directly, and ordered him to show some restraint. Yet he had been understanding and had not gone further because he knew what Adam was going through.


    It was the first time Adam had been scolded by Albert, and it calmed him, though his heart was not at peace.


    As Albert had asked, in the following coastal villages, Adam showed restraint and limited himself to doing what was expected of him: informing civilians that all these territories were now under the protection of King Louis XV, King of France and Navarre.


    He was the only one in the company who could somewhat speak English, thanks to the countless lessons he had endured when he was still Adam¡ªjust Adam¡ªa regular 21st-century French student. Curiously, more than all those hours spent studying this complex language he still didn¡¯t fully understand, it was thanks to movies and TV series that he owed his proficiency.


    By the time he arrived in this era, he already had a decent foundation, but with Fran?ois¡¯ remarkable ability to learn languages, his skills were skyrocketing. He could now hold full conversations with the inhabitants of Nova Scotia and clearly communicate the French forces¡¯ intentions.


    This played a role in the operation''s success, though he received little to no credit since these villages had already been brought under French control through brute force.


    ***


    On November 29, a large group of people arrived in Halifax. Among them were a few French soldiers in colonial uniforms, as well as several Indigenous people.


    The most striking figure was an elderly man with closed eyes and a face more wrinkled than an old apple. He was warmly dressed and leaned on a long carved staff adorned with shells and colorful feathers.


    His back was so hunched that he seemed to bow respectfully to anyone who looked at him, and his steps dragged as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.


    Appearances, however, were deceiving, for this old man was no ordinary person and had not always been so frail and aged.


    He was an important Mi¡¯kmaq chief and had once been a great warrior. The English had learned to fear him, and three years earlier, he had shown that they still should.


    When he reached the marshal-duke inside what had been the governor''s house in Nova Scotia, he slightly opened his eyes, revealing to the general and all his officers an unexpectedly powerful gaze.


    These were the eyes of a fierce warrior who had shed rivers of blood.


    Despite the years, they had lost none of their strength.


    His name was Jean-Baptiste Cope, and for all his services, he had been granted the rank of major.


    ¡°Major Cope, Messieurs Drucourt and de Vaudreuil have spoken to me about you,¡± said Marshal Richelieu respectfully, saluting the old man who seemed as ancient as the world itself.


    In reality, the two men were of similar age. Moreover, they both exuded a comparable martial aura. For someone with a weaker mind, it would feel like witnessing the meeting of two tigers.


    Though aged, these two men remained warriors.


    ¡°And I have heard of your exploits,¡± replied the major in flawless French. ¡°It is an honor to fight alongside you.¡±


    ¡°Your command of French is excellent. I¡¯m a bit surprised.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the chief replied.


    He closed his eyes again and remained silent for a moment as they were served a warm drink and something to eat.


    This gave the marshal time to gather all the information he had about the man.


    He had led several wars against the English in the region, which had fallen under British rule at the start of the century following the War of the Spanish Succession. He had witnessed the English settling, building villages, driving his people from the best lands, and erecting forts.


    It was always for these reasons that he took up arms, and for this, he was deeply respected.


    But he also made peace, and the last time he did, it had cost him dearly. His prestige had nearly collapsed!The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    In 1749, almost ten years ago, the Mi¡¯kmaq and Acadians of Nova Scotia were being driven from their ancestral lands. Father Le Loutre, a Catholic missionary for whom Cope had mixed feelings, had proposed helping them by welcoming them to French territory. To Cope, however, this was an admission of weakness¡ªworse, it was a betrayal!


    For him, who had fought alongside Le Loutre for years during what was now called King George¡¯s War, it was a crushing disappointment.


    This was their home! If anyone had to leave, it should be the English!


    All his efforts to secure the right to remain had failed in the face of the stubbornness of the British leader of the time, Edward Cornwallis. The conflict quickly became a racial war.


    Each side believed they had every right to stay on these lands. Like the previous conflict between the natives and the English, much blood had been spilled¡ªmostly theirs¡ªwhich had eventually driven him to join Le Loutre.


    That didn¡¯t mean the fight had to end. The war had simply shifted.


    Finally, in 1752, he sat at the negotiation table. This was only possible because the governor at the time was a different man, Peregrine Hopson. Cope was the only Mi¡¯kmaq chief to participate; the others had refused to give up even an inch of land to the enemy.


    It was this peace agreement that caused Cope¡¯s reputation to crumble. Among the French, he fell from being a "respected and respectable leader" to an "untrustworthy and dubious man."


    Governor Drucourt had been harsh in his remarks when recounting the story of this man. Fortunately, that shameful peace had not lasted.


    To Cope, it was the English who broke the peace after just a few months. Two redcoats, believing themselves superior, had wrongfully thought they could do anything to the Mi¡¯kmaq without consequences. For the English, however, it was the bloodshed that followed that broke the peace.


    Either way, Cope had once again picked up the tomahawk and resumed the fight.


    Together with others, he did everything he could to assist the Acadians, who were being driven from their lands en masse and treated like slaves. Unfortunately, he could only help a handful of them.


    Most were sent far from home, separated from their families, broken, humiliated, and abandoned like mangy dogs.


    Some ended up in the Caribbean, others even in England, to serve as laborers. Among these, half died during the journey.


    And all of this, for what? Because the king didn¡¯t want them and preferred to replace them with loyal subjects who wouldn¡¯t turn against him in the next war.


    Alas, Marshal de Richelieu intervened too late¡ªthe damage had already been done.


    "Tell me now," Major Cope asked in a deep voice, "what will you do?"


    The marshal delicately lifted a teacup to his lips and responded with another question after placing it back on a magnificent porcelain saucer.


    "About the prisoners or the town?"


    "Both."


    "Hmm, I hesitated a great deal. I thought of relocating them, perhaps to Louisbourg? But I don¡¯t want to empty this town or these villages¡ªwe lack settlers. The simplest solution is to place them under the protection of His Majesty, the King of France. There are already too many foreigners in Quebec, Trois-Rivi¨¨res, and Montreal."


    "I¡¯ve heard you¡¯ve been very active in the west," Cope said. "Your name is celebrated among us as much as it must be feared by the English. But isn¡¯t it risky to leave so many English settlers in these villages?"


    "Certainly. We¡¯ll simply have to control them, one way or another. As for the town, I understand you Mi¡¯kmaq already have an opinion."


    "Indeed," said the elder firmly, still not touching his tea. "The establishment of this town by Governor Cornwallis violates the 1726 treaty. We therefore wish to destroy it completely."


    Richelieu felt the cold, angry gaze of the Indian chief but did not react. He sensed he was being tested. He remained silent for a moment, savoring the warmth of the steaming cup between his frozen hands.


    "I see¡­ I understand. But to be honest, this port would be useful for the rest of the war. From there, we could more easily strike at the English colonies. Is it possible to negotiate?"


    Jean-Baptiste Cope widened his eyes slightly, looking surprised at the officer before him. His dark eyes seemed to search for the marshal¡¯s thoughts. Finally, a faint smile appeared on his thin, withered lips.


    "Hmm¡­ Your honesty does you credit. We do not like lies or being kept in the dark, especially among allies. You need this town for the rest of the war? Negotiation is possible, but it will take more than just my agreement. I promise nothing, but Halifax will remain standing until a decision is made."


    The Duke of Richelieu smiled in turn.


    "Thank you, Major."


    ***


    Meanwhile, far away on the southern tip of Nova Scotia, Adam was observing the small village of Ministigueche from a height. There were only a few houses and fishing huts.


    Albert Fontaine¡¯s company alone had more men than there were inhabitants.


    There was nothing here of real interest to the Crown, but it couldn¡¯t completely ignore these isolated villages. There were many like this one, and once gathered together, they represented a significant source of revenue. Fishing was crucial in this region.


    When France lost these territories to England at the start of the century, it was left with the less bountiful waters, allowing England to grow rich. Taking all these villages, therefore, had its advantages.


    Ministigueche had been under the authority of His Majesty Louis XV for two days now, but the landscape hadn¡¯t changed. A document in English and French had simply been posted at the entrance of the village on the road to Pobomcoup.


    The inhabitants, though hostile to the French, had no choice but to submit. However, Adam had no doubt that, in their hearts, they remained loyal subjects of King George II.


    They continued their work, grateful not to have been driven off their lands. Their boats had not been confiscated, as these were their primary tools for survival.


    Albert and Adam feared they might use them to escape, but they didn¡¯t, likely because they couldn¡¯t afford to lose what little they had here.


    In brief exchanges with them, Adam had sensed that they were unwilling to risk losing their meager possessions in a dangerous attempt, especially at this time of year, to start anew further south in the Thirteen Colonies. They understood well that such an escape would mean certain loss, and their chances of rebuilding a decent life weren¡¯t particularly high.


    Submitting was the better option.


    Adam watched as a fishing boat returned to the dock and unloaded its precious catch. Fishing seemed relatively good despite the weather and the season.


    Soon, it would no longer be possible to venture out to sea without risking one¡¯s life. That didn¡¯t mean they were safe outside the winter months, either.


    What drew the young officer¡¯s attention the most, however, was his own comrades. They bustled about in silence, maintaining their weapons, mending their shoes, sewing buttons onto their uniforms, trying to light a fire despite the biting wind that carried a massive gray cloud toward them, and patrolling the region.


    All of them looked haggard from exhaustion. Even their laughter, usually loud and full of bravado, seemed melancholic.


    At this time of year, they should all have been resting and regaining their strength for the spring and summer, which promised to be tumultuous. After all, it was impossible that the redcoats would leave them alone after suffering so many humiliations.


    Adam ran a gloved hand over his drawn face. Despite the thickness of his gloves, he could feel just how tense his muscles were from exhaustion.


    His nights, plagued by nightmares, were short. They weren¡¯t enough to restore the energy he needed to face the next day.


    He had lost nearly five kilos in just one week, and it was beginning to show despite the coat he kept close to him to retain as much warmth as possible.


    They were expected to bring the entire peninsula under the king¡¯s authority through his representatives. To achieve this, much had been demanded of them. This was dangerous because a troop without morale was no better than a troop without weapons.


    Captain Fontaine was well aware of this, and it was the only reason they were still in this village.


    Normally, they should have already moved on to the next village or be en route to the one after that.


    A sudden gust of wind made the branches of the surrounding trees creak, snapping Adam out of his thoughts. The gray cloud was now overhead.


    Adam saw a large snowflake, whiter than his coat, land on his sleeve. Delicate and beautiful, it didn¡¯t melt due to the frigid air.


    It was quickly followed by a second and a third.


    Soon, countless flakes began to fall over the region, forming a thick white curtain before his tired eyes. The houses quickly became barely visible.


    This wasn¡¯t the first snowfall, far from it, but Adam felt that this one was here to stay.


    Within minutes, the landscape changed completely, covered by a thin layer of snow that grew thicker by the moment. It wasn¡¯t impossible that, in just a few hours, there would be twenty centimeters of snow on the rooftops of the few houses in Ministigueche.


    He inhaled deeply, the cold air stinging his lungs, and exhaled a long plume of white. He looked a bit like a locomotive.


    ¡°Another winter far from home,¡± the young man lamented to himself, a deep sense of loneliness in his heart, before deciding to head back to the village.

 Chapter 110: The Price Of Peace

    "December 25, 1758


    Dear journal, it¡¯s been a very long time since I last wrote anything. I¡¯ve had so much to think about and manage lately.


    It¡¯s strange¡ªI feel like the days go by slowly because they all look the same, yet I can hardly believe it¡¯s already Christmas.


    This morning, we attended a big mass in Halifax. We had a light meal, but tonight we feasted.


    We slaughtered several pigs, which we roasted for hours, and to accompany them, I prepared, along with Albert¡¯s company, an astounding amount of cartoufles (potatoes), fried.


    It was an enormous success among the soldiers, though even if they weren¡¯t bad, they didn¡¯t quite taste as I had anticipated.


    We gathered a large quantity of animal fat, heated it up, and then plunged the peeled and finely sliced potatoes into it.


    The men were amazed at what could be done with this root, which had previously been dismissed as unremarkable. I also hope this plant will be cultivated more in New France and Nova Scotia because, ever since I introduced them to mashed potatoes, the men have been asking for it more and more instead of the bland porridge we usually eat.


    The problem with fries, though, is that they require a lot of fat and firewood. We won¡¯t be able to have them often.


    The meal was a great success, far more so, in my opinion, than last year¡¯s. We ate well back then too, but not like this."


    Adam paused for a moment, twirling his quill between his fingers and gazing at the fine black-inked letters on his notebook. His handwriting was looking more and more like that of a true man of this century.


    His clothes carried the scent of frying fat and roasted pork. His well-filled stomach formed a sort of lifebuoy between himself and the small desk he used to write in his journal, which he had somewhat neglected.


    Beside his notebook, a long white candle burned, casting a soft yellow glow across the room.


    Behind him, his shadow seemed to dance on the back wall, over his small bed and the ceiling.


    Unfortunately, this was not his room alone, as he had to share it with other officers. He hoped this would change soon, as he was tired of the lack of privacy.


    He wanted his own space where he could fall asleep without enduring the snores of others and organize the room as he pleased.


    Certainly, he¡¯d need to be patient, possibly until he reached the rank of captain. That was what he hoped for.


    ¡°I sense that this winter will be particularly harsh; we¡¯ll certainly be unable to do much.


    Temperatures are dropping quickly, and it¡¯s not impossible that the sea might freeze over in some areas next month. Apparently, it happens in certain ports in the region, though not in Halifax.


    At least, that¡¯s what the locals say. It frightens me a little because last winter was very cold when we were still in Saxony, but I don¡¯t think it was quite this extreme.


    If what they say is true, then simply going outside could be dangerous.


    Between now and spring, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll have much to recount. We¡¯ll likely limit ourselves to a few exercises, maintaining equipment, and ensuring the locals don¡¯t do anything foolish.¡±


    Adam started to write something, then hesitated, because a person of this era wasn¡¯t supposed to think like that. To change the subject, he considered talking about Christmas trees, but it wasn¡¯t something the French did.


    Unlike last year, he hadn¡¯t suggested decorating a tree for the holidays. It was common practice where he came from but not in France, not in this century.


    When he had proposed the idea, people had looked at him as if he were some strange animal. It was a tradition widely observed in Germany, but to the French, it was a pagan and foreign practice, completely incomprehensible.


    To his friends and comrades, his idea seemed as bizarre as going to market riding an elephant while wearing a mushroom-shaped hat and jingling shoes. It made no sense.


    He had been equally surprised at the time to learn that here, gifts were exchanged at New Year¡¯s instead.


    Adam had found it odd, even unsettling, but he had accepted it easily enough. Thus, the 24th was an ordinary day here, and December 25th was more dedicated to reflection.


    What a shame¡ªit¡¯s fun to decorate a tree. Maybe I¡¯ll convince them next year¡ªassuming I haven¡¯t returned to my own time by then. I hope so. I really don¡¯t want to stay here another year.


    The tip of Adam¡¯s quill traced a fine line, scratching out a few words he had written before replacing them with something else.


    ¡°Oh, that reminds me¡ªsomething happened yesterday. Monsieur de Br¨¦hant, our colonel who returned from Quebec, told me that apparently, I narrowly escaped a horrible death without even realizing it!¡±


    ***


    Two weeks earlier, in Quebec.


    Monsieur the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, who had just been appointed Acting Inspector General of the Infantry by His Majesty as a reward for his loyal and exemplary service ¡ª a position that would likely lead to a full Inspector General role within a year or two ¡ª and Monsieur the Marshal Duke de Richelieu found Governor Vaudreuil in a state of distress.


    He was pacing nervously in his office, sweat beading on his forehead as if he were about to receive a royal visit from His Majesty himself. In truth, the reality was not far off.


    ¡°Ah! There you are! I was afraid you wouldn¡¯t arrive in time!¡±


    ¡°Calm yourself, Governor,¡± said the Marshal as soon as he entered the room. ¡°They¡¯re only Iroquois leaders.¡±


    ¡°Exactly! They¡¯re leaders! They¡¯re like kings, and they want to talk! We must not make any mistakes, or this discussion will fail before it even begins!¡±


    ¡°Monsieur,¡± said the Marquis, ¡°we are at war. If this discussion fails, then so be it. Nothing will change.¡±


    Vaudreuil quickly grasped the problem upon seeing the indifferent reaction of Colonel de Br¨¦hant and Marshal de Richelieu.


    ¡°The Iroquois Confederacy, also called the Six Nations, are traditional allies of the British, monsieur. They have been our enemies for generations. But they are only allies, which means they are not obligated to follow the orders of British officers! If they want to talk, it¡¯s because they want something! If they are satisfied, we might appease them and push them to remain neutral for the rest of this conflict!¡±


    The Marshal raised an eyebrow slightly and removed his long red-and-gold coat before settling comfortably by the fire burning in the hearth. Its warmth filled the small room pleasantly.


    Through the two other windows overlooking the fort''s batteries, large snowflakes danced in the wind, blanketing the wild landscape in white.


    The Governor took a deep breath to steady himself and sank heavily into the chair behind his wide desk.


    ¡°Because we are allied with many tribes, and the Iroquois are often at war with them, we have often found ourselves fighting against the Iroquois to defend our allies¡ªand our economic interests as well. The Iroquois have long wanted a monopoly on the fur trade.¡±


    ¡°And now they want to talk with us? That¡¯s a good thing,¡± concluded the Marshal, crossing his arms over his chest.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°An excellent thing, even!¡± exclaimed the Governor, raising his head with newfound energy. ¡°The Iroquois presence hinders our development and partially protects the British colonies. They are a constant threat! If they negotiate a peace with us, the English will lose a valuable ally! Surely your victories, and those of Monsieur the Marquis de Montcalm, have caused our enemies to reconsider their alliance with the Crown of England?¡±


    The old Governor¡¯s cheeks flushed with excitement. It was clear his hopes were high, which explained his evident anxiety.


    He had requested the Marshal¡¯s presence¡ªand, though not specifically requested, that of the Marquis¡ªbecause he believed their participation could improve the chances of success. After all, the Iroquois deeply respected great warriors.


    Age held no weight; actions spoke for themselves, and the Marshal¡¯s exploits had been a roaring cry in the forest. The Iroquois could not ignore the presence of such a man.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± said the old Marshal in a low voice, ¡°but it is too early to say. You should not declare victory prematurely. Many battles have been lost because men believed their success was assured.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, you¡¯re right!¡±


    ¡°When are they expected to arrive?¡± asked the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, leaning slightly forward in his elegant chair.


    ¡°At any moment, I believe. Winter is rarely chosen for negotiations. I hope staying in Quebec does not inconvenience you?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. I have given orders to my officers to keep the soldiers vigilant. They have enough to occupy themselves. It would also be surprising if the English tried to attack us in this season.¡±


    As the old Governor of New France had anticipated, representatives of the Six Nations arrived in Quebec two days later.


    Their arrival did not go unnoticed by the townspeople, as their colorful attire and majestic headdresses stood out. Each tribe had its own distinct style, making them easy to identify for those familiar with their customs.


    There were the Senecas, the Cayugas, the Onondagas, the Oneidas (Onneiouts in French), the Tuscaroras, and the infamous Mohawks, rumored to be fond of human flesh. Their leader, a towering man like a bear, wore a necklace of ears and a dozen scalps at his belt, barely concealed by his large fur coat that made him look even more like a beast.


    Naturally, the old Governor recognized them all and greeted them respectfully, as if they were European monarchs. His extensive experience ensured he made no errors. For most of them, this was not their first encounter, as they had negotiated peace on more than one occasion despite being enemies.


    ¡°Gentlemen, as Governor of New France, I welcome you to Quebec. Allow me to introduce Monsieur the Marshal de Richelieu, to whom my king has entrusted the command of our soldiers.¡±


    ¡°Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. It is an honor.¡±


    The Marshal Duke responded immediately, momentarily forgetting that he was addressing Indigenous leaders.


    As he wondered if they had understood a word he said, one of the chiefs¡ªan elderly man with nearly closed eyes¡ªreplied in perfect French.


    ¡°Thank you for receiving us in your home, Monsieur the Governor. Given the current situation between our peoples, it is good to see such a warm welcome. Monsieur de Richelieu, your reputation precedes you. We are fully aware of who you are¡ªor rather, what you have done since your arrival. You are a capable leader and a brave man. The honor is ours.¡±


    Surprised, Richelieu simply nodded, which the six chiefs seemed to appreciate.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± said the Governor, hiding his relief, ¡°I propose we enter the city to warm ourselves. A fine fire awaits us in my office.¡±


    ¡°In that case, we shall follow you.¡±


    The unusual group climbed into the Upper Town and gathered around the large fire burning in the Governor¡¯s office. Instead of sitting on chairs, they sat on the floor atop a vibrant, intricately patterned rug.


    The elderly chief representing the Cayugas lit a long pipe from the hearth and exhaled a large cloud of faintly blue smoke. The Marshal thought he saw an eagle with outstretched wings take flight, disappearing as it reached the large golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling.


    ¡°Well, I suppose there is no need for idle chatter,¡± announced the old Governor, who seemed surprisingly at ease in this unconventional setting. ¡°Let us get straight to the point of your visit.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± said the Cayuga chief, taking on the role of spokesperson. ¡°Our peoples have clashed many times, leading to the deaths of both our own and yours. So much blood has been spilled, and yet so little has been accomplished. Our losses have only weakened both of us.¡±


    The elderly governor nodded and gestured for the chief to continue.


    ¡°We are not just warriors but also traders. However, your victories in recent months have deprived us of trading points with our English allies¡ªthose allies whom you have defeated repeatedly, covering yourselves in glory, like before that fort you call Carillon, if I¡¯m not mistaken? Our warriors who were there described in great detail how you killed a great number of English soldiers. But above all, it is your compassion towards your enemies that has earned you honor, such as at Albany. Winning a battle is easy; winning it without bloodshed is, in my opinion, an even greater feat.¡±


    Marshal de Richelieu showed no emotion outwardly, but internally, he was very satisfied. He enjoyed this sense of recognition, especially when it came from his enemies. He nodded humbly at the great chief.


    ¡°What he says is true,¡± added another chief in somewhat broken French, ¡°but these are not the only reasons we have come to you today. We can no longer trade with the English since Albany has been emptied of its inhabitants. We wish to sell our furs and are prepared to do so with you, but for that, peace must be established.¡±


    ¡°So, you want peace. Does the entire Confederacy feel the same?¡±


    Although the old governor didn¡¯t seem to direct the question at anyone in particular, it was clear he was suspicious and doubted the honesty of the Mohawks. Their chief, arms crossed over his massive chest, clenched his teeth, clearly displaying his dissatisfaction¡ªeven hostility.


    ¡°We have discussed it extensively, and this option seems acceptable and desirable. However, we cannot accept peace at any price, given that this war is entirely your fault.¡±


    ¡°W-What?!¡±


    Vaudreuil turned red and was about to rise, but Richelieu stopped him.


    ¡°I have been here only a short time, so forgive my ignorance, Chief. Are we truly responsible for this war?¡±


    His composed voice and understanding demeanor gave the impression that he genuinely sought to understand, though he was partially aware of the history. Vaudreuil had briefed him extensively on the Iroquois and their turbulent relations with the French and allied tribes.


    However, the Marshal-Duke¡¯s primary goal was to bring these Indians to his side for negotiation, even if it meant accepting blame.


    ¡°Indeed. Since your arrival on our lands, you allied with our enemies and declared war on us. Not just once¡ªevery time we fought a tribe, you intervened to join our enemies!¡±


    ¡°And let¡¯s not forget the hunting grounds! You French hunt so much that we must venture ever farther to find worthwhile game!¡±


    ¡°And your forts are everywhere!¡±


    ¡°And the Lachine massacre¡ªwas that a mere detail to you?!¡±


    ¡°Vaudreuil, calm yourself!¡±


    The Marshal¡¯s powerful voice echoed like cannon fire through the room, startling everyone. The Mohawk chief Akwiratheka stopped clenching his teeth and raised a thick eyebrow in surprise.


    ¡°What happened at Lachine was merely the result of your shameful actions,¡± said the Cayuga chief.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s settle down,¡± the Marshal-Duke replied calmly, as if his earlier outburst had been an illusion. ¡°We are here to discuss peace. So, you Iroquois consider yourselves the first victims of our policies in New France?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°And I suppose for peace to be possible, compensation must be considered.¡±


    ¡°That would be a good starting point.¡±


    ¡°Marshal, you¡­!¡±


    ¡°Monsieur de Vaudreuil, the members of the Iroquois Confederacy have come to negotiate. They¡¯ve taken the first step, which takes courage. Brave men have died on both sides because our interests clashed. If we want our peoples to coexist, we must acknowledge that the Iroquois have suffered from our interference.¡±


    ¡°Your words are wise and pure.¡±


    ¡°How do you wish to be compensated for your suffering?¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    The chiefs were caught off guard. They hadn¡¯t expected the discussion to turn in their favor. They thought, like the English, the French would try to exploit their situation to impose shameful terms. Even the Mohawk chief was surprised by this turn of events, as he had expected to leave within minutes.


    The six individuals spoke rapidly in their language, and after a few minutes, reached an agreement.


    ¡°Three hundred scalps.¡±


    ¡°T-Three hundred?!¡±


    A scalp wasn¡¯t just a trophy; it was a currency with monetary value. To ensure their allies participated in the war effort, the governor had offered bounties for each scalp brought in¡ªa fairly effective policy.


    ¡°Agreed. Three hundred scalps.¡±


    The Iroquois were once again astonished by this white man. The terms were so favorable to them that even the most suspicious chiefs wondered if they had made a mistake or if it was a trap.


    ¡°It will likely take some time to gather all these scalps, but with our recent victories and those to come, I believe we can deliver them before summer.¡±


    ¡°Very well. In that case¡ªand I believe I speak for the Six Nations¡ªyou may consider us at peace with you.¡±


    ¡°Not so fast,¡± said the Mohawk chief in his language, his expression as merciless as if he were on a battlefield. ¡°Three hundred scalps is not bad. But I want the scalp of the bastard who threatened my son.¡±


    ¡°Chief Akwiratheka, do not push your luck. Are you trying to derail these negotiations?¡±


    Immediately, the room seemed to drop in temperature, as though icy air had rushed in through broken windows.


    The Marshal, the Marquis, and the Governor watched, unable to understand the heated debate among the Iroquois chiefs. Though they didn¡¯t comprehend the language, it was clear the Mohawk chief was causing some trouble¡ªa sentiment seemingly shared by the others.


    Eventually, the situation calmed, and negotiations resumed.


    ¡°Apologies for that. Ahem, yes, this peace between our peoples will depend largely on your future actions. If we go to war with other tribes, even if they are your allies, do not intervene. And do not hunt on our lands.¡±


    ¡°As I said,¡± replied the Marshal, resting his hands on his aching knees, ¡°I am new here. Monsieur de Vaudreuil, could you fetch us a map?¡±


    ¡°Ah, uh¡­ Yes, right away.¡±


    ¡°Gentlemen, here is a map of the region, including the Great Lakes. Can you indicate your territories?¡±


    The chiefs exchanged glances¡ªor rather, sharp stares.


    They couldn¡¯t grasp the intentions of the Marshal or the Governor. The negotiations were going so well that they feared making a misstep.


    Finally, the Cayuga chief drew a wide circle on the map, prompting immediate protests from the Governor, who argued that the marked lands included not only Iroquois territory but also French lands, lands belonging to other tribes, and even the King of England.


    Once again, the Marshal intervened, noting that the Governor¡¯s sensitivity likely stemmed from being born in New France.


    ¡°Gentlemen, wars arise from conflicting interests and lack of dialogue. For a lasting peace, I propose we meet again, this time with the chiefs of other tribes, to reach a consensus. Only then can we move forward¡ªand better yet, move forward together.¡±


    Despite some opposition, the chiefs couldn¡¯t counter the proposal. Another meeting was scheduled for the end of winter, in March 1759.

 Chapter 111: Distant News

    A light wind blew continuously, bringing icy air to Nova Scotia.


    The air was so cold it seemed capable of freezing everything solid.


    The port of Halifax was not blocked by ice, but elsewhere, the sea had frozen over. That said, the ice was not thick enough to venture onto it.


    Where there were waves, there was no ice, as its formation required calm waters.


    Everything was silent in these winter landscapes, which seemed taken straight from a postcard. The only sound was the wind rustling through the branches, which, bare like emaciated arms, rubbed against each other.


    This quiet was interrupted by a heavy, creaking noise as a foot sank deeply into the fresh snow forming a thick blanket over the ground.


    It sounded as though someone was eating cereal, trying to make as much noise as possible.


    A second step followed, and once again, the loud crunching sound echoed. It was impossible to go unnoticed making such noise.


    The white coats blended perfectly into this landscape, though the tricorn hats stood out.


    By contrast, red uniforms would have looked like lanterns in the dead of night. It would have been impossible to miss them if any were nearby, but there were none.


    Surely, they were staying warm in their colonies, waiting for the right time to drive the French from what they considered their lands.


    Behind the French soldiers, deep grooves in the snow stretched like a long serpent winding through trees and bushes. It would be easy to follow their trail, but if it snowed again as it had the past two days, it would only take a few hours for their tracks to disappear.


    The tracks they were currently following did not belong to a man but to an animal. The beast was large and visibly heavy.


    Adam carried a long musket like his comrades, which was unusual for a lieutenant, as his usual weapons were a pistol and a sword.


    I think it¡¯s not far. Damn, I¡¯m frozen to the bone!


    Six men accompanied him, all survivors of Gilbert¡¯s company.


    No one spoke for fear of ruining their efforts to bring fresh meat back to town.


    Adam placed a gloved hand on a tree trunk. The animal had evidently stopped there.


    The bark is damaged. And there are some hairs. I¡¯m sure we¡¯re close.


    ¡°L-lieutenant, we¡¯re starting to get tired,¡± one of the men said.


    The officer looked at his men. The sled they were dragging behind them was empty.


    ¡°Do you really want to return empty-handed?¡±


    The soldiers lowered their heads to avoid his gaze. It was clear they were tired, and he was too. But he didn¡¯t want to give up.


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    ¡°The animal isn¡¯t far. Just a little more patience.¡±


    The sergeant, whose flat face and red nose betrayed his exhaustion, held back from pointing out that this was the third time his officer had said that. He simply nodded and encouraged his comrades.


    Their persistence paid off because, ten minutes later, they heard a loud noise resembling a human scream. It was a full-grown moose.


    Its thick, brown fur seemed perfect for keeping out the cold. A bit of snow clung to its long coat, but it didn¡¯t seem to notice.


    Perhaps the snow had fallen from a nearby tree branch when the animal brushed against it? With the recent snowstorms, the branches were heavy, often breaking under the weight.


    I see it! There it is! It¡¯s huge!


    Indeed, it was an impressive creature, a male judging by the antlers, which were vastly different from those of European deer.


    This animal¡¯s antlers were disproportionately large, which must have been more of a hindrance than anything else. As the season progressed, it would become increasingly rare to see moose with their antlers, as they typically shed them in winter before regrowing them in spring.


    It must be quite old.


    Adam signaled with his hand, and his soldiers got into formation. Slowly, to minimize noise, they spread out, their weapons loaded and ready to fire.


    The young lieutenant walked in the animal¡¯s tracks, which significantly reduced the effort needed to move forward and muffled the sound of his steps in the snow.


    Like a ninja, he moved carefully, trying to make himself as small and quiet as possible. It was as if he were walking on a frozen lake, so cautious were his movements.


    The distance isn¡¯t bad, but¡­ I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not sure I can kill this thing from here.


    He crept closer, stepping over a long, broken branch. He was now only a hundred meters from the animal.


    Suddenly, the moose moved, and Adam stopped breathing.


    The old moose¡¯s long ears perked up, clearly indicating that the animal was alert, even wary. Its short tail flicked through the air as if it were irritated.


    It turned its head in the opposite direction, but its ears showed it was listening toward him.


    Finally, it lowered its head and resumed digging through the snow in search of food.


    Phew! It hasn¡¯t noticed us yet!


    Adam took three more steps, nervous, his finger resting on the musket¡¯s trigger. The moose suddenly raised its head, its senses on full alert.


    Damn! It¡¯s over!


    Immediately, Adam raised his weapon and fired.


    Bang!


    He wasn¡¯t alone. All the soldiers reacted at the same moment, opening fire on the unfortunate beast, which had no time to flee.


    Several lead balls struck the moose, wounding it deeply but not enough to kill it. The animal let out a cry and bolted, leaving behind a long red trail that turned pink as it mixed with the fresh snow.


    ¡°Damn it!¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Calm down. It¡¯s not over yet. We can follow the trail.¡±


    ¡°Beno?t¡¯s right. It¡¯s badly hurt. Too bad we couldn¡¯t get closer.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s done is done,¡± Adam muttered, letting out a long sigh, his breath forming a white plume in the freezing air. ¡°It¡¯s not too bad. Shall we go?¡±


    ¡°Go back?!¡±


    ¡°I meant, shall we go after it?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± the flat-faced sergeant responded, clearly disappointed.


    The moose was seriously injured and losing a lot of blood, quickly exhausting itself. When Adam and his comrades finally caught up with it, the massive animal collapsed against an enormous pine tree.


    The poor creature was still breathing, and its eyes reflected utter despair.


    It¡¯s suffering.


    Adam scratched his cheek and drew his pistol. Pressing the barrel to the animal¡¯s temple, between its eye and ear, he looked away as he pulled the trigger.


    Bang!


    The shot sounded deafening in the now oppressive silence. The moose was finally released from its suffering.


    Adam found the moment odd. He had killed countless enemies, sometimes without feeling the slightest discomfort or guilt, yet here he couldn¡¯t help but look away. It was strange.


    What does it matter? What difference does it make? he thought, brushing aside any further reflection.


    ¡°Well, now we can head back,¡± Adam said, holstering his smoking weapon. ¡°Bring the sled over.¡±


    Quickly, the enormous animal¡ªeasily weighing over 600 kilos¡ªwas loaded onto the sled, which suddenly seemed far too small. A good portion of the moose dragged in the snow.


    But that didn¡¯t matter. The sled was just there to keep them from dragging their prey like trash.


    It took them a considerable amount of time to return to Halifax, and when they finally reached the small town bustling with French soldiers, they were warmly welcomed¡ªnot just by their company, but by all.


    Everyone was already imagining feasting on fresh moose meat.


    Ah, there¡¯s Jean over there. Jules and the others must be around, too. Hmm, I should go see them after I report to the captain.


    Albert Fontaine was at the port, overseeing the unloading of cargo from a European ship that was supposed to reach the British colonies. The ship had been captured, along with others, by Roquefeuille¡¯s fleet, which was terrorizing the area.


    By working as a group, nearly every ship ended up in their clutches. Surely, the major cities of the northern colonies¡ªstarting with Boston and New York¡ªmust be deeply worried.


    Roquefeuille was like a great pirate of the past. It was a shame that, unlike those romanticized figures made famous by novels, movies, manga, comics, and video games, he didn¡¯t have his own flag. Adam had no doubt that it would soon be as recognizable as Jack Rackham¡¯s or Blackbeard¡¯s.


    ¡°Fran?ois! Big news!¡±


    ¡°Oh? What happened? I haven¡¯t been away for long, have I?¡±


    ¡°Nothing bad! Quite the opposite¡ªwe¡¯ve won another victory!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Adam said, surprised. ¡°I thought everything was quiet this time of year. Montcalm?¡±


    ¡°No, it was at sea! Ahaha!¡±


    Adam was momentarily stunned and then remembered that the war wasn¡¯t confined to North America.


    ¡°Where? And when?¡±


    ¡°Mid-November, from what I heard, near the African coast! We weren¡¯t the only ones involved in the battle, but who cares? It¡¯s as much our victory as it is Spain¡¯s!¡±


    Ah, the Spanish! I¡¯d completely forgotten about them!


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get out of the way.¡±


    Adam nodded and followed his captain and friend to a quieter spot away from the bustling crowd. They sat on crates, using a large barrel as a makeshift table.


    ¡°Apparently, the British had planned a major operation in the area. While we were sailing to the New World, they took Saint-Louis in Senegal, so they must¡¯ve gotten some ideas. Anyway, they prepared a medium-sized fleet to seize more territories along the African coast. But they ran into problems! Ahaha!¡±


    ¡°W-what kind of problems? Stop laughing and spit it out!¡±


    ¡°Ahaha! Get this¡ªtwo of their ships, including a warship¡ªthe HMS Lichfield, I think¡ªran aground on the Moroccan coast. And guess what? The Sultan didn¡¯t appreciate it, you see? So, he captured everyone and turned them into slaves!¡±


    Wha¡ª? I don¡¯t see what¡¯s so funny! Wait, what? The Moroccans enslaved the English prisoners? Is that even possible?! I thought it was the other way around!


    Albert Fontaine, oblivious to his young friend¡¯s confusion, continued his tale.


    ¡°The English were stuck in place for a while, and as they resumed their journey to Funchal on Madeira Island, a possession of their Portuguese ally, they ran into a strong Spanish squadron! And, well, even though they were outnumbered, they managed to inflict heavy losses on the Spaniards! But then we arrived and changed the course of the battle! So, you could say it¡¯s our victory, haha!¡±


    Adam was terrible at geography. He naturally knew where Morocco was and assumed Madeira Island was a bit farther south. If it was indeed a Portuguese possession, then the English would have a solid base in the area in case of trouble, or a resupply point for ventures farther south or even into another ocean, like the Indian Ocean.


    ¡°According to the English sailors Monsieur de Roquefeuille has just captured, the Royal Navy suffered heavy losses, and the blame fell squarely on King George¡¯s chief minister since he planned the operation. But that¡¯s not important. What is important is that we won! And that¡¯s not all!¡±


    ¡°What? There¡¯s more?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and the best part! Imagine this: we helped the Spaniards capture Madeira Island, which was their objective, and in return, they helped us retake Saint-Louis of Senegal! Ahaha! Apparently, Marshal de Conflans didn¡¯t even need their help because the locals revolted against the British occupiers as soon as they saw our fleet! We reclaimed our trading post without firing a single musket shot or cannonball! Ahaha! King George must be furious!¡±


    Adam hesitated, unsure of how to react. He was genuinely glad his side had achieved such great victories, but part of him was worried.


    Yes, King George must be furious. That¡¯s exactly what frightens me. They¡¯ll want revenge¡ªnot just for this but for what we¡¯re doing here too. The more victories we win, the more desperate they¡¯ll become. They¡¯ve executed two admirals, haven¡¯t they? If they¡¯re capable of that, what will they do in the months ahead?


    ¡°You don¡¯t look too thrilled! Hey! This is our victory too! Come on! Ah, we need some wine to celebrate this!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not even eleven in the morning, you know?¡±


    ¡°Ah, hmm, right, fair enough. Let¡¯s wait until noon to toast to Saint-Louis of Senegal and the Spaniards!¡±


    Adam managed a faint smile, which quickly faded. He was worrying too much about the future.


    The English will probably send an army to crush us. The King of England seems like the kind of man who loses his temper easily. If this keeps up, he¡¯ll keep escalating until he can¡¯t afford to wage war anymore. But if we exhaust ourselves first, what will become of us?


    Adam swallowed hard.


    How much longer before I can go home? Will I even be able to find that damned watch after all this time? It feels like I¡¯ve been here forever. I¡­ I¡¯m so¡­ tired.


    Feeling tears well up in his eyes, he quickly turned his back on his captain and hurried away, slipping into an empty alleyway.


    The moment he was alone, large tears began to flow.


    ¡°I-I¡­ I can¡¯t take it anymore¡­ I¡­ I have no strength left¡­ I want to go home.¡±


    He slid down the dirty wall behind him, ending up sitting in the snow. Slowly, he drew his knees up and buried his face in his hands.


    I want to go home! Mom, Dad! I miss you so much!


    ***


    Adam had every reason to worry because, in England, even though the loss of Nova Scotia was not yet known, King George II already had plenty to be angry about. The loss of Admiral Parker and the precious HMS Royal George¡ªthe English equivalent in prestige to France¡¯s Soleil Royal¡ªhad been a tragedy.


    When he was informed that a second squadron had been decisively defeated at sea, it was the last straw.


    Seized by rage, he wrecked his office and cursed the name of William Pitt, whom he held entirely responsible.


