Thank you Porthos10, George_Bush2910, Mium, AlexZero12, Ranger_Red, Dekol347 and Shingle_Top for your support!
Enjoy the new chapter!
-----------------------------------------
The sky was overcast, and the sun had vanished behind a thick veil of gray.
It wasn't raining, but the air was heavy with humidity—dense, almost suffocating.
Despite the conditions, the soldiers marched in tight ranks, forming a disciplined column.
They had left the road early, slipping into the forest to avoid being spotted by enemy scouts.
Their progress was slow and their formation lacked elegance, but overall, they moved forward steadily despite the difficult terrain.
Much like walking through snow, those in the rear were lucky—they only had to follow the path already carved out by the men ahead.
Adam and his men were among them. Not quite at the rear of the column, but far from the front.
Everyone remained silent, alert to the slightest movement or suspicious noise.
At the front, Captain Briscard would occasionally call a halt. So far, no sign of the enemy—and that was a good thing.
In these conditions, defending themselves would have been difficult.
Albany was still far off.
Their pace had been cut in half compared to what they might have maintained on the road, but that was inevitable.
Adam tightened his grip on his musket.
A rustle and a movement to his left caught his attention. He quickly turned his head.
Did I imagine that?
He squinted and scanned the trees.
Nothing.
I must be too tense…
More than the Redcoats, Adam feared the Indians.
Despite Chief Akwiratheka's assurances, he couldn't be certain that a group of warriors hadn't decided to remain loyal to their old alliance.
Those who followed Joseph Brant—Thayendanegea—had been officially condemned by their Council and disavowed by their nations.
Once this was all over, they would find themselves rejected by everyone.
To their own people, they would be as good as dead.
At best, they might hope for some support from the British army—but that would be all.
Let's hope we don't run into them, he prayed silently, fixing his gaze on the backs of the men ahead.
It was Martin Morrel de Lusernes's company. Like Adam's, it had been selected for this operation. The entire column consisted of only eight companies—half a battalion.
Since the summer of 1757, a standard battalion was supposed to include seventeen line infantry companies, one grenadier company, and a small Swedish-style field cannon.
Captain Briscard had chosen not to take the cannon so as not to slow them down.
As for the grenadiers—few and far between in New France—most of them were stationed in Louisbourg.
Marais was walking nearby, while Bellemaison was bringing up the rear.
Behind them marched the company of Gilles Duval, a man nearing forty with a sharp, angular face who only spoke when absolutely necessary.
Though he said little, this officer often had insightful opinions, grounded in solid reasoning.
Adam, like everyone else at the fort, valued his insights, and it was said that Montcalm consulted him regularly.
While he lacked the necessary information to estimate how much longer the war might last, he believed the coming months would prove decisive.
The column suddenly came to a halt.
No one moved.
No soldier or officer tried to find out what was happening at the front.
How many times have we stopped now? Ugh, I hope we're not just wasting time here...
Adam looked down at his shoes, caked in mud.
Good thing it hasn't rained heavily lately... Marching through these woods would be hell otherwise.
They resumed their march, maneuvering around a large fallen tree—no doubt brought down by a storm a few years ago.
Adam noted how wide and deep its roots were.
The hole they'd left behind was impressive.
It must have taken immense force to topple a tree like that—yet here it lay, felled and slowly rotting.
Farther ahead, Captain Briscard found a relatively clear area in the woods. He gave the order to set up camp.
The soldiers immediately got to work.
Adam's company was swift and efficient—he hadn't neglected this part of their training. After all, a soldier didn't just march and fire a musket.
Adam's tent was like those of his men, except he didn't have to share it with five other people.
The layout was exactly the same as what he had known in Germany.
Of course, he didn't pitch his own tent. He had other things to do, such as meeting with the other officers and listening to Briscard's instructions.
The latter sketched a very rough outline of the camp in the dirt and gave his orders.
"I want a ditch all around the camp and sentries here, here, here... and here. Five men per post, rotating every three hours. It's nearly eight o'clock. The first team will take their shift in fifteen minutes. Captains Louis, Boucher, D'Ambert, organize five-man groups. I'll do the same."
"Should we spread our men across the four points, or would you prefer each of us to be responsible for one?" asked André Louis calmly.
