Hello! Here is a new chapter!
Thank you RedgurdMdr, paffnytij, Dekol347, Porthos10, AlexZero12, Mium, Shingle_Top and Ranger_Red for the support! I haven't forgotten anyone.
Enjoy!
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Adam jolted awake from a dream, heart pounding, with the sudden sensation of falling into a void.
A moment earlier, he had been lounging on a paradise beach, sipping a brightly colored sweet drink, turquoise water full of multicolored fish within arm's reach.
The soothing sound of waves had faded, replaced by the patter of cold rain on the canvas of his tent, and the creaking of branches in the wind.
Damn… That was a good dream.
He didn't understand why he'd woken so abruptly. Usually, that only happened when he dreamt of being chased or wounded.
But in this wonderful dream, there had been nothing that should have startled him awake. At least, not that he could remember.
He slowly turned his head toward the tent's entrance, its flaps pulled closed, concealing the outside.
Gripped by a sense of foreboding, he reached for his weapon and pushed the flap aside slightly.
Outside, everything was a dull gray, as if a veil had been drawn over the forest.
No movement. No immediate danger.
Alright. Everything's fine.
His heart was still racing.
It was probably still early, but the general wake-up call would soon come. Another long day ahead.
Adam slipped on his still-damp coat and fastened it quickly up to the collar. Then he buckled his belt, with his sword and bayonet hanging from it, and slung his cartridge box over his shoulder.
His back was stiff, his shoulders a bit sore, and his feet wet. As usual since he had transmigrated, he had slept with his shoes on, just in case.
Whether a simple soldier or a captain, that hadn't changed.
Gradually, the camp began to stir.
He greeted his men with a nod and joined Captains Collet, Deniers, and Belfour, gathered near the horses. Strangely, the night chill didn't seem to bother them much.
"Gentlemen, good morning."
"Good morning, Captain Boucher," they replied, still half-asleep.
"Busy day ahead. I hope you're feeling sharp."
The three officers nodded, but Adam could still read doubt in their eyes.
"Good. Captain Collet, as planned, you'll lead an attack on the rear of the convoy with all the horses we have. Don't play the hero, and come back in one piece."
"Don't worry, Captain," Collet replied, placing a reassuring hand on the neck of a bay mare with a light mane. "I fully intend to return with all my men."
"That's all I ask," Adam said with satisfaction. "We'll be waiting for you on the road. Then we'll decide what to do next."
It didn't take long for the group of riders to get ready to leave.
They looked impressive, even if their mounts were far from the finest in New France. Watching them disappear into the distance, Adam found something heroic in their presence—something that commanded respect, like knights of old setting out for a just war.
Each man, carefully selected, was armed with his long, cumbersome musket. Not one of them looked back, as if there were no doubt in their minds they would return safely.
Adam wasn't reassured, however. He kept a composed and dignified expression, playing his role perfectly despite his fears and doubts.
No sooner had the group departed than the modest camp fell into deep silence.
Adam gave his orders, and they began to break camp. Within half an hour, nothing remained.
They made their way down to the road to properly welcome their brave comrades.
Minutes passed slowly, and visibility gradually improved. The sky remained overcast, the sun barely discernible behind the thick layer of clouds.
Around eight o'clock, at last, figures appeared.
"They're here!" someone called out.
Adam let out a long breath of relief and stepped forward to help Collet dismount.
The others did the same, making the small group look like they had just returned from a long journey.
"Easy… There you go. So? How did it go?"
Belfour and Deniers approached to check that their comrade wasn't wounded.
"Everything went as planned, Captain. We followed the road and quickly caught up to the convoy. I think they had just departed. The redcoats spotted us late, so we were able to get close.We dismounted, fired on whoever we could hit, then pulled back. It wasn't as effective as an ambush, though. I think we were about thirty toises away."
Thirty toises? That's what—sixty meters? A bit less. That's way too close.
"So close?" Deniers echoed, as if reading Adam's thoughts.
"We didn't really have a choice," Collet defended. "There weren't many of us. We couldn't inflict much damage without taking some risks."
"Did you manage to kill any of them?" Belfour asked.