    According to the monarch, this humiliating failure could have been avoided if more ships had been allocated to Commodore Augustus Keppel. In his mind, one English ship was worth two French ships and three or four Spanish ones.


    Unfortunately, ships didn¡¯t grow on trees, and many of his were needed to defend Britain¡¯s coasts.


    Since the Prince of Soubise had ravaged the southern coast of England as far as Chatham, never had there been so many warships flying the British flag in the Channel.


    George II also blamed the Duke of Newcastle, who had insisted on not weakening their naval forces in Europe.


    In every dockyard, workers labored tirelessly to construct new warships. It took time and money¡ªtwo things the king was running out of.


    Despite old and new taxes, the coffers were draining at an alarming rate. The only consolation was that his rival, Louis XV of France, was in the same situation. Every report he received said the same thing.


    And yet, France continued to arm itself. It was baffling.


    By all the saints, if only I had more subjects to tax! And a compliant Parliament! Ah! What wouldn¡¯t I give for a Parliament as obedient to the Crown as in the days of the old kings! Why do they cause me so much trouble? These parliamentarians are more problematic than that dog!


    His gaze fell on the latest intelligence report.


    Fortunately, Newcastle still had agents in France. That fool Pitt! In his desperate attempt, he lost all his men and accomplished almost nothing!


    The report was brief, stating that construction of a first-rate ship, begun in Brest in May 1758, was progressing well. The agent estimated it would be operational by 1761 or 1762, giving the Royal Navy enough time, perhaps, to sink every French ship at sea and force Louis XV to sign a peace treaty.


    Once France was isolated, King George had no doubt that everything lost would be regained¡ªand more. In the end, he would reclaim his precious Hanover.


    I can¡¯t wait to see him grovel before me, begging for an end to hostilities. This is what happens when you don¡¯t know your place!


    A week later, he learned that Nova Scotia had fallen to the French.

 Chapter 112: Captain

    Before Adam¡¯s tired eyes, which resembled two blue gemstones like the clear waters of a hidden mountain lake, tiny snowflakes danced peacefully, carried by an almost imperceptible breeze.


    They looked like dust, so small and light that even the slightest movement of air made them drift, giving the impression they could remain suspended indefinitely.


    Even though there was almost no wind, the cold February air¡ªonly slightly less biting than January¡¯s¡ªseeped through layers of clothing, chilling the young man to the bone. His jaw clattered furiously, and he couldn¡¯t stop his teeth from chattering.


    Clenching his teeth was one way to cope, but it was exhausting. He couldn¡¯t hold them tight like that for days.


    The nearly two-week journey from Halifax had been a grueling ordeal, not only for his body but also for his mind. Each kilometer traveled, each day spent gazing at the ocean and the frozen shores of this still largely untamed continent, tested his willpower.


    During such a long journey, isolated from his friends, his thoughts grew deafening.


    So, this is it? Am I really going to become a captain? I¡¯ll have my own company? My own soldiers? Am¡­ am I really ready to command them? What if things go wrong? What if I fail? No, no¡­ it¡¯ll be fine. Albert, Andr¨¦, Martin, and Jean-Baptiste will be there to advise me! But¡­ they won¡¯t always be there! Argh!


    The gray sky seemed oppressively low, as if the clouds were weighed down by snow eager to fall and blanket the world.


    Leaving the sea behind, the small frigate carrying the young lieutenant for the past two weeks sailed into the Saint Lawrence. Soon, they would reach Quebec.


    On the deck of Ar¨¦thuse, Adam watched the snow-blanketed landscapes with both anticipation and trepidation, mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead.


    An approaching shadow caught his eye as it moved across the deck near him, growing quickly to signal someone drawing near.


    ¡°You seem calm, Lieutenant Boucher,¡± said the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, stopping beside Adam with his hands resting on the frozen rail.


    ¡°In that case, I¡¯m putting on a good show, Colonel. I¡¯m scared stiff.¡±


    ¡°Ahah, there¡¯s no need to worry. It¡¯s just a simple ceremony. Think of it as just another troop inspection.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that¡­ I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t measure up, sir.¡±


    The Colonel offered a soft, understanding smile.


    ¡°Lieutenant, we¡¯ve reviewed your file thoroughly. You have what it takes for this rank. As for ¡®measuring up,¡¯ it¡¯s up to you to prove yourself worthy of the honor and to meet the expectations. Do your best.¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, Colonel.¡±


    ¡°You know, most captains come from the nobility and often start with no experience, thanks to their family¡¯s influence. You, on the other hand, already have some experience, which gives you an edge over them. Of course, you¡¯ll face limitations due to your status as a commoner, unlike them. If they have the talent, they can rise very far.¡±


    Adam hesitated to say more but decided against revealing any great ambition that might be frowned upon. Deep down, however, a part of him didn¡¯t want to stop at the rank of captain. He wanted to aim higher¡ªif possible, before the end of this conflict.


    Such aspirations were highly unlikely, as the nobility fiercely guarded its privileges. Allowing commoners to rise to captain was already seen by many as a dangerous precedent, something that should have been prevented to preserve the Royal Army¡¯s image and the prestige of the officer corps.


    As long as the nobility remained closed and its status defended, the highest ranks would stay reserved for its members. It would take a revolution to break centuries of tradition and allow competent individuals from the lower classes to rise to the army¡¯s highest positions.


    I¡¯m sure this is Fran?ois¡¯s influence again, but I have no intention of lingering here! Yeah, I couldn¡¯t care less about being promoted! I just want to go back to my own time!


    No matter how loudly he told himself that, he didn¡¯t believe it. He relished the powerful feeling that came with recognition. Pride. It was like a drug, driving him to excel and stand out, whether in battle or not.


    When he had introduced his comrades to fries or rugby, he had been deeply satisfied by their reactions. In their eyes, he saw a kind of respect that fueled his desire to keep going.


    If the Colonel¡ªor better yet, the Marshal¡ªacknowledged his worth, Adam would be overjoyed.


    Despite his fear of failure, the idea of promotion filled him with a strong sense of satisfaction. Naturally, he had accepted his new rank and would accept any further promotion as long as he remained here.


    I don¡¯t know¡­ I don¡¯t know anymore¡­ Should I have deserted last year to return to Hastenbeck? Or did I make the right choice? No, I definitely made the right choice! I¡¯d probably have been shot or maybe hanged by enemies along the way!


    ¡°You¡¯ll have a tremendous job ahead of you, Lieutenant,¡± said the Colonel pensively, as though reflecting on his own situation. ¡°You¡¯ll be commanding new recruits, but I¡¯m confident you¡¯ll manage.¡±


    Adam met the Colonel¡¯s gaze and bowed in gratitude.


    ¡°Thank you for your encouraging words, Colonel! I won¡¯t let you down!¡±


    The weight of the responsibilities Adam would soon bear was immense, but thanks to the Marquis de Br¨¦hant¡¯s words, he felt a little more confident. Fortunately, as a lieutenant, he had gained experience, just as the Colonel had mentioned.


    He had learned his role under an excellent captain and had done reasonably well after the captain¡¯s death on the eve of the Battle of Fort Carillon.


    His mind grew clearer, and his outlook on the future more confident. All his doubts dissipated, something the Colonel noticed with a faint smile.


    The order to travel to Quebec had officially reached him, sealed with the coat of arms of Governor Vaudreuil, the highest representative of Louis XV in New France.


    Adam wondered whether this journey was a reward or a test.


    On this first of March, 1759, a splendid sun illuminated a bright sky of deep blue. Although the air remained crisp, it carried the fresh scent of spring.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The gray, somber skies had completely disappeared.


    The snow had already melted in many regions, and nature was coming back to life¡ªor rather, awakening after a long slumber. The St. Lawrence had swollen, and the current was strong, but nothing prevented the Ar¨¦thuse from advancing toward its destination.


    Gradually, the city of Quebec became clearer between the trees.


    They were almost there!


    As they approached Quebec, Adam felt his heart race. His palms grew clammy, and he was overcome by waves of heat. The cool air felt like a gentle caress on his face.


    The city, perched atop its cliffs, emerged from the winter mist with an icy majesty. The massive fortifications, built to withstand British attacks, were almost intimidating.


    Yet they also represented a reassuring safety, a barrier between the French forces and their enemies, as well as the wild beasts.


    Slowly, the Ar¨¦thuse moved along the river and came to a stop opposite the port. By rowboat, Adam, the colonel, and his major¡ªhis right-hand man more than his lieutenant colonel¡ªdisembarked.


    Entering the city, Adam was overcome by a certain apprehension. He was about to meet the city¡¯s governor and receive a certificate signed by His Majesty. Then, he would be granted command of a company.


    Naturally, the group of officers made their way toward the fort.


    In the courtyard, more than thirty soldiers stood waiting in formation, motionless and tightly aligned.


    Adam saw some of his comrades¡ªsurvivors from Captain Gilbert¡¯s company who had accompanied him here¡ªjoin the group to present themselves and assume their own commands.


    After all, it was unthinkable to leave a freshly formed troop with inexperienced officers and non-commissioned officers. Those who had survived the treacherous Indian attack at Fort Edward had all been promoted accordingly.


    ¡°This way, gentlemen. The governor and the marshal are expecting you,¡± said an officer standing at the entrance of a grand stone building that seemed golden under the bright sunlight.


    Adam felt his throat tighten and a growing weight press upon his young shoulders. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, leaving him unable to think clearly.


    The room where the ceremony would take place was imposing, though modestly decorated. Situated at the heart of this immense building steeped in history¡ªthe same one that housed the governor¡¯s private apartments¡ªit was lit by natural daylight streaming through impressive windows nearly three meters high.


    The windows were framed by long, thick scarlet curtains held back by delicate golden cords.


    The parquet floor was so polished, so shiny, that it perfectly reflected the various elements of the room.


    A large oak table occupied the center of the space, covered with a simple white cloth that draped a few centimeters over the edges. The governor and the marshal stood before it, lending the moment a solemn gravity.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant, majestic in his richly adorned uniform with gold embroidery, took his place to the left of the marshal, who currently served as the commander-in-chief of the King¡¯s armies in New France. He was soon joined by his major, responsible for all administrative matters of the company, which naturally included reviews and promotions.


    Marshal-Duke de Richelieu stood as straight as a pillar, his aristocratic features and piercing gaze a reminder that he was as much a courtier as he was a soldier. Although nearly the same age as Governor Vaudreuil, who stood to his right, he dominated the assembly both in stature and in the commanding martial presence he exuded.


    The governor, on the other hand, displayed a calmer demeanor despite the richness of his attire and the grandeur of his wig. His gaze also conveyed a certain strength, though it was subtler, giving the young man the impression that he was a reasonable and attentive leader.


    To Adam, Colonel de Br¨¦hant¡ªunlike the major¡ªseemed like a genuine ally. He found some comfort in the discreet kindness of the colonel¡¯s barely visible smile.


    The major, true to his role in the regiment, resembled a brick wall: solid, immovable, and unyielding.


    Adam stopped at a respectful distance from these distinguished officers, standing so straight one might think a rope was tied around his neck. His hands hung at his sides, the one holding his black tricorn hat slightly more tense than the other.


    His long reddish-brown hair was carefully combed, more so than usual, giving him a slight resemblance to a young Scottish nobleman.


    The silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the grand stone fireplace, above which hung a magnificent portrait of Louis XV as a victorious warrior-king.


    ¡°Lieutenant Fran?ois Boucher,¡± began Richelieu in a clear, solemn voice, like a priest delivering a sermon in his church, ¡°you learned under Captain Gilbert what it means to be an officer in the glorious royal army, and you assisted him until his tragic death at Fort Carillon. Since then, you have carried out his duties without holding his rank, until the company under your care was too weakened to be maintained.¡±


    Adam swallowed hard and involuntarily lowered his head, recalling those terrible events.


    ¡°We have concluded,¡± continued the aged marshal in a formal tone, ¡°that the loss of your men was not due to any poor decision on your part, which is why you were not held accountable. Your actions since the Battle of Fort Carillon on July 8, 1758, have convinced us of your worth, even in adversity. The recommendations of your colonel and the various reports from Nova Scotia attest to an officer capable and worthy of the King¡¯s trust.¡±


    Each word seemed to hang heavily in the air, and Adam felt his breathing slow, only to quicken again under the weight of the moment. He had prepared for this, but hearing it articulated so officially made the experience feel different, almost surreal.


    He felt as though he were dreaming.


    The marshal gestured to the major of the Picardy Regiment, who approached to hand Adam a sealed document. Adam did not move but extended both hands while bowing respectfully, striving to appear as dignified as possible.


    He took the paper with trembling hands, his heart on the verge of bursting, and waited for what came next. There, at the bottom, was the King¡¯s signature.


    ¡°As such, His Majesty grants you the rank of captain as of today,¡± Richelieu continued, his voice louder now, as if proclaiming it to the entire world. ¡°Congratulations!¡±


    ¡°Thank you, General! I will prove myself worthy!¡±


    The marshal gave a slight nod and gestured for the major to proceed. The major removed the epaulet from Adam¡¯s left shoulder before turning to face the other officers and the governor.


    With precise, almost mechanical steps, he walked over to the oak table and placed the small epaulet down before taking a new one, more ornate and gilded.


    When he returned to Adam, the major fastened the new epaulet onto his right shoulder. There was no other word to describe what Adam felt at that moment but ¡°immense pride.¡±


    The young man held back his tears and struggled not to let his joy show. Finally, a red silk sash with golden fringes was handed to him.


    ¡°Your new company awaits you, Captain.¡±


    Vaudreuil then spoke, his voice less piercing but just as firm: ¡°You will command men in circumstances we know to be challenging. War is not something to be taken lightly, and your responsibilities will be immense. It is through these trials that good officers prove themselves. Use this promotion to serve France with honor.¡±


    Adam nodded, feeling the weight of all four men¡¯s gazes on him. He knew the hardest part was only just beginning.


    As Adam was about to leave the room to formally take command of his company during a troop review¡ªalbeit a smaller one, as only his company would be present¡ªColonel de Br¨¦hant stopped him.


    ¡°Captain Boucher, come now, you¡¯re about to take command of your first company. Surely you don¡¯t plan to present yourself like this, do you?¡±


    Adam stared at his superior, confused by his words. He was clean¡ªwell, mostly¡ªgroomed, and wearing his epaulet, sword, and sash.


    What¡¯s wrong with that?


    ¡°Here. Consider it a gift. For the new year, albeit a bit late,¡± the colonel said with a satisfied smile, handing him a magnificent white wig.


    A¡­ a wig?! I¡­ I¡¯m really going to wear that?!


    Even as a lieutenant, he had never worn one, although it was customary on special occasions. Given the circumstances, he had simply powdered his hair until now.


    The wig was an important element of an officer¡¯s attire. The colonel wore one, as did his major, and, of course, the marshal and the governor.


    Like the rest of his outfit, this wig symbolized his rank and enhanced his prestige in the army. At the time, wearing a high-quality wig was a given for members of high society or those aspiring to be recognized as such.


    It was no coincidence that many captains wore wigs, even outside of ceremonies. This was true, for instance, of the young Martin Morrel de Lusernes, as he hailed from nobility.


    ¡°Thank you, Colonel, for this gift! It¡¯s magnificent, and I will take great care of it!¡±


    ¡°I should hope so. It¡¯s a fine wig made of real hair. Try it on¡ªlet¡¯s see if it suits you.¡±


    Obediently, Adam concealed his hair beneath the wig, whiter than his uniform. After a few adjustments, it was so well-fitted that one might have thought it was his own hair, merely powdered and styled.


    ¡°Perfect. It suits you splendidly. Although, it doesn¡¯t quite hide the scar on your temple. Hmm, in fact, it seems even more noticeable. Well, let¡¯s say it adds character. Is it comfortable?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Colonel. There¡¯s no discomfort.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. In that case, let¡¯s head down. We mustn¡¯t keep your company waiting any longer.¡±

 Chapter 113: The Inspection

    The inspections were highly regulated, and the officers ensured that everything was perfect. It was a matter of the regiment''s or battalion''s reputation, but also the image of the King himself.


    Everything was meticulously detailed in royal ordinances.


    Thus, there were two classes of soldiers: those who managed to follow these ordinances to the letter, and those who did not. For the latter, long hours of drills awaited them every week.


    On the ramparts, in the parade grounds, and even in their quarters, they had to train tirelessly to avoid being reprimanded during inspections.


    The only way to escape this was to pass an exam during a review. Of course, even a first-class soldier could end up demoted to the second class if they were negligent.


    These young recruits had learned the basics, and on the surface, everything appeared in order.


    Adam, proudly displaying his captain¡¯s epaulette, held in his right hand an intriguing weapon that seemed to belong to another era. It was called an espontoon. It looked roughly like a spear.


    His former sergeants, Yves Laroche and Claude Marais, now lieutenants, also carried espontoons. The sergeants, on the other hand, held halberds. All the others¡ªwhether privates, anspessades, or corporals¡ªheld their muskets.


    With rigid steps, Adam walked past his men, shifting his espontoon to his left arm. Then, he positioned himself among his soldiers to begin the inspection.


    As usual, it was not the colonel who conducted the review but the major. No one other than him¡ªnot even the marshal¡ªwas allowed to speak. No mistake was tolerated, even if an error occurred. At that moment, the major was the highest authority.


    Adam stood at ease, his feet aligned with heels slightly apart, but inside, he was deeply anxious.


    Let¡¯s hope everything goes smoothly!


    He elegantly switched his espontoon back to his right hand, holding it with the wrist at shoulder height, his thumb along the shaft.


    The base of the espontoon rested on the cobblestones of the courtyard, just a few centimeters from the tip of his right foot, perpendicular to the ground. His left arm hung freely at his side, neither limp nor weak.


    "Officers, to the head of your troops!"


    The major''s clear and powerful voice echoed through the courtyard, sending a shiver down the spines of all the soldiers. Adam obeyed simultaneously with his two lieutenants. All three grabbed their espontoon shafts as they stepped out of the ranks.


    Once at the front of the small formation, the three men lowered their long lances in unison, the ends striking the cold, damp cobblestones of the rectangular courtyard.


    From this position, the three officers began to move in unison, saluting the senior officers positioned a few meters in front of them.


    It was like watching a well-rehearsed choreography. They deftly spun their espontoons in their fingers, as prescribed by the 1755 ordinance, before lowering them, tips forward, close to the ground without touching it.


    The butt of the weapon naturally landed in their left hands at shoulder height, and they returned to their initial positions.


    Every movement was executed in silence, with the precision of a saber cut¡ªan impressive sight for anyone unaccustomed to such displays.


    Finally, Adam, Lieutenant Marais, and Lieutenant Laroche removed their black, gold-trimmed tricorn hats in the most elegant manner possible, using their free hands¡ªthe left ones.


    The major, who had been advancing toward the company and the three officers at its head throughout the process, showed no emotion and walked past them, signaling that they could replace their rigid hats.


    Damn! That was nerve-wracking! I thought I was going to mess up in front of the marshal and the governor! Thank goodness I¡¯m used to it by now!


    Indeed, as a lieutenant, he had participated in numerous reviews. He knew what to do and how to do it. The only difference now was his position in the formation.


    Discreetly, he observed the major¡¯s reactions¡ªor lack thereof. His unfriendly face gave the impression that he was perpetually having a bad day.


    His jaw was clenched as if someone were stepping on his foot, tightening all the muscles in his face. His small eyes scrutinized the soldiers lined up in three rows behind the new captain, as if searching for the weakest link to devour.


    Adam felt a small, cold droplet fall on the back of his right hand, the one firmly gripping the sturdy shaft of his espontoon.


    He looked more like a guard than an officer.


    Tension rose on the parade ground as the review was about to begin in earnest.


    The major¡¯s voice rang out again, this time addressing the soldiers of the newly formed company.


    "Right hand on the musket!"


    The soldiers obeyed silently.


    "Fix bayonets to the barrel!"


    In four steps, the soldiers complied with the major¡¯s order, but there were already a few blunders.


    The major clenched his teeth tighter in displeasure.


    The soldiers had to pivot on their left heels so that they were perpendicular to their right feet. They then had to let their muskets fall, the ramrod facing them.


    They grasped their weapons correctly with both hands¡ªone on the barrel and the other on the belt. They then took their bayonets. One dropped his, while another nearly sliced open the inside of his hand as he began fixing it to the barrel.


    Adam thought he might suffocate, so immense was the major¡¯s anger. His pursed lips looked like a long scar between his long, narrow nose and his chin.


    B-but what are they doing?! Th-they¡¯re idiots, aren¡¯t they?! Where do they come from?! Where did they find them?! Get your heads out of your asses!


    The longer time passed, the more the young captain¡¯s face fell apart. His gaze then met that of the colonel, who seemed amused by the situation.


    Colonel! Do something! You... You can¡¯t leave me with these clowns!


    If the colonel noticed the desperate look of his new captain, he acted as though he hadn¡¯t.


    Colonel!


    ¡°Ram the cartridge!¡± continued the major without changing his tone, completely ignoring the young captain¡¯s emotional state.


    It was done again in four steps.


    ¡°Face en t¨ºte ! Portez vos armes en avant ! ¡±


    The major¡¯s voice was the only one to be heard. The young captain, on the other hand, kept praying and begging his men not to disgrace themselves.


    ¡°Reposez-vous sur vos armes, ouvrez la cartouche, fermez la cartouche, remettez la baguette en son lieu, la main basse!¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    All the soldiers let their left arms drop and froze.


    No soldier was allowed to move, even to adjust their tricorne, until further orders. The major remained silent for a moment, then finally gave the order to rest. All the soldiers let out a collective sigh of relief, which did not go unnoticed by the officers.


    Don¡¯t sigh like that! Are you kidding me? Fuck!


    The rest of the ceremony went without major incident, but it proved to Adam that a monumental task lay ahead to turn these men into real soldiers. The gap between them and the men he had commanded in Gilbert¡¯s company was far too vast.


    It felt as if he were standing in beachwear at the foot of Mount Everest, tasked with planting a flag at its summit.


    Adam didn¡¯t stay in Quebec for more than a few days. He took the opportunity to get to know all the men in his company.


    Some were very young¡ªso young, in fact, that their fathers¡¯ permission had been required for their enlistment.


    He met with each of them individually to learn about their motivations and let them know what he expected from them. He also used this time to encourage them to do their best and promised them rigorous training worthy of grenadiers so they could quickly distinguish themselves within the Picardy Regiment.


    What came up repeatedly during these interviews was their deep inspiration from the dazzling victories of the Marquis de Montcalm and the Marshal-Duke of Richelieu.


    Everyone loved tales of adventure and bravery in the face of a fearsome enemy. Naturally, they wanted to be part of it, to be the protagonist, the one who played a decisive role, who rallied and led the charge that shattered enemy lines.


    They wanted to cover themselves in glory before this war ended, for who knew how long they would have to wait for another chance?


    In this century of reason and technical and technological progress, nations waged war very frequently, most often to pursue the gains of the previous war or, conversely, to reclaim what had been lost. At least, that was how it had gone between France and England since the Middle Ages.


    Periods of peace only served to prepare for the next war, which typically took a decade.


    These young men were full of dreams and ambitions, just like Fran?ois and his friends had been when they signed up for this life of misery. These feelings were like a fire. If Adam wanted to achieve something with these men, he had to tend to it and keep it from going out.


    ¡°Well, what did you think, Captain?¡± asked Lieutenant Claude Marais, seated across from his officer and next to his colleague, Lieutenant Yves Laroche.


    ¡°I think there¡¯s going to be a lot of work, Lieutenant Marais, a lot of work.¡±


    ¡°I honestly doubt they¡¯ll all make it. I thought the major was going to pounce on one or two of them.¡±


    ¡°There are certainly a few who will require more effort, but I sincerely believe we can turn these men into good soldiers,¡± Adam said, as if trying to convince himself.


    ¡°Do you really think so?¡± Yves Laroche asked, his particularly thick eyebrows furrowing. ¡°From what I¡¯ve seen, three-quarters of them will wet themselves at the first shot.¡±


    ¡°Watch your language, Mister Laroche,¡± Adam cut in sharply, taking on a stern tone. ¡°Remember that you¡¯re no longer a sergeant. Your uniform is slightly different, but your way of expressing yourself must change too¡ªand more clearly. Be like me.¡±


    ¡°My apologies, Captain. I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±


    ¡°Good. That being said, I do somewhat agree with you. They have the uniform, but they¡¯re not yet soldiers. Everything suggests they¡¯ve received accelerated training to be quickly integrated into the various regiments in New France. It¡¯s therefore our responsibility to prepare them for what lies ahead.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain! Where should we start?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, it¡¯s already March,¡± Adam murmured as if thinking aloud. ¡°We probably don¡¯t have much time left before we receive our orders. By the time we return to Halifax, it will certainly be April.¡±


    ¡°Already¡­ Goodness, time flies! It feels like we¡¯ve only just taken up winter quarters!¡±


    ¡°Winter is practically over. There might still be a few cold snaps, some hail showers, but no major snowstorms like in January. The Redcoats will certainly move first.¡±


    ¡°In that case, sir, what can we do? We¡¯ll lose two weeks just getting back to Nova Scotia!¡±


    ¡°We certainly can¡¯t make them march and run, but we can definitely drill them in formation and reloading their weapons quickly.¡±


    ¡°And attach a bayonet properly!¡± Claude Marais suddenly exclaimed, recalling the ceremony that could have been comical if it hadn¡¯t been so important. ¡°By the blood of Christ, I thought he was going to cut his hand open! What¡¯s his name again?¡±


    ¡°Michel Tournier. His file should be around here¡­ Ah, here it is. Michel Gilles Marie Tournier, born in 1739. He just turned twenty.¡±


    ¡°Twenty years old¡­ How is he still alive being that clumsy?¡±


    ¡°Come now, Lieutenant Marais, calm yourself. Perhaps it was just nerves.¡±


    ¡°Nerves or not, he¡¯ll need to learn quickly how to attach a bayonet without injuring anyone, starting with himself.¡±


    ¡°The others weren¡¯t much better. Good heavens, can you imagine them on the battlefield? We¡¯ll be the laughingstock of the regiment!¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll do whatever it takes to prevent that. Everyone can learn. After all, we weren¡¯t so different from them when we enlisted.¡±


    The two lieutenants smiled, remembering a time that now seemed distant. They knew their officer was right, and yet they had come a long way since then.


    Not only had they survived countless skirmishes, but they had also climbed the ranks to become officers in the royal army!


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s leave this for now. It¡¯s getting late, and tomorrow is another day. Gentlemen, I¡¯ll count on you again tomorrow. Good night.¡±


    ¡°Good night, Captain!¡± the two men replied before leaving the room, leaving Adam alone with numerous neatly stacked files on a table that was far narrower than the governor¡¯s.


    ***


    The next day, as Adam prepared to depart for Halifax, William Johnson attended an important ceremony in the courtyard of the Boston fort.


    As Superintendent of Indian Affairs in North America and representative of His British Majesty to the Iroquois people, he dressed in his usual manner¡ªa blend of European and Native attire.


    He saw himself as a diplomat, and diplomacy was the tool he intended to use to bring down New France.


    Having spent decades in New England, he understood how things worked on this continent. The strength of the French was certainly not in their numbers, nor in the quality of their soldiers or officers.


    They controlled a vast territory but had very few settlers. They relied on the Native Americans for this crucial task, forging relationships with numerous tribes and even intermingling with them.


    From the beginning, Johnson had done everything he could to sever the ties between the French and the Native Americans. Without them¡ªand he was convinced of this¡ªthe French were doomed.


    He didn¡¯t need the tribes to join the British as allies; a treaty of neutrality would suffice. It was challenging to sow discord between such longstanding allies, but it was not impossible.


    The key was to expose the French as weak and incapable of offering protection.


    That said, everything had been going in the wrong direction since the start of this war. The French were winning victory after victory, humiliating His Majesty¡¯s regular troops.


    His requests for meetings were no longer even acknowledged, and it had been confirmed that the Six Nations had grown closer to the French, even signing a separate peace¡ªone they had conveniently neglected to inform him about!


    Fortunately, according to his sources, it was a treaty of neutrality, not alliance or friendship.


    If it had been otherwise, all the British colonies would have been in danger, as their territories stretched nearly from the Great Lakes to northern Georgia.


    A drum roll echoed, and an officer passed between two rows of soldiers in red uniforms, as immobile as statues and as dignified as ancient Greek heroes.


    There had been no massive arrival of regular troops from England, as Johnson had hoped¡ªonly a few thousand men, and without a general to lead them.


    Their orders were to place themselves under the command of George Townshend, a young colonel bloated with ambition who had been promoted to brigadier upon arriving in the New World after the disaster at Louisbourg the previous summer.


    He had served under James Wolfe during the second attempt on Louisbourg and was sent to Boston after the general¡¯s death on Monckton¡¯s orders. That coward¡¯s name had since become synonymous with infamy.


    Monckton¡¯s capture and disgrace had suddenly propelled Townshend to command a considerable force by colonial standards, tasked with defending Boston, which was believed to be threatened by the odious French.


    Yet, Townshend showed no intention of attacking before the enemy was ready, let alone reclaiming Nova Scotia or capturing Louisbourg.


    To Johnson, this was a grave mistake.


    He wholly disapproved of Townshend¡¯s appointment, particularly because he knew the man had used his artistic talents to ridicule his general, Wolfe, through caricatures unworthy of an English gentleman.


    In his view, the divisions within Wolfe¡¯s army were the main reason for its collapse during the first clash with the French inside Louisbourg.


    The diplomat had tried to explain the realities on the ground to this man fresh from London, who clearly knew nothing about the delicate game of alliances. Yet Townshend¡¯s arrogance was so overwhelming that Johnson gave up, at least temporarily.


    That morning, Townshend conducted a lengthy inspection of Boston¡¯s defenses and its immediate surroundings to assess the situation.


    His verdict came quickly: the city could not be defended if the enemy took the heights surrounding the peninsula where it stood and placed cannons there. The situation would be even more dire if the French managed to enter the harbor.


    There was a fort on an islet between the city and the ocean, but it would certainly not be enough.


    Moreover, they had few artillery pieces left, as many had been taken to equip forts and ships.


    The remaining cannons were scattered between the fortifications guarding the city¡¯s landward entrance and the various batteries to the east and west of Boston. In trying to fortify the entire city, his predecessors had made it weak everywhere.


    ¡°Remove the cannons from the port side of every ship in the harbor and orient all vessels so their remaining batteries face the sea! Send all marine cannons to the northern and southern batteries, and to the fortifications at the city gates! Finally, fortify every location from which the city could be bombarded! I will take no risks!¡±


    Townshend intended to turn the few ships at his disposal into a formidable barrier against any potential sea attack. They were lined up, one behind the other, their anchors firmly planted in Boston Harbor¡¯s depths.


    Alas, William Johnson could only watch this man at work and imagine what older, more experienced generals would have done.


    The capture of Major General Jeffery Amherst was truly a devastating loss for the British army. All Johnson hoped for was that this invaluable officer would be ransomed from the French as soon as possible and return to the colonies without delay.

 Chapter 114: The Recruits

    As soon as he arrived in the port of Halifax, bustling with ropes, men, countless crates, and heavy oak barrels, Adam was greeted as a hero by his fellow captains, as if he had just returned from a perilous mission deep in enemy territory.


    Albert, Andr¨¦, and the young Martin were all eager to hear about his ceremony and his feelings about this significant promotion. Unfortunately, he had no time to chat, as he now commanded a company of men.


    Each soldier was his responsibility. His duty was to train them and ensure they were capable of carrying out various tasks, from building a camp to capturing an enemy-held position.


    On the journey back, Adam had begun to grasp the magnitude of the task entrusted to him. Just a few months ago, all these young men lining up on the docks of Halifax had been small merchants, laborers, or peasants.


    Now, it was up to him to transform these recruits into soldiers worthy of the name.


    "Captain," said Lieutenant Marais, "the men are in position."


    "Good. Take a step back behind me and follow."


    "At your command!"


    Adam, wearing his golden epaulet, sash, and fine powdered wig with dignity, stepped forward resolutely, his expression so stern it might have seemed an unforgivable crime had been committed.


    He passed in front of the first row of the small formation and stopped at the center. Then, he stood silently, observing the recruits with such intensity that several of them flinched.


    "Soldiers, we are now in Halifax. This city and port are under our authority; however, you must remember we are not the only ones here. There are many civilians here, most of whom were once subjects of the King of England. They are now under the protection of His Majesty and Marshal de Richelieu. Anyone causing trouble will face the consequences."


    Adam could hear several recruits swallow nervously. There was no need to go into details; their imaginations were enough to make them understand the severity of their actions if they committed serious offenses.


    "That¡¯s not all. You will also see many Indians. These lands once belonged to them, and the very existence of this town was the subject of negotiations. Significant concessions were made to ensure we could continue using it. If you think you have the right to disrespect them just because you wear a uniform or because your skin is lighter, you are gravely mistaken. Similarly, just as you will be severely disciplined by your officers in case of conflict with the locals, you will also be punished if you jeopardize the agreements made with the Mi''kmaq or any other tribe."


    He saw several heads nod, but he wasn¡¯t sure he had been clear enough.


    "Let me repeat: I will not tolerate any discrimination against the Indians or any other people simply because they are not white. If you do so, you will answer to me¡ªnot because it¡¯s the law, but because I will not tolerate racism. Treat everyone you encounter with the same respect you expect to receive. Otherwise, I will not hold back. Am I clear?"


    "Y-yes, Captain!"


    "I can¡¯t hear you! Am I clear?"


    "Yes, Captain!"


    Adam nodded with satisfaction and turned to his two lieutenants, who had shown no reaction to his provocative words.


    The hierarchy of races, or even the mere concept of their existence, was the norm in this century, no matter the continent. Such dangerous ideas even existed in Africa¡ªa fact not taught in modern French schools.


    Adam was unaware of this, but he refused to tolerate such views, which he deemed intolerable and hateful. Here, treating foreigners differently, especially when their skin color wasn¡¯t the same as one¡¯s own, was considered normal.


    However, something was slowly beginning to change, thanks to the great European philosophers, starting with the French.


    Contrary to the norms of this century, new schools of thought were emerging and gradually spreading, though it was far too early for them to become the new standard. It would take two more centuries of effort for the very concept of race within the human species to be abolished in France.


    For the locals, including Lieutenants Marais and Laroche, asking soldiers to treat everyone equally was excessive. One did not treat a nobleman the same way as a peasant, and yet they were being told to treat a French colonist and a Black slave equally?


    It was too progressive to be well-received, yet neither lieutenant voiced complaints or remarks¡ªespecially not in front of the new recruits. To do so would be to challenge their captain¡¯s authority.


    "As agreed, we will leave the town to conduct training in peace. Inform the colonel, Mr. Laroche."


    "At your command."


    Once the colonel had been informed, the company headed south, following the river until they reached a spot across from a small islet known as George Island.


    The area was less wooded here than anywhere else around Halifax. It seemed as though this small town, freshly risen from the earth, had been placed here by a higher power in the midst of Nova Scotia¡¯s wilderness.


    This small clearing was ideal for the exercises Adam had planned for his men. He brought them to a stop at the center, amidst dense grass weighed down by the frequent rains of the season.


    "Company, halt!"


    The men froze, adjusting their ranks slightly. Each soldier could feel the piercing gaze of their officer, a man of similar age to their own.


    "Soldiers, you have received training before coming under my command, but it is not enough for you to be considered true soldiers. Do you want to survive? Do you want to earn respect? Do you want to achieve glory and honor? Do you want to make a fortune? All of that is possible, but it will demand tremendous effort!"


    The recruits, who had initially lost confidence and hope after hearing their officer¡¯s harsh words, gradually began to lift their heads, their hearts suddenly swelling with courage. The very words that had driven them to enlist had just been spoken.


    ¡°You may not know this, but I started out just like you, as an ordinary soldier. I thought I would die countless times, and there were moments during drills and long marches when I wished someone would put me out of my misery. But look at me now! I¡¯m a captain! You, too, can achieve this. The army is an extraordinary place where an ordinary person can rise to positions they couldn¡¯t reach or even dream of reaching elsewhere. You have the opportunity to become someone; all you have to do is seize it and fight! Fight! Be hard on yourselves! Push your limits, and nothing will stop you!¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    In the recruits¡¯ eyes, the small spark that had been there transformed into a fierce blaze. It made their blood boil and filled them with an urge to shout.


    Adam felt that, in their current state, they were capable of declaring war on every country in the world.


    ¡°But,¡± Adam continued, pausing deliberately to let his men calm down, ¡°you have a long way to go, and you¡¯re far behind the other companies. Your comrades, whether in this regiment or elsewhere, have much more experience than you. They¡¯ve faced trials you can¡¯t even imagine. Soon, you¡¯ll be like them, because make no mistake, you¡¯ll soon be on the front lines, facing the formidable redcoats. That moment is coming soon, so you must be ready! With Lieutenants Laroche and Marais, I will turn you into real soldiers! Follow me, and this company¡¯s name will soon become the most renowned in the New World!¡±


    Unable to hold back any longer, the soldiers erupted into cheers, not caring if their enthusiasm attracted the curious gazes of their comrades. Their energy was so intense that even the veterans in Captain Gilbert¡¯s company were surprised.


    However, despite this impressive energy, it lacked strength. If this loud cheer were compared to a dog¡¯s bark, it was that of a puppy. Not bad, but much work remained to turn it into a roar that could strike fear into an enemy troop.


    ¡°Good! Then, without further ado, let¡¯s start training! A soldier must first have endurance if he wants to reach the battlefield without exhausting himself or slowing down the rest of the army! He must also be able to charge! You will run until you drop! Go!¡±


    Adam had skillfully manipulated his recruits. He had fired them up, and now they were overflowing with energy. With this single command, he intended to push them to their limits.


    The entire company began running in circles around the clearing, with the captain and his two lieutenants standing at the center atop a small hill.


    Then, once Adam saw they were in full stride, he signaled to his two subordinates to join the exercise, setting an example and ensuring they stayed in shape.


    Whether captains or ordinary soldiers, the king needed men in good health.


    The recruits quickly noticed their commander running alongside them, which greatly surprised them. They certainly hadn¡¯t expected the captain, so proud in his uniform and with his fine sword at his side, to join them in this exercise.


    This encouraged them to keep pace, and they naturally adjusted their speed to match his.


    After several laps, Adam noticed that he had taken the lead, as his young recruits were starting to tire. Soon, their numbers dwindled until only the veterans and the most stubborn among them remained.


    Let¡¯s see, there are only twelve of us left. Seven of us are from Gilbert¡¯s company, so that leaves five recruits still running. Not bad, but they look like they¡¯re suffering.


    Adam¡¯s forehead was covered in sweat, but his breathing was steady, as he had carefully paced himself and avoided taking overly long strides. His rhythm was as regular as it had been at the start. Behind him, however, about ten or twelve meters back, the remaining recruits seemed ready to collapse.


    All right, I think we can call it a day¡ªfor the running, at least.


    ¡°Company, form up in three ranks!¡±


    The sudden order caught the soldiers off guard, both those who had collapsed and those who had endured to the end.


    ¡°Are you deaf?! Form up in three ranks¡ªnow!¡± Adam thundered as if personally insulted.


    The soldiers scrambled to comply, but their coordination left much to be desired.


    After what felt like an eternity, the ranks were finally formed.


    ¡°Soldiers, when an order is given, you obey it immediately. Look at yourselves! Is this what you call a formation? Adjust your positions. Soldier, one of your buttons is undone. You there, you¡¯re too far to the right. Close the gap with your comrade. Your tricorne is crooked. That¡¯s better. Hold your muskets firmly! They are more than your weapons; they are your partners!¡±


    Adam let out a deep sigh.


    ¡°Well, this is an acceptable formation. Next time, I want you to look like this and take less time to get there. The longer I wait, the more ridiculous you appear¡ªremember that! Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain!¡±


    ¡°First rank, step forward. Third rank, step back.¡±


    The soldiers obeyed.


    Adam turned to his two lieutenants and instructed them to take positions within the ranks to assist the recruits during the next exercise.


    ¡°A soldier is nothing without his weapon, but the weapon itself is useless if you don¡¯t know how to handle it properly. You¡¯ve been taught the functions of its various parts, but that¡¯s not enough! I want you to become so familiar with your muskets that you can load them and fix bayonets in complete darkness! Soldiers, fix bayonets!¡±


    The soldiers, unsurprised, drew their blades from their sheaths.