"Let's keep it simple. Captain Louis, position your men to the north. I'll take the south. Captain Boucher, you'll guard the west. Captain D'Ambert, the east."
"At your orders!"
"Keep light sources to a minimum. Even though we've moved away from the road, we must remain cautious. One lantern per sentry post."
-----------------------------------------
There was no attack that night, but a violent thunderstorm broke out, catching the small group by surprise. For nearly four hours, lightning tore through the sky with terrifying intensity.
The flashes were so bright and frequent that Adam felt as if he had stepped into a nightclub, even though he had never actually been in one.
Rain mixed with hail—some hailstones as large as a knuckle—pelted them, drumming against the tents like gunfire and turning the ground into a slick, muddy mess.
By morning, the hail was gone, but the mud remained.
No sooner had the column resumed its march than Adam nearly slipped. He avoided embarrassment thanks to the firm grip of his lieutenant, who caught him by the arm.
That new day of marching through the woods was not chaotic, but it drained both body and spirit.Showers continued until around five in the afternoon before finally giving way to a clear blue sky.
The air lightened, carried by a gentle breeze from the southeast.
Plop!
Adam felt something hit his tricorne.
He took it off and inspected it but saw nothing unusual. He looked up, but there was nothing in the branches either.
He frowned.
Probably something stupid... an acorn or something.
It was only then he realized he'd instinctively held his breath. Adam exhaled deeply and calmed his oddly rapid heartbeat.
He cast one last glance at the broad branches forming a canopy above the column and resumed his position.
Splash, splash, splash, crack, splosh, splash.
The soaked ground, littered with dead branches, made for a noisy and difficult march. Water squelched up with every step, as though they were walking on an enormous sponge.
The inside of Adam's shoes was damp. The moisture seemed to be seeping in from below—proof the soles were now too worn.
God, I hate this feeling! It's like being in socks in the mud!
He clenched his teeth and continued silently, without slowing.
At least walking doesn't hurt. For now.
He grimaced.
"Captain, are we still far from Albany?"
Adam glanced sideways at Lieutenant Marais without altering his pace.
"I don't know. If we'd stuck to the road, we'd probably be close by now. But like this... maybe a day?"
Lieutenant Marais nodded and looked back at the men following them. They were in poor shape.
Their shoulders slumped, and there was no motivation left in their eyes.
But it was nothing compared to what the veterans had endured in Hanover and Saxony. Under Richelieu, they had marched so far that their shoes had fallen apart and their feet bled.
Adam then noticed some commotion ahead.
A silent alarm rang in his mind, as in those of his men. All of them tensed, ready to face an enemy—or flee.
Glup!
But no shots were fired. All that could be heard was the wind in the leaves and the song of a few birds.
The captain and his men waited—but still nothing. They remained still and silent until a non-commissioned officer arrived.
"Captain Boucher, Captain Briscard requests your presence. He's gathering all the captains."
"Understood. Lieutenant Marais, I leave the company to you. I'll go see him."
"At your orders."
Adam moved up the column and easily found the other captains, standing a few meters away from the group so they could speak freely. Naturally, Captain Briscard was leading the discussion.
"Captain Boucher, come closer. Ah, here comes Captain Duval. Very well. Gentlemen, as I was just saying, a British army has been spotted on the main road. It's moving slowly toward Fort Bourbon."
A shiver ran down Adam's spine.
An army?!
"What can we do, Captain?" asked D'Ambert, as pale as his uniform. "With so few men, we can't attack them."
Captain Briscard, like all the other officers, turned to D'Ambert.
"Their column is very stretched out, and their baggage train is lagging behind," Briscard explained with surprising calm. "So even if there are several thousand men, we have an opportunity."
"Is it possible to estimate their numbers?" Duval asked, his tone just as composed. "First and foremost, we must report this to the fort so they can prepare before the enemy arrives. Whatever we do, we won't be able to stop them."
"Indeed. But we can cause them some losses and make their march miserable. That's something. There are at least eight thousand of them. Our scouts saw a great number of militiamen, but no savages."
My God! Eight thousand! Where the hell did they all come from?!
"And their commander? Have our scouts been able to identify him?"