"A few, yes. Maybe ten? What's certain is they'll be more cautious from now on."
Adam frowned and pursed his lips.
Even though he wanted to praise his bravery, as a superior, he had to reprimand him.
"Captain Collet, I'm glad you're all unharmed, but I explicitly asked you not to take unnecessary risks. Our muskets are excellent. Their range exceeds that of the enemy's weapons. Use that advantage — it would allow you to fire, possibly twice, before retreating."
Jacques Collet looked surprised but nodded without protest.
"Understood. I won't forget next time."
The other captains, notably Deniers, raised an eyebrow.
"You want to go back? Isn't that less effective than setting up an ambush? Those were your own words."
Collet nodded slowly.
"I know, but the ability to retreat quickly without exhaustion is a real asset. On foot, we wouldn't have been able to strike so fast, nor return so soon. We'd have had to run through the woods, take detours, split up. No — I think, I'm convinced that giving a few men horses was the right decision."
Deniers didn't reply.
The decision to reuse that strategy was quickly made. This time, Adam, Belfour, and Deniers would also join the action.
Each captain was put in charge of a third of the remaining men. While Collet harassed the rear of the convoy, Deniers would taunt the front from the left; Belfour would strike about a hundred meters further down on the right; and Adam would hit just ahead of the rear, also from the left.
Adam spoke one last time in a firm voice:
"Then, if everyone's ready, let's move! Don't give those damn English a moment's rest! Our comrades are counting on us!"
"Yes!" the three officers replied in unison.
"And once again — be extremely cautious. Never linger after firing. Fall back immediately and stagger your attacks. Don't let them ever feel safe!"
This time, Adam could see the determination in their eyes. The three men were almost eager to become the enemy's nightmare.
They divided up their supplies — especially the cumbersome tent canvas and food — and formed their groups.
Adam rejoined his company, now reduced after a few men had left with Jacques Collet. He gave the signal, and they all left the road, plunging into the woods.
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Adam had twenty-eight men with him.
Silent as Indians, they crept between the trees, advancing stealthily toward the road leading to Fort Bourbon, careful to avoid dry branches and treacherous roots.
As they got closer to the road, the noise from the enormous convoy became clearer — the rumble of wheels through the mud, the hoofbeats of horses, the shouted orders from officers, the steady march of boots.
There was no need to see them to know they were numerous.
Adam made a discreet signal, and every man froze simultaneously.
An English soldier tasked with scouting the woods passed in front of them, oblivious.
With Lieutenant Marais, Adam slithered forward like a snake and silently took the man down.
They had reached the last line of trees before the road.
Damn! There are so many of them!
Flattened among the ferns, Adam suddenly felt small. A knot tightened in his stomach. He was like an ant facing an elephant.
The indescribable racket of the convoy sounded like an angry mob. Its escort, proportionate to the massive supply load, looked more like an invading army.
The upright muskets looked like a forest of steel. Each wagon was roughly guarded by ten men.
I… I'm not so sure of myself anymore. M-maybe we should fall back?
He glanced behind him. Almost all his men were invisible, melted into the landscape.
No. Too late to retreat. Besides, it's my plan. They're counting on us.
Adam turned to Lieutenant Marais and met his eyes. Same nervousness, same resolve.
A simple nod.
Marais gave a signal in turn, and all the men advanced, using every bit of cover the complex terrain offered.
Without a word, they formed a short firing line between the trees. They readied their muskets.
A wagon passed right in front of them, struggling to cross a deep rut, despite five regular soldiers pushing with all their might from behind.
"Fire!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
A terrible volley burst from the roadside.
The enemy, taken by surprise, had no time to react. Those hit collapsed into the mud.
The others panicked, shouted, dove behind whatever cover they could find, or searched for their attackers.
But the French were already gone.
They darted through the trees, dodging roots, rocks, and stumps, bounding like wild animals.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Behind them, several shots rang out — more scattered, less accurate. Bullets whistled through the air but struck only trunks or leaves.
Adam gripped his musket tighter, leapt over a fallen tree covered in ivy, and kept running without looking back.