    As during the ceremony, there were a few missteps, but thankfully no major incidents like the time a soldier had nearly injured himself while attaching his bayonet to the end of his musket. This progress was encouraging, but it hadn¡¯t come easily¡ªthese recruits had spent the past two weeks training.


    Two weeks of practice, and they¡¯re still this slow! The fastest ones are fine, but the rest¡­ I feel like crying. It¡¯s as if they were dragged here against their will.


    ¡°Stop! Lieutenant, how much time?¡±


    "One minute and two seconds," he replied in a cold, serious voice after consulting a small pocket watch.


    "One minute and two seconds. Did you hear that, soldiers? That''s bad, very bad! You should only need twenty to thirty seconds! Even loading your weapon shouldn¡¯t take that long! Sheathe your bayonets now, come on!"


    The soldiers obeyed and detached their blades, but one of them was so clumsy he nearly stabbed the man standing in front of him. It would have happened if Adam hadn''t increased the spacing between the ranks.


    "Soldier Tournier! Have you lost your mind?!"


    "I¡ªI¡­ No, Lieutenant¡­" stammered a soldier, pale as a sheet.


    "I wasn¡¯t expecting an answer!" barked Lieutenant Marais, his face red with fury. "Do you hate Soldier Perrin so much that you¡¯d try to kill him with your bayonet?! Step out of the ranks!"


    Adam watched as his lieutenant pulled one of the soldiers from the formation¡ªa man who had already made an impression on the first day. He was none other than the one who had nearly sliced open his hand during the inspection in Quebec.


    "I did not permit you to move!" the young captain barked, noticing his men turning their heads to see what was happening behind them. "Hold formation! Bayonets on the barrels!"


    The officers, including Lieutenant Marais, who had returned to the third rank he was overseeing, observed the soldiers with utmost attention.


    Their hands trembled under the pressure, which they found ridiculous given that they weren¡¯t under threat from enemy bullets or cannonballs. Their current conditions were far better than what they¡¯d face later on the battlefield.


    "Stop! Lieutenant Marais?"


    "Fifty-four seconds, Captain."


    "That¡¯s better, but you can do much better! You¡¯re no less capable than your comrades or our enemies, so prove it! Show me that you truly want to hit your targets! Prove to me that you want to be better than this! Sheathe your bayonets! Soldier Tournier, you too! No, do not rejoin the ranks! You¡¯ll be allowed back when you¡¯re no longer a danger to your comrades! For now, you¡¯re as dangerous as those damned redcoats!"


    Adam saw a few soldiers smile discreetly as they busied themselves with securing their blades in their scabbards on the opposite side of their cartridge boxes.


    "Bayonets on the barrels!"


    Adam noticed clear improvement among most of the soldiers. His men were drawing their bayonets more naturally and better understood how to attach them correctly. It wasn¡¯t enough for the bayonet to simply be on the end of the barrel; it had to stay there even after a shock.


    "Stop!"


    "Forty-two seconds, thanks to Mr. Tournier," said Lieutenant Marais, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the soldier, whose face was gradually turning beet red. "The others are at thirty-three seconds."


    "Thirty-three seconds. Did you hear that? That¡¯s better! See? You can do it! Soldier Tournier, you can too! Keep practicing! Return to your place. Now, load your weapons as if in combat!"


    The exercise lasted for many hours, testing the nerves of the new recruits. Unfortunately for them, they had no idea that this was nothing compared to the plans Adam and his officers had in store for them.


    They had based their drills on the grueling program of Captain Gilbert and the commander of France¡¯s fearsome grenadiers.


    Adam wasn¡¯t content to merely lead a company¡ªhe wanted to command the best line infantry company.


    He even planned to introduce them to physical exercises common in the 21st century but unheard of at the time. However, he regretted not knowing what training modern elite soldiers underwent.


    I probably won¡¯t be able to turn them into elite soldiers, but I can certainly make an excellent company that will allow me to stand out. All I need is time.


    His eyes turned to the partly cloudy sky where a few seabirds were flying.


    But I fear we don¡¯t have much of it¡ªprobably barely enough to teach them the basics.


    He couldn¡¯t help but grimace as he imagined the most likely outcome for his men if they were sent to the front now.


    No matter. I will do everything in my power to give them a chance to come back alive.

 Chapter 115: The Grand Plan

    "Company, forward, march!"


    Maintaining a tight formation, Adam¡¯s company¡ªcommonly referred to as Boucher¡¯s company rather than by its number¡ªmoved straight ahead.


    The soldiers had learned to march together, which was easier said than done.


    "Company, halt! About-turn, right!"


    Immediately, gaps began to appear within the formation. These were eventually closed, but time was lost for such a simple maneuver.


    "Prepare for the exercise!"


    All the soldiers turned their heads¡ªheld high as if they were in the presence of a Marshal of France¡ªtoward their comrade on the right and straightened their posture.


    "Move the musket to the sword side!"


    Although they carried no swords, the soldiers obeyed, performing the action exactly as they had been taught, in four counts.


    "Fix bayonets to the barrels!"


    In three counts and a reasonable amount of time, the soldiers obeyed and waited for the next command.


    "Carry arms! Right face! Left face! About-turn, right! About-turn, right!"


    The soldiers followed the orders to the best of their ability, their officer playing the role of a major as if this were an inspection. Each movement was executed in three distinct counts.


    Unfortunately, most of the recruits failed to perform well despite hours of practice. Soldier Tournier¡ªthough he was not alone¡ªfumbled his steps, nearly losing his balance and stepping on his neighbor''s foot.


    Adam remained patient, knowing how much extraordinary precision was expected of them for something as basic as pivoting a formation.


    "Raise arms!"


    The soldiers lifted their weapons as if striking a pose with knights'' swords, ensuring their hands were correctly positioned.


    "Ready arms!"


    As though they had all been wounded at once, the soldiers dropped to their right knees, slightly to the right and behind their left foot. They kept their torsos upright along with their weapons, which they loaded using their thumbs and index fingers.


    Those in the second rank turned slightly, adjusting the position of their feet, with the right foot pulled back, as did the third rank. The soldiers in the two rear ranks loaded their weapons simultaneously.


    "Present arms!" Adam called from the side, watching closely as his men, sweating like oxen after an intense endurance drill, performed the movements.


    The soldiers lowered their weapons almost in unison, aiming at an invisible enemy. The butt of the musket rested on their right shoulders, while the barrels aligned perfectly with their comrades¡¯ positions.


    They placed their right index fingers into what was called the "so?sgarde," the metal loop where the trigger was located.


    Those in the first rank leaned slightly backward to avoid any allied injuries.


    "Fire!"


    As the command snapped out, around forty explosions erupted simultaneously in the small clearing. A thick white cloud formed in front of the inexperienced soldiers, who were hit directly in the face by the wind carrying it.


    Some were overcome by violent coughing fits as they inhaled it.


    Hmm, that wasn¡¯t too bad this time. They¡¯re moving better as a unit. Soon, we¡¯ll be able to accomplish something with them. Ah, they¡¯ll get used to that smell eventually.


    "Put the hammer to rest!" Adam ordered¡ªa command he had often heard himself, just like all the others given during this routine drill.


    This simply meant they had to pull back the metal piece holding the flint, which created the spark necessary for ignition, so it could be used again.


    "Take the cartridge!"


    The soldiers, who had raised their weapons to comply with the previous command, grabbed a small paper cartridge from their cartridge boxes.


    "Tear the cartridge with your teeth!"


    ¡°Damn it!¡±


    ¡°Silence in the ranks!¡±


    ¡°L-lieutenant! I¡­ uh¡­ I tore my cartridge. It¡¯s completely shredded, and I lost all my gunpowder.¡±


    The lieutenant took a large step forward, as if ready to pounce on him and devour him whole, and smacked the soldier¡¯s head hard enough to knock his tricorne off.


    "Fool! Do you think this is a game?! Gunpowder is precious, and so is every cartridge! In battle, running out of ammunition can mean death! Don¡¯t let it happen again! Take another cartridge!"


    ¡°A-a-as you command!¡±


    Soldier Tournier, red with shame, picked up his tricorne and placed it back on his head. Under the watchful and severe eyes of the officers, he timidly grabbed another cartridge as if it contained the deadliest poison and carefully brought it to the pan.


    Adam looked up at the sky and gave the next order: ¡°Amor?ez!¡±


    The soldiers began pouring black powder into the pan, then moved their right hands back behind the battery.


    ¡°Close the pan!¡±


    The recruits obeyed, using their free fingers since they still held their open cartridge between their thumb and forefinger.


    ¡°Shift your weapons to the sword side!¡± Adam announced finally, signaling that the drill was nearing its end.


    Quickly, the soldiers placed their muskets at their feet, barrels pointing toward the sky.


    ¡°Load the cartridge into the barrel! Draw the ramrod!¡±


    These two commands were given rapidly, as Adam could feel time slipping away. They were already running very late.


    ¡°Ram it down! Return the ramrod to its place!¡±


    As ordered, the soldiers used the long rod usually stored beneath the barrel to push the cartridge, containing most of the black powder, to the bottom of the weapon, then replaced it.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    The muskets were once again ready for use.


    ¡°Carry your arms! Present arms! Carry arms! Shift your weapons to the sword side! Return the bayonet to its place! Join the right hand to the musket! Carry the musket! Hold the lockplate under the left arm! Carry the musket! Reverse the musket! Carry the musket! Shoulder arms! Rest on your musket! Ground arms!¡±


    Adam turned to Lieutenant Marais, who held a small pocket watch in his palm.


    ¡°What¡¯s the time?¡±


    ¡°One minute and fifty-nine seconds,¡± Marais replied.


    That long?! Adam thought, shaking his head in frustration, though he had expected a dreadful result. Two minutes¡­ Even with the additional movements beyond reloading, that was unacceptable! They¡¯d taken at least twice as long as they should have.


    Reloading for a single shot should take only thirty seconds. A beginner ought to manage it in no more than forty-five seconds, but because armies of this period relied on units rather than individuals, every man needed to be ready to fire simultaneously for an effective volley.


    From the very start, these recruits had fallen behind. Soldier Tournier was just one example, but it wouldn¡¯t be fair to place the entire blame for this failure on him alone.


    Adam remained silent, casting a chilling air over the assembled soldiers.


    The troops felt ashamed, though they didn¡¯t fully understand their officer¡¯s anger. With a stern expression, Adam locked eyes with nearly every soldier under his command.


    He could have yelled at them, insulted them, or ridiculed them with nicknames like ¡°the slug,¡± ¡°the bug,¡± or ¡°the cripple.¡± Instead, he stayed silent.


    This heavy, almost oppressive silence was finally broken by Adam himself as he turned to Lieutenant Laroche.


    ¡°Lieutenant Laroche, you will give the orders from the beginning as I just did. Lieutenant Marais, watch the time. Soldier Petit, your weapon, please. And your bayonet.¡±


    The officers and soldiers looked on, confused, as their captain stepped to the side of Soldier Petit at the far left of the first rank. He respectfully took the soldier¡¯s weapon and briefly inspected it.


    Satisfied, he turned to his lieutenants and nodded to signal that he was ready.


    It was only then that the slower soldiers began to understand what their young captain intended to do¡ªa demonstration.


    ¡°Prepare to execute the drill! Shift the musket to the sword side! Fix the bayonet to the barrel!¡±


    Lieutenant Laroche called out the commands Adam had given just moments earlier, and Adam executed them with speed and precision. His movements were almost beautiful, though each was sharp and deliberate.


    At every step and every action, Adam paused for a moment to ensure the officer leading the drill could see that each order had been carried out. Yet, it all felt fluid and natural.


    It was as if the young officer was dancing with his musket.


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    Adam pulled the trigger, and the mechanism engaged. The flint sparked a vivid yellow flash, igniting the black powder in the pan.


    Thick, acrid white smoke billowed instantly, and within a second, the shot fired, delivering a powerful kick to his right shoulder.


    Almost simultaneously with the lieutenant¡¯s next command, Adam began to move again, straightening his weapon with his back rigid, as though a board had been fixed to it.


    He repeated the motions for the remaining orders until the command to return the bayonet came.


    He secured it as best he could alongside his officer¡¯s sword.


    ¡°Reverse arms! Carry arms! Shoulder arms! Rest on your musket! Ground arms!¡±


    Like a machine, Adam maneuvered the long-barreled musket and placed its butt gently on the cold, damp grass a few inches to the right of his right foot. He immediately let his left arm fall naturally at his side¡ªnot too stiff, not too limp.


    The soldiers were struck silent, as impressed as if Jeanne d¡¯Arc herself had arrived on a white horse clad in golden armor and bathed in divine light.


    Adam, impassive as though he had done nothing extraordinary¡ªand indeed, nothing superhuman had occurred¡ªturned to his lieutenant.


    ¡°Lieutenant Marais? The time, please?¡±


    ¡°Forty-three seconds.¡±


    Each step had indeed taken only a few seconds. Reloading had been the longest part.


    Adam returned the loaded musket and bayonet to Soldier Petit and stood before his troop.


    "Here, gentlemen, is what we expect from you. With practice, you will achieve it. I know this because I have confidence in you. We will continue the exercises until you are no longer a burden to your comrades. Do not forget that in real conditions, if you fail to fire when the order is given because you haven¡¯t had time to reload, you jeopardize the entire frontline, or at least part of it."


    Adam paused to give his men time to absorb this information, which they must not forget.


    "If you fail to fire when ordered, it can also be seen as disobedience. In the worst-case scenario, you risk facing a military tribunal. You¡¯ll be lucky if they merely see you as incompetent. For your own sake, practice whenever you get the chance. Reduce your sleep hours if necessary."


    Later that day, while Adam was in Halifax exchanging a few words with Captain Albert Fontaine, an officer with a round face marked by an impressive and hideous scar on his left cheek¡ªa remnant of a bullet wound from a pistol duel¡ªcame to fetch him.


    Adam had seen him several times alongside Colonel de Br¨¦hant, serving as his aide-de-camp.


    "The colonel wants to speak with me?" Adam asked, surprised. "Did he¡­ specify why?" he added with a hint of unease.


    "No, he didn¡¯t. There¡¯s no need to worry; he didn¡¯t seem angry."


    "Ah."


    Adam sighed in relief, as ever since his promotion, he had feared having it taken away.


    He politely bid farewell to his friend and followed the officer obediently to a building in the northern part of the town, near the always-bustling port thanks to the efforts of Monsieur de Roquefeuille, who remained very active in the region.


    The two men climbed to the upper floor, which smelled of wood and smoke. The marquis, ever dignified in his movements and attire, was savoring a cup of hot chocolate¡ªa luxury beverage requiring considerable effort to prepare and growing in popularity each day in Europe¡¯s great courts.


    A powerful aroma wafted from the white porcelain cup, adorned with intricate painted details, a true work of art, and filled the room, immediately tempting Adam to take a sip.


    Naturally, ever since inhabiting this body, he had not had the chance to taste even a morsel of chocolate.


    "Captain Boucher, please come in. Have a seat."


    "Thank you, Colonel."


    "How are you? I haven¡¯t had the chance to speak with you since our return from Quebec."


    "I¡¯m doing well, thank you," Adam replied, hesitating slightly as he did not quite understand why his colonel had summoned him. He certainly didn¡¯t yet grasp that as a captain, he was now somewhat closer to his commanding officer.


    "That¡¯s good. And your company? How are they progressing?"


    "Slowly, sir, but they are progressing. We spend every available day conducting exercises."


    "That¡¯s excellent. As long as they¡¯re progressing¡­ Have you conducted drills with other companies so they won¡¯t be disoriented later when they have to cooperate with other units?"


    "Not yet," Adam admitted honestly. "I think it¡¯s still too early. I don¡¯t know how they were trained before I was given command of these men, but they have many shortcomings. We¡¯ve practically started from scratch."


    "Hmm, that¡¯s what I suspected during the ceremony," the marquis acknowledged, sipping his drink. "I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ll need to accelerate the training. Ask Captains Gauthier and Fontaine, for instance, to assist you."


    "S-sir?"


    He¡­ really wants to do that?! They¡¯re not ready yet! They¡¯ll look like fools!


    "The Marshal intends to launch an offensive across the bay, on the other side of Acadia¡ªthe Baie Fran?oise."


    The colonel showed him an old-fashioned map of the region, beautiful and detailed despite the archaic technology.


    In a corner of the map, at the bottom left, a short text explained what was depicted. The text was in English, but Adam could understand it perfectly. Apparently, it had been made two years earlier.


    The territories were clearly represented and labeled, with special attention to the numerous rivers in the area. Halifax was, naturally, included, though no larger than a pinhead.


    Nova Scotia, once again called Acadia, seemed so significant, so imposing on this map, yet in reality, it held little weight in the British colonies¡¯ economy. It was merely a tiny, wild piece of land seized from the French, where settlers had been placed and forts built for this war and those to come until the complete fall of New France¡ªthe grand objective of His Majesty and his minister, William Pitt.


    "Excuse me, Colonel, but I don¡¯t see what you¡¯re calling Baie Fran?oise."


    "Ah, of course. That¡¯s because it¡¯s an English map. They call it the Bay of Fundy. It¡¯s this body of water separating us from that small part of New England."


    "I see. There are some villages along the coast and rivers. Is that the Marshal¡¯s objective?"


    The colonel smiled strangely, as if he had been waiting for this question.


    "Not exactly, but they are part of his grand plan. Almost all our forces will participate in this operation. These villages, if all goes according to plan, will come under our control. But the Marshal-Duke has a bigger target in mind. Do you see it?"


    Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting to be questioned in this manner. It was indeed unusual to include captains in grand discussions involving strategy, but some were veterans with rich experience of war and the field.


    This was not Adam¡¯s case, yet the colonel seemed intent on testing him.


    He looked at the map again, and gradually his eyes drifted westward, following the coast.


    To the west of Nova Scotia were the British colonies. There seemed to be two provinces¡­ Sagadahoc? I don¡¯t know¡­ Sounds like an Indian name. Province of Massachusets? Province of Main? New Hamppshire and¡­ Oh¡­


    "Boston?"


    The colonel¡¯s smile widened, his eyes narrowing, unaware that Adam was simply surprised at how far north this great American city was located.


    "Indeed. We are going to attack Boston, but not head-on. We must, however, fight like demons to get there, so train your men accordingly so they don¡¯t ruin our plans, Captain."


    "Y-yes, sir!"

 Chapter 116: The Good Omen

    Adam¡¯s company had continued their training sessions, but for the soldiers, these sessions felt more like torture than actual military preparation.


    From morning to night, day after day, they endured physical exercises, target shooting, charges against suspended sandbags, and repeated drills.


    The major difference since the start of their grueling training was the presence of other companies. Those of Jean-Baptiste Gauthier, Albert Fontaine, Andr¨¦ Louis, and Martin Morrel de Lusernes had joined them in what had become their little clearing.


    In total, this brought their numbers to nearly one hundred and eighty men!


    The forty recruits in Boucher¡¯s company were both impressed and intimidated, especially since there was a glaring difference in skill levels.


    Fortunately, the soldiers from the other companies were neither mean nor foolish. On the contrary, following the orders of their respective captains, they showed kindness to help raise the level of these ¡°chicks¡± before they were sent to the battlefield.


    Thanks to this guidance, their skills did improve, albeit over a short period. Still, it wasn¡¯t enough for Adam, who burned with ambition. Almost daily, he shared his drive with his men to bolster their spirits.


    They were so exhausted that they needed a purpose for everything they were doing. They were willing to suffer, but it had to be for a good reason. That¡¯s why Adam told them, time and again, that they had to surpass their comrades if they wanted a chance to stand out in the upcoming battles.


    On March 22, Adam informed them that it would be their last day in Halifax, as they would all board ships the next day. Three-quarters of these vessels were formerly British ships captured over the winter in the Atlantic by Monsieur de Roquefeuille.


    There was no shortage of these, though most were medium- or small-tonnage merchant vessels. In the port and bay, there were brigs and schooners¡ªwhat the English called ¡°schooners¡±¡ªbut there were also warships.


    These were few in number, as most had been sent to Louisbourg for repairs and study. Indeed, this was how the French Royal Navy often improved the quality of its ships.


    The English built good ships, so capturing them was an excellent way to uncover their secrets. Otherwise, one could send spies to their shipyards, which, of course, every great nation did, though it required time and resources.


    On March 23, at dawn, nearly the entire French army was assembled in Halifax. Marshal de Richelieu left only a thousand men behind to defend all of Acadia, relying heavily on the support of the numerous Indians who had settled in the region.


    While the territory seemed secure militarily, the marshal was more concerned about the colonists, whose loyalty was naturally not guaranteed.


    This thousand-strong force was to be fragmented into multiple units and dispersed among the coastal villages to maintain a French military presence in the area.


    The port of Halifax was incredibly lively despite the early hour. It was seven o¡¯clock, and the sun had yet to rise. However, the sky was vibrant on the horizon, signaling that dawn was near.


    Adam stood there, motionless and silent, alongside his officers, waiting for instructions from the colonel, his lieutenant, and the major.


    All around, thousands of soldiers were chatting amongst themselves in a continuous buzz, with only snippets of conversation standing out:


    ¡°Hey! How much longer do we have to wait?!¡±


    ¡°Damn it! Waking up this early was worth it, huh? Ugh, I just want to sleep! Just an hour!¡±


    ¡°¡­so I told her I wanted to spend the night with one girl, not five! Hell, in Germany, the girls were cheaper!¡±


    ¡°Because you paid for them? Ahaha! Why?! You just have to take them by force!¡±


    ¡°I need to go to the latrines! Sergeant? Do I have time for a quick trip?¡±


    ¡°No! You should¡¯ve gone before!¡±


    ¡°But we haven¡¯t moved for at least an hour!¡±


    ¡°Soldier! Is that alcohol? Put that away immediately, or you¡¯ll be flogged!¡±


    In stark contrast to these soldiers, who seemed as excited as children waiting in a never-ending line for a popular attraction at a large park, Adam¡¯s men were strangely silent.


    In reality, they were too tense to chatter or joke. Fear was plainly written on their strained faces.


    Despite their efforts to hide their hands, Adam could see them trembling wildly, as if they were standing naked in the snow.


    They¡¯re scared to death¡­ As they should be. I was like them once. You really can get used to anything, Adam thought, reflecting on all he had endured so far.


    ¡°Captain Boucher?¡± a voice suddenly called behind the officer, pulling him from his thoughts.


    He turned and saw an unfamiliar officer of the same rank, apparently from another regiment. The man had an angular oval face, a long, narrow nose, and large eyes as dark as his tricorne.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Your company will board that ship. Are all your men present?¡±


    ¡°They are, sir. None are missing. We are forty in total.¡±


    ¡°Good. That¡¯s perfect. It¡¯s not very large, but all your men should fit aboard.¡±


    Adam turned slightly toward the quay and spotted a modest two-masted schooner. As the captain had said, it was not an imposing vessel. Barely a dozen men seemed needed to sail it properly.


    With its simple hull, adorned only with a black stripe at gunport level and its twelve cannons¡ªsix on each side¡ªthe ship seemed neither sturdy nor imposing. It was merely a toy compared to the Ocean, but it appeared swift and maneuverable, ideal for trade.


    Its name, inscribed on both the bow and stern, was The Good Omen, though the name hadn¡¯t brought good fortune to its previous crew.


    It¡¯s rather pretty, thought Adam as he imagined it slicing through the waves. I wonder how fast it is once all its sails are deployed?


    ¡°C-Captain? Are we¡­ are we going to have to sail it?¡±


    The question came from Private Petit, a young man similar in age and stature to Adam¡¯s current body. He had broad shoulders and a neck that was both long and slender. A prominent blue vein was visible along the side, and his Adam¡¯s apple protruded conspicuously, as if he¡¯d swallowed a golf ball the wrong way.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Probably not,¡± the officer replied, shaking his head gently so as not to displace his white wig. ¡°But it wouldn¡¯t hurt to observe how the sailors operate it, just in case. Same for the cannons. They came in handy when we crossed the ocean last year.¡±


    ¡°R-really?!¡±


    Private Petit, whose skin was naturally pale, turned even whiter at the thought of naval combat and having to climb the rigging. He was surely imagining dozens of cannonballs descending upon them to sink the ship. If they were to face a ship of the line, whether first or second rate, they truly wouldn¡¯t stand a chance.


    A modest frigate would more than suffice to send them to the bottom, as these ships were very swift and typically armed with around twenty cannons. Designed for hunting, frigates had little to fear from ships of higher rank.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, soldier,¡± the captain said reassuringly. ¡°We won¡¯t be sailing alone. There will almost certainly be several warships escorting us. Now, get ready to board!¡±


    At once, all the recruits within earshot felt a wave of relief wash over them. To them, the sea was an unknown and dangerous domain. They were far more familiar with solid ground, and for three-quarters of them, their livelihood had depended on the land before they signed up for this mission.


    It took no more than a minute for this motley crew to board, but since the Duke of Richelieu was bringing nearly his entire army with him, dozens of ships like The Good Omen were needed. Naturally, given that Halifax¡¯s port was not yet well-developed, the ships intended to serve as cargo vessels had to be loaded one by one¡ªor nearly so.


    The warships and trading vessels were prioritized as they offered more space. Equipment, on the other hand, had already been loaded in preparation for this day.


    It took nearly a full day just to embark the entire French army and leave Halifax¡¯s port. Finally, all the ships unfurled their sails¡ªof various sizes and shapes¡ªleaving behind the now French port, which gradually disappeared from view.


    A steady wind blew from the east, still somewhat cool, a sign that spring had not fully set in.


    Adam took a deep breath and positioned himself next to the captain of the ship, who was, in reality, merely a midshipman transferred from a warship positioned slightly ahead in this impressive fleet of several hundred sails.


    Despite being only sixteen years old, the boy held the wheel firmly, as if his life depended on it, and seemed competent. Adam had been assured that the lad knew what he was doing, having spent several years aboard warships.


    In a brief exchange, Adam learned that the boy had enlisted as a garde-marine before becoming an ensign in 1757. He was also surrounded by promising young officers and skilled sailors.


    For them, this mission was a precious opportunity to gain experience and autonomy, as they found themselves effectively in command of a ship, even if it was a small one, incomparable to the vessels they would one day hope to lead.


    ¡°Captain,¡± Adam began without preamble, ¡°do you know how long it will take us to reach our destination?¡±


    The teenager, the same age as Adam before arriving in this body but who seemed far more mature, briefly glanced at his white-clad interlocutor before quickly returning his attention to what lay ahead and around them.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been informed of our destination,¡± he replied after a brief silence, ¡°so I couldn¡¯t estimate how long it will take. According to my father, it will take four or five days to round Acadia and cross the bay. After that, depending on where the marshal intends to strike, it¡¯ll take longer.¡±


    Adam simply nodded, as it was highly improbable that someone so young would be privy to the plans of the French army¡¯s commander-in-chief in New France.


    As a captain, Adam had only received scraps of information about what lay ahead. But scraps were better than nothing.


    Adam¡¯s light blue eyes rested on the horizon, a sharp line in the distance where the sea and sky¡ªmore gray than blue¡ªmet. Far off in that direction lay land: barely exploited English territories, much like those of New France.


    On the other side, there was only the vast Atlantic Ocean.


    Hmm¡­ Looks like there¡¯s heavy rain over there. I hope we won¡¯t encounter bad weather during the crossing or the operation. It¡¯s already going to be complicated enough.


    ¡°How long do you think it would take to reach Boston?¡±


    ¡°Boston?!¡±


    The midshipman¡¯s long, cavalry-saber-like brown eyebrow shot up dramatically as he fixed his passenger with astonishment.


    From his perspective, this man was both his superior and his elder. Although they belonged to different branches of the military, enseigne de vaisseau de Co?tnempren de Kersaint could hardly show disrespect.


    Though dressed similarly to his men, Adam displayed an elegant powdered wig that must have been quite costly and carried a remarkable sword, which had likely taken countless hours of work by a master blacksmith.


    One could read the doubts on his face as soon as the name of the great British colonial city was mentioned, for he immediately assumed that this man with strikingly blue eyes had information that he did not.


    "I¡¯m just curious, that¡¯s all," Adam responded quickly, realizing he had been too direct with this young boy who could have been an ordinary classmate in another life.


    ¡°I¡­ I have no idea,¡± admitted the boy. ¡°Uh¡­ One moment, please. I think it¡¯s marked on this map. Ah, here it is. Let¡¯s see...¡±


    Guy-Armand Simon de Co?tnempren de Kersaint, or simply Armand de Kersaint, leaned over a recent map¡ªvery different from the one shown to him by the Marquis de Br¨¦hant as this one was more suited for sailors¡ªand fiddled with a few wooden and metal instruments.


    Adam watched him work in silence, waiting for the boy to complete his calculations.


    "If this map is accurate," Armand de Kersaint said confidently after a few minutes, "Boston is about a week away from Halifax. Of course, many factors must be considered, such as winds, ocean currents, and the composition of the convoy. This timeframe could extend by two or three days if conditions are poor."


    ¡°I see. Thank you, Captain.¡±


    The boy fixed Adam with a look, still filled with doubt, but eventually nodded.


    It felt strange to him to be called by that rank, as he was acutely aware of his inexperience tied to his youth. He didn¡¯t deserve to be addressed this way, just as a minor officer couldn¡¯t rightly be called a general simply for leading a troop.


    He was just a student learning his role as an officer. He had only just begun his long journey, one laid out by his father, Guy-Fran?ois de Co?tnempren de Kersaint. The latter was a captain aboard the Intr¨¦pide.


    From his perspective, and it was only logical, his father was the only one who truly deserved to be called "captain."


    Yet this officer¡ªan infantry captain¡ªdidn¡¯t seem to mock him by using the title. In fact, he appeared to treat him as an equal.


    Armand de Kersaint was unaware, as they hadn¡¯t spoken enough to share their lives, but compared to him, he had a major advantage that placed him higher in the hierarchy: he was noble.


    His father, Guy-Fran?ois de Co?tnempren de Kersaint, was the Count of Kersaint. While they weren¡¯t among the kingdom¡¯s great nobles, bound by blood to the royal family, their lineage was ancient, tracing back to the Crusades!


    Like the young Armand, the Count of Kersaint had joined the navy at a very young age. If all went as planned, he would one day become a ship''s lieutenant, then captain. Perhaps, if he proved talented enough and no misfortune befell him, he might, after many years of service, be entrusted with commanding a squadron to face the English across the seas and secure trade routes.


    For now, he was nothing more than a noble Breton son learning to command a ship.


    ¡°D-do you think we¡¯re really going to Boston?¡± he finally asked, unable to keep his curiosity and anxiety bottled up any longer.


    ¡°That¡¯s the Marshal¡¯s objective,¡± Adam admitted, lowering his voice after ensuring no one was nearby. ¡°But from what I know¡ªand it¡¯s all I know¡ªhis intention is not to attack the city head-on.¡±


    ¡°Phew!¡±


    The young captain cracked a small smile of amusement as he watched the boy suddenly relax. From his perspective, it couldn¡¯t be so complicated. After all, they had landed near Louisbourg while it was under siege, crushed the valiant British army, and later made a landing in winter to capture Halifax, which they had managed to do in less than a day.


    The trainee naval officer seemed so terrified at the thought of attacking Boston that Adam found his reaction endearing.


    What he didn¡¯t know was that Boston, with its 15,000 inhabitants, was one of the most important cities in the British colonies, far more developed than Quebec or Montreal. While Philadelphia and New York were ahead, that didn¡¯t mean Boston was to be taken lightly!


    A high population also meant a significant garrison and well-equipped batteries.


    The young de Kersaint had very good reasons to feel relieved.


    Adam thought he saw in this boy a reflection of who he had been when he first awakened in this body, completely lost and terrified at the prospect of battle. He had changed so much in so little time that he felt like a completely different person.


    This thought now terrified him more than the idea of killing strangers simply because they wore different uniforms and fought under another flag. He feared becoming unrecognizable when he finally returned home, to his own time, and that he wouldn¡¯t be able to adjust to modern comfort¡ªor even peace.


    As though trying to reassure this younger version of himself, Adam couldn¡¯t help but offer an encouraging word to the boy, who, like so many others, he felt shouldn¡¯t be in a war zone.


    ¡°We¡¯ll probably land in an undefended area, and you¡¯ll likely depart right away to chase down English ships in these waters. I¡¯m not sure what exactly the Marshal has planned, but you¡¯ll probably be blockading Boston without getting close to it, so there¡¯s no need to worry.¡±

 Chapter 117: The British Colonies

    The squadron of Roquefeuille, carrying the impressive troops of Marshal de Richelieu, crossed the Bay of Fundy in five days thanks to favorable winds, and nothing could prevent their landing.


    The chosen location was ideal: a long beach within a bay. While the bay itself was not very deep¡ªfar from an ideal spot for a fleet to anchor¡ªRoquefeuille¡¯s goal was not to remain there.


    All he needed to do was unload Richelieu¡¯s men and the supplies necessary to carry out the grand plan conceived over the winter.


    This bay was flanked by two rivers, the left one being the wider of the two. Along this river lay a small village named Biddeford.


    It was the first village to fall into French hands. The inhabitants were powerless, unable even to voice complaints against the overwhelming force of the French army.


    Marshal Richelieu¡¯s men were so numerous that even if they decided to take everything, the villagers could only weep in silence.


    To the great relief of the young recruits in Boucher¡¯s company, this first step was a resounding success without a single shot being fired. However, witnessing the heartbreaking capture of the village dealt a heavy blow to morale. It served as a stark reminder that war did not solely affect soldiers.


    ¡°C-Captain,¡± stammered Private Petit hesitantly, ¡°are¡­ are we really allowed to do this? I mean¡­ I know they¡¯re English colonists, but¡­¡±


    Adam looked at Private Petit, fully understanding his sentiment. He shared the feeling. Before becoming a soldier, Adam had been a settler in New France. He had more in common with these humble people, struggling to make ends meet day by day, than with many of King Louis XV¡¯s ordinary subjects.


    ¡°Allowed? Legally, we can do many things in times of war. Morally, that¡¯s another matter. Killing is wrong, condemned by both God and man. Yet, it¡¯s what we soldiers do. We¡¯re even paid to do it. Kill enough Englishmen, and you¡¯ll be rewarded. You might even be treated like a hero. To our enemies, we are already guilty."


    "So, we can do whatever we want as long as no officer forbids it? Is that what war is?"


    "Welcome to the real world. Take a good look at these officers. They¡¯re so well-dressed, they speak so courteously to each other, exchanging pleasantries¡ªeven with the enemy if they share the same rank. But in truth, their hands are no cleaner than yours or mine. War is ugly, and we¡¯re encouraged to do things that everyone would condemn in peacetime. What¡¯s happening in this village, we¡¯ve done hundreds, thousands of times in Germany. The English do the same, and so do the Spanish. Everyone does.¡±


    Adam saw that the soldier was feeling deeply guilty, but it was essential for him, as well as all the other recruits, to understand now that there was nothing heroic or beautiful about war. The sooner they learned this lesson, the easier the rest of the war would be.


    Otherwise, they would all drown in guilt and alcohol to escape their self-loathing.


    ¡°I think war has always been this way. Kings change, strategies change, weapons change, battlefields change, but some things will never change, even a thousand years from now. Civilians will continue to suffer, go hungry, fall ill, and die.¡±


    ¡°Is¡­ is there really no other way?¡±


    ¡°If there was even one, don¡¯t you think we¡¯d use it?¡±


    The soldier grimaced at his powerlessness and said nothing. He eventually nodded and stepped back, keeping his eyes on the village of Biddeford as it was looted.


    Yet there was nothing of great value there. But for the inhabitants, it was their home. Every item taken was a fragment of their lives.


    Adam did not intervene to stop the pillaging and watched as the marshal discussed plans with a few officers around a map spread out on an improvised table, weighed down at the corners to keep it from blowing away. Indeed, strong gusts of wind made the tall grass near the Saco River sway.


    The young captain was joined by Colonel de Br¨¦hant, whose expression was unusually serious.


    ¡°My colonel? Is something wrong?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing serious, Captain. We¡¯re a bit farther north than planned.¡±


    ¡°Will this affect His Grace the Marshal¡¯s plans?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so, but we¡¯ll need to march quickly, roughly following the coastline. Fortunately, there appear to be decent roads here connecting the villages.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a relief. It would be disastrous if we had to carve a path through the woods with all this equipment, especially the cannons.¡±


    The colonel nodded, watching a small group of soldiers laboriously place a heavy black cannon onto its wooden carriage, mounted on small wheels.


    ¡°Fortunately, that¡¯s not the case, but we¡¯d do it if we had to. According to our maps, there are three villages before our initial objective: Arundel, Wells, and York.¡±


    ¡°So, our initial target was nearby?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. We believe we can reach it in two days. Perhaps three, as there¡¯s a wide river there that will likely require a detour to find a narrower crossing point.¡±


    ¡°I understand. Will we set off today, or wait until tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s precisely what¡¯s being discussed right now. The conditions here are not bad; we could very well stay to unload everything and set out tomorrow. Alternatively, we could send a few companies ahead as an advance guard to prepare for our arrival and scout the terrain.¡±


    As Colonel de Br¨¦hant had announced, Richelieu¡¯s army resumed its march on the morning of March 29 and entered Arundel, Wells, and York without encountering any major resistance. Calling them villages was quite generous, as they were little more than a handful of buildings and a few fields.


    York had some infrastructure dedicated to the fur trade, but there was nothing of note there.


    The marshal¡¯s initial objective lay a little farther ahead, across a wide river. It was Portsmouth.


    The road leading to this town stopped abruptly at the riverbank, and naturally, the inhabitants had moved all the ferries to their side, making it impossible to cross directly.


    It wouldn¡¯t change the outcome, but it had bought them enough time to flee from the French army.


    The French forces advanced north along the river like a long serpent, eventually fording it thirteen kilometers from its mouth. In doing so, they entered the province of New Hampshire.


    However, they encountered a bay at this location, which they had to skirt around, causing further delays for the French troops.


    While a significant part of the marshal¡¯s forces moved toward Exeter, located slightly farther west, Fran?ois¡¯ company and several others were tasked with taking control of Portsmouth.


    Upon arrival, Adam and his comrades realized that the marshal had overestimated the importance of this community, assuming there would be many inhabitants to subdue and possibly some form of resistance.


    Hmm, looks like they¡¯ve all fled... Not surprising.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Adam observed his soldiers as they began to enter the village.


    They seem torn about how to feel. They don¡¯t know whether to be frustrated or relieved.


    ¡°Captain Boucher, I see some houses over there. Send a few men to search them.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    Adam ordered his company to follow him along the narrow dirt road that ran alongside the river, almost to the sea. At the end of the path, they found two small wooden houses, beautifully crafted and well-built.


    A few aromatic and medicinal plants had been planted nearby, and the soil was prepared for sowing.


    ¡°Wow! This house is incredible!¡± exclaimed Tournier, one of Adam¡¯s soldiers, from behind him.


    His comrades shared the sentiment, their eyes shining with admiration.


    ¡°Good grief! If only I could live in a house like this!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s huge!¡±


    ¡°The interior is amazing too,¡± said Private Petit, peeking through a window partially covered by a white curtain.


    ¡°Search the house. Lieutenant Marais, take ten men and check the house across the way. Same for you, Lieutenant Laroche.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± replied the two officers in unison.


    Adam pushed open the wooden door of the large house, one hand resting on his pistol, ready to draw it if needed.


    The house was indeed stunning, three or four notches above the finest homes in Louisbourg, Halifax, or Quebec, despite being entirely made of wood. It was evident that whoever had built it had put considerable effort into its construction.


    Looks like a luxury chalet! I wonder how much it would cost to build something like this.


    Deeply impressed, Adam and his men entered the eerily silent house. The sound of their footsteps on the wooden floor was the only noise apart from the wind rattling the windows.


    In the main room, the fireplace was cold. The walls were adorned with numerous hunting trophies, including antlers from various deer. A stunningly lifelike stuffed fox stood poised as if caught off guard by a predator.


    Its large eyes seemed to stare directly at the intruders.