"No. The column is still passing by our position, and their senior officers appear to be at the front. But it's unlikely to be General Amherst."
"Bloody hell... Over eight thousand men and it's not even Amherst?"
"The identity of the commander doesn't matter," Briscard cut in. "What matters is that they're advancing and pose a real threat to the fort. We must slow them down. Hurt them. That's our duty."
Six companies against several regiments...
It was suicide, and yet Captain Briscard didn't seem to see it as a problem.
Adam pressed his lips together and looked down, already envisioning their crushing defeat.
"Gentlemen. Their line is so stretched that if we attack, we'll only be facing a fraction of their force. The vanguard will be on alert, but if we strike the rear of the column, the risk will be lower. The only thing we must be careful about is not getting surrounded."
"C-Captain," Martin hesitated, "if... if we strike, our enemies will do everything they can to crush us and stop us from getting back to the fort. T-the garrison is reduced in our absence. Isn't that a bit... dangerous?"
Duval, Louis, and D'Aubert nodded in agreement. Briscard had to admit there was risk, both for them and for the fort.
Seeing that his concern wasn't dismissed outright, Martin continued:
"What's more, if we attack, they'll be on guard until they reach our walls. We won't be able to strike again unless we take major risks."
"That's true. We'll need to be particularly mobile to return quickly to the fort."
"Captain Briscard," said André Louis then, "perhaps we should consider splitting our force?"
The officer raised an eyebrow as sharp as a cavalry sabre and gave his colleague a long look. He turned toward him and gestured discreetly for him to continue.
Because they were both seasoned men, Briscard placed great value on his opinion.
"As Captain de Lusernes pointed out, if we strike that column, our enemies won't rest until we're dealt with. They won't tolerate an enemy behind them. Our group is large, which is an advantage, but not without drawbacks. But if we divide ourselves, we gain mobility. We could also keep a group hidden to strike their supply convoys while they besiege Fort Bourbon."
All the officers fell silent, pondering the feasibility of the tactic. The more they thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea, though the second group would be at great risk, as they wouldn't be able to rejoin the besieged fort.
"Attacking the supply lines…" murmured Briscard. "That's a good idea, especially with such a large army. Their consumption will be no small thing. If we can deprive them of food, that will help more than a few extra muskets on the ramparts."
"Yes! Two companies should be enough!"
Briscard raised an eyebrow again. He had expected Captain Louis to ask for three or four.
"Will that really be enough? Isn't it a bit too small to be effective?"
"Quality matters as much as quantity. My men can handle the task."
"And the second company?"
All the officers tensed, each hoping and dreading to hear their name.
It was an honor, but also a sentence to live like outlaws in the woods.
Not me! André, not me!
"I think… Captain Boucher's men will do just fine."
For the third time, the captain was surprised.
Adam blinked.
"Boucher? Are you sure?"
André turned to his friend and gave him a soft smile — a perfectly unbearable one.
No!
"Yes, I'm sure. They're very well trained. Besides, our men regularly train together. They'll do wonders as a pair."
Bastard!
"Very well. In that case, if there are no objections, we'll proceed accordingly. We'll strike near the head of the column to retreat quickly to Fort Bourbon. Meanwhile, Boucher's and Louis' companies will stay back, near Albany, and target the supply convoys. Be very careful, gentlemen — and may God keep you safe!"
FUCK! We'd better all get a goddamn medal for this!
On the outside, Adam remained impassive. He nodded slowly and watched the main column march off to the north, leaving two small companies behind.
Adam turned to his friend, trying to stay composed, and gave him a tense smile.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, André. Please, go ahead and tell them the good news."
André Louis smiled awkwardly and gave a slight bow.
He turned to the soldiers, standing in line as if for inspection. They seemed to suspect something.
"Gentlemen," he began in a clear voice betraying neither fear nor doubt, "a column of redcoats is marching toward Fort Bourbon, numerous enough to threaten its security and all of New France. Our comrades will ambush them to slow them down and inflict as many losses as possible before retreating. Our mission is different. We must remain invisible, striking at the enemy's back just when they think they are safe. That is how we will contribute to the defense of our home. It will be hard — but I have faith in you. For France! For the King! For the Marquis de Montcalm! And for Fort Bourbon! Forward!"