    The soldiers in Boucher¡¯s company, seemingly affected by the strange atmosphere, suddenly fell silent, as if they had entered the lair of a bear. They even appeared to be trying to move as quietly as possible.


    What¡¯s with this vibe? Feels like we¡¯re in a horror movie, Adam thought as he stepped into a room filled with potted plants.


    The plants were of all kinds¡ªdifferent shapes, sizes, and colors. Each pot seemed to house a unique plant. Some were tall, making the room feel crowded, while others were as small as a baby¡¯s hand.


    Curious, Adam leaned closer to a particularly colorful plant that appeared to have just bloomed a few hours earlier. He was surprised by its scent.


    It was like walking through a vast flower field in the middle of summer.


    He didn¡¯t linger in the room and retraced his steps. Three of his men were already on the massive wooden staircase leading upstairs. Adam decided to follow them, but as he was about to reach the top, a gunshot rang out, freezing everyone in the building.


    Bang!


    ¡°Argh!¡±


    ¡°Watch out! There¡¯s someone here!¡± a soldier shouted from upstairs.


    Shit!


    ¡°Luc¡¯s hit! He¡¯s bleeding badly! We need help!¡±


    ¡°Damn it! Everyone, get over here! Weapons ready! We¡¯re not alone! How many enemies?!¡±


    ¡°I... I don¡¯t know!¡±


    Bang!


    A second gunshot echoed down the hallway upstairs, and a lead ball struck the wooden wall opposite a door that had just been opened.


    Damn, damn, damn! Just our luck!


    ¡°Stay behind cover! We¡¯re on our way!¡±


    ¡°Captain! Luc¡¯s dead!¡± shouted Private Petit, his eyes brimming with tears, his body trembling.


    ¡°Get him downstairs! We need more room!¡±


    Adam pressed his back against the wooden wall separating the room where the enemy was hiding from the hallway and cocked his pistol. Carefully, he peeked without exposing himself, but all he could see was a wallpapered wall and a small piece of furniture.


    ¡°Try to find a mirror! I want to see who we¡¯re dealing with!¡±


    A few minutes later, the young captain was handed what he had asked for. Slowly, he moved the mirror in front of the room¡¯s entrance and adjusted its angle.


    It¡¯s a bedroom, but everything¡¯s overturned to make a shelter. Damn, he knew we were coming and got ready.


    In the reflection, Adam spotted the barrel of a musket. Behind it stood a massive old man, as big as a mountain, with long snow-white hair and a thick beard.


    He looked a bit like Santa Claus¡ªexcept he was armed and didn¡¯t seem to be dressed in red.


    Bang!


    The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces, and a shard lodged itself in Adam¡¯s left hand. Hot blood, as red as a British uniform, began to flow from the wound, though he felt no pain.


    He could move it perfectly fine.


    Without showing any emotion, Adam pulled out the shard and let it fall to the floor.


    ¡°He¡¯s alone, and he¡¯s an old man!¡±


    Curiously, no soldier felt reassured by this new information. That old man had already killed one of their own and seemed determined to fight to the end.


    I¡¯ll try reasoning with him; it¡¯s worth a shot.


    ¡°Hey, old man, why don¡¯t you put down your weapon? You¡¯re all alone, and there are forty of us!¡±


    ¡°In your dreams, boy!¡± the old man shouted from his barricade in heavily accented English, so thick it sounded like a different language.


    ¡°Why resist? You¡¯re going to die for nothing!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m certainly going to die, but I¡¯ll take a few of you with me! You shouldn¡¯t have set foot in my house!¡±


    ¡°We can burn it down with you inside, old-timer!¡±


    ¡°Y-you!¡±


    The old man¡¯s fury made his voice shake. His face turned purple, making his hair and beard appear even whiter.


    ¡°Be reasonable! Surrender without causing trouble!¡±


    All Adam received in return was a long torrent of insults, most of which were entirely foreign and incomprehensible, even with his level of English. It was as if the man had begun cursing him.


    ¡°C-captain? What¡­ what do we do?¡±


    ¡°Shut up! I¡¯m thinking!¡±


    OK, OK¡­ He¡¯s not going to surrender, and we couldn¡¯t care less about this house. Fine, I¡¯ll do what I said.


    ¡°Search the rest of the house. Leave the upstairs alone. When you¡¯re done, set it on fire.¡±


    ¡°C-captain?!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me repeat myself, Private Petit.¡±


    The soldiers looked at their captain in fear as he walked away and returned to the ground floor. It took them several long seconds to find the strength to move.


    Adam was fully aware of the gravity of the act he was about to commit, but he was responsible for his men. Their lives were at stake, and he couldn¡¯t endanger them simply to take control of a house¡ªor rather, an upstairs room.


    This house wasn¡¯t strategic. Neither was Portsmouth. So, it could be destroyed.


    As for the old man, likely too stubborn to abandon his home like the rest of the town¡¯s inhabitants, it was unfortunate, but he was going to die without achieving anything.


    Adam entered the living room again and sat on a wooden chair as if he were at home. He looked around, observing each of the hunting trophies one by one.


    This old man is quite the hunter. As I thought, we have no choice. I can¡¯t take any risks; he¡¯s too dangerous.


    ¡°Sir, we found nothing.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    The soldier gave him a conflicted look, hesitating to voice his opinion.


    ¡°Get everyone out. I¡¯ll go talk to the old man and try to convince him¡­ or at least I¡¯ll try.¡±


    The soldier¡¯s eyes subtly changed. He hoped his captain could persuade the man because, even though he was an enemy and had killed one of their comrades, he didn¡¯t want to burn the old man alive.


    Adam made no effort to be stealthy on the stairs. On the contrary, he seemed to deliberately warn the old man of his approach.


    Where Private Luc Brisson had been killed, blood stained the wooden floor. There was a lot of it. The planks were becoming sticky now, though they had been slippery just moments ago.


    ¡°Come on if you dare, you filthy French bastard! I¡¯m waiting for you, and I¡¯ve got a whole arsenal!¡±


    Adam let out a deep sigh.


    ¡°You really won¡¯t surrender, will you?¡±


    ¡°You got that right! Get out of my house, now!¡±


    ¡°You killed one of my men, and from what I¡¯ve seen, you¡¯re a good hunter. You¡¯re a threat, old man. I shouldn¡¯t let you live.¡±


    Adam fell silent, still hesitating to cross the line he had set for himself. This man was old but not a soldier. He had killed many, but always in combat.


    Here, it would be murder.


    If he crossed that line, there would be no turning back. The more he thought about it, the less he recognized himself.


    What am I doing?! What am I becoming?!


    Adam wanted to slap himself back to his senses.


    ¡°Why... why won¡¯t you surrender? Why are you so eager to die? It¡¯s stupid,¡± the young man groaned. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you leave with the others?¡±


    ¡°Are you stupid or what, kid? This is my home! I built this house with my own hands! It¡¯s my entire life! And you think I¡¯m going to abandon it that easily? I don¡¯t want to die, but I won¡¯t let some damn Frenchman set foot in here! If you want to burn it down, go ahead, but there¡¯s no way I¡¯m leaving!¡±


    The young officer felt his energy draining fast, as if he were taking an extremely difficult exam. He sighed once more.


    ¡°I see... I understand better now,¡± Adam murmured in French before continuing in English. ¡°Hey, old man, we intend to take over this whole region. Are you going to take up arms to stop us?¡±


    ¡°What?! What did you say? Take the region? Hah! You¡¯ll get your asses kicked by the Redcoats soon enough. Why would I bother? And besides, I¡¯m way too old for that! Thirty years ago, maybe, but now... I¡¯m out.¡±


    Adam let out a sigh of relief and nodded.


    ¡°Very well. In that case, we¡¯re leaving.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Adam didn¡¯t prolong the exchange, as if afraid he might change his mind again. He would likely be reprimanded later for not assaulting the house and eliminating this man. He would certainly be criticized for his lack of bravery.


    Without another word, he left the house and found his company waiting outside the front door. The body of Private Brisson lay under a bloodstained white sheet, revealing only its shape.


    All the soldiers were gathered and awaiting their captain¡¯s orders. Fear was plainly visible, and for the first time in his life, Adam realized that the fear was directed at him.


    He didn¡¯t like that feeling.


    ¡°Soldiers, we¡¯re leaving. Let¡¯s regroup with the others.¡±


    ¡°C-Captain,¡± a young sergeant ventured, ¡°what about the house? And the old man?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re doing nothing. I¡¯ll take full responsibility. Form up.¡±

 Chapter 118: Governor Wentworth

    Adam stood before Colonel de Br¨¦hant in a house in Exeter. The main room was spacious but far inferior to the grand house the young captain had visited the day before.


    All the houses in this village were now occupied by officers of the army, the finest one having naturally become the headquarters and the residence of the marshal.


    Adam stood very straight, his black and gold tricorne tucked under his arm, waiting anxiously for his superior to address him.


    Being summoned, he knew he would be reprimanded for his actions the day before. He had barely slept the previous night, troubled by what had happened and what he had almost done.


    That old British settler from Portsmouth had killed one of his men, and yet he was still alive.


    For hours, Adam had wrestled with the issue in his mind without reaching a satisfying conclusion.


    He hadn¡¯t killed the old man, so he hadn¡¯t crossed the red line he had set for himself, but neither had he avenged his subordinate.


    He knew his men were terribly divided. Most seemed to disagree with his decision, including his two lieutenants.


    To them, this old man was, above all, an enemy¡ªnot just because he was a British settler but because he was armed. He should not have been treated any differently from a redcoat and should have been shot down like a dog.


    Others, however, approved of the captain¡¯s decision, believing that killing a civilian, even an armed one, was unacceptable because, deep down, he was only protecting his home. Certainly, they would have done exactly the same in the reverse situation.


    Their parents would have done so, without a doubt.


    The colonel let out a deep sigh as he set down the sheet of paper in his hands. It was Adam¡¯s report, along with that of Captain Briscard, a man of the same generation as Captain Gilbert and Captain Fontaine.


    Although Adam and Louis-Philippe Briscard were both captains, the latter outranked the former in seniority, which naturally made him the superior officer during the capture of Portsmouth.


    ¡°Captain Boucher, when I recommended you for your rank, I thought you were ready. I thought you could command a troop. Now, I have doubts. Tell me, Captain, did I make a mistake?¡±


    ¡°N-no, Colonel!¡±


    ¡°Yet one of your men is dead, and his killer is still alive. What message do you think this sends to your men?¡±


    Adam tried not to avert his gaze but couldn¡¯t help lowering his eyes under the overwhelming presence of his commander.


    ¡°Anyone who takes up arms against us is our enemy, correct?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°That this enemy may have good reasons to take up arms is irrelevant. What matters, Captain, are actions. This man was an enemy. He killed one of your soldiers and should have paid for his crime with his life. Your act of kindness, though noble, has sown discord within your unit.¡±


    But¡­ what else could I have done?! Burn him alive with his house?! Attack at the risk of losing another of my men?!


    Adam remained silent and frowned slightly, allowing Colonel de Br¨¦hant to imagine what his young subordinate was thinking.


    ¡°Captain, your duty is to fight and defend His Majesty¡¯s interests. By refusing to do what was necessary, you showed weakness. Hesitation¡ªa terrible evil with dire consequences¡ªis something I shouldn¡¯t have to explain to you after all we¡¯ve endured since our departure. We teach our soldiers to be strong, not to falter when the time comes to attack. But what happens when the commander himself hesitates?¡±


    The captain bit his lower lip and lowered his eyes and shoulders further, burdened by the reprimand.


    ¡°An army of sheep led by a lion is worth more than an army of lions led by a sheep, Captain. Keep that in mind. I don¡¯t want to read this kind of report again. Am I understood?¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, Colonel. I¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want excuses, Captain. I want actions. I asked if I made myself clear.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Colonel.¡±


    ¡°Good. In that case, that will be all. You may go.¡±


    Adam bowed with the respect owed to his superior and placed his tricorne back on his head before leaving the room.


    His thoughts in turmoil, he stopped in front of the small wooden and stone house, facing the muddy street. It was so lively that one might have thought a fair was taking place in Exeter.


    But there were only soldiers, and not a single woman in sight. As in Portsmouth, the inhabitants had fled at the sight of the French army. Those who had stayed¡ªvery few¡ªhad been driven out like beggars, forced to abandon all their belongings.


    Adam, standing still as if petrified, felt like crying. Even though he had said he would no longer show weakness before the enemy, deep down, he still believed he had made the right choice.


    It might not have been the right one for Fran?ois Boucher¡¯s career, but for Adam, who wanted to return to the 21st century without becoming a war criminal, what he had done was the only acceptable choice.


    It was very strange because when P¡¯tit Pol had been killed entering a house in Halifax, he hadn¡¯t hesitated and had killed the attacker. Like this old man, it was just a civilian trying to defend his home.


    So, what was the difference?


    Had he not hesitated that day because he acted on impulse? Because it was P¡¯tit Pol and not some low-ranking soldier whose story he only knew from reading his file? Because he had just come out of a battle, whereas here he had had time to think?


    Perhaps he would have made a different choice if he hadn¡¯t taken the time to reflect before acting?


    Almost up until the last moment, he had intended to burn that beautiful house with its occupant inside.


    This thought terrified him, as Adam sincerely believed he would never be capable of committing such a horrible crime. He wasn¡¯t good at history, but he still had basic knowledge, particularly regarding the Second World War.


    Was there a difference between what he had almost done and what the German army had done in Europe during those years?


    The uniforms were different, as were the weapons and nationalities, but a war crime remained a war crime.


    Yes, I definitely did the right thing. Never mind if I disappointed the colonel, as long as I can still look at myself in the mirror! I wouldn¡¯t change a thing!


    He only learned later that while he was speaking with Colonel de Br¨¦hant, an assault had been launched on the large house at the southern edge of Portsmouth. The attack was commanded by Captain Briscard.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The old man had mounted a heroic but futile resistance, as he was killed within seconds. He managed to kill three men¡ªone with a musket dating back to King George¡¯s War from a window, and the other two with a pair of pistols while defending his room, the same room where he had bid farewell to his wife ten years earlier.


    The old man, with his Santa Claus-like appearance, was not just an ordinary hunter; he was a former British army soldier who had fought the French as well as the Indians on the frontier during three wars.


    ***


    The landing of French troops on the British shores of the American colonies had quickly been noticed and reported to local authorities. It was as if the French took perverse pleasure in flaunting their audacity, without even attempting to conceal their intentions.


    Their methodical but slow advance spread panic among the colonists, from the Canadian border to the heart of Massachusetts, Maine, and New Hampshire. Colonists fled their farms and villages in droves, seeking refuge in the nearest towns.


    The British colonies, though united under the Crown¡¯s banner, operated as almost independent entities. Each governor ruled his province as a colonel would command his regiment, meticulously maintaining order and ensuring the prosperity of his territory.


    Though they all shared a common army, recognizable by their famous red coats, this union was merely a fa?ade. Divisions ran deep, and each province prioritized its own interests above all.


    Some viewed this system as detrimental to the defense of these territories and advocated for a merger of the colonies, at least those in the north. But for the authorities, guardians of order on behalf of Parliament and His Majesty, this arrangement was necessary to control such a vast territory.


    Thus, what happened in the north, from the southern provinces'' perspective, was the north''s problem.


    Even if it were otherwise, they had their own issues, notably with the Spanish, who encouraged slaves in British territories to revolt and kill their masters. They even promised them freedom!


    This insidious strategy was effective, and reports of bloody tragedies in Georgia plantations and even some in the Carolinas further north were becoming more frequent. Newspapers relayed horrific accounts of burned homes and massacred white families.


    This forced masters to be harsher to deter their slaves from following suit, and it was said that in the countryside, it was not uncommon to see Black people executed to send a clear message. When a plantation rebelled and white blood was spilled, Black blood would soon flow.


    All slaves who didn¡¯t flee were immediately condemned, and an even more horrible fate awaited those who fled but were caught attempting to cross into Florida.


    Despite the risks, increasing numbers tried their luck. Some even joined the Spanish army to exact revenge on plantation owners.


    In the north, this issue didn¡¯t exist, at least not yet, as France didn¡¯t offer freedom to slaves in British territories.


    In any case, there weren¡¯t that many in the region.


    The province of New Hampshire, separated from Massachusetts since 1741, wedged between this province, which sought nothing more than to absorb it, the wilderness, and New France, was on the front lines.


    It had prospered at the expense of Indian peoples and its neighbors, notably the province of New York, its great rival.


    The governor of New Hampshire was very proud of this. His name was Benning Wentworth, the son of John Wentworth, who had also been governor of this province in his time.


    The son, like the father, was an ambitious man who didn¡¯t hesitate to use his connections to enrich himself and favor his close allies.


    This man, ruthless to his enemies, also made his friends tremble. Everyone knew that with him, the slightest mistake could be fatal. They could lose everything overnight, with just a snap of his fingers.


    To stay in power and grow wealthy, one had to maintain good relations with this man, which meant always defending and serving his interests.


    In neighboring provinces, people knew what he was doing, how he remained in power, and the harm he caused. But he gave the right people what they needed. The Crown was satisfied with the results, as the province prospered, and it benefited too.


    With him in charge, the province was under control, which was why his methods were overlooked.


    But the French had arrived on his turf, in his province, and threatened to take everything from him.


    His anger was immense, all the more so because this wasn¡¯t his first humiliation. The raids carried out by Marshal Richelieu, nicknamed the Old Rogue, had been a slap in the face that cost him dearly.


    His outrageous actions had tarnished his prestige, but this time the threat seemed far graver. Villages under his jurisdiction were falling one after another, and his authority was faltering. Colonists now doubted his ability to defend them and began questioning his legitimacy.


    Wentworth decided to take matters into his own hands and drive the invading army off his land without calling on other governors in the region, especially not those of New York and Massachusetts.


    He mobilized all the redcoats stationed in his province, which he considered his personal guard.


    But knowing this wouldn¡¯t suffice, he called on militiamen and mercenaries to bolster his forces. Money, he believed, could solve any problem¡ªit was just a matter of knowing who to pay and how much.


    Under his command, they left Rumford on the morning of April 8 and headed toward Exeter. As his troop advanced, its ranks swelled, eventually surpassing two thousand men. Every village they passed through saw a few men join the effort to defend the province against the vile French.


    But in Exeter, they found an army in formation, ready for battle, far larger than their own, and even equipped with artillery¡ªa luxury he did not have. They even had a small cavalry unit!


    He felt, as did the rest of his men, a tremendous pressure descend upon him. Yet, in his stubbornness, he decided to engage in battle anyway, as retreating would make him the laughingstock of the world.


    ***


    ¡°Fix bayonets!¡± Adam ordered, standing at the head of his troops in the front line.


    With a tinge of anxiety, as this would be his first battle as a captain, he tightened his grip on the sword he had drawn.


    The sound of drums and flutes carried on the wind, muffled in his ears as though played underwater. The wind was moderately strong, and the sky was uniformly gray, though it wasn¡¯t raining¡ªat least, not yet.


    The regiment''s flags, red with a white cross, fluttered and snapped nearby as they waited for the enemy to approach.


    The terrain favored the French as long as they held their positions. In front of them lay a sort of hollow that would allow the French cavalry to wreak havoc as soon as the enemy descended into it, even though the height difference wasn¡¯t significant.


    The cannons had been positioned to strike the enemy no matter where they advanced. The officers adjusted their angles and opened fire on the marshal''s order.


    With remarkable precision, the cannonballs whistled through the air and landed with a tremendous crash among the enemy ranks.


    Quickly, gaps appeared, and chaos ensued, but the enemy lines continued advancing.


    As soon as the cannons were reloaded, still smoking, they fired again. The deafening blasts shook the air, sending chills down the spines of the young recruits behind Adam, and shortly after, loud screams echoed in the distance.


    From where he stood, Adam could see bodies being shredded, smashed, pulverized. But the enemy was numerous and kept advancing, as they had no other choice.


    The French didn¡¯t need to move¡ªthey had the advantage. They only had to wait until the enemy was within musket range, which eventually happened.


    ¡°Prepare your weapons!¡±


    Adam''s soldiers took their positions as they had during drills, with the first rank kneeling and the two ranks behind standing upright.


    Come on, don''t fail me now!


    "En joue!"


    They raised their weapons in the direction of the enemy, who had just fired a volley.


    "Fire!"


    An impressive discharge echoed in Adam''s right ear, and a thick white cloud formed, quickly carried away by the wind.


    Adam and his soldiers noticed that two of their men were wounded, but none had died in this initial exchange. Both injured men had been hit by bullets, but the distance between the two forces was so great that their wounds could be considered minor.


    With some time, they''ll be back on their feet with only a small scar. They¡¯ll have something to brag about, Adam thought as he issued the next orders.


    After a moment, slightly longer than ideal despite their training¡ªthough still much improved compared to the beginning¡ªtheir weapons were once again ready.


    "En joue! Feu!"


    Another round of gunfire rang out, and another white cloud of gunpowder residue formed in front of the barrels. With the enemy having moved closer to inflict more damage, they also suffered heavier losses.


    The exchanges continued for several long minutes, after which there was a rotation. Adam¡¯s company fell back, making room for a fresh unit.


    Adam''s soldiers were able to rest a bit and mentally prepare for what was to come.


    They were shaken by what they had done; some even began to vomit.


    It was natural, as they had just experienced their first taste of a battlefield. They had fired at living men, not innocent wooden and canvas targets.


    Yet, in reality, this battle was not particularly impressive. Adam had seen battles in Europe involving far more soldiers, and veterans of the War of Austrian Succession had witnessed even greater ones, with lines stretching for kilometers.


    For them, this battle was insignificant.


    When it was once again Captain Boucher¡¯s company¡¯s turn to take the front line, the situation had drastically changed. The enemy was suffering heavy losses, partly because they were being hit by artillery fire from three directions.


    Their lines were in complete disarray, and more than one unit had already fled after sustaining severe losses.


    Eventually, the pressure became too much, and the enemy¡¯s lines collapsed. Like hunting dogs, the small cavalry units commanded by Marshal de Richelieu descended upon them.


    Meanwhile, the infantry lines advanced in good order, bayonets at the ready.


    The enemy was defeated in less than four hours, leaving behind a significant number of dead and wounded. Governor Benning Wentworth was among them, struck by a cannonball in the chest after it had taken off the head of his horse.

 Chapter 119: The Settlers

    Boston was under immense strain. The tension in the air was so thick it seemed to drive people mad.


    As days passed, more and more colonists sought refuge in the large city. Some traveled great distances to escape the French.


    They appeared so destitute that it would take a heart of stone to turn them away.


    They sought safety, which was entirely natural, but Boston lacked vacant housing and was far from abundant in resources. The city quickly became overcrowded, plunging the newcomers into severe hardship.


    Authorities did their best, but if nothing changed soon, they would quickly be overwhelmed by events.


    George Townshend, the highest-ranking officer in the city, did what he could with resources he deemed insufficient to maintain order, increasing both day and night patrols.


    Late, through refugees, he learned that the governor of New Hampshire, Benning Wentworth, had raised a substantial force to drive back or at least halt the French advance.


    Unfortunately, Wentworth hadn¡¯t coordinated with him.


    They could have acted together, pooling their forces and strategizing.


    Instead, Wentworth acted alone and failed alone. Reports indicated that the Battle of Exeter, as it was already being called, had turned into a massacre.


    Witness accounts described how the fight quickly tilted in favor of the French, who had superior numbers.


    The battlefield descended into chaos. Yet Wentworth had insisted on pressing forward.


    A large number of soldiers and militiamen were killed or went missing. Townshend had no precise casualty figures yet, nor did he know Wentworth''s fate.


    Even before these grim reports arrived, Townshend had begun recruiting volunteers en masse.


    By the time news of Wentworth¡¯s defeat reached Boston, Townshend had gathered nearly three thousand men. Yet he didn¡¯t intend to settle for such a small number.


    Having recently arrived from Europe, his mindset remained shaped by European warfare. If he had to move, it would be with a force at least three times larger. Anything less would be laughable in his view; in Europe, wars were fought with armies of at least ten thousand men.


    Major battles often involved tens of thousands!


    From his office window, the British officer observed his soldiers and new recruits drilling. From a distance, they cut an impressive figure, but up close, it was clear many lacked proper training.


    Still, given time, he was confident they could become real soldiers. The British Army was highly skilled, thanks largely to its ability to instill discipline.


    His gaze shifted to the Union Jack flying proudly above the fort and the city. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the line ships anchored at the harbor''s entrance.


    ¡°With so many ships, Boston is safe from the sea. It¡¯s what¡¯s happening on land that concerns me.¡±


    ¡°Sir? A new group of refugees arrived this morning. Mr. Scotts doesn¡¯t know what to do with them; we have no more available housing.¡±


    The officer¡¯s face immediately darkened, for this man never ceased to complain or seek his intervention.


    ¡°Well, let them settle in the nearby villages.¡±


    ¡°But sir, they¡¯re already being asked to take in more than they can handle.¡±


    ¡°Then send them farther! Dedham and Walpole can¡¯t be less safe than Boston. If they want to go even farther, that¡¯s their business! There¡¯s more to this world than just Boston, for heaven¡¯s sake! Why are they all coming here?!¡±


    Of course, Townshend wasn¡¯t expecting an answer; he already knew it. Boston was a large city situated on a well-fortified peninsula, protected by a wall of ships at sea.


    Half of their naval cannons had been relocated to bolster the city¡¯s ramparts and coastal batteries, but all the ocean-facing cannons remained in place.


    ¡°Sir! Urgent news!¡± Another soldier appeared at the office entrance. ¡°The French have left Exeter and entered Hampton!¡±


    ¡°What?! Damnation! That¡¯s only a day¡¯s march away¡ªtwo at most, if slowed by their equipment!¡±


    ¡°What are your orders, sir?¡±


    ¡°Accelerate the training and intensify recruitment! I¡¯ll immediately draft a letter to the governors of Providence and Connecticut. They likely can¡¯t help us, but they should be warned, just in case.¡±


    ***


    Meanwhile, the French advanced slowly toward Boston, as if deliberately giving their enemy time to prepare.


    The region¡¯s civilians seized the opportunity, fleeing en masse to the south.


    To prevent them from moving inland and to stir unrest among the British colonists there, numerous companies had been dispatched westward. Like a swarm of locusts, they destroyed everything in their path.


    These units moved faster than the main army, ensuring the colonists fled toward Boston.


    Adam learned that this was part of the marshal¡¯s grand strategy.


    Following a dirt road lost amid the trees, his company came across three isolated houses. Their presence could not go unnoticed.


    The leader of this tiny community, a veteran of the last war rewarded with a small plot of land for his service, emerged from one house unarmed. With his hands visible, he approached the soldiers, only to freeze as they leveled their weapons at him.


    He was a fairly tall man, thin and broad-shouldered, with long chestnut hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a long brown leather coat of good quality, but underneath were simple clothes. He frowned, but his gaze showed no hostility.


    Adam approached, one hand on his sword, ready to draw it.


    ¡°What do you want? We don¡¯t have much here, but we¡¯re willing to share with you and your men if you leave us in peace.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid, sir, that whatever you have, it won¡¯t be enough. We have our orders.¡±


    The settler frowned more deeply, and his gaze grew colder.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°You all need to leave this place immediately,¡± Adam said in fluent, proper English. ¡°How many people live here?¡±


    ¡°There are six of us. My wife, my two youngest children. My eldest and his wife are here as well, along with my brother. He¡¯s away at the moment, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°When will he be back?¡± Adam interrupted, glancing toward the small wooden houses.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He left at dawn. He could return in an hour or at nightfall, depending on what he catches.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a hunter? So he¡¯s armed.¡±


    Though Adam had switched to French mid-sentence, the settler had perfectly understood what the young captain had said.


    ¡°Yes, Captain. You are a captain, aren¡¯t you? We sell furs and meat in the nearest town.¡±


    Adam noticed a curtain move in one of the houses and felt a cold bead of sweat run down his back. He had the distinct impression he was being watched down the barrel of a gun.


    It reminded him immediately of the situation he had faced in Portsmouth.


    ¡°Are there weapons in any of these houses?¡± Adam asked slowly, his tone menacing. ¡°If so, how many exactly?¡±


    ¡°Sir, please, they¡¯re not weapons for war, but for hunting.¡±


    ¡°They are weapons. Bring everyone out, now. If I see even one weapon¡ª¡±


    The settler paled, clearly worried about his family¡¯s safety, and pursed his lips in anger. Under the insistent gaze of the French captain and his tense soldiers, he retreated toward the nearest house.


    He spoke loudly and clearly in his language.


    The soldiers tensed even further, as English was completely unfamiliar to them. Adam was the only one who understood it.


    A second voice, younger, responded to what the man in the long coat had said.


    Then, a man emerged from the trees, armed with a long musket. He held small game in his left hand, but he dropped it immediately upon seeing the Frenchmen.


    In a flash, he fired his weapon, aiming at the soldiers, who quickly took up defensive positions.


    The distance wasn¡¯t great, but the accuracy of such weapons was poor. Despite all the shots fired, not one hit the hunter, who seemed maddened by the presence of men in white uniforms.


    The settler who had acted as the spokesman for the small community had disappeared into the first house, and another gunshot rang out.


    Bang!


    ¡°Argh! I¡¯m hit!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Private Petit! He¡¯s wounded in the leg!¡±


    ¡°Form three groups!¡± Adam shouted. ¡°Lieutenant Marais! Handle that damn hunter! I¡¯ll take care of the other shooter! Lieutenant Laroche, search that house! Be cautious¡ªthey¡¯re probably armed!¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°Understood!¡±


    Thanks to their rigorous training, the soldiers quickly accomplished their tasks. The hunter, sheltered behind a massive fallen tree, was soon surrounded.


    Adam entered the second house, the one facing the house the man in the leather coat had gone into.


    With force, he entered, his men close behind, and heard a loud detonation.


    Bam!


    A bullet whizzed past his ear and shattered the wooden wall mere inches from his head.


    When Adam pointed his pistol toward the staircase, the shooter had already disappeared.


    ¡°He¡¯s upstairs! Be careful!¡±


    Behind Adam, the soldiers barged in and moved a table to use as a shield. They positioned it facing the staircase.


    Bang!


    Another shot rang out as Adam and his men took cover behind the overturned table. The bullet struck the wood but didn¡¯t penetrate it.


    It reminded Adam once again of what had happened in Portsmouth and the harsh words of the colonel.


    Damn it! Go!


    Immediately, Adam leapt up and charged up the L-shaped staircase. His heavy, loud footsteps echoed like distant cannon fire.


    He surprised the young man¡ªnineteen or twenty at most¡ªreloading his weapon.


    The young man hadn¡¯t had time to finish reloading, so he swung the musket like a baseball bat. Adam took the blow to the shoulder, letting out a loud cry of pain.


    He stumbled to the side, allowing other soldiers to reach the upper floor of the small house. The young settler, whose face bore a striking resemblance to the man in the leather coat, didn¡¯t have time to react this time and was shot in the chest.


    A second soldier, overwhelmed by adrenaline and unaware of what he was doing, plunged his bayonet deep into the young man''s stomach, killing him instantly.


    Adam, clutching his left shoulder with his right hand, got up and cast a quick glance at the boy. His wide-open eyes stared blankly at the sturdy beams supporting the roof.


    ¡°Damn¡­¡± Adam murmured at the sight. ¡°Is everyone all right?¡±


    A loud, rage-filled scream suddenly erupted behind him. He turned, startled, to see a woman as young as the boy¡ªhis wife¡ªcharging toward him with a large hunting knife in hand.


    Her expression mirrored that of the young girl who had tried to stab him and Martin Morrel de Lusernes back in Quebec.


    Without thinking, Adam raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.


    Bang!


    A loud gunshot echoed, and the woman collapsed backward like a lifeless puppet. Her brown hair covered her face, which was turned to the side.


    A dark stain quickly spread across her dress, making it seem as though her blood was black.


    Adam¡¯s lips began to tremble violently, and his eyes grew as round as marbles. Even though the woman had been armed and left him no choice, guilt surged through him.


    No one would blame him, as he had done what was necessary, but he had just crossed a line he had sworn never to cross. Even in Hanover and Saxony, he had not killed civilians¡ªexcept for the priest who had agreed to hear his confession.


    He had threatened, struck, but never killed.


    This was partly why he couldn¡¯t bring himself to kill that old man in Portsmouth.


    The colonel had made it clear he had acted poorly, and his two lieutenants had spoken to him about it afterward.


    He let his arm, holding the smoking pistol, hang against his leg. Everyone seemed frozen in shock. Adam was the first to regain his senses.


    ¡°The fight isn¡¯t over! Get downstairs and assist your comrades!¡± he shouted to snap his men out of it.


    Immediately, everyone vanished. Adam glanced one last time at the woman lying on the floor.


    Her abdomen, where the bullet had struck, was soaked in blood. It was only then that he noticed her belly was slightly rounded.


    A hideous grimace spread across his face, which had turned whiter than his uniform. He hadn¡¯t taken just one life¡ªhe had taken two.


    In a fit of rage, he punched a wooden wall. The wall remained intact, but his hand cracked, though he felt no pain.


    ¡°Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!¡±


    Adam screamed and swore, striking the wall repeatedly before storming down to the ground floor like a demon, his right hand badly injured.


    Idiots! Fools! Why did you resist?! Why?! You just needed to leave! Shit!


    By the time he stepped outside, it was already over. The hunter was dead, unlike the settler in the leather coat, his wife, and their two youngest children.


    They were all dragged roughly in front of their house, threatened by very angry French soldiers.


    Seeing that calm had been restored, Adam wiped his face and only approached after partially regaining his composure.


    He positioned himself in front of the settler, whose swollen face was pressed to the ground as if he were prostrating himself. One eye was swollen shut where he¡¯d been struck, but luckily, he hadn¡¯t been hurt worse.


    His wife and children sobbed nearby, begging the soldiers to stop hitting him.


    Adam¡¯s eyes were red, and in a terribly low voice, he addressed the settler who had failed¡ªor refused¡ªto prevent this tragedy.


    ¡°The young man who lived across the way¡ªhe was your son, wasn¡¯t he? And that was his wife?¡±


    ¡°W-was?! W-what have you done?¡±


    ¡°They attacked us¡ªwith a musket and a knife¡­¡±


    ¡°No! No!¡±


    The settler¡¯s voice broke like a wave crashing against a rock, and tears streaked his mud-covered cheeks.


    ¡°We only wanted you to leave, not this.¡±


    Adam stopped speaking, fearing he might reveal too much emotion.


    ¡°My condolences, sir. I¡¯ll allow you to see them, as well as the other man¡ªthe hunter. You¡¯ll be able to bury them, after which you will all leave.¡±


    For the man and his family, it was as if the universe had collapsed. Trembling and staggering, he made his way to the second house, accompanied by three soldiers.


    Meanwhile, Adam checked on his men, two of whom were wounded, in addition to Private Petit.


    Fortunately, none of the injuries were serious. However, they would require care, as bullet wounds were not to be taken lightly, especially at that time. They could easily become infected, cause fever, and lead to death.


    A loud cry of pain echoed from the house across the way, causing Adam¡¯s soldiers to shudder and scaring off the birds that had returned after the fighting ended.


    Adam, kneeling before Private Petit, made a tremendous effort not to show any emotion. His shoulders trembled slightly, but only for a second.


    The next day, after passing through three villages and hamlets, Adam and his company returned to the main army. The young officer was then able to give his report to Colonel de Br¨¦hant.


    ¡°I see. It¡¯s a job well done. It¡¯s unfortunate, but this is war. Tragedies like this are commonplace¡ªwe can¡¯t do anything about it. At least you didn¡¯t lose any men this time. This is how you should have acted in Portsmouth, Captain. Ah, this is why civilians shouldn¡¯t have firearms, even for hunting.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Colonel. All the weapons have been confiscated and brought back. Here¡¯s the inventory of what was collected since we left Exeter.¡±


    ¡°Let me see¡­ Looks good. Who knows how many weapons are still circulating in this province? That¡¯s why every settler must be seen as a threat. Show no leniency, stay vigilant, and don¡¯t neglect training.¡±


    ¡°At your orders.¡±


    ¡°Our army will remain here for some time, but we¡¯ll continue to send units into the surrounding area. Soon, our enemy won¡¯t tolerate our presence and will march against us. Have your men ready. The Redcoats won¡¯t underestimate us again and will come in force.¡±

 Chapter 120: The Village Of Lyn

    Colonel de Br¨¦hant had not been mistaken.


    In Boston, Brigadier General George Townshend was under unimaginable pressure. The local civil authorities expected him to drive the French far from their province.


    Indeed, the main French army had yet to cross the border between New Hampshire and Massachusetts. Yet, their mere presence was catastrophic for the colony.


    Their presence was intolerable, a provocation that came at a great financial cost. Moreover, the constant influx of settlers fleeing from the north created considerable disorder, leading to severe shortages.


    At first, the great city could manage to accept these refugees and even assist them in finding housing. But within days, Boston was teetering on the brink of collapse.


    Before the crisis, Boston consumed a vast amount of food but managed thanks to a well-established trade network. Now, no ships were entering the port, and the supplies arriving over land were far from sufficient.


    The governor and his advisors¡ªprominent merchants whose fortunes had been built in one or two generations¡ªdemanded that the officer take his growing army and confront the French forces. Their pleas grew more fervent as word spread that the enemy had halted their advance but continued to perpetrate crimes with impunity.


    Their infamous soldiers brazenly crossed the border to plunder and burn nearby farms and villages.


    That afternoon, April 6th, Townshend received a fresh report on French movements.


    This time, they had reached Salem¡ªan audacious move, given that the small village lay a mere twenty kilometers from Boston.


    Unsurprisingly, it wasn¡¯t long before Governor Pownall paid him a visit.


    As soon as Townshend saw him enter, as impeccably dressed as ever without being ostentatious, he unconsciously frowned but refrained from showing the man the door.


    "Governor, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this time?"


    ¡°Sir, I am once again obliged to draw your attention to the dire situation our province is facing. Boston is directly threatened, and those cursed French ships patrol our waters as if they own them! Our economy is on the brink of collapse!¡±


    ¡°I understand, naturally,¡± the officer replied, shaking his head in frustration, ¡°but what can I do? We don¡¯t yet have enough soldiers, and they require proper training, which takes time.¡±


    ¡°But we no longer have time, sir. The French are at our gates!¡±


    Townshend¡¯s expression remained unchanged as he listened in silence to the politician''s complaints, as he had done since his first day in the city. The governor had even opposed him when he billeted soldiers in private homes.


    Yet, he had to admit the man was intelligent, far more capable than his predecessor, William Shirley.


    The latter had departed for London in 1757 to defend himself against accusations of being directly responsible for the deaths of several hundred Acadians. Shirley had refused to let these forcibly displaced people disembark in his precious Boston, leaving them to languish aboard ships for three months in the dead of winter.


    They had perished from cold, hunger, and disease, met with indifference.


    ¡°The French have been at our gates for days, Governor,¡± Townshend remarked with an unsettling calm, ¡°and yet, Boston still stands.¡±


    ¡°Standing, yes, but if its economy dies, it will soon become a ghost town! People stay where there is a future, and as long as the French are here, that future remains under threat! Sir, how much longer will you let those wretched Frenchmen run amok on our lands? If you allow this to continue, I fear you may find yourself summoned to London.¡±


    The officer¡¯s face darkened instantly, and Pownall immediately realized his mistake. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet, yet the governor fought to show no signs of fear, determined to maintain his composure before this man who seemed to respect strength.


    ¡°Your concern for my career is most touching, Governor,¡± Townshend replied icily. ¡°We are still recruiting, and your assistance has been invaluable, but volunteers are not exactly pouring in. We¡¯ve been forced to conscript able-bodied young men. Soon, we will march on the enemy and destroy them.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re conscripting?¡± the politician spluttered. ¡°Is that really necessary? I mean, I understand, but¡­ isn¡¯t it risky?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself with that. I will handle it.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, very well. Still, time is of the essence. When do you plan to march?¡±


    ¡°In five days.¡±


    ¡°F-five days? A lot can happen in five days. The enemy could be bombarding us from Chelsea or Charlestown by then.¡±


    ¡°Naturally, we won¡¯t allow that to happen. Is there anything else? I have much work to do, Governor.¡±


    The politician offered a nervous smile, barely concealing his frustration.


    ¡°Yes, of course. I understand. I¡¯ll leave you to your work. In the meantime, I¡¯ll try to appease the Council.¡±


    The brigadier general sighed with relief as the man left, but the peace didn¡¯t last. Pownall returned the next day, and the day after that, growing increasingly insistent.


    Finally, on April 9, 1759, upon learning that the French army had suddenly begun marching and had brought a large number of artillery pieces¡ªseemingly confirming Governor Pownall¡¯s fears¡ªBrigadier General George Townshend left Boston at the head of an impressive force of just over six thousand men, roughly equal in number to the French if the reports were accurate, to prevent them from positioning themselves around the city with the intent of bombarding it.


    ***


    The main army under Marshal de Richelieu had advanced rapidly, making no effort to conceal itself¡ªquite the opposite¡ªfollowing the road leading directly to Boston.


    They had crossed the Merrimack River at Salisbury using a wooden bridge they had built themselves, allowing for quick and efficient passage, and reached Ipswich, just fifteen kilometers further, in very little time.


    Another fifteen kilometers brought them to the village of Salem, now deserted and partially destroyed by fire¡ªthe handiwork of Monsieur de Broglie¡¯s men. It was only at this point that the marshal ordered the pace to slow.


    By the end of the day, they had reached the village of Lynn, which its residents had also abandoned, though it had been left intact in accordance with the old marshal¡¯s orders.


    The place was charming.


    Situated along the coast near a tranquil river, like so many in the region, it boasted beautiful forests and a fine plain, though there were few cultivated fields. Most notably, there was a raised area quickly designated as the site for the artillery.


    The elevation difference between this point and the river to the southwest was roughly twenty meters. While this might not seem significant, in matters of artillery, every meter counted.


    It could determine the range of these fearsome weapons and make them harder to destroy from a distance without requiring fortifications.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Soon after their arrival, as the cannons and mortars were being positioned, Adam was summoned to a meeting with the other captains of the Picardy Regiment. Naturally, the meeting was chaired by Monsieur le Marquis de Br¨¦hant.


    ¡°Gentlemen, let us begin. The enemy is on the move and seems to be coming in considerable numbers. According to the spy we captured, we will likely face a force of five to six thousand men, equipped with artillery and cavalry. That being said, the majority of them are fresh recruits who have never fired their muskets with the intent of hitting a human being. In other words, they are not much better than militiamen.¡±


    Adam and the others nodded, their expressions calm and serious.


    Due to the late hour, several candles had been lit to illuminate the room. They were gathered in the main chamber of a humble house in Lynn.


    The small yellow flames flickered, making a faint and soothing crackle, casting a gentle glow over the room. The assembled men looked like conspirators, secretly crafting a devious plan around the commanding figure whose face was partly obscured by shadow.


    ¡°The spy was unable to provide us with much information despite all our efforts, but it matters little. Our men are almost all veterans. They have faced situations most people cannot even imagine. This army marching against us may have a solid reputation, but so do we. I have confidence in each of you and rely on you for this new battle. Honor our flag, honor your uniform, and ensure that our regiment stands out from the others through its achievements.¡±


    ¡°Yes! We will not disappoint you!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll learn to fear our colors!¡±


    ¡°Our regiment will cover itself in glory! The others won¡¯t even have a chance to shine!¡±


    ¡°Haha, good. That¡¯s what I wanted to hear. The marshal¡¯s intent is to confront the enemy here, in this village called Lynn. Monsieur de Broglie will command the right flank, while we will take the left.¡±


    At that moment, a loud cry echoed from the camp, startling more than one listener. It was distant and trailed off into a groan. Soon, a second scream followed, then a third.


    Ah, Adam sighed, they¡¯ve started torturing him again.


    The man had been tortured for days. The brief journey between Exeter and Lynn had given him some respite to recover a little strength.


    Soon, he¡¯ll have no strength left to scream and beg for them to end it, thought the young man, trying to ignore the wails.


    The marshal didn¡¯t know if there was anything left to learn from him, but he wanted to be sure, which is why he hadn¡¯t allowed him to die.


    Adam was horrified by the marshal¡¯s cruelty, but spies, though common, were tolerated by no one. Most enemy agents ended up at the end of a rope, though some could be turned and used as double agents.


    This one wouldn¡¯t get that chance.


    At this rate, he¡¯ll be dead before sunrise. I don¡¯t even want to know what they¡¯re doing to him!


    ¡°Focus, gentlemen,¡± said the colonel amidst the cries. ¡°Here is the map we hastily sketched based on our observations. There are many wetlands west of this village, particularly near these rivers. The enemy will almost certainly come by the road, but they might also decide to take a detour and strike us from the northwest, here,¡± he explained, tracing his finger across the map depicting Lynn¡¯s immediate surroundings.


    Adam nodded as another cry arose from a barn on the outskirts of the village.


    ¡°Monsieur de Broglie,¡± the colonel continued, his voice clear and unshaken despite having to raise it above the screams, ¡°will handle protecting this flank with part of our cavalry. Our responsibility will be to guard the road leading to Chelsea. We will be reinforced by four hundred men from the Burgundy Regiment.¡±


    These reinforcements, from the regiment¡¯s second battalion, had been stationed in Louisbourg since 1755, primarily tasked with defending the city. They comprised thirteen companies in total.


    ¡°This is how we will be deployed.¡±


    The spy¡¯s screams ceased for good two and a half hours later. His body was discarded outside the village like garbage, left to the flies and wild dogs.


    As Adam left the meeting, he caught sight of a vague silhouette in the distance, resembling a heavy sausage being carried out of a barn by two soldiers barely visible under the moonlight. They looked like ghosts.


    The young captain, exhausted, didn¡¯t bother questioning the soldiers and headed straight to one of the buildings designated for officer lodging.


    His steps were heavy, his mind elsewhere.


    The day had been so long and grueling that he felt he could sleep for twelve hours¡ªsomething he obviously wouldn¡¯t be able to do.


    He pushed open a wooden door and entered a simple stone building with thick wooden beams supporting a low ceiling. Though modest, the small house on the eastern edge of the village, a stone¡¯s throw from the road to Salem, was remarkably well-maintained.


    There was almost no dust and not a trace of cobwebs. Moreover, everything left behind was neatly arranged.


    On the shelves and in the cupboards, empty spaces were visible. The residents had managed to take their most valuable possessions, though this didn¡¯t mean there was nothing left to loot.


    A soldier had accidentally discovered a hidden compartment beneath a floorboard containing a small chest with a few gold coins. Although the currency was English, gold was still gold. Adam had heard that a major brawl had broken out afterward, as several individuals claimed the treasure for themselves.


    A massive yawn caught Adam off guard as he reached his room, cold and shrouded in darkness. It was so deep that it brought a small tear to his eye. Unfortunately, it also triggered a painful cramp in his neck.


    ¡°Damn it! Ah, you idiot!¡± Adam groaned as though struck by lightning.


    He quickly placed a hand on his neck and began massaging it to ease the pain. It felt as if someone were pressing hard against the side of his throat. The pain was so intense he struggled to breathe.


    When the cramp finally subsided, he spent several minutes fearing it might return.


    Feeling even more exhausted, he sank heavily onto his bed¡ªsmall and narrow but far more comfortable than a straw mattress. He began to think.


    He thought about the next day, trying to mentally prepare himself.


    It wouldn¡¯t be his first battle, nor his first as a captain, yet he couldn¡¯t shake the unease. Even though it might last only a few hours, the outcome could unfold in countless ways, depending on the decisions made.


    Possibly, it would be his last. He could take a bullet, a saber strike, be trampled by a horse, or have a cannonball hit him square in the face¡ªor perhaps a shard from one. He might die in a heroic bayonet charge or after prolonged suffering from his wounds.


    It was with these morbid thoughts that he lay down to sleep.


    Perhaps influenced by them, his dreams revolved around war. In truth, it was a memory¡ªa fragment of one, to be exact¡ªbelonging to Fran?ois.


    It was the Battle of Hastenbeck¡ªor rather, the little he¡¯d witnessed before being wounded in the shoulder by a Hanoverian bullet and striking his head against a rock beneath the path his unit was carving to flank their opponent.


    Thanks to this memory, he could see P¡¯tit Pol¡¯s face again.


    Back then, not so long ago, they were the rookies¡ªthe new recruits who had never experienced the battlefield.


    They laughed and exchanged crude jokes to mask their fear. Even Jean, a giant of a man, was terrified at the prospect of facing his first fight.


    The eroded hills of the region, covered in tall trees, forced them to expend their precious strength just to travel a few kilometers.


    In the preceding days, it had been very hot, but that morning, a fog so thick you could cut it with a knife hung over the landscape. The view was a monotonous gray, depressingly dull. Among the trees, the mist seemed lighter.


    Through this fragment of memories, Adam could hear the heavy roars of the cannons¡ªso many on both sides of the battlefield that the volleys never ceased. Under such conditions, hitting a target would be a matter of luck, if not a miracle.


    Then they accidentally crossed paths with an enemy troop, likely positioned there to protect the Duke of Cumberland¡¯s flank.


    Adam¡ªor rather Fran?ois¡ªhad no time to take aim before he was struck. The memory was so vivid that Adam thought he felt Fran?ois¡¯ pain. His shoulder burned as if on fire. Then, he tripped over a large root protruding from the ground like a snake.


    His fall mirrored Fran?ois¡¯ in every way, except here, his head struck the black rock where the young man had found, years later, the small watch Fran?ois cherished.


    It was with this final image that Adam awoke.


    He felt as though he¡¯d slept only an hour or two. He was even more tired than when he¡¯d gone to bed.


    The sun rose lazily, and the air was terribly fresh, slightly damp due to the heavy rain during the night.


    The British army arrived around eight in the morning, refreshed after spending the night near the village of Malden, ten kilometers from Lyn.


    After crossing the Pages and Lyn rivers¡ªboth thin due to low tide and minimal rainfall in recent days¡ªtheir army took position in a very classical formation, facing the French army.


    Less than nine hundred meters separated the two armies.


    Adam, true to his post, positioned himself on the front line as ordered by the Marquis de Br¨¦hant, between Martin Morrel de Lusernes¡¯ company and Captain Alfonse Grosjean¡¯s, from the Bourgogne regiment.


    Unlike the men of the Picardie regiment, this battalion¡ªrepresenting half of the illustrious regiment¡ªwore uniforms slightly different from the continental ones they would have worn in Europe.


    Here, they donned the Canadian uniform. The difference was minimal: the edge of their tricornes was trimmed in white instead of gold, and their buttons were tin instead of copper.


    The Picardie regiment had not switched uniforms due to negligence by the Secretary of State for the Navy. The current one was the fourth since the conflict began, following Mr. de Machault, Count d¡¯Arnouville, until February 1757; Mr. de Moras until May 1758; and finally Mr. d¡¯Espinchal until October 1758.


    With luck, there would be no further changes until peace returned.


    The current minister, Nicolas Berryer, Count de la Ferri¨¨re, was a very competent man, formerly a lieutenant general of police.


    A sharp voice snapped nearby, reminding Adam it was not the time to compare uniforms.


    Marshal de Richelieu reviewed his army, passing by Adam without stopping. He wore, as always, his fine cuirass over his elegant clothes and sat astride a magnificent horse with a shiny coat and bright eyes.


    The horse seemed impatient, stamping the damp ground with its perfectly maintained hooves.


    The duke whispered a few words to the colonel that Adam could not hear, then moved on to inspect the other companies positioned further north.


    The lines were quickly adjusted to respond to the enemy¡¯s formation, which naturally prompted the adversary to do the same.


    Then, around nine o¡¯clock, the cannons began their work.

 Chapter 121: The Battle Of Lyn

    The artillery exchange felt long and intense to the new recruits. It was as if both sides were having a discussion¡ªor rather, an argument.


    Adam had no trouble estimating the number of cannons the enemy had brought and pinpointing their locations. There were four on his side, three in the center, and three more to the north, opposite Monsieur de Broglie¡¯s men.


    Their roars were no less menacing than those of the French cannons. The enemy clearly had large-caliber guns, and it didn¡¯t take long for blood to start flowing.


    Adam saw a cannonball strike the damp ground about twenty meters away and bounce dangerously. Fortunately, the French hadn¡¯t just waited for the enemy; they had prepared some fortifications.


    This defensive line ran straight north, perpendicular to the coast, before veering obliquely to protect the northern flank.


    The cannonball that had missed its mark eventually lost most of its momentum, but still had enough force to take off a leg¡ªor worse¡ªwhen it finally stopped against the steep embankment.


    Adam had seen it coming and felt his body tremble, unable to evade it. By some stroke of luck, he was still alive. The cannonball made a dull thud as it struck the soft earth, like a heavy object falling.


    The captain had seen his soldiers trembling in fear, but none of them moved¡ªthey weren¡¯t allowed to.


    He swallowed hard, hoping to be as fortunate during the next salvo. In the distance, he saw chunks of earth being thrown into the air, grass clumps flying everywhere. He hadn¡¯t even seen or felt the cannonballs passing over his head.


    With steady steps, the enemy began to advance, forming a long red line.


    Not all the British troops were moving yet. For the moment, only Brigadier General Townshend¡¯s right wing was advancing.


    That didn¡¯t mean nothing was happening elsewhere. In fact, on the other side of the battlefield, fighting had already begun.


    A few British companies had tried to approach the French lines but were quickly spotted and blocked by an equal number of French soldiers. This happened even before the first cannon shots were fired.


    Unable to advance, the Redcoats were forced to send in two additional companies to break the stalemate, and the French responded swiftly by doing the same.


    Fighting in the middle of the trees meant artillery couldn¡¯t be used to tip the balance in either side¡¯s favor.


    Meanwhile, the main forces of each army remained motionless, as though the two commanders were waiting for something. Since the battle had only just begun, they were still assessing their opponent.


    Naturally, the marshal¡¯s and brigadier general¡¯s attention was mostly focused on where Adam was stationed, as that was where the first assault was taking place.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡± cried a sickly-looking officer. ¡°Prepare to repel them!¡±


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    The order to shoot came too early, and hundreds of muskets discharged toward the long scarlet line. It wasn¡¯t decimated, as the distance between the two groups was still too great.


    The Redcoats kept advancing. The muskets used by the English, shorter than the French muskets, had a more limited range.


    ¡°Hurry up and reload your weapons!¡± Adam shouted as he saw his men struggling with this seemingly simple task. ¡°Tear the cartridge and pour the powder into the pan! Close the pan! Pour the rest of the powder into the barrel, grab the ramrod, and pack it down! Return the ramrod to its place!¡±


    Adam¡¯s clearly enumerated commands came in rapid succession, too fast for some soldiers to keep up¡ªespecially the slower ones. Soldier Tournier was consistently one or two steps behind but managed to load his weapon.


    ¡°Aim! Fire!¡±


    A long series of detonations echoed in the wind, and several men collapsed on the other side. It was a modest number given the volume of shots fired, but it wasn¡¯t a bad result either.


    In seconds, the gaps in the enemy¡¯s formation were filled, and they got into firing position.


    A long white cloud formed in front of their weapons as they opened fire. Bullets whistled through the air, the earth flew up as they struck the embankment, and some men were hit.


    Soldier Petit, though alive, fell to his knees clutching his blood-covered face. He was unlucky to have been gravely injured, yet lucky to be alive after such a wound. His left eye was hit.


    ¡°AAAAAAARGH! MY EYE! MY EYE! IT HURTS!¡±


    His screams, resembling those of a spy under torture, sent chills through his comrades. Some of them had known him long before they enlisted.


    Like Adam and his friends, this young man had joined the royal army with others. Those who ended up in Adam¡¯s company saw their friend covered in blood and broke rank to help him.


    ¡°What are you doing?! Get back to your positions! Sergeant Aubert, take Soldier Petit to the rear!¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±


    ¡°What are you looking at?! Reload your weapons! Don¡¯t let the enemy reload before you do!¡±


    Adam¡¯s men immediately resumed loading their muskets. Unfortunately, they weren¡¯t fast enough. The enemy had already completed the steps required to reload their muskets.


    It was clear they were excellent soldiers. A quick glance was enough to see these weren¡¯t hastily recruited tavern-dwellers.


    They had been rigorously trained to reload faster than their enemies. If the French could fire four times, they had to be able to fire six!


    This same standard of excellence applied aboard their formidable ships. Having superior cannons alone wasn¡¯t enough to win more naval battles¡ªit also required highly skilled men.


    A new volley echoed in front of Adam''s troop, and the next moment, the French responded with a devastating salvo. Unlike their enemies, the English were fully exposed.


    Even though it was still easy to miss a target at that distance, they managed to hit over a dozen opposing soldiers.


    Through the smoke quickly dispersing, carried away by strong gusts of wind, Adam saw several bodies lying in the grass. Yet, the enemy lines held firm. It would take far more to break them in a conventional battle.


    The sound of drums and flutes resumed, and the redcoats began to advance again¡ªor at least partially, for those facing the second battalion of the Burgundy Regiment stayed in position, firing at the French soldiers.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    How far do they intend to go?! Adam wondered internally, unable to grasp the English strategy.


    ¡°Hurry up! Don¡¯t let the enemy take position!¡±


    Thankfully, unlike modern weapons, it wasn¡¯t possible to reload while marching. A choice had to be made: either advance under enemy fire to deal more damage or fire while relying on the accuracy of one¡¯s men.


    Here, the redcoats seemed to have chosen the first option. Like dutiful soldiers, they marched steadily forward, bayonets at the ready.


    The closer they came, the more nervous the recruits grew. The long line resembled an unstoppable wave. Finally, at less than seventy meters, the enemy stopped and took position.


    ¡°Aim! Fire!¡±


    At that range, it was carnage. The enemy didn¡¯t even have time to shoot as dozens of men fell as if struck by lightning.


    It was a terrifying sight, even for veterans.


    Yet, the British didn¡¯t seem particularly shaken. They returned fire, and several brave French soldiers collapsed despite the cover of the embankment.


    ¡°Get a grip!¡± Adam shouted while reloading his smoking pistol. ¡°As long as the enemy doesn¡¯t retreat, reload and fire!¡±


    The exchange of fire continued like this for an hour before the British began to pull back. They had stayed far longer than their comrades engaging the Burgundy Regiment. Adam couldn¡¯t help but admire their courage.


    They left behind numerous bodies, staining the soaked grass with red.


    Indeed, it had started raining¡ªcold, icy rain¡ªbut it didn¡¯t deter the men from fighting.


    Adam¡¯s men cheered their victory, but their joy was short-lived as the British soon returned with fresh troops.


    This new contingent, composed mostly of recruits, was of far inferior quality to the first, but they were still dangerous. Marching in tight ranks, they stepped over their comrades'' bodies with discipline.


    ¡°Prepare your weapons! Aim!¡± Adam commanded, taking a firing stance. ¡°Fire!¡±


    A wall of lead flew toward the soldiers, who almost stoically absorbed the blow. Several men fell, including a captain wounded in the upper thigh.


    A non-commissioned officer quickly came to his aid while his lieutenant took command.


    The British were suffering heavy losses, but just as they were about to break, they were reinforced by fresh units that soon surged past them.


    To the sound of flutes and drums, they marched swiftly, reaching the top of the embankment in no time.


    ¡°Defend the line!¡± Adam shouted at the top of his lungs, drawing his saber. ¡°Push them back!¡±


    Adam¡¯s soldiers, terror filling their eyes, tightened their grips on their muskets and clumsily tried to form a bayonet wall.


    The redcoats, though not particularly boastful, displayed immense bravery. Armed similarly, they quickly seized control of the embankment and began infiltrating French lines.


    ¡°Hold the line! Kill the enemy! Leave none standing! Don¡¯t fall back!¡±


    Adam¡¯s cries were drowned out by the cacophony of the battlefield: shouts of rage, cries of pain, gunfire, cannon blasts, cries for help, clashing metal, and the steady beat of drums. His voice struggled to be heard above it all.


    ¡°Damn it! Reform the ranks!¡±


    The pressure was too much for Adam¡¯s men, who could only retreat in the face of such violent onslaught. Thankfully, their own reinforcements arrived¡ªCaptain Andr¨¦ Louis¡¯ company.


    Adam ordered his men to fall back, allowing more redcoats to enter their defensive position but also enabling Captain Andr¨¦ Louis¡¯ soldiers to strike from the left.


    Quickly, the enemy found themselves in grave trouble.


    They lasted no more than a few minutes before being overwhelmed by Captain Grosjean¡¯s men from the Burgundy Regiment.


    ¡°Now, push them back with all your might!¡±


    Attacked from three sides and with the steep embankment at their backs, the British found themselves in dire peril. In disorder, they narrowly escaped death.


    ¡°Quick! Reload your weapons and fire while the enemy is within range! Fire at will!¡±


    The second wave had been repelled, but the battle was far from over.


    Meanwhile, as French artillery rained its terrible cannonballs upon the enemy lines, the bulk of the British army was engaging the troops commanded by the Count of Broglie.


    What an extraordinary sight it was! So many men marching in unison under the explosions and a treacherous rain, amidst smoke, to the sound of drums and their banner fluttering in the wind!


    When a projectile struck its mark, it sent massive amounts of earth and bloody flesh flying. Yet, the redcoats pressed forward.


    They only stopped on the order of their officer and took up firing positions, so swift yet so elegant.


    These were not mere recruits but well-trained men. They might not have been the best in His Majesty''s service, but they were not far from it.


    When they opened fire, it was as if a storm had been unleashed.


    The French fell in great numbers, but the colonel''s men were no amateurs either. They reformed their lines and returned fire.


    This volley was not as deadly as the first, but it claimed the lives of many brave souls.


    There were five powerful and deadly exchanges of fire, after which Broglie''s men were forced to retreat. The English, having just fired, could only watch their enemy withdraw.


    George Townshend saw this and ordered his men to advance in good order at a slow pace to conserve their strength.


    For the artillerymen perched on the heights of Lyn, this was perfect, as their enemy was now more exposed. They adjusted their angles and fired together.


    For the fresh recruits in the rear, it was as if hell had suddenly descended upon them.


    By eleven o''clock, Adam and his comrades were attacked once more by a large group of enemies. Not all of them wore scarlet uniforms, as several militia regiments were among them.


    It was clear their officer was trying to crush them with sheer numbers.


    "Attention! They''re coming! Show them what you''re made of!"


    The soldiers in Boucher''s company were no longer as fearful as they had been at the beginning of the battle. They had grown accustomed to the sounds and smells of the battlefield.


    "Take aim! Fire!"


    A devastating volley cut down many redcoats in front of Adam''s company, and the same happened across the battlefield.


    This new assault was a painful failure for the British.


    By noon, to the north, Broglie''s troops, defeated by the regular British army, were replaced by fresh forces. From above, the French seemed to be in great difficulty, but Townshend failed to notice the French cavalry rapidly approaching, hidden behind Broglie''s lines as they recovered their strength and prepared new paper cartridges.


    They were hussars.


    They took the redcoats by surprise, wreaking havoc in their ranks. Yet, barely had they killed a hundred men when they withdrew.


    The redcoats had no time to form a square and mount an effective defense against the mounted, saber-wielding men.


    Broglie''s infantry, taking advantage of the chaos to advance, then positioned themselves and fired a terrible volley, creating multiple breaches.


    By half-past one in the afternoon, another wave of enemies coming down the road from Chelsea to Lyn was repelled.


    Adam had fallen back with his men to rest, replaced by Captain Fontaine''s forces. Martin Morrel de Lusernes had also retreated, replaced by Captain Andr¨¦ Louis.


    Fontaine and Louis were fortunate, as they mostly faced fresh recruits and Massachusetts provincials. The poor men stood no chance and were annihilated when sent against their defenses.


    Many lives were lost in vain on that long, dike-like earthwork. The cannons positioned there created carnage.


    A British flag briefly flew where Andr¨¦ Louis was stationed, but the unfortunate man holding it received a terrifying bayonet thrust to the groin. His scream was so piercing it chilled everyone within a hundred meters.


    Shortly after two in the afternoon, Broglie''s men managed to isolate Townshend''s troops. They were trapped as if in a box. The only open side was covered by French artillery.


    Part of the English artillery was captured by the hussars in a splendid charge, leaving Brigadier General Townshend without support.


    Too late, he realized he had been ensnared.


    He attempted a breakout with his men, striking hard against a broken unit. The redcoats killed indiscriminately, meeting little resistance, but soon ran into a wall of defenders.


    Unable to advance and surrounded by enemies, those who had followed Townshend quickly found themselves in grave danger. If they didn''t escape immediately, they would all be lost.


    Their desperation turned into fury, giving them wings.


    The British, like demons, used every ounce of their strength to kill and carve a path to freedom. The artillery could no longer reach them, nor could bullets, as they were too close to their enemies.


    It was with swords and bayonets that they sought to forge an escape. Their bloodshot eyes resembled those of wild beasts sensing their end. This gave them a surge of strength, forcing the French to retreat.


    The marshal could only bow to such ferocity, but there was a limit to what men could do. They might transform into bloodthirsty beasts, but they remained mortal.


    Townshend, pierced through and through, finally fell, his shattered sword in hand.


    The British quickly realized the battle was lost. To the north, large numbers surrendered, while to the south, they hastily retreated and crossed the Lyn River.


    Adam and his men pursued the enemy despite their exhaustion. Every man in Adam''s company felt as though they had been running for hours.


    They were shocked by the sheer number of bodies lying in the grass. They were everywhere!


    Some were incomplete. Near a crater left by a cannonball, Adam nearly tripped over a shoe still containing a foot. The rest lay a bit farther away.


    They could not pursue their enemy for long and were forced to end the chase around half-past three.


    Despite the heavy losses¡ªnearly a thousand men¡ªthe marshal had just secured a great victory.


    The road to Boston was open.

 Chapter 122: The Worst Stategy

    Even before the Battle of Lyn was officially declared lost, William Johnson, who had accompanied Brigadier General George Townshend without holding a command, galloped off at full speed to warn Boston of their defeat.


    Although Townshend was still alive when he departed, the outcome was already beyond doubt. Even a mere diplomat like him could see it.


    As he had feared, George Townshend had proven to be a poor commander. He had made one mistake after another, mistakes so severe that they could only be described as blunders. Even a young officer would not have made so many¡ªat least not all at once.


    His first mistake had been acting in haste. Had he been wiser, he would have chosen favorable terrain and provoked the enemy into attacking. This would have given him a defensive advantage and perhaps enough time to receive additional reinforcements from the hinterlands or neighboring provinces.


    Johnson¡¯s horse¡¯s hooves hammered the ground as the cool, damp air lashed his face.


    Unfortunately, as he reached Charlestown, just across from Boston on a height that offered a stunning view of the city and the bay, he was met with a grim surprise.


    The French, audacious as ever, had not only launched a land assault¡ªthey had come by sea in overwhelming numbers.


    ***


    Roquefeuil¡¯s fleet, so formidable that no British ship dared approach it, had been blockading Boston Harbor for days.


    Yet despite their clear superiority, they kept their distance. The massive batteries and the ships of the line stationed at the harbor¡¯s entrance posed a serious threat.


    This stalemate weighed heavily on the crews of both sides¡ªFrench and English alike.


    That day, April 10th, was a somber one. The sky was an unbroken gray.


    A steady, brisk wind swept across the deck of the Saint-Michel, the ship commanded by Aymar Joseph de Roquefeuil, punctuated by fierce gusts that made the ropes creak and the sails flap violently. The officer, standing at the stern of his warship, could feel the subtle movements of the proud vessel beneath him.


    Like him, like his navy of sailors, the ship seemed restless, as if it yearned for the sound of cannons.


    That city was so close, yet so far away!


    Even without his spyglass, he could clearly see the rooftops of Boston, the tall church steeples reaching skyward as if to pierce the low-hanging clouds, and the warships guarding them like vigilant watchdogs.


    ¡°Haaa¡­ How much longer must we wait?¡± lamented a senior naval officer beside him in a whisper, exasperated by the inaction.


    ¡°A day or two, I think,¡± replied Roquefeuil in a weary tone.


    ¡°Must we truly wait for the Marshal, sir? Doing nothing will lead us nowhere. It might even turn against us.¡±


    Joseph Aymar de Roquefeuil said nothing, but he shared the officer¡¯s sentiment. He was a soldier, so he followed orders, but he was also a man of action. His heart craved battle.


    This waiting, this stillness¡­ it wasn¡¯t in his nature. It was all the more frustrating knowing he commanded ships built for war and had plenty of cannons at his disposal!


    ¡°Hmm¡­ Let¡¯s provoke them a little, then. Perhaps they¡¯ll react?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir! Everyone to their stations! Unfurl all sails! Helm to starboard! Gunners, to your positions!¡±


    Once Roquefeuil¡¯s ships unfurled their sails, they quickly gained speed. This sudden change in posture immediately caught the attention of the officers and lookouts aboard the British ships.


    Yet they did nothing. They remained anchored.


    Eventually, they opened their gun ports facing the sea and brought their fearsome cannons to bear.


    The gaping iron muzzles were meticulously aligned, ready to unleash their fury. The guns on the lowest deck were of the highest caliber.


    But the French veered away before coming into firing range, as if the entire maneuver had been a mere jest.


    Technically, the British could have fired at the French ships, but at such a distance, it was highly unlikely they would hit their targets, let alone inflict any significant damage. The ideal range was just a few dozen meters.


    ¡°Hmm? Captain Colmard, come here.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡± said the officer, stepping toward his superior.


    ¡°Take this,¡± said Roquefeuil, handing him the spyglass. ¡°Look closely at those ships. What do you see?¡±


    The officer, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties but no older than thirty-eight, raised an eyebrow and silently obeyed. In an instant, he could see the enemy ships as clearly as if they were within arm¡¯s reach.


    ¡°T-their waterline¡­ isn¡¯t it unusually low? They¡¯re sitting deep in the water¡ªall of them. This isn¡¯t a maintenance issue, or they would¡¯ve all docked.¡±


    ¡°Then,¡± said another officer, a lieutenant no older than thirty, ¡°are they all overloaded?¡±


    ¡°Not just overloaded,¡± Roquefeuil replied after a brief silence. ¡°Overloaded abnormally. Look closely¡ªthey¡¯re listing to port.¡±


    All the officers turned sharply toward their commander and quickly grasped what the British had done. A murmur of indignation and disbelief spread through the small gathering.


    "These idiots have removed all the cannons on the city side?! Have they gone mad, or are they desperate?!"


    "It''s certainly the most stupid strategy I''ve ever seen! It''s pure, wild madness! Who had this idea?! They should be beaten to death!"


    "Sir", Captain Colmard said as he handed back the spyglass, "their waterline is right at the gunports."


    "Yes. I don¡¯t know who had this ¡®brilliant idea¡¯, but they took a huge risk."


    "It would be criminal not to take advantage of this, sir," suddenly said a young officer with a bright smile, but showing a predatory look.


    "I quite agree with you. I have an idea, but it involves enduring several broadsides without being able to retaliate."


    Normally, an officer would think twice before embarking on such a risky action, but this was far from the usual situations encountered at sea. Here, there was an opportunity.


    Captain Colmard answered fervently, as if there was no hesitation.


    "If we can defeat our enemies quickly, it might save more lives than a traditional, longer battle."


    Captain Colmard¡¯s words, filled with confidence, were immediately approved by the other officers. They all had immense faith in their officer and in Monsieur de Roquefeuil, the hero of the Battle of Ouessant and the Bay of Gabarus.


    "Good. In that case, here¡¯s my plan, and it¡¯s very simple."


    When he finished, the men around him looked at him as if he were mad. Their eyes were wide as if he had just realized something.


    "Well?This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Well, I say I don''t want to miss the show, haha! I want to see their faces when they realize their mistake.


    "This is madness! I approve!"


    ***


    At the entrance to Boston Harbor, six British ships were lined up, all their guns out. The British nervously observed the French ships of the line without daring to take their eyes off them.


    They had strict orders not to raise anchor or set sails. Their only order was to sink any French ships that would attempt to get too close to Boston.


    Suddenly, the French ships had moved closer, but just as suddenly changed course as if they had changed their minds.


    After what seemed like an interminable wait, putting their nerves to the test, the French turned once again and headed straight for them.


    "To all batteries, fire!" thundered British Vice Admiral Charles Saunders aboard the Neptune to deter the enemy from approaching any closer.


    Unfortunately, his hopes and prayers were not heard.


    Indeed, he was fully aware of the stupidity of Townshend''s order, placed above him in the hierarchy by Her Majesty. All his ships were in danger due to the poor distribution of weight on board.


    Nothing had changed despite all the arrangements made to compensate for the lack of guns on the starboard side: they were still leaning to the other side.


    A massive broadside shook the enormous ship decorated with beautiful golden moldings, and soon after, immense white pillars appeared in the distance, around the enemy ships.


    Despite their efforts, no shots hit the target. They raised great splashes of water without harming anyone, except a few fish.


    From the quarterdeck of the Neptune, an enormous ship with ninety guns in principle, but now only half of them, Vice Admiral Saunders observed the enemy ships closely. They were forming a nice line and heading straight for them.


    "Fire!"


    All batteries fired at once at the French ship leading the line, a merchant ship converted into a cargo ship to transport troops and supplies. It suffered terribly but continued to move toward them with all sails set.


    It acted as a shield, protecting all the ships behind it by absorbing all the enemy''s fire without veering from its course.


    "Fire!" Saunders spat, wiping away a bead of sweat from his brow with a nervous gesture from the edge of his fine powdered wig.


    A new broadside shredded the figurehead of the French cargo and severely damaged its mast, which was now barely hanging on by a miracle. The French were now very close.


    "Prepare for battle!"


    The first ship really looked pathetic and was even starting to sink as its mast toppled over, taking part of the rigging with it. That¡¯s when the French line broke.


    While the first ship filled with water and silently sank into the waters of the Atlantic, the following ships passed it by, heading straight for the British ships.


    Strangely, they showed no sign of wanting to turn to face the anchored ships of Saunders. They were going straight ahead, simply, like enraged bulls.


    Saunders realized too late what they were trying to do.


    "My God! Raise anchor! Quickly! I¡¯m telling you, raise anchor! All sails out! Turn! Don¡¯t let them..."


    "Too late!"


    One by one, the heavy French ships collided with the British vessels, which lifted upon impact. The Neptune was also struck head-on by a two-masted cargo ship and began to lean dangerously to starboard. Fortunately, the gunports on that side were closed and well above the waterline.


    But that wasn¡¯t the case on the other side.


    No ship could return to its original position after such an impact, and what Saunders feared most, and had warned Townshend about, happened when Townshend imposed this unreasonable plan.


    When the English ships righted themselves, they first began to lean to port, where the gunports had remained wide open. Water began flooding in through each of them, and when these ships were finally stabilized, the waterline was too high to keep the gunports open, at least on the first battery.


    The gunners saw this and began shouting orders while trying to close the gunports. But the seawater was entering with such force that in many cases, it was simply impossible.


    All the British warships started sinking at a furious pace, and nothing and no one could do anything to prevent the tragedy.


    "No!"


    Before Saunders'' horrified eyes, five ships sank with all their crews! The Neptune, his ship, had spun on itself at the moment of impact and was sinking from the bow.


    As time passed, it leaned further to port, causing everything that wasn''t fastened inside the ship to roll.


    The water infiltrated everywhere, quickly filling the hold and the lower battery. The weight of the water and the cannons was added together, making it impossible to save the ship. Pumping now would be futile as the water was entering so fast.


    The ship was leaning more and more to its left side.


    "All to the boats! Abandon ship!" shouted the commander late, as seawater was already reaching the upper deck.


    "Abandon ship!"


    Finally, the proud ship capsized completely before stabilizing with a great cry of agony on a sandbank. This was not the case for all the ships, which disappeared entirely or left only fragments of masts behind.


    Charles Saunders, drenched, as they hadn''t had time to prepare the boats, was helped by a rather young gunner. With his strong arms, he managed to pull him up beside him, on the side of the ship still above the water, while dozens of men tried to escape from the ship''s innards.


    It was a magnificent three-decked ship, and it had only served a few years. Its loss was devastating for the Crown.


    It took hundreds of crew members to operate it. How many had lost their lives in the lower decks?


    As time passed, fewer and fewer men made it back to the surface and called for help. This ship had become a cemetery. Saunders sat near the stern castle, frozen and soaked to the bone, his legs curled against his chest.


    "M-Mister? Mister? Are you a-all right?" stammered the boy. "L-look, they''re s-sending boats to rescue us."


    The officer watched the French ships indeed launch boats, but he didn''t respond. He remained silent for a long minute, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.


    "Boston will fall..." murmured the Vice Admiral, looking dazed.


    "What? How? What are you saying?"


    "Boston... It will be bombarded until there is not a single house left standing. Townshend will arrive too late, if he ever returns."


    "Mister..."


    "The orders may have been Townshend''s, but everywhere they''ll say this disaster was my fault. All these lives lost, gone, in what? Five minutes? Ten minutes?"


    "You... You forget that the batteries were greatly reinforced with cannons from our ships! The city can still defend itself!"


    The Vice Admiral turned his head frantically and looked at the boy sitting next to him, as frozen as he was, but dressed almost like a beggar. He couldn''t help but smile upon hearing him, but his smile was incredibly sad.


    "I admire your optimism. What is your name, my boy?"


    "Williams, sir. Samuel Williams."


    "Never lose that optimism, young Williams. In the darkest moments, it will keep you safe until better times come."


    The two men remained silent until the French came to fetch them. They began by rescuing those who were still in the water, which was terribly cold at this time of year.


    The British sailors were shackled and forced to wait in silence for their situation to change. The officers were naturally separated, as it was not proper to treat an officer the same as an ordinary sailor.


    They were sent to an ordinary cargo ship and placed under surveillance like criminals. If they had expected to be treated like princes, they were all very disappointed. However, they were given dry clothes and a blanket each.


    At least they had the opportunity to see what was happening around them. This was not the case for the ordinary sailors, locked in the bowels of the French ships. The only light source here were a few candles placed in strategic locations, under glass for safety.


    For hours, nothing happened. After a time of overwhelming silence, the sound of cannons grew louder. Exhausted sailors could only imagine what was happening outside.


    It was a terrible ordeal for the captives. Not being able to see, but hearing, being forced to wait and imagine. Some pressed their ear to the hull in the hope of learning a little more about what was happening outside.


    If one concentrated enough, it was possible to hear the sound of waves against the hull and the vibrations caused by each shot. They were stronger at times, suggesting an impact had been received.


    ***


    Before reaching Boston, the French ships had to pass in front of a square fort with four bastions located on a small island. Although of a classic shape and not very impressive, it played its role by subjecting the fleet of Monsieur de Roquefeuil to heavy fire.


    Its cannons fired relentlessly, forcing the soldiers stationed there to run and sweat like oxen.


    Unfortunately for the small garrison, this was not enough against the dozens of cannons mounted on those formidable ships. As they passed, they unleashed devastating broadsides against its thick walls.


    For the unfortunate soldiers who had the mission of guarding the harbor entrance, it was like facing a fort firing continuously.


    Its stone walls, turned black as coal over time, cracked in places due to storms, and suffered heavy damage. Large blocks of stone were dislodged with each impact, rolling against the walls and eventually falling either into thorn bushes or into the sea.


    One by one, the French ships unleashed broadsides on this fort while advancing toward the city.


    When they had passed it, Roquefeuil''s fleet continued in a line formation past Boston''s harbor. They avoided obstacles, whether rocks or sandbars, and continued their course as though they were heading to the far end of the bay.


    The people of Boston could not help but notice them. Their identity was undeniable, as each ship proudly flew the flag of the King of France. The fleur-de-lis were clearly visible from the land.


    On the docks, people watched these vessels furl their sails and drop anchor. The people of Boston began to panic early, and chaos spread like wildfire inside the city.


    The smarter ones immediately tried to leave, or rather, flee the city. The French were surrounding it.


    Because Boston sat on a near-island, connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of land guarded by three strong walls, two to the north of this corridor and one at the entrance, they indeed had the means.


    If they waited too long, it would soon be too late, as it was already too late to leave Boston by sea.


    The role of these fortified lines was to prevent an invasion by land, but the presence of bastions also allowed them to partially cover the sea.


    These bastions were the first to be targeted by the French.


    The few redcoats that were there¡ªthere were not many left since Townshend had taken almost the entire garrison and all the recruits with him¡ªcould only take shelter and pray not to be killed as brutally.


    They tried to retaliate, but they were neither numerous enough nor properly trained.


    The Saint-Michel fired a perfect broadside that smashed one of these batteries with its different caliber balls, destroying several of their cannons and killing six men in the process.


    This horrific sight did not escape the residents who had gathered there in the hope of leaving, but who had been turned away by the redcoats. They had no choice but to give up trying to take this route.


    In other words, the people of Boston were trapped like rats.


    The bombardment continued late into the night. By morning, only piles of smoking rubble remained of the fortifications.

 Chapter 123: A Long Night

    Adam¡¯s room was plunged into darkness, but thanks to the faint bluish glow entering through the small window opposite the little bed he was lying in, it was entirely possible to make out the furnishings.


    There weren¡¯t many, really. In addition to the bed, there was a small oak wardrobe, a small desk, a chair, and a storage chest.


    Adam suddenly opened his eyes and realized it was still night. He couldn¡¯t determine the time, but there were certainly a few hours left before dawn.


    His head was deeply buried in his feather pillow, and his arms were folded over his stomach above the blanket.


    He was warm, he was comfortably settled, he was safe. He felt good.


    Ah... I hate waking up like this. Well, given the dreams I was having, it¡¯s probably for the best.


    It wasn¡¯t really surprising, given his day. From morning until mid-afternoon, he had fought the British, then he had attended to his company.


    He had lost four men in the battle, including Soldier Petit. He wasn¡¯t dead¡ªnot yet, at least¡ªbut he had lost an eye, which was a considerable handicap.


    He wouldn¡¯t be able to fight for a long while.


    Indeed, such an injury didn¡¯t allow a soldier to return home. He could still carry out ordinary tasks, load his weapon, fire, and make a bayonet charge.


    This was perhaps even truer in New France than on the Old Continent, for here, they were always short of fighters. His Majesty couldn¡¯t afford to give up one of his soldiers so easily just because he had lost an eye.


    He would be honored as a hero and respected by his comrades, but beyond that, nothing would fundamentally change.


    Of course, that was if he survived, as everything could still take a turn for the worse. If the wound became infected, he could succumb to a fever after days of agony.


    Adam had unfortunately witnessed such things many times, whether here in America or in Europe.


    It wasn¡¯t a pretty sight. More than once, he had thought, hearing their cries of pain, that a quick death on the battlefield was preferable.


    The best care from a surgeon, even a very experienced one, couldn¡¯t guarantee the patient¡¯s survival.


    He closed his eyes and then heard a small noise, like a creak.


    Adam reopened his eyes and saw the door to his room opening slowly, very slowly. He immediately tried to grab his pistol, which was beside him, within arm¡¯s reach.


    To his horror, he realized he couldn¡¯t move¡ªnot even a finger! His head, his entire body, nothing was responding!


    It was as if he were tied to his bed!


    His eyes opened wider, fixed on the door.


    He saw a shadow slip into the room. The floorboards creaked.


    Fuck! There¡¯s someone! Someone is in the room! My weapon!


    His pistol was within reach, but his arm refused to move! It remained desperately on his stomach!


    He¡¯s coming closer! Quickly! Move! My God, w-why can¡¯t I move?!


    Without moving an inch, not even a twitch, Adam watched in terror as the figure approached his bed. He couldn¡¯t make out its features, not even its clothing. It was like a black shape in the night.


    Help! Someone! Anyone! Please! There-there¡¯s someone! Oh, my God, help me!


    The figure stopped at the foot of his bed, its silhouette standing out perfectly against the rest of the room despite the dim light.


    Then he heard breathing. It was faint and wheezing, like someone being strangled.


    Adam couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from the figure. His entire body screamed danger.


    He was frozen, drenched in cold sweat. But he couldn¡¯t move a muscle. In fact, it was as if he had none.


    He was just there, simply there, a witness to a scene of horror over which he had no control. It was worse than a nightmare, because even in a nightmare, he could react. It might end badly, but it was better than this!


    D-don¡¯t come any closer! Whoever you are, stay back!


    The figure seemed to lean slightly forward, as if trying to see him better in the darkness.


    Then he saw long hands crawling out from under the bed, black and clawed like the bare branches of trees in the dead of winter.


    They gripped his sheets and blanket, creeping closer and closer to his immobile body. They grew more numerous, coming from everywhere.


    W-what¡¯s happening?! L-leave me alone! Please! I-I didn¡¯t do anything wrong!


    As he silently proclaimed his innocence, he remembered all the lives he had taken since he had transmigrated: in Hanover, at Rossbach, H?uslingen, Louisbourg, Fort Carillon, Fort Edward, and Halifax.


    He trembled harder, suspecting that this shadow had come to punish him.


    His bed was covered in skeletal hands, gripping his sheets as if trying to tear them apart.


    The tall figure let out a long, grotesque, menacing sigh. This immediately drew Adam¡¯s attention, terrified like the child he still was deep inside this adult body.


    ¡°We¡­ found¡­ you¡­¡±


    Adam¡¯s eyes, wide open to the point where they seemed ready to fall out, remained fixed on the figure, even when he felt a hand grab his left arm.


    Don¡¯t hurt me! Please!


    "You¡­ Cannot¡­ Escape¡­ Us¡­"


    Help! I need help!


    "We¡¯ve¡­ Got¡­ You¡­"


    Other hands appeared, crawling over Adam¡¯s bed like snakes, gripping him and tearing away entire chunks of skin. The black figure¡ªhe wasn¡¯t sure¡ªseemed to smile at the sight and began climbing onto the bed.


    It moved over his feet, then his legs, ignoring the countless hands in its path. Finally, it was just a few inches from his face.


    Its breathing was even more wheezy than before, as if it were anticipating a delicious meal.


    Though it was right in front of him, Adam still couldn¡¯t make out its face. Yet, he thought he saw two empty eyes. Slowly, a long row of teeth, sharper than those of a tiger or a bear, appeared. He saw an enormous mouth open and a long, slimy tongue unroll.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    H-Hurgh! P-please!


    The tongue slid across his cheek, like a child licking a shiny, colorful lollipop.


    The figure suddenly tilted to the side and sank its teeth violently into Adam¡¯s shoulder. A searing pain instantly gripped the young man, still unable to move.


    He couldn¡¯t see his wound because of the towering black figure hunched over him like a predator. But he could feel his blood draining, his muscles tearing, and his bones breaking.


    The shadow seemed to be in a frenzy as it devoured him alive, its breathing growing chaotic.


    I-it hurts! M-my God, it hurts so much! Rhaaaaa! Aaaaah! Help!


    The pain was unbearable. He had never felt such agony. It clouded his mind and drove him mad.


    As if to protect himself, he shut his eyes.


    When he reopened them, the room was incredibly quiet. Most importantly, it was empty.


    The hands and the giant shadow were gone.


    He was alone in his bed.


    Immediately, he sat up and grabbed his pistol from beside him. Holding it with both hands, he aimed it at the door to his room, which was still shut.


    His gun trembled in his grip. His body was shaking, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded so furiously in his chest it felt like it would explode.


    Feverishly, while keeping an eye on the door, he lit a small candle. Instantly, a faint but comforting yellow glow illuminated the small room.


    Sitting in his bed, his legs still under the blanket that now seemed to weigh heavily on them, Adam leaned forward and peered under the bed with the modest candlelight. But he saw nothing.


    "Ah¡­ Ahah¡­ Ahahaha! I-it was just a damn nightmare."


    He had never experienced anything like it before. Yet he was certain he¡¯d been awake when he saw that shadow enter and those hands emerge.


    Never in this life¡ªor the next¡ªhad he heard of something like sleep paralysis.


    After such an experience, Adam couldn¡¯t close his eyes for the rest of the night¡ªor what was left of it. He stayed awake for hours, his candle burning, too afraid to try sleeping again, lest he fall back into that waking nightmare.


    Finally, around half-past four, he got up and read¡ªor rather, re-read¡ªa lengthy manual for officers.


    In reality, it was more of a treatise on politics and war, written by a French nobleman who had lived through the War of the Polish Succession and the War of the Austrian Succession.


    It included stories of campaigns, strategies employed, advice on troop deployment, discipline, exercises, and many other topics.


    The author of this work had some intriguing insights, though they often seemed quite anecdotal to Adam.


    For example, the author wondered if the weaponry of infantry officers and non-commissioned officers should be changed. He argued, quite reasonably, that halberds and spontoons no longer belonged in modern armies and should be replaced with muskets.


    To Adam, this made perfect sense¡ªbut not here, not for everyone, anyway. He had discussed it with his fellow officers, who explained it was an old debate they probably wouldn¡¯t see the end of.


    Many officers were fiercely attached to tradition.


    To them, partisans, halberds, and spontoons were symbols of authority. They made leaders visible and allowed them to maintain order in the ranks.


    Most importantly, they kept the officers¡¯ attention focused on their men rather than the enemy. This enabled quick action if soldiers failed to obey orders¡ªor worse, tried to flee the battlefield.


    The author of this text, it seemed, was in favor of muskets for everyone. Of course, he asserted that even junior officers¡ªlike an ordinary captain, lieutenant, or ensign¡ªshould have muskets of better quality than those issued to common soldiers.


    More than once, Adam caught himself glancing at the door to his room, his bed, and the darkest corners of the space. He even forced himself not to reposition the desk, so he could keep an eye on the entire room at a glance.


    Of course, nothing happened.


    Somewhat inspired by the text, he pulled out some paper and ink. Hesitant at first, Adam began drafting an argument to Colonel de Br¨¦hant. Even if his words went unheard, he hoped to contribute to the debate, which he found fascinating.


    He also included a few thoughts about war, shaped by what he knew from films and video games.


    His paragraphs became increasingly dense and passionate, covering numerous topics. He defended the use of muskets for officers, arguing that an officer could fire alongside his men while leading them, and that he could more easily defend himself and the flag of His Majesty by being armed in this way.


    He proposed the use of trousers and boots instead of shoes, breeches, and gaiters; recommended using less visible colors than white or any other bright hue for guerrilla warfare; and suggested giving each soldier a protective device to cover their abdomen, like a half-breastplate.


    Of course, in the latter case, he was thinking of a bulletproof vest, but he could not use that term here, as it had not yet been invented. He even went so far as to suggest replacing tricorn hats with helmets.


    Finally, he asserted that for hand-to-hand combat, generally avoided in this era, it would be useful to give every soldier a short sword, more manageable than a musket equipped with a bayonet.


    When he had finished, he noticed through the small window that the sun was beginning to rise.


    In front of him, three pages had been filled with his fine handwriting.


    He gathered them and blew out the flame of his candle, now much smaller.


    At once, a pleasant smell filled the room, a scent he associated¡ªand would always associate¡ªwith birthday cakes.


    He then lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, exhausted.


    Alas, he couldn¡¯t stay like that for long, as the dawn heralded a new day. Since the enemy had been defeated the day before, this day promised to be eventful, as the old Marshal de Richelieu was going to march them toward Boston.


    Even though they would have to skirt the bay¡¯s treacherous waters, one day would be enough for this army to position itself at the city¡¯s entrance. However, they would need to set out early and march quickly, which meant leaving the artillery behind¡ªa true burden when mobility was required.


    Outside, despite the terribly early hour, the camp was beginning to stir. Soldiers were waking and gradually getting to work packing everything up. Soon, there would be nothing left in Lyn. It would become a ghost town.


    Adam searched for his colonel and found him very busy, talking with his major and lieutenant colonel. He decided to hand over his little booklet later and instead went to find his company.


    ¡°Captain.¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Marais. Where is Lieutenant Laroche?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s gathering the men, sir.¡±


    ¡°Good. We¡¯ll need to pick up the pace. I don¡¯t want it said that my company takes the longest to get ready.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be the case, sir.¡±


    The lieutenant had many things to discuss with his officer, but he remained silent, sensing that Adam was not in a good mood. Fortunately, these matters weren¡¯t urgent.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to visit Private Petit. You¡¯ll find me there if needed.¡±


    ¡°U-understood.¡±


    Adam turned his back on his lieutenant and walked away, his head bowed as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The burden of his position was indeed heavy.


    He quickly arrived at the place where the wounded had been gathered. Some wouldn¡¯t make it, and he fervently hoped that Private Petit would not be among them.


    He found him lying on a fresh straw mattress, his left eye concealed beneath a thick, clean bandage. A powerful odor lingered, as aggressive as the smell of burnt gunpowder, though radically different.


    The soldier¡¯s right eye moved and settled on Adam.


    ¡°Captain.¡±


    ¡°Good morning, soldier. How are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m well, sir. They¡¯ve taken good care of me.¡±


    Adam nodded slightly and spotted, thirty or forty meters away, an exhausted surgeon. It was none other than the man who had treated him at Hastenbeck.


    ¡°I can see that,¡± he replied after a short pause. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be back on your feet very soon. Your comrades are eager to have you back.¡±


    ¡°How many men did we lose?¡±


    ¡°The company? Three. Privates Prigent, Chanteloup, and Aubert.¡±


    ¡°Aubert? Maurice Aubert? I see¡­¡±


    ¡°Did you know him well?¡±


    ¡°He was my neighbor. We often played together as children. We enlisted together.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Private Petit grimaced, then shook his head.


    ¡°It is what it is; nothing can be done,¡± he said in a hoarse voice before pausing for a long moment. ¡°It¡¯s funny¡­ You think it only happens to others, that you¡¯re somehow protected. You don¡¯t realize how quickly everything can end.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°And the rest of the army? How many did we lose yesterday?¡±


    ¡°A little over eight hundred men, from what I¡¯ve heard.¡±


    ¡°Eight hundred,¡± Petit murmured. ¡°Was it worth it?¡±


    ¡°¡­ ¡±


    ¡°My apologies, Captain. I shouldn¡¯t have asked that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Adam sighed, folding his arms, understanding. ¡°We¡­ we¡¯ll do everything we can to ensure it wasn¡¯t in vain. And for Privates Prigent, Chanteloup, and Aubert, I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll help their families however I can.¡±


    Adam had almost said ¡°compensate the families,¡± but nothing could compensate for such a loss. No sum of money could make up for the loss of a son.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you rest now. Take care of yourself. Perhaps you¡¯ll be with us when Boston falls.¡±


    Marshal Richelieu¡¯s French army left shortly after and marched straight toward Boston.


    While the soldiers were surprised to see their ships already in the harbor, the senior officers were not, as they had been informed of the situation¡¯s development.


    Although access to the port had been secured by force, the city remained under British control. Its docks were in ruins, as were its batteries, and many buildings had been razed. All the boats had been destroyed.


    Chelsea fell without a fight in the afternoon, followed shortly by Charlestown and Cambridge. By evening, Richelieu¡¯s troops set up camp practically opposite the ruined walls meant to guard access to the city.


    The headquarters, meanwhile, was established in the nearby village of Roxbury, completely abandoned by its inhabitants.


    Boston was thus besieged, with a staggering number of refugees inside, including a significant number of militiamen who had survived the Battle of Lyn.

 Chapter 124: Adams Proposals

    The inhabitants of Boston were trapped like rats in their city.


    Even before Monsieur de Richelieu¡¯s arrival, they had begun looting granaries and shops in panic, fearing a food shortage.


    The remaining troops, few in number and poorly trained since the best elements had departed with Townshend, were incapable of maintaining order. It was chaos.


    Insecurity reigned.


    To make matters worse, the militiamen recruited by Governor Pownall and Brigadier General Townshend preferred to join the looters rather than restore order.


    It was a disaster. Food was disappearing, and people were fighting fiercely among themselves to survive.


    All of this was part of Richelieu¡¯s plan. From the beginning of this operation, he had pushed the colonists to seek refuge in the city. He had even slowed his pace to encourage it.


    The colonists had become a weapon. The governor had seen this problem coming but had realized the extent of the danger far too late.


    When Richelieu positioned himself at the city¡¯s entrance, it was too late. He could no longer drive all those people out of Boston.


    ***


    The next morning, Adam was informed there would be no assault. Richelieu¡¯s army would remain where it was, blocking the only land access to the city, which was also the only exit for the civilians trapped inside.


    The marshal¡¯s intention was to let the inhabitants dig their own graves by leaving them to stew in their city. With so many refugees, he had no doubt that within a week, someone would come begging him to lift the siege.


    After all, a city of this size required an astronomical amount of food every day. Adding the army of refugees, the Massachusetts governor must have found himself in an untenable situation.


    That did not mean the French soldiers would remain idle. Boston was surrounded by villages, likely brimming with supplies.


    Adam was sent with his men to a small coastal village called Dorchester. It was located on a major road following the coastline leading to Cape Cod Bay.


    Before leaving, he handed Colonel de Br¨¦hant his written work, produced after his terrible waking nightmare. He hoped the colonel would read it in his absence and take his suggestions for improving the King¡¯s armies seriously¡ªor rather his infantry, since Adam knew nothing about cavalry, the navy, or artillery.


    In Dorchester, Adam did not find much useful for Richelieu¡¯s army, largely because it was not the best season for harvesting crops.


    They took everything edible or valuable and left.


    Another team, sent further south to Milton, was more fortunate and returned with two cows, six chickens, and a good quantity of spinach.


    Unfortunately, Adam hated spinach. He would eat it, of course, if he had no other choice, but the taste and smell revolted him.


    His mother sometimes made it because the rest of the family liked it, especially his father. His favorite was when his wife made it with cream.


    They had tried to make Adam like this disgusting thing throughout most of his childhood before giving up when he was thirteen or fourteen. That may have been the greatest factor in his deep loathing for this plant, which looked like slimy, toxic seaweed when cooked.


    When spinach was on the menu, Adam¡¯s mother always prepared another dish for him¡ªsomething simple and quick like pasta with ground beef, ham with mashed potatoes, or leftovers from the previous meal.


    Anything was fine as long as it wasn¡¯t spinach.


    "Captain Boucher," said Lieutenant Colonel Lecornu shortly after their return to Roxbury, "Colonel de Br¨¦hant wishes to speak with you about your proposals."


    ¡°Oh, very well. I¡¯ll follow you. Hmm, Lieutenant Marais, I leave the company in your hands. Ensure they don¡¯t scatter. Lieutenant Laroche, please prepare an inventory to send to the major.¡±


    ¡°At your orders!¡± the two officers replied in unison.


    Adam nodded, satisfied, and followed the lieutenant colonel.


    The latter¡¯s pace was brisk, and because he had long strides¡ªa natural result of his very tall stature¡ªhe was always ahead of Adam.


    His face was narrow and long, like the rest of his body, as if he had been stretched. His gaze was sharp, at least as much as the major¡¯s.


    They quickly reached one of the finest houses in the village. The building was made of beautiful stone, and its slate roof featured a tall stone chimney.


    The interior was silent, lit by a subdued sun filtered through thick clouds, fortunately easily dispersed by a gentle yet powerful wind.


    The major led Adam upstairs via a narrow, well-made wooden staircase.


    As he placed his foot on the first step, Adam noticed several notches in the wood on a dark wooden post supporting what must have been the most important beam of the house.


    The words ¡°Abi ¨C 9 years old¡± were inscribed. Above it, ¡°Abi ¨C 10 years old,¡± and so on up to 15 years. Then, no more.


    Adam placed a hand on the inscriptions, likely carved with a knife, and could easily imagine a child standing against the post, her back pressed to it, while her father marked her height so they could both see how much Abi had grown in a year.


    Why were there no marks after fifteen? He didn¡¯t know and probably never would.


    He was pulled from his thoughts by the lieutenant colonel, who was waiting a few steps higher.


    ¡°Are you coming? The colonel is waiting.¡±


    ¡°Ah, um, my apologies. I¡¯m coming.¡±


    The officer said nothing and resumed his ascent until he reached the upper level, which was quite similar to the ground floor. Several paintings adorned the walls, although some were clearly missing.


    The remaining paintings were quite beautiful, mostly depicting landscapes. Most of them portrayed the city of Boston: Boston from the sea, Boston under the snow, Boston''s streets, a church... Adam was deeply impressed by the sheer talent on display.


    He knew he was entirely incapable of creating anything like that, even with the finest brush and the best quality paint. Not for lack of trying, though. He had quickly realized he simply had no artistic talent.


    His drawing skills weren¡¯t much better.


    KNOCK KNOCK


    ¡°Colonel, Captain Boucher has returned. He¡¯s with me.¡±


    ¡°Perfect. Let him in,¡± came the voice of Monsieur de Br¨¦hant from inside the study.


    Adam entered the small office, which felt much darker than the main room on the lower level. He found the colonel seated behind a simple but well-crafted desk with several drawers.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The owner of the house had taken all their most important papers but had left behind many others, making it clear that the occupant had been a rather wealthy wool merchant.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant did not stand to greet his subordinate, nor did he cease his work. He continued writing with the tip of a simple feather, white as snow, on an ordinary sheet of paper.


    In the muffled silence of the room, the only sounds were the wind against the room¡¯s single window, the subtle scratching of the quill on the paper, and occasionally the faint clink of the quill against a small glass inkwell as the excess ink was flicked away.


    Finally, after a minute or so, the colonel stopped writing. Slowly, he stood up and turned to face the young man, maintaining a respectable distance between them.


    Adam, having not been granted permission to speak, waited silently for his superior to address him.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant then picked up a few sheets covered in writing that Adam immediately recognized as the documents he had submitted earlier that day. The colonel glanced at them vaguely, almost toying with them, before returning his gaze to Adam.


    ¡°Captain Boucher,¡± he said in an almost solemn tone, ¡°I have read the documents you gave me this morning. I wasn¡¯t expecting¡­ this when I received them. Your ideas are¡­ surprising. Very surprising, in fact. I wouldn¡¯t have suspected this of you.¡±


    He ran his fingers over the papers as if assessing their quality.


    ¡°Your ideas are both innovative and rather unrealistic,¡± he continued evenly. ¡°But some of them warrant consideration, which is why I summoned you here.¡±


    The marquis de Br¨¦hant¡¯s gaze shifted subtly, scrutinizing Adam as if trying to see through him. Adam stood motionless, his tricorne tucked under his arm.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start with the use of muskets by officers. I don¡¯t know if I should be surprised or not. In any case, this is an old debate. I¡¯ve had many discussions on the matter, and while I¡¯m not opposed to such a change, I doubt it will ever be widely implemented. You see, we nobles are tied to tradition. The use of polearms is part of a cherished heritage. We cannot cast it aside so easily, though there have been attempts. Did you know that this proposal was made and even accepted in the past, during the reign of the Sun King? It didn¡¯t last long, however. Once peace returned after the War of the Spanish Succession, officers went back to their old weapons for reasons you seem to understand.¡±


    Adam nodded subtly. He had outlined in his report the value of retaining these archaic weapons but had been clear that giving officers muskets would be preferable. A few additional muskets per company could make a difference.


    ¡°His Majesty is not strongly opposed to the use of muskets by officers, but many nobles would take offense. Of all the proposals you¡¯ve made, this has the greatest chance of succeeding. Many great lords have been fighting for decades to reform our armies. Some are ambivalent and suggest keeping halberds and espontons for ceremonial purposes only.¡±


    The colonel¡¯s expression shifted again, becoming darker.


    ¡°But the rest of your proposals¡­ I must admit, you lost me more than once. Let me explain why. Let¡¯s start with the color of our uniforms. According to you, what purpose do they serve?¡±


    ¡°To distinguish armies from one another, as well as regiments.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s correct, but is it that simple?¡±


    Adam didn¡¯t have time to respond before the colonel continued.


    ¡°A uniform is a symbol. It represents the King¡¯s authority. It must be beautiful so as not to tarnish his image and to encourage recruits to sign up. A fine uniform, when seen on someone, inspires us, Captain. It should make our hearts race when we see it on another and make us want to wear it ourselves. Changing its design is not a trivial matter, and altering the color even less so. Do you understand?¡±


    He tapped the edge of the paper into which Adam had poured so much effort.


    ¡°You mention camouflage in your proposals. I understand where that comes from. The men in green, correct? And the Indians too, I suppose? But we are not like them! We wage war according to the rules! We may bend them occasionally, but it must not become a habit. Doing so would admit that we lack the courage or honor to confront our enemies conventionally.¡±


    ¡°Sir, if I may, it also takes courage to fight ¡®unconventionally.¡¯ We¡¯ve done it many times, as have our enemies, both here and in Europe. War evolves with the means available, and one day, we will no longer fight in conventional ranks. Our uniforms, while beautiful, are impractical. Only in snow do we blend into the landscape. Otherwise, we are easy targets.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you wrote, and I¡¯ll say it again, Captain: altering a uniform is not something to take lightly. However, in your text, you made a good point about creating separate uniforms for summer and winter. The English do it, so it makes sense. However, it would be costly.¡±


    Adam concealed his disappointment, making a considerable effort to show no reaction. The colonel picked up the paper he had set on the desk, turned the first page, and looked up.


    ¡°Ah, yes. Since we¡¯re on the topic of your uniform proposals¡ªgood heavens, can you tell me what you were thinking? Trousers? Really? Boots, I can understand. You want to better protect the men¡¯s feet from cold and dampness, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir, but it¡¯s also more practical. They cover and protect part of the legs, making gaiters unnecessary. Boots are also easier to put on, saving soldiers time when dressing. And trousers¡­ well, they¡¯re simply more beautiful and easier to wear than breeches.¡±


    The colonel abruptly raised an eyebrow and nearly choked.


    "Beautiful?! You call that beautiful? It¡¯s a peasant¡¯s outfit! If we allow our soldiers to wear breeches, it¡¯s because they¡¯re in fashion. All the aristocrats are dressed like this! That¡¯s what¡¯s beautiful!"


    Adam had somewhat anticipated this reaction, but the colonel¡¯s response was a bit more violent than expected.


    "If I may, sir, could I show you what a soldier might look like if we follow my suggestions?"


    The colonel, despite his feelings and hesitations, allowed the young captain to settle at his desk. However, he pushed aside the sensitive documents.


    Adam grabbed a blank sheet and the quill pen the colonel had used to write his correspondence.


    His strokes were quite clumsy, but a figure quickly began to take shape on the paper. The colonel watched him work, arms crossed over his chest and brows furrowed.


    It depicted a standing man holding a musket at his side, barely recognizable. He wore tall boots that reached below the knee, with the trousers barely visible because of them. One might think he wore ordinary breeches ending at the knees.


    Above that was a coat, almost unchanged except it seemed to close up to the waist and had a higher collar.


    Quickly, the drawing became very unattractive as Adam added a kind of cuirass over the coat, similar to those worn by heavy cavalry. Finally, he added a modern helmet resembling those worn by Americans during World War II.


    "Is this the helmet you mentioned in your text?" asked the colonel, astonished. "It¡¯s... hideous!"


    "Sir, with all due respect, a helmet can save a life. Tricorns may be fashionable at this time¡ªI mean, today¡ªbut that hasn¡¯t always been the case and won¡¯t always be the case. There¡¯s a reason for that. In the event of a blow, the soldier will be grateful to have protection. The tricorne is a hindrance for the soldier, especially when placing the musket on the shoulder. That¡¯s why so many wear their tricorns askew."


    "In the event of a blow? Captain, as you so aptly said, war is changing. It has changed. We are no longer in the time of Charlemagne or Saint Louis. We are civilized. We fight from a distance, in formation. The days of splitting skulls with swords and axes are behind us. While charges still occur, they rarely lead to hand-to-hand combat. Injuries to the top of the head are practically nonexistent. The Crown will never agree to fund these contraptions!"


    The colonel¡¯s tone was so firm that Adam knew it was no use insisting on this proposal. However, the colonel had just set up a perfect transition for his other idea, one he felt strongly about.


    "In that case, sir, I¡¯m sure His Majesty would agree to provide his troops with a cuirass, or at least a half-cuirass, to reduce combat losses."


    Unfortunately, the colonel didn¡¯t seem any more convinced.


    "Captain Boucher, I admire your determination, but your ideas are impractical. Since you want to address this topic, let¡¯s discuss it. Do you know how much a cuirass costs? Or the time it takes to produce one?"


    "That¡¯s nothing compared to the life of one of His Majesty¡¯s subjects, sir!"


    "That¡¯s where you¡¯re mistaken. His Majesty could not finance it, even if he wished to. But it wouldn¡¯t even be useful."


    "P-pardon?! Not useful?!"


    "Lower your tone, Captain," the colonel said in a cold, sharp voice, his face hardening like stone. "I hold you in high regard, but don¡¯t forget who you¡¯re speaking to. I¡¯m not your friend; I¡¯m your superior."


    "My apologies, Colonel. I... I got carried away."


    "Hmm. As I was saying, it wouldn¡¯t be a good investment, but not because His Majesty devalues the lives of his subjects. Have you ever seen what happens when a musket ball hits a cuirass?"


    "N-no."


    "The bullets go through. The shot has to be fired from a great distance or at a poor angle for the projectile not to penetrate. We equip our cuirassiers for additional protection, but that doesn¡¯t make them invulnerable to bullets."


    "Oh..." Adam¡¯s voice was barely audible.


    "That¡¯s not all," the colonel continued. "If we equip our infantry with cuirasses, even just to protect their chests, it would weigh them down considerably. It¡¯s not lightweight equipment. Our units¡¯ mobility would be severely impacted, and our soldiers would tire faster, meaning we wouldn¡¯t be able to react in time if a gap appeared in the enemy lines¡ªor ours. There¡¯s nothing but drawbacks to this proposal."


    "I... I understand."


    Adam lowered his head, deeply disappointed. He had genuinely believed he could modernize the French army. He might not have been able to create bulletproof vests, but he had assumed a simple cuirass could save lives.


    The colonel sighed, his face softening.


    "Don¡¯t be too disheartened, Captain. You¡¯re not actually the first to propose such an idea. More than one officer has sought solutions like yours to improve our army. It¡¯s a commendable initiative and deserves recognition. Some of your suggestions may certainly be implemented. For instance, arming soldiers with short swords¡ªit¡¯s not a bad idea. Upon reflection, replacing shoes with boots isn¡¯t a bad idea either. As for the uniform, I¡¯m not sure. I rather like the collar."


    "Thank you, sir."


    "I¡¯ll forward your ideas to the Marshal and the Court. I¡¯ll include my comments and suggestions, but I can¡¯t promise anything. If any are adopted, even one, it likely won¡¯t be for months or even years. It¡¯s possible this war will be over before you see the results."


    "That doesn¡¯t matter, sir. If I can contribute, I¡¯ll be happy and honored."


    "Good. Don¡¯t let this discourage you, Captain. Initiatives like these are how we make progress, little by little. You¡¯re dismissed."

 Chapter 125: The Bet

    The weather was cold and damp around Boston. The landscape surrounding the besieged British city was drenched in a gray hue. The sky, the land, the trees, the sea, the soldiers¡ªeverything was gray.


    A dense drizzle had fallen over the region the previous evening, so thick it could easily be mistaken for a fog. It was an insidious, fine rain that seeped everywhere, chilling careless soldiers to the bone.


    Naturally, the dirt roads had turned into veritable quagmires. This was good news for the French army, as it meant that any enemies likely en route to relieve Boston would be significantly slowed.


    However, morale among the troops was not high. Everyone was waiting for the order to take the city so they could quickly loot Boston and leave the area.


    Days had passed quickly since the start of this siege, with no major developments.


    The French army remained there, strong and resolute, camping and occupying all the nearby villages. They guarded the entrance to the city so fiercely that not even a mouse could escape without being caught, while their ships kept a close watch over the harbor.


    Occasionally, they fired cannons at the buildings closest to the port, as if to remind everyone that they were still there.


    The nearby villages had been thoroughly looted and sometimes set on fire, but that was all the infantry had done. Not a single assault had taken place.


    Gradually, boredom was settling in among the French.


    Adam, his shoulders wrapped in a thick greatcoat and his tricorn firmly set on his head, walked briskly down a relatively wide street cluttered with military supplies. In this street, made muddy by the recent rains, countless footprints could be discerned despite the growing darkness.


    His steps, weighed down by the mud clinging to his boots¡ªnow more brown than black¡ªmade an unpleasant squelching sound like a sponge being squeezed. He could feel the dampness seeping through the leather and chilling his feet.


    After a few minutes, Adam stopped in front of a building with a small hanging basket of flowers in the summer and a large iron lantern emitting a flickering light.


    The building was entirely stone, with two levels. Behind the few windows facing the street, a faint yellowish glow could be seen, along with some dancing shadows. Snatches of conversation and a few notes of music could also be heard.


    As soon as he opened the door, Adam felt a wave of heat wash over him. If he had been wearing glasses, they would have immediately fogged up.


    ¡°Oh! The door! It¡¯s cold out there!¡± grumbled a powerful voice near the entrance. It came from a carabineer wearing a flamboyantly colorful uniform and sporting a well-groomed brown mustache.


    Adam hurried to close the door behind him and took a few steps into the inn, which was packed with people. The air was thick with the smell of men, tobacco, alcohol, and smoke.


    Ugh, it doesn¡¯t exactly smell like roses in here, thought the young captain, furrowing his brow.


    The establishment had been quickly taken over by the officers of the army and was being used as a gathering place for drinking and eating. They also came to relax, chat, and play games. Here, two officers were playing chess; there, dice; and elsewhere, cards.


    In one corner of the room, an elegant lieutenant-colonel was playing a piece Adam didn¡¯t recognize, but it seemed to evoke a sense of nostalgia in those listening. Eyes closed, head slightly tilted to one side, the man seemed to be communicating with his instrument.


    Not far from him, a major was reading a thick book, his brows slightly furrowed. So engrossed was he that he seemed unaware of the people coming and going or the surrounding noise.


    Ordinary soldiers were not allowed in this building and had to make do with less comfortable shelters, such as barns¡ªwhich was still better than nothing.


    Adam elbowed his way forward and finally reached a wooden counter where he found Captain Fontaine and the others.


    As expected, they were standing since all the chairs were occupied.


    ¡°Ah, Fran?ois! We were wondering when you¡¯d be back! Hm? Everything alright?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m freezing,¡± Adam grumbled. ¡°What awful weather. I¡¯d rather it froze than rained like this.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely agree!¡± Albert replied with a laugh. ¡°Hey, you should leave your coat in the corner¡ªyou¡¯ll roast alive.¡±


    Adam noticed a corner where coats and greatcoats had been piled and went over to add his own before returning.


    ¡°So? Did you bring back anything interesting?¡± asked Captain Gauthier, swirling the wine in his half-empty glass.


    ¡°Not much. A good amount of flour. We found a mill. Oh, and we ran into a fairly large group of militiamen. They tried to defend it.¡±


    ¡°Really? How did that go?¡± Albert immediately asked, frowning, which instantly made him look several years older.


    ¡°Take a guess. Those militiamen didn¡¯t know how to fight, so we slaughtered them. I just finished filing my report.¡±


    Adam accepted a glass of Spanish wine, decent but unremarkable.


    ¡°Did you take any losses?¡± asked Captain Morrel de Lusernes, draining his glass. His serious expression made him seem older than he was, though his flushed cheeks betrayed that he¡¯d had a bit too much to drink.


    Adam answered as he took a sip from his glass.


    ¡°No, just some injuries.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, good to hear,¡± said Andr¨¦ Louis, finishing his own drink in one gulp. ¡°You were with another company, weren¡¯t you? Briscard¡¯s, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Adam replied, rubbing his left shoulder. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t like him much. He¡¯s too¡­ rigid.¡±


    ¡°Ha! He¡¯s definitely not the guy you¡¯d want to have a laugh with, but he¡¯s a solid officer. Very competent and strict about discipline. Some people should take him as an example. Where were you, anyway?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t catch the name,¡± Adam admitted lightly, as if the detail was unimportant. ¡°We found ourselves facing those guys, and Briscard¡ªuh, Captain Briscard¡ªdidn¡¯t try to negotiate. There were more of them than us¡ªabout a hundred, I think? Tsk, they really should¡¯ve picked another enemy. They didn¡¯t stand a chance.¡±


    ¡°A hundred? What were they planning to do with just that many?¡± Captain Fontaine asked incredulously. ¡°Even if they outnumbered you, they should¡¯ve known that a regular soldier is no match for a militiaman! It¡¯s common sense! Why didn¡¯t they retreat?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Adam sighed, ¡°I know. They realized it too late. They started shooting while they were way too far away¡ªmuch too far. Captain Briscard had us march on them, and when we were about 150 meters away¡ªI mean, 20 perches¡ªwe started firing. It didn¡¯t take long for them to grasp the difference in strength. By then, we¡¯d had time to close in and flank them. Since we reloaded faster than they did, it was like they were facing an entire battalion.¡±


    ¡°Wow¡­¡±


    ¡°Were there any survivors?¡± asked Captain Gauthier, raising a large, calloused hand to signal for another bottle.


    ¡°A few managed to escape through the woods. Captain Briscard didn¡¯t bother chasing them. Most fled, abandoning their weapons. Those who surrendered were taken prisoner. There were only about a dozen left. The ones who were too badly injured were finished off with bayonets.¡±


    A heavy silence fell over the small group.


    "I see," murmured Jean-Baptiste Gauthier, taking the precious bottle and filling his glass to the brim, spilling a few crimson drops on his fine white coat. "What a waste. People should know when they stand no chance of winning."


    Adam could only nod. Naturally, he understood Gauthier wasn¡¯t speaking solely about the militia but also the inhabitants trapped within the city of Boston.


    Neither Gauthier nor the others doubted their chances of victory.


    Indeed, while the French maintained their blockade of Boston and prevented reinforcements from approaching, the Bostonians were suffering in their city. Their misfortunes quickly became unbearable.


    Shortages had begun even before Richelieu¡¯s army arrived. Wealthy individuals had been able to make some preparations, but for the majority, every day was a fight for survival.


    It hadn¡¯t taken weeks for the first riots to erupt. By the second day, Boston was shaken by a powerful wave of unrest, demanding Governor Pownall negotiate with the French.


    He had refused on the first day the unreasonable demands of the Marshal-Duke of Richelieu, who sought nothing less than the city¡¯s complete surrender. After all, he did not want to meet the same fate as Monckton, who was derisively called "the Coward" everywhere for surrendering Nova Scotia to the French.


    Pownall had been forced to use force to crush this movement, but it wasn¡¯t enough, as protests and even attacks continued to multiply afterward.


    Beyond hunger, epidemics of dysentery and typhus had broken out in several neighborhoods due to overcrowding and the unsanitary conditions of makeshift housing.


    All of this pushed the good subjects of His Majesty to resort to extreme measures to survive.


    It was said that a person could go thirty days without food, but there was a vast difference between what was technically possible and what was bearable. Parents couldn¡¯t stand to see their children suffer from hunger, which was why the authorities had failed to establish an effective rationing system.


    Food had disappeared within days.


    Then, the Bostonians began seeking other sources of food. Animals in the city became prey¡ªdogs, cats, chickens, rats.


    It took just ten days of siege to turn these once brave and honorable colonists into rogues and desperate wretches into beasts.


    Fortunately, there had been no reports of cannibalism¡ªat least not yet. Colonists could still find food, prioritizing the wealthier homes.


    Of course, the governor had been ruthless with those caught. Bostonians had witnessed more than thirty hangings in this short span of time.


    While he still hoped the Royal Navy would come to their rescue, Governor Pownall knew that unless something changed, cases like these would continue to emerge.


    The French, although positioned outside the city, were perfectly informed of the situation. Every night, they received fresh updates from deserters and escapees.


    Their numbers grew as living conditions in Boston deteriorated. Soldiers and militiamen stationed at the crumbling walls guarding the isthmus connecting the city to the mainland were easily bribed, sometimes allowing entire families to slip through.


    The governor eventually realized the situation and completely changed the guards at the city¡¯s entrance. The French marshal thus lost his source of information.


    "Hey, Fran?ois?" Albert suddenly called out.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re taking bets. How long do you think Boston will hold out?¡±


    Adam raised an eyebrow but didn¡¯t reprimand his friends, having done the same in the past.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. What did you all say?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll tell you after. No influencing your guess,¡± Albert grinned.


    The other captains nodded, their full attention on their young comrade.


    ¡°No idea¡­¡± Adam sighed, shrugging. ¡°Less than two weeks?¡±


    ¡°You have to pick a number, or it¡¯s no fun!¡± exclaimed Martin, his cheeks growing redder by the second.


    ¡°A number? Uh, nine?¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± Martin cried joyfully, raising his glass. ¡°I said the same thing!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    Adam didn¡¯t seem as enthusiastic as Martin or even the other captains. Scratching his eyebrow, he asked what everyone else had predicted.


    ¡°Jean-Baptiste thinks they¡¯ll hold out fifteen days,¡± Andr¨¦ Louis replied. ¡°I said twenty-one. Albert, just to annoy me, said twenty-two. So, you and Martin are at nine.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t have the same!¡± Martin exclaimed, his balance wavering as his glass tipped precariously.


    ¡°You need to choose another!¡±


    ¡°Alright then, I¡¯ll say ten days. Is that fine?¡±


    ¡°Perfect. So if the city surrenders in nine days or less, Martin wins. Between ten and fifteen days, Jean-Baptiste wins. If it¡¯s before twenty-one but after fifteen, I win. If it¡¯s after twenty-two, Albert wins. Everyone okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Martin exclaimed energetically, nearly spilling the half-empty bottle.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Albert replied calmly.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Jean-Baptiste said, crossing his broad arms.


    ¡°Fran?ois?¡±


    Adam saw they were all waiting for his response, so he nodded.


    ¡°Alright, but what¡¯s the wager?¡±


    ¡°Ah, diantre! We didn¡¯t tell him?¡± Jean-Baptiste smirked. ¡°The winner gets to take one item from the others after the surrender!¡±


    Adam hesitated, realizing the stakes weren¡¯t trivial. During the plundering of Boston, they were bound to find valuables worth more than their meager wages.


    ¡°Hmm, that gives Albert an unfair advantage, don¡¯t you think?¡± Adam said hesitantly.


    ¡°True!¡± Martin exclaimed, glaring accusingly at his comrade. ¡°We need to limit him! No more than thirty days!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too generous,¡± Andr¨¦ chuckled. ¡°But fine. If the city doesn¡¯t fall within thirty days, there¡¯s no winner or loser.¡±


    Once everyone agreed, Albert wrote down the wager, sealing the deal.


    But just as they raised their glasses, a man burst into the room, the wooden door slamming against the wall. The loud noise immediately caught everyone¡¯s attention.


    ¡°An English squadron has been sighted! They¡¯re sailing straight for us!¡±


    ¡°What?! How many ships?¡± someone shouted from near the open door, letting the room¡¯s warmth escape.


    ¡°At least seven!¡±


    A wave of relief washed over the assembly. Monsieur de Roquefeuil had more than enough ships of the line to defeat such a squadron. However, if it were reinforced, things could quickly turn complicated for the French.


    ***


    At the same time, in the city of Boston, Governor Ponwall received a new report describing the dire state of the city. A house had been ransacked and stripped of its valuables, but more importantly, a significant stockpile of provisions had been discovered there.


    Specifically, the looters had gotten their hands on a substantial quantity of food. Because they had come in great numbers, each had left with only small portions, leaving mere crumbs behind for the authorities who arrived too late.


    ¡°Damn it! Curse them! What were they thinking, hoarding all that food for themselves?! Did they really think no one would try to take it?! Fools!¡±


    The governor¡¯s anger was immense. Unfortunately, this case was not isolated. Sometimes, tragically, such incidents ended in bloodshed.


    ¡°If we had been in charge of those provisions, we could have rationed them and distributed them to those most in need! What a waste!¡±


    His deputy, standing before the large desk covered with documents, wiped a bead of sweat from his exhausted brow.


    ¡°Sir, there are surely others hiding supplies in the city. If we delay too long, there will be more attacks. The people are growing more desperate and will take greater risks to fill their stomachs. They¡¯ll also become more violent.¡±


    ¡°I know that well, but what can we do? Search every house? We don¡¯t have enough men, and I hardly trust the ones we do have. The militia will be the first to help themselves.¡±


    Knock, knock, knock.


    A series of sharp knocks echoed at the door. Before the governor could respond, a short, stocky man burst in, giving a stiff military salute.


    ¡°Sir, one of our squadrons has appeared at the entrance to the harbor!¡±


    ¡°Really?!¡± the governor exclaimed, leaping from his chair.


    ¡°Yes, sir! Unfortunately, they couldn¡¯t approach and had to turn back when they saw the enemy ships unfurling their sails.¡±


    ¡°Ah! I... I see. But if they¡¯ve come, it means there¡¯s hope! I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll return with reinforcements! Perhaps they¡¯ll even bring troops numerous enough to drive away this army besieging us! Keep watching the horizon and notify me immediately of any changes!¡±


    ¡°At your orders, sir!¡±


    ¡°As for the food¡­ So be it. Gather the men you trust and search every house and warehouse suspected of hoarding supplies. If you find suspicious quantities, seize everything in the name of His Majesty. We have no other choice; we must hold out until our reinforcements arrive! We¡¯ll compensate them later.¡±

 Chapter 126: The Fall

    Governor Pownall¡¯s actions, drastic but necessary, were poorly received by Boston''s wealthy notables, particularly the members of the Council. However, they made it possible to gather the little food left in the city and redistribute it as fairly as possible.


    Yet, given the overwhelming distress of the inhabitants and their sheer number, it did not take long for all the supplies to be consumed.


    This only delayed the inevitable, giving the governor four days of respite. Alas, during that time, no aid arrived, whether by land or sea.


    Like gangrene, famine and disease spread throughout the city, sparing no one. Despite all of Governor Pownall¡¯s efforts, living conditions were deteriorating at an alarming rate.


    The streets were overrun with the destitute, often entire families from surrounding villages and neighboring provinces. Their hollowed faces and eyes filled with despair were everywhere, becoming part of the city¡¯s landscape in no time.


    By the fifth day, the local authorities were under crushing pressure. The population demanded an end to the siege so they could leave.


    For a growing number of colonists, negotiation was no longer an option. The disparity in strength was too great.


    Their anger, more than being directed at the French, increasingly turned toward the governor himself, seen as responsible for their suffering due to his stubbornness.


    Each day, Pownall received new reports of looting and violence. Every warehouse not destroyed by French cannon fire had long since been emptied, as had the bakeries.


    In his office, Governor Pownall received a new report. Standing before him was a militia officer with white bandages wrapped around the top of his head.


    ¡°Sir, my militiamen are being attacked more and more, just like the regular army soldiers. The people¡­ they¡¯re desperate and think we¡¯re hoarding food for ourselves. Since there¡¯s nothing to eat anywhere, they¡¯re taking revenge by beating us!¡±


    ¡°I know, and I understand their despair, but we must hold on for a few more days, Mr. Anderson. I¡­ I¡¯m certain reinforcements will arrive soon.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, sir, we can¡¯t hold out any longer. One of my men nearly died this morning. Even after he was on the ground, they kept hitting him! We¡¯re not here for this!¡±


    ¡°What happened is truly regrettable. How is he doing?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll live, but it¡¯s uncertain if he¡¯ll ever be able to use his hands as before. He¡¯ll likely limp for the rest of his life, and his jaw was broken. This all happened right in the middle of the street, sir, not in some secluded corner. People are going mad with despair. They¡¯ve lost faith in everything, especially in the idea of reinforcements. Our men are starving too, you know? They¡¯re now demanding to be paid in food instead of money. I already have many deserters. Soon, I won¡¯t have anyone left to command.¡±


    ¡°I understand. Just a few more days, just a few more.¡±


    ¡°Hmph, very well. But if nothing changes, don¡¯t be surprised if you find no one patrolling the streets or protecting the wealthy neighborhoods. It¡¯s the same with the regulars, make no mistake. Their stomachs are just as empty as ours, and their anger rivals that of the people they¡¯re supposed to control.¡±


    With these words, heavy with veiled threats, the militia captain left the room, leaving the governor alone, who could hardly blame him.


    Pownall was perfectly aware of the situation and knew he was running out of options. His eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and a black veil fell over his eyes.


    From sheer exhaustion, he collapsed onto his desk. Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t serious. The governor simply needed rest.


    ***


    As Governor Pownall and the city¡¯s officers feared, the following days were marked by shocking violence. The colonists and refugees protested daily, even at the gates of the fort.


    Samuel Adams walked down a narrow street lined with red brick buildings, nervous as though fleeing from the militia.


    All his senses on high alert, he kept a close eye on his surroundings, convinced he could hear footsteps on the cobblestones behind him. Under his gray jacket, which he held tightly, was a bit of meat obtained in a less-than-honorable manner.


    Sweat beaded heavily on his forehead, and his lips were pressed tightly together, making him look incredibly suspicious.


    He quickly turned into another alley, narrower and darker, and took the opportunity to glance behind him to make sure no one was following. He saw no one, yet he couldn¡¯t relax.


    The city was in such a state that the smallest incident could escalate. If anyone discovered he had food, he would undoubtedly be killed.


    A scream echoed from a nearby street, followed by the sounds of blows. Samuel quickened his pace, silently praying not to encounter anyone.


    Then he heard hurried footsteps in the adjacent street and loud shouting. It seemed the cries of pain had drawn the attention of a group of militiamen.


    ¡°Good grief! What madness!¡±


    Samuel¡¯s muffled voice was barely audible as he moved quickly through the streets.


    Absentmindedly, while checking for the thousandth time that no one was following him, he stepped into a large, deep puddle, soaking him nearly to the knee.


    ¡°Damn it!¡±


    The sensation of wet fabric was highly unpleasant, but he continued on without slowing, unwilling to remain outside any longer than necessary. He had already taken enormous risks.


    At last, the man arrived at his home.


    As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted by a child with wide, bright eyes.


    ¡°Papa!¡±


    ¡°Hey, sweetheart! I¡¯m home!¡±


    The man, thirty-seven years old, immediately placed the precious, carefully wrapped package on the small piece of furniture near the entrance and lifted his nearly three-year-old daughter into his arms.


    She was wearing a pale yellow dress that suited her perfectly and a small blue ribbon in her dark hair.


    Hannah was his princess, the last gift from his late wife, who had tragically passed away in July 1757 shortly after giving birth to a boy. Sadly, the child had not survived.


    A young boy, tall and slender, then appeared in the doorway of the living room, holding his stomach with his left hand.


    Samuel smiled warmly at him as soon as he saw him. The boy resembled him greatly, though he was much thinner. Eventually, he would surpass him in height, as he was already taller than most children his age. His mother had also been tall and slender.


    ¡°Father, you¡¯re finally here. Were you able to buy food?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t easy,¡± replied the father, setting his feather-light daughter back on the floor. ¡°But I managed to get a little.¡±


    The boy, with messy black hair and who appeared to be around eight years old, nodded.


    Life had not been easy for them, even before the French arrived. Part of these difficulties could be attributed to Samuel Adams senior, Samuel¡¯s father, who had died ten years earlier, but Samuel bore a greater share of the responsibility.


    He was not a great businessman like his father had been and lacked ambition. He was terrible with money and uninterested in building wealth through hard work.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He worked only because it was necessary to survive, but he much preferred engaging in politics, criticizing the British Parliament, which he believed was responsible for many of the colonies¡¯ problems. He even ran a weekly newspaper called The Independent Advertiser.


    Now that Boston was under siege, he barely had any energy left for this fight, which he still considered noble and necessary, as he had to devote it all to surviving with his children.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± asked young Hannah, standing on tiptoes to get a closer look at the mysterious package.


    ¡°Tonight¡¯s dinner, my angel,¡± Samuel replied with a smile, placing a loving hand on his daughter¡¯s head.


    Carefully, he took the package in his hands and held it out to the young girl.


    ¡°Look,¡± he said proudly.


    Slowly, he untied the small knot that held the package closed with a cord. He then unfolded the paper to reveal a small piece of red meat, not particularly fresh, weighing at most 300 grams.


    It was little, but under the current circumstances, it was a lot.


    The little girl salivated at the sight, already imagining the precious food in her stomach. Young Samuel, however, looked at his father as if to ask if that was all he could get. Unlike little Hannah, he knew what that piece of meat had cost: a gold trinket that had belonged to his mother, Elizabeth Adams.


    Because Samuel had squandered the family fortune, largely to fund his newspaper, which he treated as his second treasure after his children, there was no valuable item left in their home.


    The very young Adams understood that selling the trinket was necessary for their survival, but he couldn¡¯t help resenting his father for resorting to such measures to obtain food. To him, anything that had belonged to his mother was sacred.


    Of course, his father shared that opinion. If he could have avoided it, he would have.


    Once divided, the small piece of meat indeed seemed very small. Naturally, as a father trying his best, Samuel Adams went without so that his children could eat enough.


    A sad smile formed on his lips as he watched them devour the little he had brought home. He would never say how he had obtained it or what kind of meat it was.


    ***


    It didn¡¯t take a month for Boston to completely change its face. The entire city, once prosperous thanks to its trade, had become a vast den of thieves where hunger and mistrust turned the inhabitants into wild animals.


    Despite the eradication of rats by empty stomachs, the Bostonians still found the energy to beat to death those they considered enemies: militiamen, British soldiers, and sometimes even neighbors suspected of being profiteers or war opportunists.


    The breaking point came on the eighteenth day of the siege.


    Four men, driven beyond human limits, had killed and eaten an unfortunate soul. The news spread like wildfire, striking the inhabitants like a thunderclap.


    Already weakened by deprivation, they sank into alarming despair.


    It was this tragedy, coupled with immense pressure from the Council, that pushed Governor Pownall to raise the white flag over the city.


    As in Halifax, Marshal de Richelieu personally met with his adversary.


    The two men were opposites. While the marshal, despite his advanced age, seemed full of energy, Governor Pownall swam in his clothes after losing numerous kilograms and appeared on the verge of collapse. His complexion was equally alarming, and he could barely stand during the negotiations.


    Thus, without a single shot fired, the great city of Boston fell.


    Adam stood at the roadside, a kilometer from the ruined ramparts. Around him, his men gripped their muskets tightly, closely watching the endless line of civilians leaving the city.


    This was among the requests¡ªor rather the demands¡ªof the Marshal: everyone, without exception, had to leave, abandoning their weapons and all their valuables. They were allowed to take everything else, but only what they could carry.


    In no time, an impressive pile of weapons had formed at the city¡¯s entrance, at the feet of the Marshal-Duke.


    It hadn¡¯t taken long for the most determined militia members and soldiers to agree to lay down their arms.


    Adam, outwardly impassive, observed this strange procession. Yet, inwardly, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a peculiar pain as he watched so many downtrodden souls pass by. The children, in particular, moved him deeply.


    Some of them looked like ghosts. Their eyes seemed dead after so many trials.


    Despite their terrifying condition, they would have to walk to the next town while carrying their meager possessions in their arms.


    Forcing them to leave was certainly cruel, but it was necessary since the Marshal had no intention of holding onto this city. France simply didn¡¯t have enough settlers to populate it or the resources to keep it.


    Just as the old Marshal-Duke had managed to take it, he had no doubt the British would eventually retake it. They could blockade it as he had done and relentlessly bombard it from the nearby heights.


    Boston was too vulnerable yet too important to leave as it was, so he had decided to raze it completely by setting it on fire.


    Unknowingly, Adam saw several key figures in American history pass before him. Of course, he recognized none of them. He knew little to nothing about the events that would soon shake the colonies in the coming decades.


    At best, he was vaguely familiar with the phrase ¡°Boston Tea Party¡± thanks to the video game Assassin¡¯s Creed III, but that was all.


    The evacuation took several hours but occurred without notable incidents.


    Once the last colonist had left Boston, the French army entered. French soldiers quickly spread through the deserted streets, surging like a great wave, and invaded the houses and shops one by one.


    ¡°Sir,¡± said Lieutenant Marais, ¡°the other companies have started looting. Where should we go?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll follow the main road. Perhaps the nicer neighborhoods are farther up.¡±


    ¡°So, we follow the Marshal, sir?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Move out!¡±


    Adam and his company proceeded along the main street, which changed names several times. Orange Street, for example, became Newbury Street at one point, then Marlborough Street.


    The streets, much to the shock of Adam¡¯s men¡ªwhether they were from New France or elsewhere¡ªwere remarkably well made. They were paved and wide enough, at least from what they had seen, that they didn¡¯t feel claustrophobic moving between the houses.


    However, the streets were dirty, and many buildings had shattered windows or showed signs of having been burned.


    If it hadn¡¯t rained so much in recent days, they would have also seen dried bloodstains in some places.


    Even without that, Boston looked like a city that had survived the apocalypse. Everything was so silent that one might have thought the place was haunted. Only the crows, those omens of doom, remained to give a hint of life to this ghost town.


    To avoid being disturbed by other companies during their looting, they separated from the unit accompanying the Marshal and headed down King Street. There were no other white uniforms there.


    ¡°Gentlemen, you may loot these houses. All I ask is that you don¡¯t argue over the spoils, so I want one soldier per house. No one leaves the street. If you hear a long whistle, stop immediately and regroup here. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain!¡± replied all the men in unison.


    ¡°Then go! Help yourselves!¡±


    Adam released his men, who rushed like rabid dogs into the nearby buildings.


    Of course, the young captain didn¡¯t plan to stand idly by and wait for his men to finish. He knew this was a golden opportunity to enrich himself, so he entered a fine brick house with two large ground-floor windows located at the street corner.


    The owner had locked the door before leaving, likely hoping to find his home intact later.


    It only took Adam a solid shoulder strike to force his way in.


    The house was eerily silent, so much so that every noise Adam made as he moved across the rustic floorboards seemed deafening.


    Immediately, he began searching everywhere.


    The locals hadn¡¯t been able to take their valuables, so he hoped to find gold, silver, or perhaps some jewelry.


    ¡°Nothing here,¡± Adam muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s in these cupboards. Tsk, nothing of value.¡±


    There were items, of course, but Adam couldn¡¯t be bothered with small dishes.


    ¡°Oh! Silverware!¡±


    His eyes lit up as they landed on the set. It must have been a gift for a special occasion, like a wedding or a baptism.


    He quickly grabbed everything and tossed the precious utensils into a large canvas bag he held firmly in his left hand.


    He also noticed a decorated teapot and a lovely mirror, but those were the only things that caught his eye in this room.


    ¡°The people in this house clearly weren¡¯t very wealthy,¡± Adam said aloud. ¡°Shame. Hmm, an account book¡ªdon¡¯t care. Clothes? Meh, they¡¯re not bad, but what use are they to me?¡±


    After a quick tour of the various rooms, Adam left the house and entered another one architecturally similar to the first.


    The ground floor appeared to house a business, but it had suffered greatly during the siege. There was nothing worth looting there, so he went upstairs with little hope of finding anything valuable.


    As expected, there was nothing extraordinary. Fortunately, there were plenty of houses to visit.


    While rummaging through a large dresser, he noticed something odd about the bottom of a drawer. The wood didn¡¯t match the rest of the furniture.


    A wide grin spread across the young captain¡¯s face.


    ¡°Well, what do we have here? A false bottom?¡±


    He searched for a way to lift the hidden panel and quickly found a trick. Using a small rod, he pried the false bottom up from below. Immediately, the contents were revealed.


    ¡°Huh? Letters?¡±


    Adam raised an eyebrow and grabbed the first one before pulling out a visibly well-read piece of correspondence.


    ¡°Tsk, a love letter. Looks like the lady had a lover.¡±


    The lover in question had a talent for poetry. Adam immediately understood why all these letters had been kept.


    Without a second thought, he tossed the love letters over his shoulder.


    ¡°Damn it! Is there really nothing in this house?!¡±


    Frustrated, Adam went back downstairs and quickly checked the counter. There was a small chest, but it was empty.


    He moved to the next house, unaware that a small treasure had been carefully hidden in the chimney of the one he had just left.


    The looting continued for hours, but thanks to the large number of soldiers, every house was visited at least once. Finally, a little after 5 p.m., the Marshal gave the order to set the city ablaze, starting from the tip of the peninsula.


    Adam handed each of his men an improvised torch, and together they began setting fire to all the buildings on Salem Street, including Christ Church, a beautiful church made mostly of solid brick built in 1723.


    Despite its heat-resistant materials, the church¡¯s interior contained flammable materials like wood. Like the other buildings in the area, it didn¡¯t take long for the fire to reach the roof and spread to the tall steeple.


    Within an hour, Christ Church became a massive blaze before collapsing with a deafening roar.


    Other churches were not spared, nor were schools, the governor¡¯s house, or the fort, already heavily damaged by the devastating cannonballs fired by French ships anchored in the harbor.


    The city burned throughout the night, and by the time British reinforcements finally arrived, it was far too late: Boston no longer existed, and the French had vanished aboard their ships, heavily burdened by their impressive war spoils.


    Adam, standing on the deck of a ship cutting through the Atlantic waters, gazed at the horizon. Behind him, a towering black column rose into the sky like a sturdy pillar.


    It was visible for miles around, leaving no doubt that everyone in America, even in the farthest reaches of the Spanish colonies, would soon hear of the city¡¯s destruction.

 Chapter 127: Heavy Consequences

    The account of the siege of Boston, followed by its complete destruction on April 29, 1759, shook the colonists far beyond the loss of Nova Scotia. The presses began working to spread the terrible news as quickly as possible and to illustrate the tragedy.


    The most popular engraving depicted a view from the harbor entrance, with the city ablaze in the background while unfortunate civilians marched away and French ships sailed home.


    For the northern villages and towns, there were additional consequences: a considerable number of refugees, sick and starving, arrived in their communities. Most stopped in New York, which fortunately had ample space.


    On the outskirts of the city, which occupied the southern tip of Manhattan Island, hundreds of small houses¡ªessentially shacks¡ªsprang up almost overnight.


    For the local authorities, this was a real headache. All these people were British colonists, so they had to accept them, especially since the influx allowed New York to surpass Philadelphia in population. But they also brought many problems with them.


    Such a sudden population increase couldn¡¯t be easily managed.


    Very quickly, almost immediately, tensions began to arise between locals and those already being called ¡°the Boston refugees.¡± They were viewed with suspicion.


    Whenever there was a theft, the refugees were immediately suspected. Whenever a disease seemed to spread, fingers were pointed at them. When prices inevitably rose due to high demand, the Boston refugees were blamed.


    Everything seemed to be their fault.


    For all those who had just settled, it was the beginning of a new life, and it promised to be a very difficult one.


    ***


    After a first stop in Halifax and a second in Louisbourg, Roquefeuil¡¯s squadron arrived before Quebec on Sunday, May 20, 1759.


    The city¡¯s bells were joyfully ringing to mark the end of mass. Imagine the surprise of the parishioners when they saw Monsieur de Roquefeuil¡¯s warships loaded with booty arriving in their harbor!


    Governor Vaudreuil was so astonished that he personally went to the lower town to admire the extraordinary sight.


    ¡°Monsieur le Gouverneur,¡± said the old marshal, haloed with glory, ¡°we have just returned from Boston, and I have the honor of informing you that this city no longer exists. After carefully looting it, we completely burned it down until not a single building was left standing.¡±


    The Governor of New France¡¯s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in shock.


    ¡°Y-you destroyed Boston?! A-and this¡­"


    "This is all we found. We tried to leave as little as possible behind. Some items aren¡¯t very valuable, but they¡¯ll surely make people happy in this city or elsewhere.¡±


    Indeed, there were entire chests of clothing and small furniture.


    The rowboats, so numerous they covered the St. Lawrence, tirelessly shuttled back and forth between the ships and the increasingly crowded harbor.


    ¡°D-don¡¯t just stand there! Get to work! Sort all this and make an inventory!¡±


    Although his voice might have sounded heavy, the old governor had a huge smile on his face, and his eyes sparkled with joy. Since New France lacked everything, every object he saw had immense value to him.


    ¡°Monsieur le Mar¨¦chal, come with me to my office and tell me everything! I want to hear all about it, haha! His Majesty will be so delighted when he hears the news! I can¡¯t imagine how you¡¯ll be rewarded."


    "And I can¡¯t imagine how His British Majesty will react, hehe.¡±


    A sly smile appeared on the marshal¡¯s thin lips as he pictured King George II erupting in fury. He didn¡¯t know how the king had reacted to the capitulation of Nova Scotia¡ªa territory painfully acquired by the British Crown during Queen Anne¡¯s reign through the Treaty of Utrecht, ending the War of Spanish Succession¡ªbut he assumed, or at least hoped, that he had destroyed everything destructible in his office.


    ***


    Meanwhile, Adam was aboard the Saint-Michel, supervising the unloading of the ship carrying Monsieur de Roquefeuil.


    The latter stood on the aftcastle with another naval officer, discussing matters that did not concern him.


    From his position, Adam could see the precious cargo being hauled out of the beautiful ship¡¯s holds, hoisted in a large net suspended by an ingenious pulley system. With great care, all the crates, chests, and sacks were placed aboard large rowboats.


    The soldiers seemed cramped on these boats and did their best to avoid sudden movements for fear of capsizing under the weight of the cargo. Of course, the loads were limited to prevent such accidents.


    From where he stood, he could see the small harbor buzzing with activity. It looked like a beehive that had just been shaken or an anthill that had just been stomped on.


    Hmm, this is really impractical. Why didn¡¯t they build a proper port like Boston¡¯s, with piers extending into the river? If they had, we could have docked and saved a ton of time!


    After seeing Boston, Quebec had immediately seemed far less developed. It was like comparing a real city to a small village in the middle of nowhere.


    Of course, this was an exaggeration, as there were a few fine buildings here. The main difference between the two, in his opinion, was the construction materials.


    In Boston, nearly all the houses were made of brick!


    Although Qu¨¦bec could not compare to Louisbourg, which still seemed to be in its early stages of development, it inevitably appeared less advanced in comparison to such a city¡ªespecially when all the streets of Boston were paved!


    "Come on! Faster! Put some effort into it! Don¡¯t you want to set foot on land already?"


    "Hey, you there! Be careful with that! There¡¯s porcelain in there! Porcelain, do you know what that is? It¡¯s fragile, you idiot!"


    Powerful, authoritative voices boomed across the deck of the Saint-Michel, and there was no doubt the same was happening on the quay and aboard the other ships.


    Adam stood somewhat apart but kept a close eye on the unfolding chaos. The officers couldn¡¯t monitor everything happening on the bustling deck.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The young captain suddenly noticed one of his soldiers slip something into the pocket of his coat. His brows furrowed instantly.


    ¡°You filthy bastard,¡± he growled through clenched teeth, heading straight for the soldier, who quickly realized he¡¯d been spotted.


    The man¡¯s face immediately fell.


    ¡°Corporal Brochet, empty your pockets!¡± Adam barked as he reached him.


    ¡°C-captain, it¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°I said empty your pockets. Or would you prefer I do it myself?¡±


    All activity halted. Sailors and soldiers alike turned to see what was happening. Adam¡¯s company began to tremble at the sight of one of their own in trouble.


    It didn¡¯t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Many had felt tempted themselves, watching so many treasures pass through their hands.


    With a trembling hand, the corporal pulled a stunning gold necklace from his pocket, and Adam snatched it immediately. His eyes burned with fury as they bore into the mortified man.


    ¡°You disgrace this company, Corporal Brochet! I will not tolerate thieves among my ranks! You¡¯ll pay for this! We¡¯ll deal with it ashore. Get on the boat!¡±


    Never before had the soldiers seen their captain so enraged. Their faces turned as pale as their uniforms.


    The necklace was returned to a small red chest with the other valuables as the young man, barely twenty-two, climbed into the heavily loaded boat.


    The oarsmen quickly got to work. The rhythmic splashing of the oars on the clear river water offered a pleasant sound, but aboard, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt suffocating.


    Adam¡¯s anger remained unabated as he mulled over what to tell the colonel.


    Theft was a grave offense in the army, undermining discipline and jeopardizing the trust among soldiers. Without trust, there could be no unity¡ªthe very foundation of military forces in this era.


    He would have to report the incident to Colonel de Br¨¦hant, which would also be humiliating for him as the soldier¡¯s commanding officer. The colonel would decide whether to handle the matter himself or delegate it to Adam, but either way, severe punishment awaited the culprit.


    As soon as they reached the quay, Adam leapt out of the boat, gripping the corporal¡¯s arm so tightly the man cried out in pain.


    The scene did not go unnoticed by the civilians and military personnel nearby.


    Adam spotted the colonel near a rapidly filling warehouse. One look at Adam¡¯s expression, and the colonel knew something serious¡ªand dreaded¡ªhad occurred.


    ¡°Colonel, my apologies for the disturbance, but I must inform you that this soldier under my command was caught stealing aboard the Saint-Michel.¡±


    ¡°Is this true?¡± the colonel thundered.


    ¡°Y-yes, Colonel. I¡­I am guilty. P-please forgive me.¡±


    The corporal¡¯s voice was barely audible, his shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt, his gaze darting to avoid the colonel¡¯s piercing stare.


    ¡°What was stolen?¡±


    ¡°Colonel, I returned it to the red chest with the other valuables. I¡¯ll retrieve it.¡±


    Adam soon returned with the necklace¡ªa masterpiece worth a fortune.


    ¡°I see. This is a serious offense, Corporal, and you will be punished accordingly. You will stand trial before a court-martial, which I will preside over. Captain Boucher, as the officer in charge, it is your duty to serve on the panel. I will name additional captains later. Guards, take him away!¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Gather witnesses, Captain. We¡¯ll need them at the trial.¡±


    ¡°At your orders!¡±


    The matter was grave and needed swift resolution to restore order, not only within Adam¡¯s company but also throughout the regiment.


    Unfortunately, this case wasn¡¯t isolated. Two other thieves had been caught on the day of their arrival in Qu¨¦bec.


    -----------------------------------------


    On Wednesday, May 23, 1759, a court-martial convened at the fort to hear their cases.


    The three accused stood before a long table¡ªthe same one where Adam had once been promoted to captain. The atmosphere, however, was starkly different.


    Adam entered the silent chamber, following Captain Fontaine, Captain Briscard, and Colonel de Br¨¦hant. Another officer trailed behind him, a captain Adam neither recognized nor knew by name.


    The accused men, their foreheads glistening with sweat, their hands trembling, had no idea how to plead to the judges now holding the keys to their fate.


    While they didn¡¯t yet know their sentences, they understood the army didn¡¯t take justice lightly. Most offenses were punishable by death, whether by hanging or firing squad.


    They could also face life sentences in the galleys¡ªa fate tantamount to death, as survival aboard those ships was notoriously brief.


    Because they were guilty only of theft, there was still hope.


    ¡°Gentlemen, the three of you are accused of stealing property belonging either to your comrades or to His Majesty. We will now proceed with the reading of the charges against each of you. Soldier Leroux, step forward.¡±


    The soldier named flinched and stepped forward under the close watch of the nearby guards.


    ¡°Soldier Leroux, born June 18, 1736, in Paris, you were arrested on the 20th of this month after being caught pocketing silverware seized in Boston. When apprehended, you struck a corporal in the face. Upon searching your clothes, additional items made of precious metals, including a gold ring set with a gemstone, were found. Do you acknowledge these facts and these items?¡±


    The soldier, sweating profusely, struggled to speak but eventually admitted his guilt and recognized the items identified by the president of the court-martial.


    ¡°Theft,¡± said Monsieur de Br¨¦hant in a calm but razor-sharp voice, ¡°is a shameful act condemned equally by men and by God, but striking a non-commissioned officer goes far beyond that. The law, as clearly written by His Majesty to prevent such behavior, states: ¡®He who strikes a corporal or a brigadier, whether of his regiment or others, shall be condemned to perpetual servitude in the galleys.¡¯"


    ¡°Mercy, my colonel! I didn¡¯t mean to strike him! It was an accident¡ªI elbowed Corporal Choire by mistake!¡±


    ¡°Silence! You do not have the floor. You will have the opportunity to speak later. We call the witnesses. Corporal Choire, step forward.¡±


    The man¡¯s trial progressed at an alarming speed, and in just a few minutes, he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life aboard a galley¡ªa fate that could last only a few years.


    When it was over, the unfortunate man was taken away, and it was the next soldier¡¯s turn: Corporal Brochet.


    Immediately, Adam tensed in his seat. His hands subtly tightened on the long table covered with a white cloth.


    ¡°Corporal Alphonse Brochet, born February 4, 1737, in Quebec, you were also arrested on the 20th of this month after being caught by your captain slipping a gold necklace, seized in Boston, into your uniform pocket. When caught in the act, you immediately confessed. This necklace is here. Do you recognize it?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, my colonel,¡± stammered the man standing in the cold, fridge-like hall.


    ¡°During your interrogation, you admitted to the charges against you. We call the witnesses to testify.¡±


    As with the other accused, the trial was swift. The officers, including Adam, withdrew to an adjoining room to deliberate and returned less than five minutes later to the eerily silent hall.


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant spoke again, his gaze as cold as if he were standing on a battlefield.


    ¡°Corporal Brochet, after deliberation, this court-martial finds you guilty of the charges against you and sentences you to flogging. You will receive twenty lashes on the parade ground in the presence of your comrades and officers. Additionally, you are hereby stripped of your rank and demoted to the rank of private.¡±


    The man collapsed on the spot upon hearing his sentence, knowing full well the suffering that awaited him¡ªand suffer he did.


    On the fort¡¯s parade ground, Adam¡¯s company, combined with Albert Fontaine¡¯s company, as the last accused came from his unit, formed a square around a wooden post to which the first condemned man was tied.


    Among the gathered soldiers, Adam easily recognized Soldier Petit, now wearing a black band over his missing eye.


    Adam stepped forward and positioned himself in front of the corporal, trembling like a leaf. With a precise gesture, he tore off the insignia that marked his rank, letting them fall like garbages onto the cold cobblestones of the parade ground.


    No one moved in the assembly, and the silence was heavy.


    The disgrace of the former corporal was nearly complete. His white coat was removed, then the red jacket beneath it, leaving him in his shirt before everyone. Finally, he was bound to the central post like the worst of criminals.


    Soldier Alphonse Brochet then cracked, bursting into tears, crying and pleading like a child to be spared.


    Suspended by his wrists, he saw his shirt ripped off under the terrified eyes of his comrades and the next man to be punished, exposing his bare back.


    Adam, his face ashen, slowly stepped back and returned to the side of the colonel and the other members of the court, hiding his trembling as best as he could. Each step he took felt heavier than the last.


    The soldier drooled, and mucus streamed from his nose even before the punishment began. He screamed, promising he would never steal again, as though it could change anything.


    His cries abruptly stopped with the first crack of the whip.


    Schlack!


    Shocked, his eyes widened, his mouth agape toward the fort. His breath seemed caught in his throat.


    Long, red, almost purple welts appeared instantly on the man¡¯s back. The instrument used was called a ¡°cat-o¡¯-nine-tails¡±¡ªa type of whip with nine long cords, each tipped with knots.


    Schlack!


    ¡°AAAAAGH!¡±


    A powerful and terrifying cry of pain echoed in the courtyard, startling the guards who hadn¡¯t been informed of the punishment.


    Schlack!


    The soldier clenched his fists and teeth to endure the pain, but it was impossible to completely suppress his screams.


    With each lash, new deep marks appeared on the man¡¯s back, resembling the stripes of a zebra or tiger.


    Pieces of skin tore away, and blood oozed from the wounds. Finally, the twentieth lash sounded. Soldier Brochet no longer had the strength to cry out and collapsed onto the paved ground as soon as he was untied.


    Shortly afterward, the second accused man was brought forward, paralyzed with terror. It took three men to tie him to the post. Once again, agonizing screams filled the courtyard of the French fort.

 Chapter 128: The Augustines

    The sun was high in a radiant sky dotted with small white clouds resembling cotton balls.


    Gradually, the air grew warmer, though it was far from the stifling heat Adam had experienced either in Germany or here in America.


    A gentle breeze caressed his face, now devoid of all youthful features, inviting him to sit by the Saint Lawrence River under the shade of a large tree to rest.


    The air smelled like spring.


    If it weren¡¯t for all the soldiers around him, Adam might have thought that the war was far away, a feeling he had experienced many times before. War wasn¡¯t about shooting at each other every single day for months or even years, and thankfully so¡ªotherwise, perhaps there would be no Englishmen or Frenchmen left standing to recount the horrors of this immense slaughter.


    The kingdoms involved couldn¡¯t have kept up the pace anyway, as it would have required producing black powder and cannonballs in monstrous quantities. No army could sustain such a rhythm.


    However, Adam had not taken a single moment for himself to rest since his return to Quebec. It had been six days.


    His duties as an officer in the King¡¯s army kept him extremely busy. He had to ensure his men lacked nothing, especially in terms of equipment, participate in inspections and drills, keep the company¡¯s accounts, practice fencing, study complex texts on strategy and unit management, and so on.


    Adam also had to prepare for his company¡¯s departure, scheduled for the day after tomorrow, along with the rest of his battalion, to respond to a request for reinforcements from Fort Edward.


    Twenty-four hours never seemed enough to accomplish everything he had to do.


    Yet that day, he had put everything on pause to visit Soldier Brochet at Quebec¡¯s general hospital.


    After Brochet had been publicly flogged for his offense, Adam had immediately arranged for him to be sent to the hospital for treatment. His back was in such a state that his wounds risked becoming infected.


    Even though Soldier Brochet had made a serious mistake, he certainly didn¡¯t deserve to be abandoned in a corner to die of gangrene.


    Adam hoped he would be well cared for in the hospital, despite the meager resources available in those days.


    On the way, he encountered young Martin Morrel de Lusernes, who decided to accompany him even though he had no reason to go there. Adam didn¡¯t question it further and let him come along, as his presence wasn¡¯t bothersome.


    When the two young officers arrived, they noted that it was a beautiful stone building, much larger than it had been fifty years earlier. These expansions were necessary to aid all the region¡¯s needy, whether they were sick, injured, or simply too old.


    It even had its own windmill to provide the Augustine nuns with freshly milled flour.


    Adam and Martin greeted two middle-aged women wearing long white robes and black veils over their heads, with simple crosses hanging around their necks. Both appeared to be in their forties but were full of energy, carrying large baskets filled with clean sheets that still needed to be hung out to dry.


    ¡°Good morning. Uh, I¡¯m Captain Boucher of the Picardie Regiment, and this is Captain Morrel de Lusernes. One of my men is being treated in your hospital. May I visit him?¡±


    ¡°Good morning, Captain,¡± replied one of the nuns, a woman with a round, rosy face. ¡°For visits, you¡¯ll need to speak to Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se. She will certainly help you, but if she deems it better for her patient to rest, she will deny you access.¡±


    Adam nodded respectfully at these incredible women who dedicated their lives to others, often despite a dire lack of resources, and let them carry on with their work.


    He followed them for a moment and entered the main building, the oldest part dating back to the founding of the first monastery in 1692. The place was austere, much like a humble country church, but clean and very well organized.


    A few nuns moved about, bringing some life to the place.


    ¡°Psst, Fran?ois?¡± Martin suddenly whispered.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Look over there. To your right.¡±


    ¡°Hmm? Oh my God!¡±


    Adam turned and saw from a distance a nun of stunning beauty. Only her face was clearly visible, as the rest was concealed under several layers of clothing and veils. Yet it was perfectly evident to the two young men that she had a dreamlike figure.


    Her face was angelic, her skin radiant, her eyes large and bright like gems, and her lips resembled ripe fruit, bursting with sweetness and sunlight, inviting anyone looking at them to take a bite.


    ¡°She¡¯s breathtakingly beautiful,¡± Adam whispered, fascinated by the nun¡¯s beauty.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure her voice is heavenly too,¡± Martin sighed. ¡°God is both fortunate and cruel, having such beauty in His service. Poor us, mere mortals! If only I dared¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop it. They¡¯re nuns,¡± Adam immediately reprimanded, though his gaze remained fixed on the woman as she disappeared up a wooden staircase.


    Her every movement drew their eyes, even though she was only walking.


    With so many layers of fabric on her, it was impossible to make out even the shadow of a curve. Yet the two young men, hypnotized, could only imagine what she was hiding.


    ¡°What a waste¡­ I mean, what a shame,¡± Martin murmured when she finally disappeared. ¡°Such a beautiful woman.¡±


    ¡°Are you done?¡± Adam asked impatiently, his cheeks as red as his friend¡¯s. ¡°Let¡¯s find Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se.¡±


    ¡°For all we know, that might have been her. Hey, uh, maybe we should go upstairs to ask her?¡±


    Adam was tempted, but before he could reply, a soft voice, almost a whisper, spoke behind them.


    "May I help you, gentlemen?"


    The two officers turned around and saw a woman dressed like all the other sisters. She was probably in her fifties and so small that from behind, one might mistake her for a child. She also appeared incredibly frail, as delicate as a twig.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Beside her, Adam and Martin looked like giants.


    "Ah, um, it¡¯s just that..."


    Martin turned redder than a tomato and struggled to find his words, worried that this sister, quieter than a mouse, had overheard him. Neither he nor Adam had noticed her approach.


    Though she stood right in front of them, she seemed to radiate no presence at all.


    "Forgive us, Sister," Adam said, trying to calm his racing heart. "We wish to visit a soldier who is likely in your hospital. He¡¯s part of my company. His name is Alphonse Brochet. We were told at the entrance to find Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se to see if that would be possible."


    "You¡¯re speaking to her. The soldier Brochet, you said? Isn¡¯t he the poor man who came to us three days ago with his back in shreds?"


    "Y-yes, that¡¯s him."


    "His injuries are severe. He¡¯ll need time, rest, and consistent care to recover."


    "I understand. Um, can we see him?"


    "How kind of you," the nun said sarcastically, frowning. "Ah, did you really have to beat him so harshly? His back looks like that of a slave."


    Adam couldn¡¯t muster a reply, though inwardly he wanted to defend himself. He remained silent before this tiny woman.


    "Very well, since you insist, follow me. He¡¯s in another wing, upstairs."


    "Thank you, Sister."


    The two officers followed Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se to the upper level. A few moments later, they entered a long rectangular room bathed in light from numerous windows. The room was filled with beds, all occupied, arranged along both sides of the space.


    Adam immediately noticed the strong, unpleasant smell that lingered in the air. A few sisters were present, attending to the patients and doing their best to make their stay as brief and bearable as possible.


    The nuns were gentle, professional, and incredibly patient, even with the most uncooperative individuals. Some patients were in such severe pain that they resisted receiving their treatments.


    Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se stopped in front of a bed where a man lay on his stomach, exposing his injured back partially covered by bandages that clearly needed to be changed.


    Adam¡¯s heart sank at the painful sight. He couldn¡¯t begin to imagine how much the man must be suffering.


    "Mr. Brochet, you have visitors."


    "H-hurgh, who is it?" the man groaned, turning slightly, trying not to strain his back.


    "It¡¯s your officer and, um..."


    "I¡¯m not important," Martin interjected. "I¡¯m just accompanying him."


    "C-Captain?"


    The soldier Brochet tried to turn further to see his officer, but as soon as he began the motion, a wave of immense pain overwhelmed him. It felt as though an open wound had been doused with salt and lemon juice.


    "Don¡¯t move, soldier. You need to rest. H-how are you feeling?"


    "I feel like nothing¡¯s changed, but they¡¯re taking good care of me, Captain."


    Adam winced, regretting not having handled this more discreetly. He had done his duty, but it had led to something he hadn¡¯t wanted. Sometimes, he thought he could still hear the crack of a whip and the screams of pain.


    He supposed it was the same for Soldier Brochet.


    "We¡¯re doing our best," Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se interjected softly. "But it¡¯s true that your recovery will take time, Mr. Brochet."


    The nun turned to Adam, her face suddenly more severe.


    "His injuries are especially deep in three areas. It¡¯s as if he was struck with one of your sabers! Those wounds will take longer to heal, but they¡¯ll all leave scars."


    "I-I see..."


    Ah... Thank goodness it was only twenty lashes and not more. I don¡¯t even want to imagine what would¡¯ve happened if he¡¯d been sent to the galleys.


    "Hmm, it seems it¡¯s time to change his bandages. Excuse me, gentlemen," Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se said, turning to another nun. "Sister Clarence, we need to clean Mr. Brochet¡¯s wounds and change his bandages. Ask Miss van Schaick to assist you."


    "Yes, Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se!" the nun promptly replied.


    Adam raised an eyebrow at the mention of that name, trying to recall where he¡¯d heard it before, and then it came to him.


    Ah! That¡¯s the madwoman who tried to stab us last time we were in Quebec!


    He wasn¡¯t mistaken. Soon, a young woman dressed like any ordinary Augustine appeared. She was also the nun who had caught their attention when they first entered the large building.


    Adam couldn¡¯t help but gape as she approached, struck by how beautiful she was up close. Martin, standing a few steps behind him, reacted no differently and blushed furiously.


    Now that she was there, Adam remembered that Ryckje van Schaick had been sentenced to forced labor and re-education with the Augustines of Quebec¡¯s General Hospital. He had to admit that the habit suited her.


    Adam and Martin watched as the young woman got to work, starting to remove the old bandages from Soldier Brochet. Even though she had done this before, she couldn¡¯t help but grimace at the man¡¯s horrific wounds.


    From her perspective, as well as Adam¡¯s and Martin¡¯s, the cream applied to the unfortunate man¡¯s injuries resembled pus. The smell was equally unpleasant.


    What the hell is that smell?! What did they make that with?!


    The sister and her young assistant were quite efficient despite Sister Th¨¦r¨¨se¡¯s insistent gaze, and in no time, Soldier Brochet¡¯s back was cleaned, treated, and bandaged again.


    Adam then noticed that throughout the whole process, his friend hadn¡¯t taken his eyes off the young Ryckje.


    Wait, what? Martin?!


    Ryckje van Schaick didn¡¯t even notice¡ªor perhaps deliberately ignored¡ªthat Martin was watching her. She did her work and left once it was done.


    She had said only three words throughout the process, in French, but with a strong accent that Adam found charming.


    Adam and Martin left the hospital shortly after. As soon as they were outside, Adam turned to his friend, a mischievous grin on his lips.


    ¡°Hey, Martin, it seems you like the little English girl, huh? Hehe!¡± he teased in a mock-innocent tone.


    Martin, who had been silent until then, froze in his tracks. His face, which had returned to calm after the hospital visit, flushed red again, making him resemble a peony.


    ¡°W-what?! W-what are you talking about?! N-not at all!¡± he stammered, waving his hands as if to dismiss the idea.


    ¡°Oh really? And here I thought you two would make a lovely couple,¡± murmured Adam just loud enough for his friend to hear, savoring each word as if it were a delightful treat.


    ¡°R-really?!¡±


    ¡°Well, I must¡¯ve been mistaken,¡± continued the young officer with a light laugh. ¡°I guess I could try my luck, then?¡±


    ¡°You?!¡± exclaimed Martin, his eyes widening like saucers.


    By now, his face was more purple than red, giving him the appearance of a beetroot. His eyes shot daggers at his friend, who was clearly enjoying himself.


    Adam, quite pleased with himself, began walking again, whistling a familiar tune that was decidedly out of place for the era.


    ¡°Fran?ois!¡±


    His friend turned back, laughter in his eyes, and flashed a dazzling smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m joking, Martin. Haha, you should¡¯ve seen your face. But seriously, don¡¯t wait too long, or someone else might beat you to it. Such a lovely young lady¡ªshe¡¯s probably stolen quite a few hearts since she arrived. Ah, but it¡¯s probably too late, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯re leaving Quebec in two days, and who knows when we¡¯ll be back?¡±


    Martin muttered an indistinct response, his face still burning, while Adam, in high spirits, walked away whistling a rock tune.


    He made his way to the outskirts of the city, where Richelieu¡¯s army¡ªor at least what was left of it after leaving nearly half its men in the south to maintain control over some of the English territories pillaged since the operation began¡ªwas camped.


    Numerous tents were pitched there, and the air was filled with the delicious smell of frying food. Potatoes were growing in popularity, and Adam had heard that farmers were planning to plant more of them this year.


    Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t a difficult crop¡ªit just needed to be planted and left to grow quietly throughout the summer.


    Not far from the camp, loud cheers and applause could be heard. A group of men was enjoying themselves on an open field, where a rugby match was in full swing, and as usual, a large crowd had gathered to watch and cheer them on.


    Drawn by all the commotion, Adam slipped into the crowd and smiled as he watched them running around like madmen. One player passed close by, clutching a ball that didn¡¯t seem to belong to him.


    With agility, he dodged a defender, skimming the edge of the field, and brought the precious ball into the opposing camp.


    Watching them play, the young captain noticed a marked improvement in the quality of the game. Though it was still far from what one might see in modern competitions, it was undeniable that the players were getting better with practice: their passes were more precise, their movements more coordinated, and they had even started employing strategies to triumph.


    Each man seemed to be finding his role according to his characteristics.


    Well, it seems they¡¯re taking this game seriously, Adam thought with immense satisfaction.


    He found himself imagining official matches between the cities of New France. Perhaps, before returning to Europe, he might witness a Montreal-Quebec game or even a Louisbourg-Halifax one?


    He supposed it wasn¡¯t impossible that someday, when peace was restored between France and England, there could be great matches between their two nations.

 Chapter 129: The Poem

    As the night had already fallen and most of the soldiers were asleep, Adam was savoring a glass of wine alone, sitting in front of a simple but sturdy desk. In front of him were writing materials and a large book whose pages he had just started to fill.


    So far, he had written only about ten pages, but he was quite satisfied with them.


    The first page displayed only the title of his work: Beauty and the Beast.


    He thought that, at this time, such a story might appeal to people and could even earn him some money. Perhaps, eventually, he could become rich thanks to the sale of his work.


    Luckily for him, Disney did not yet exist, because otherwise, he would have found himself facing an army of lawyers. What he intended to write was exactly their story as it was told in the 1991 animated film.


    Although it was old, he still considered it a great classic, like The Lion King, Aladdin, Cinderella, Snow White, or Sleeping Beauty. He had no doubts about their success at that time, only about his own ability to convey the beauty of those works through his writing.


    However, he was unaware that some of these stories were already known in this latter half of the 18th century. For instance, the story of Cinderella originated from China and had been brought to Europe by an Italian in the 17th century when he wrote it down!


    As for Beauty and the Beast, Adam was truly unlucky, as this tale had arrived in France twenty years earlier, written by Madame Gabrielle-Suzanne de Villeneuve, and had been published again in a new version in 1756-1757 by Madame Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont.


    His work, unless he managed to distinguish himself from an experienced novelist like Madame Leprince de Beaumont, was doomed to failure.


    Knock, knock, knock.


    Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise when he heard a knock at his door and placed his glass away from his book to avoid any accidents. Slowly, he got up and walked toward the door of his room, lit only by two candles.


    "Martin?" Adam said in surprise as he opened the door. "What are you doing here?"


    "Sorry to bother you at this late hour, but I need your help. Um, I hope I¡¯m not disturbing you?"


    "Not at all," he reassured him immediately before stepping aside. "Come in, please."


    "Thank you."


    As soon as Martin entered, Adam gently closed the door to avoid waking everyone else on that floor before turning to his friend.


    "So? What¡¯s this about?"


    "I¡­ I need advice."


    "Oh?" Adam replied before suddenly realizing something. "Could it have to do with a certain Englishwoman?"


    Despite the dim light, Adam saw his friend blush and look away. He was holding a few sheets of paper in his hands.


    "Y-yes. I asked her parents this afternoon for permission to court her."


    "Her parents? Why would you do that?" Adam asked in surprise.


    "What do you mean, why? Isn¡¯t that normal? After all, she¡¯s their daughter! Anyway, I managed to convince them to let me, even though it wasn¡¯t easy."


    Adam raised an eyebrow higher, as, despite having lived long enough to understand this era, many mysteries of what these people considered common sense still eluded him.


    "Hmm, okay. And so?"


    "And so, even though I got their approval, I still have to win her over. S-so I thought maybe you could help me?"


    A wide smile formed on Adam¡¯s lips as he saw his friend¡¯s desperate expression.


    Haha, no matter the era, some things never change! How to flirt? Now that I can handle!


    "You knocked on the right door! Haha! I¡¯ll help you!"


    "T-thank you! I¡¯ve written a poem, and I was wondering if you could give me your opinion."


    "A poem?!"


    Adam thought it was a joke but quickly realized Martin was very serious.


    Holding back laughter so as not to hurt his friend¡¯s feelings, he agreed to listen.


    "Ahem! I¡¯ve called this poem ¡®To the Radiance of Your Eyes.¡¯


    When dawn is born and bathes the sky in gold,


    It¡¯s your radiance that makes the heavens pale.


    In your gentle eyes, a solace untold,


    A light that forever enchants without fail.


    Your perfect features defy the hand of time,


    A masterpiece wrought by nature¡¯s own art.


    Each smile soothes torments, oh so sublime,


    Each glance ignites the darkest of hearts.


    O fairest lady, hear my humble sighs,


    These words of love, discreet yet sincere.


    In your grace alone, my solace lies,


    To celebrate you in verses clear.


    Grant me the hope of a gentle return,


    A single gleam to light my days in turn.


    Adam, astonished, couldn¡¯t respond immediately. His smile faded, for although he knew nothing about poetry, he could sense all the passion Martin felt for the young Ryckje van Schaick.


    Despite his lack of expertise, he could also see the effort his friend had put into writing those few verses. He wasn¡¯t sure he fully understood it all, but the essential message was clear: it was a declaration of love.


    ¡°So? What do you think?¡± Martin asked nervously, clutching his notes tightly.


    ¡°It¡¯s, uh, very pretty.¡±


    ¡°But? It¡¯s no good? Are my rhymes bad? I tried to make it an alexandrine. Maybe it¡¯s too short?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that. It¡¯s just¡­¡±


    A poem? That¡¯s so cheesy! Well, in my time it is. Here, I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll work.


    ¡°Well?¡± Martin pressed, his tone pleading, as though he were being tortured.


    ¡°Look, she¡¯s not French. Even though she¡¯s started learning our language with the Augustines, she might not understand your poem.¡±


    Martin¡¯s eyes widened, only now realizing the issue. His shoulders slumped as though the young woman had already rejected him.


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s too early to give up! You know what? Let¡¯s try to make her a poem in English, alright? I might not be a poet, but at least I can handle English.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Fran?ois! You¡¯re the best!¡±


    The two young officers got to work, illuminated by the two candles on the desk. They stayed up late into the night, with Martin only returning to his room a few hours before dawn.


    Despite their sleepless night, Adam and Martin rose at their usual hour to attend to their duties as officers.


    That morning, Colonel de Br¨¦hant was inspecting his troops.


    The third battalion, which included Jean, Jules, Louis, and Charles, was not present in Quebec, having been left under Lieutenant Colonel Lecornu in Portsmouth to defend the territories seized from the British Crown. Meanwhile, Captain de Boish¨¦bert was doing his best to secure control of the lands between Acadia and Portsmouth.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Fortunately, he could count on the support of the Abenaki and Mik¡¯maq, who saw this as an ideal opportunity to expand their territories.


    Adam¡¯s company went unnoticed during the ceremony, and his men managed to perform all their drills correctly, much to his relief. Even the soldier Tournier.


    Finally, around noon, the moment of truth arrived.


    Martin asked Adam to accompany him to the general hospital to lend a hand in case something went wrong. Martin hadn¡¯t been able to sleep since their parting, too anxious about the prospect of failure in front of the young lady who had unknowingly stolen his heart.


    The two young men walked to the hospital, their expressions starkly contrasting. While Adam seemed relaxed, as though he were about to watch a performance, Martin looked as if he were marching to a court martial.


    He held in one hand his poem and, in the other, a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked just moments before.


    Suddenly, Martin froze in his tracks, as if paralyzed.


    ¡°What is it? What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°I-I think it¡¯s her, over there. I-I can¡¯t do it, Fran?ois.¡±


    Adam followed his friend¡¯s gaze and saw a graceful figure, dressed entirely in white except for her black veil. She seemed to be heading toward a fountain.


    ¡°Of course you can! Worst case, she says ¡®no.¡¯ It¡¯s not the end of the world!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that! You¡¯ll jinx me!¡± Martin cried, spinning sharply toward Adam. ¡°If she refuses, I won¡¯t be able to face her again. I¡¯d be too ashamed!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re overreacting. Look, if you don¡¯t go, you¡¯ll never know. You¡¯re not seriously going to chicken out at the last second after we spent all night working on that damn poem, are you?¡±


    Martin, feeling more tense than a drawn bowstring and chilled to the bone despite the mild air, was even clenching his teeth.


    ¡°F-fine. I-I¡¯ll go.¡±


    Taking a deep breath, Martin stepped forward, rounding a low stone wall. Adam stayed behind, letting his friend approach Ryckje van Schaick on his own.


    His steps, confident at first, quickly grew hesitant as he neared her.


    Adam had been in Martin¡¯s shoes a few times before, but the circumstances had been entirely different. Back then, he¡¯d only dealt with twenty-first-century girls.


    With them, it had been simple. All he had to do was tell them they were beautiful and that he wanted to get to know them. The girl might accept or decline, but it was never a big deal.


    Rejection stung, sure, but it wasn¡¯t a catastrophe. Thanks to his good looks, he could always try again with someone else.


    Every success and every failure had given him experience. By the time he¡¯d ended up in this body, he¡¯d already built up quite a lot, despite his youth.


    The young Joanna, the girl he had been dating before being accidentally thrown into this era, was just the latest in a long list and meant nothing to him. He¡¯d even forgotten her name.


    But here, relationships were taken far more seriously. The fact that Martin had no experience with women at his age really shouldn¡¯t have surprised him.


    Adam found the situation more intriguing than amusing, as he wanted to observe how young men of this era attempted to woo someone. They had briefly discussed it the night before¡ªor rather, earlier that morning¡ªbut there were still many points Adam didn¡¯t understand.


    Not far away, Martin came within earshot of Ryckje, who was busy running errands for the hospital. She also helped elsewhere, but that was where she was most needed. After all, people often fell ill or got injured.


    The nuns constantly needed assistance. They lacked not only capable hands but also resources, which they made up for with clever tricks.


    ¡°Uh, M-Mademoiselle van Schaick?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    The young woman, who had turned eighteen in January, straightened and noticed a young French officer her age. She immediately recognized him as the one she had tried to assassinate, which had led to her current predicament, forced to stay with the Augustinian nuns.


    She had also spotted him the previous day near a soldier whose back was lacerated. He had been standing with another officer she had also tried to stab.


    She had done everything she could to avoid meeting his gaze and had prayed to be forgotten, yet here he was, standing in front of her with an impressive bouquet of colorful flowers.


    Her large doe-like eyes shifted from the bouquet to the young man, slightly taller than her. Despite the shame welling up inside her, she refused to avert her gaze this time.


    It was the boy who looked away first, but the young woman¡¯s expression did not soften.


    ¡°W-would you spare me a moment of your time?¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡± replied the Englishwoman in her imperfect but melodious French, her brows slightly furrowed with irritation.


    Martin swallowed hard, trying to calm his nerves and recall everything he had prepared for this encounter. It was both very little and an enormous amount. Everything was jumbled in his mind, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts.


    Finally, he abandoned most of his plans and held out a neatly folded piece of paper.


    ¡°I-I wanted to¡­ uh¡­ give you this.¡±


    Ryckje didn¡¯t move, her cold gaze fixed on the paper as her brows furrowed further. She set down the heavy jug she was holding, now unbearably heavy since it was full, and crossed her arms over her chest, hidden beneath the thick fabric of her uncomfortable dress.


    Her merciless eyes bore into the young officer, who seemed to shrink before her.


    ¡°A piece of paper? How generous of you.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s¡­ a poem. For you.¡±


    An awkward silence immediately settled between the two young people. Ryckje scrutinized him, her brows knitting even closer together.


    From where he stood, Adam could see his young friend struggling, but it was too early to intervene. This was a decisive moment.


    ¡°A poem. For me,¡± repeated the young woman, her voice growing heavier. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing? Who do you think you are, and who do you think I am?¡±


    ¡°Gulp!¡±


    ¡°After everything that¡¯s happened, do you think a piece of paper will change anything?¡±


    Martin instinctively took a step back in the face of Ryckje van Schaick¡¯s pent-up anger. Though she had tried to hide it since her sentencing the previous winter, she hadn¡¯t forgotten. Her anger was still there, very much alive.


    Adam tensed, ready to step in.


    Damn, this isn¡¯t looking good. Defend yourself, Martin!


    At last, Martin stopped retreating and lowered his arm holding the poem.


    ¡°I can¡¯t undo what happened, Mademoiselle van Schaick. That¡¯s a fact. I can offer a thousand apologies, a thousand condolences for the loss of your brother, but I know it wouldn¡¯t change anything. If it¡¯s apologies you want, I could spend my life giving them.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want apologies,¡± Ryckje snapped. ¡°Not from you, not from any Frenchman. You have no idea what I¡¯ve lost!¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Martin said softly, as he was familiar with her case.


    Unconvinced, Ryckje let out a cold laugh.


    ¡°Do you? Have you lost your home? Been separated from your friends? Lost your brother without being able to bury him properly? Been moved to an enemy city and forced to live among them? Watched your closest family grow close to your enemies and been forced to learn their language through beatings? You know nothing because you¡¯re one of the people who took everything from me!¡±


    Her angry gaze pierced Martin like a lance with its tip searingly hot.


    ¡°And now you want to give me a poem? As if that would change anything?¡±


    Martin lowered his head, as if finally realizing his mistake. Adam saw it too and let out a deep sigh.


    Looks like it¡¯s a failure, Adam thought. Well, it¡¯s not that surprising, I suppose. He really didn¡¯t pick the easiest target. Ah, he should try his luck with a French girl¡ªhe¡¯d surely have more success with his innocent face.


    To Adam and Ryckje¡¯s surprise, however, Martin didn¡¯t back down and held out the poem again.


    ¡°Please, read it. If not, tear it up, but it¡¯s all I have. I¡¯ve poured all my feelings into it, and I swear they¡¯re sincere.¡±


    Ryckje raised an eyebrow, her gaze once again landing on the small piece of paper. She tried to show no weakness, no hesitation, but the young man¡¯s persistence stirred a tiny spark of curiosity within her.


    She had long dreamed of having poems dedicated to her back when she lived in Albany, but the young men her age hesitated to approach her, largely due to her father¡¯s status. Few came from families as prominent as hers. As a result, she had been courted very little despite her great beauty.


    Finally, with a long, annoyed sigh, she extended her hand and accepted Martin¡¯s poem, nearly snatching it from his grasp.


    She unfolded it delicately nonetheless and began reading it silently.


    She was surprised once again when she realized it was in English¡ªimperfect, but understandable. The handwriting was beautiful, fine, and without hesitation, suggesting a certain mastery of the pen.


    Adam and Martin both noticed a subtle change in the young woman¡¯s gaze as she read the poem a second time. There was still anger in her bright, sparkling eyes, but it was far less intense than it had been just moments earlier.


    Martin nervously wiped his hands on the edges of his white coat and tried to calm his poor heart, which was pounding so hard he felt like the whole world could hear it.


    When Ryckje finished, she folded the paper slowly, almost methodically.


    ¡°It¡¯s lovely,¡± she said softly, ¡°but it changes nothing.¡±


    Martin felt his heart sink, but then he saw Ryckje van Schaick slip the poem into a fold of her dress. At that sight, his heart instantly filled with joy.


    ¡°This poem,¡± she said a bit harshly, ¡°I¡¯ll keep it, but don¡¯t think I¡¯ll forget the past. I will never forget what you French have taken from me.¡±


    She paused, her eyes suddenly landing on the bouquet he was awkwardly holding in his trembling hands.


    ¡°And¡­ these flowers?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I just wanted to do the right thing. That¡¯s why I brought you these flowers, though they¡¯re nothing compared to your beauty.¡±


    ¡°The right thing? What nerve! And in public, no less! If my father finds out¡­¡± she said threateningly.


    ¡°I spoke to your parents yesterday and received their approval,¡± Martin stammered, lowering his eyes to the bouquet. ¡°Without their consent, I would never have dared. Please, accept them.¡±


    Ryckje squinted, scrutinizing Martin with obvious suspicion. Then she lowered her gaze to the large bouquet made of wildflowers from the region. They were beautiful and vibrantly colored.


    She bit her lower lip and crossed her arms to hide her unease.


    ¡°Y-you¡¯re an idiot, sir. Do you think this will earn my forgiveness? It¡¯s not enough,¡± she whispered softly through clenched teeth.


    ¡°T-then allow me to write to you, miss! I¡­ I¡¯ll write to you every day! No, twice a day!¡±


    ¡°D-do as you please. I don¡¯t care.¡±


    With that, the young woman accepted the bouquet, picked up her pitcher, and turned her back on Martin, who stood frozen like a statue. He stayed that way for a full minute before Adam ¡°woke¡± him.


    ¡°Congratulations! Wow! You nailed it! You really surprised me!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ I can¡¯t think¡­ I can¡¯t even process this, Fran?ois.¡±


    ¡°Haha! Trust me, this isn¡¯t over yet. She kept your poem, didn¡¯t she? Hehe!¡±


    ¡°But she still hates me.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, or maybe not. It¡¯s far from over. Oh, what a romantic! ¡®I¡¯ll write to you every day, no, twice a day!¡¯ Hey, didn¡¯t you see her face? She blushed! Come on! The day isn¡¯t over yet, and we haven¡¯t left! Let¡¯s make the most of it! Back to work!¡±


    Adam threw an arm over his friend¡¯s shoulders and led him into the bustling streets of Quebec.


    Well, that was very interesting. Strange, but interesting. I think I¡¯ll have to read a book on poetry now.


    Meanwhile, Ryckje van Schaick was reading the poem she¡¯d just received once again. Her cheeks grew warmer and redder as she thought about what had just happened.

 Fort Bourbon

    Martin hadn¡¯t had much time to grow closer to young Ryckje van Schaick, but fortunately, she had granted him permission to write to her.


    This was a perfectly acceptable and ordinary way to communicate with the woman of one¡¯s heart. Often, it was through letters that young people like them could connect and fall in love.


    However, there was a significant obstacle: Martin¡¯s parents.


    Since they belonged to the nobility, it was their responsibility to choose the best possible partner for their son. Ryckje van Schaick clearly did not meet their criteria. Not only was she English, but she was also a commoner with no fortune.


    Had Martin been honest with Ryckje¡¯s parents, they would not have approved of the relationship, as it would have led only to heartbreak. After all, any relationship was expected to culminate in marriage, and marriage required the approval of both families.


    When it came to gaining the approval of Mr. and Mrs. van Schaick, Martin had lied about his parents¡¯ stance. He told them his parents were very understanding and wanted nothing more for their son than his happiness, thus they would not stand in the way of the woman he loved.


    Despite his doubts, Sybrant van Schaick agreed to let young Martin approach his daughter.


    True to his promise, Martin wrote a long letter the very next day¡ªfilled with love and promises¡ªon the day the troops under Colonel de Br¨¦hant departed.


    Alas, this was not an age where messages could be sent with the click of a mouse. Letters had to be delivered in person.


    The French army could not afford to assign men for such tasks, so Martin kept writing and set the letters aside until someone was sent to Quebec.


    Days passed, and by the time Colonel de Br¨¦hant¡¯s troops finally reached Fort Edward¡ªnow renamed Fort Bourbon¡ªhalf of June had gone by.


    The sun shone brightly, flooding the landscape with radiant light, and the azure sky stretched out, cloudless. Birds sang cheerfully above the long column of men and wagons.


    The dense, towering trees, full of life, spread their countless leaves to capture as much sunlight as possible to fuel their growth. Their shadows cast gentle relief on the fertile ground, offering men and animals a respite from the sun¡¯s heat.


    The air was warm and dry. Everything suggested that the weather would remain unchanged for the coming days.


    Upon arrival, Adam was astonished to see the changes since his last visit.


    The fort had expanded significantly, occupying more of Rogers Island, now renamed Long Island. Most notably, the stone bridge connecting the fort to the south-facing demi-lune had been completed. The moat surrounding the fort had also been widened and deepened.


    Long Island was now protected by a tall wooden palisade atop which several cannons had been mounted. Their menacing barrels were largely aimed at the vast cleared area south of the fort.


    The cannons on the opposite side could easily control the Hudson River, sinking any vessel that dared attempt passage.


    Adam could hardly believe that so much had been accomplished in just a few months.


    ¡°Well, this place sure has changed,¡± Adam murmured, deeply impressed.


    Despite the progress, it was clear there was still much work to be done.


    When they reached the fort¡¯s northern gates, they were warmly welcomed by the Marquis de Montcalm, who had returned from Montreal with some new recruits.


    The senior officer seemed in better spirits than during their first meeting, back when a massive army had threatened Fort Carillon¡ªand with it, all of New France. Yet, he now appeared preoccupied.


    Adam assumed this had to do with their presence at Fort Bourbon when they might have been more useful in Acadia.


    ¡°Colonel de Br¨¦hant,¡± said Montcalm, extending a friendly hand, ¡°what a pleasure to see you again! I¡¯ve heard about your exploits in Nova Scotia and New England. It seems you and your men have been busy. How are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m well, thank you, Marquis,¡± replied the colonel in the same cordial tone, shaking Montcalm¡¯s hand after removing his light cream-colored gloves. ¡°A bit tired from the long journey.¡±


    ¡°I understand. We are still improving the fort, but soon we¡¯ll turn our efforts to the roads. How many men have you brought?¡±


    ¡°Only a battalion, I¡¯m afraid. We¡¯re too threatened in the east. There¡¯s no doubt our enemy will seek revenge for the humiliation we¡¯ve dealt them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s understandable. I hope your men will dissuade our enemies here from attacking us and His Majesty¡¯s interests. Did you encounter any obstacles along the way?¡±


    Colonel de Br¨¦hant shook his head lightly and paused with elegant ease.


    ¡°None at all. The route was calm the entire way. Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just wary of those savages. Even though we¡¯ve signed a treaty of peace and neutrality, allowing us to trade, I fear it¡¯s just a ruse to strike us when our guard is down.¡±


    ¡°Really? What makes you think that? Have they shown signs of resuming hostilities?¡±


    ¡°No, not as far as I know. But those Iroquois are cunning. Although I¡¯ve only been in the New World for a few years, I¡¯ve seen how treacherous they can be. Trust my experience¡ªand I¡¯m sure Governor Vaudreuil would agree¡ªit¡¯s better to be overly cautious with those people than not cautious enough.¡±


    ¡°If you say so. You¡¯re probably right. But I don¡¯t believe that¡¯s the reason you requested reinforcements, is it?¡±


    Montcalm couldn¡¯t suppress a deep sigh.


    "Indeed, but let¡¯s discuss this inside. Your men won¡¯t need to set up camp; there¡¯s now enough housing at Fort Bourbon to accommodate everyone and more. This way, please."


    Adam and his company, like all the other companies, were led to Rogers Island, also called Long Island. They were pleasantly surprised by the size and number of lodgings on site. It felt as though a village had sprung up in their absence.


    The buildings, long and rectangular, were arranged with military precision around a broad square covered with gravel. The gravel came from the stone blocks used in the construction of the long bridge connecting the demi-lune to the fort.


    At the center of the square stood an immense mast with a large white flag adorned with golden fleur-de-lis fluttering at its peak.


    It¡¯s very impressive, but the atmosphere is far too serious. It feels like a prison camp, Adam thought as he looked around.


    Along the barracks, he noticed a few soldiers going about their duties: some were repairing tools, others maintaining the buildings, while a few appeared to be resting in the shade. The steady rhythm of hammers mingled with the voices of the men, adding to the lively and industrious atmosphere.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    A captain guided them to a long wooden building, identical to the others, located behind the first row of buildings on the southern side of the central square.


    The long wooden bridge that spanned the Hudson River, connecting to Fort Royal¡ªformerly Royal Blockhouse¡ªwas close by.


    "Captain Boucher, your men will sleep here," the man said firmly. "This building can easily house two companies. As you can see, it has two levels. The ground floor is currently occupied by Captain Rouvier¡¯s company of the Royal Roussillon regiment. He is currently at the stone quarry, so you may not meet him until tonight. Your men will therefore occupy the upper floor, which is identical to the ground floor."


    With that, the officer led Adam and his men to an exterior varnished wooden staircase that led directly to the communal hall on the upper floor. He unlocked the door with a large dark key, allowing Adam a glimpse of the very simple interior.


    On either side of the room, wooden beds were aligned neatly, leaving a wide aisle down the center.


    "Each level contains two rooms. One, which takes up most of the space, is communal for the soldiers. The second is reserved for the sergeants. It¡¯s possible to move between the two rooms internally through that door at the back. Alternatively, the officers¡¯ quarters can be accessed via a separate staircase on the other side. Captains and their lieutenants have their own building."


    Adam nodded appreciatively.


    "I understand. Thank you very much, Captain. May my men already start unloading their belongings inside?"


    "Certainly. Here¡¯s the key. The officers¡¯ building is the large one I pointed out earlier, across the central square. You¡¯ll share a room with your lieutenants. If there¡¯s nothing else, I¡¯ll make sure the others are settled in as well."


    "Thank you, sir. I won¡¯t keep you any longer, then."


    Once the captain departed, Adam entered the barracks and quickly inspected the building to ensure his men lacked nothing. He couldn¡¯t help but feel relieved not to be sharing the same quarters as his men. Though well-constructed, he no longer had the patience to share a space, no matter how large, with so many others.


    After glancing into the sergeants¡¯ quarters, he exchanged a few words with his subordinates to ensure there would be no incidents during the night or any neglect in maintaining the premises.


    Satisfied, Adam and his two lieutenants slipped away to explore their own lodgings.


    ***


    Meanwhile, inside the fort, Montcalm and Colonel de Hautoy, commanding the Royal Roussillon regiment, were patiently explaining their situation to Colonel de Br¨¦hant. They leaned over a relatively detailed map of the region, spanning from Fort Carillon in the north to Albany in the south.


    The atmosphere in the office was solemn.


    "I see," Colonel de Br¨¦hant said when they finished. "So this Robert Rogers is the cause of your troubles and the primary reason for our presence here. His men, who behave more like bandits than soldiers, are indeed both a threat and a nuisance."


    "Indeed, sir. They have harassed us continually since your departure, disappearing so quickly that we¡¯ve had no time to eliminate them. Rogers is a tenacious adversary."


    "His methods resemble those of the Indians, do they not?"


    "You are entirely correct. From what we know, he has trained his men in the strangest ways to strike our soldiers and civilians quickly, then withdraw before it¡¯s too late. He would never face us directly!"


    Montcalm¡¯s anger and disdain were clearly visible on his face. Rogers likely represented everything he despised most about this continent. It was as though he had been corrupted by the Indians¡¯ methods.


    "An incredibly frustrating opponent, then. Do you think he¡¯s testing our lines?"


    "I don¡¯t believe so, Colonel. His goal seems to be to weaken us, exhaust us, and destabilize us. He forces us to remain in a constant state of alert."


    "Isn¡¯t that a good thing?" the colonel said, raising an eyebrow slightly. "If we remain on alert, they cannot surprise us."


    "If only," sighed de Hautoy. "My men are exhausted. Remaining alert for a few days or weeks is manageable; but this has been going on for months! I fear they¡¯ll let their guard down at the worst moment."


    "I understand your concern, Colonel. We¡¯ve faced a similar enemy in Europe. Though their numbers were small, they harassed us incessantly, costing us many brave soldiers."


    "How did you deal with this enemy?" Montcalm asked, visibly intrigued and hopeful that the same approach could be applied here.


    "We laid traps and feigned weakness to lure the enemy into attacking. Gradually, we reduced their numbers, forcing them to stop their games. Unfortunately, we couldn¡¯t kill their leader, as we were redeployed to Brest to head for New France. Another regiment tracked and eliminated him later. From what I understand, it wasn¡¯t easy; their pursuit lasted for months."


    "Good heavens¡­"


    The Marquis de Montcalm clenched his teeth and tightened his fists on his desk. A heavy silence settled over the small group.


    "Monsieur de Hautoy, can you point out the locations where this Rogers has been spotted? That should give me an idea of his range of action."


    The man nodded and began marking spots on the map. Soon, the area surrounding the fort was covered with markers.


    "It seems he and his men have been very active. These are mostly wild territories. He must know the region well to have eluded you for so long."


    "Yes, he¡¯s a real eel. Sometimes he strikes in several places at once."


    "So, he splits his forces to harass us. What are his targets?"


    Montcalm and de Hautoy stared at each other for a moment before the colonel spoke.


    "Small convoys, mostly. He also goes after patrols. The silver lining is that he¡¯s no longer attacking the villages north of Lakes George and Champlain."


    "Good. I have a better understanding of the situation now. One last thing: do you think the fort is at immediate risk of a frontal attack?"


    "Hmm, I don¡¯t think so," Montcalm replied pensively. "The British have suffered too many losses since Fort Carillon. They must still be recovering."


    "But surely they¡¯ve had enough time to train new troops, haven¡¯t they?"


    "Time, perhaps, but they also need resources and food. I think it¡¯s still too early, but in a month or two, we could face a direct invasion force."


    The colonel nodded, seemingly satisfied.


    "What are you planning to do?" asked the Marquis de Montcalm.


    "Prepare bait to go fishing for the eel, of course!"


    ***


    Adam let out a long sigh and settled at his desk in the room he shared with Lieutenants Marais and Laroche.


    The three officers were exhausted after such a long day. Their legs were heavy, and their feet ached.


    Lieutenant Marais returned from a quick inspection of the barracks and immediately let out a deep yawn, his broad, square jaw snapping shut in a way that made it look like it had been shaped by a sculptor.


    Adam felt a yawn coming on as well and couldn¡¯t hold it back. He blinked several times to wake himself up and looked at his novel, which had made some progress during the journey to Fort Bourbon.


    Since he had started writing, he had tried to write a few pages every evening. He quickly realized that knowing the entire story of Beauty and the Beast didn¡¯t help him as much as he had thought when it came to writing his own version.


    Sometimes, he could only manage to write a few sentences, which was why he hadn¡¯t made much progress. He had reached the point where Belle offers herself as the Beast¡¯s prisoner in exchange for her father, Maurice, who was very ill.


    Let¡¯s see¡­ How do I describe this? Adam thought, his quill hovering over the thick book. The Beast, immense and menacing, took another step forward but did not step into the cold, pale light streaming in from outside, preferring to remain in the shadows. Belle¡¯s torch smoldered softly at her feet, lying in one of the large puddles of water in the dungeon, as cold as it was damp. Belle and her father, trembling and terrified alike, watched with dread¡­ Am I repeating myself here? Hmm¡­ watched the towering figure approach until it reached the door of the cell where poor Maurice lay. Hmm, no, the poor old man. Yet Belle did not back away and remained close to her father. Though terrified, she was too worried about his health. Not too bad, is it?


    Adam looked with some satisfaction at the few sentences he had just added. The fresh black ink glistened under the soft candlelight before darkening and drying into a matte shade.


    All right, I think this is where Belle begs the Beast to let her father go.


    A long, shrill sound suddenly echoed behind him, making him jump. Soon, the room was filled with rather melodious notes.


    Adam turned around, surprised to see Lieutenant Laroche playing the violin. It was the first time he had ever seen him play. He hadn¡¯t even known his subordinate could play the instrument.


    Laroche, half-lying in bed with his back against the wall, noticed late that his captain was watching him and quickly lowered his instrument.


    "Ah, my apologies, Captain. I didn¡¯t mean to disturb you. If I have, I¡¯ll stop."


    "Please, carry on, Monsieur Laroche. You¡¯re quite the musician."


    "Thank you. Let¡¯s say I have years of practice behind me, but my talent is nothing compared to my younger brother¡¯s."


    "You have a brother? I didn¡¯t know that."


    "His name is Thomas, and he has a natural gift for music. As for me, well, let¡¯s just say I haven¡¯t improved in years. I play just to keep from losing the habit. I found this little gem in Boston. Do you know how to play?"


    "Oh, no. I¡¯ve never even touched a violin in my life. I only played the flute, but I wasn¡¯t very good at it."


    "Would you like to give it a try?"


    Adam hesitated but eventually agreed out of curiosity. He wanted to know if Fran?ois had a knack for music as he did for languages.


    After a few attempts, it was clear that he did not. All Adam managed to produce were long, ear-piercing screeches, so awful that one might have thought a pig was being tortured.


    Respectfully, he handed the small instrument back to its owner, making sure to thank him. He turned back to his book but realized he didn¡¯t really feel like writing that evening, mainly because he was too tired.


    He couldn¡¯t concentrate, and his eyes were starting to hurt. Adam decided to put down his quill and go to bed.