Minutes passed, and gradually, his companions regrouped around him, like bees to their queen.
Once they were far enough away, he raised his arm. Everyone stopped.
"Is everyone here? Count yourselves, quickly!"
One by one, they counted.
No one was missing. No one was wounded.
Adam felt his muscles relax, the pressure crushing his chest finally lifting. He was still alive. They were all still alive.
A nervous laugh rippled through the ranks. Then another. Then all of them.
"Hahaha! We did it! We actually did it!"
"Bloody hell! I thought I was going to die that time!"
"You're telling me! I felt a bullet pass right by my ear!"
Adam swallowed hard and placed a hand on Canon's shoulder—the big guy was laughing louder than the rest.
"Good work, everyone. Reload your weapons quickly. Let's let them stew for a while... and then we hit them again. Hmm... We'll move forward a bit."
Adam began reloading his own musket. His fingers trembled slightly, but it didn't stop him from finishing before anyone else.
Around him, the others did the same—still panting, but grinning from ear to ear.
After a few minutes of rest, they began moving again.
The group headed north, parallel to the road, then halted once more.
They were moving much faster than the convoy. If they had wanted, they could have passed it entirely and crossed to the other side of the road.
Of course, they didn't.
They stayed hidden for a while among the trees, then silently began approaching the road again.
The column of wagons was still there—tight, solid, seemingly endless—but it looked a little less intimidating than before.
Alright, time to go back in.
Adam cocked his musket and gave the signal.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Fall back! Quick!"
The smoke hadn't even cleared before Adam was already sprinting away. He had no idea how many enemies had fallen, but it couldn't have been many.
Behind him, cries rang out like the barking of a rabid dog.
The redcoats, furious, opened fire in turn. But their assailants had already vanished.
With all those trees, it was almost impossible to hit anyone.
If the first attack had been a surprise, the second was not.
The British now knew an enemy was stalking their convoy—like a pack of cunning wolves.
Their attacks were swift, sudden, almost impossible to counter.
They followed them, like vultures waiting for their moment, provoking them.
Unfortunately, the British soldiers could not stray far from the wagons. Their officers had issued clear orders: the convoy's safety was the top priority.
For these men, that was a bitter pill to swallow. Sacks of flour and chunks of dried meat seemed to matter more than their lives.
All they could do was stay alert, pray they wouldn't be the next to fall to a French musket, and maybe get a shot off before the enemy melted back into the trees.
The escort, though sizable, no longer felt safe.
Tense as if entering an ancient arena full of beasts, the redcoats marched on more slowly, fingers on their triggers. Their eyes barely left the woods and underbrush.
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Hours passed, and with them, the anxiety grew. Though casualties remained low, fear was spreading like wildfire.
They passed the ruins of Fort Miller.
Fort Bourbon—or rather Fort Edward, as the English still called it—was no longer far off. But no one dared lower their guard.
Quite the opposite—it seemed more heightened than ever.
From his hiding place, Adam watched the redcoats advance cautiously. He saw them turning their heads in all directions, flinching at every sound, every movement—like children lost in a haunted house.
The convoy came to a sudden halt.
At the front, the lead wagon had broken a wheel after rolling into a hole hidden by branches and dead leaves. Yet the hole wasn't even deep.
"What's happening?! Another attack?" shouted a British soldier, his face pale.
"Silence! Stay ready! Keep your eyes open! If you see anything, shoot!"
Behind a brown bush, Adam allowed himself a faint smile.
Even if the convoy hadn't been significantly delayed, their efforts hadn't been in vain. They had shattered the enemy's confidence.
And the more tense the British were, the more mistakes they would make.
"Captain," Marais whispered as he crawled up to him, "we're not far from the fort anymore."
"I know. I think it'll soon be time to pull back."
"Are we attacking here?"
Adam hesitated. His gaze drifted toward the column of wagons, then to the soldiers nervously watching the woods.
"Hmm… they're a bit too alert. Let's wait a minute or two. We'll strike when the convoy starts moving again."
Lieutenant Marais instantly understood what his captain was aiming for: to make the enemy believe that their lack of attack, despite having an opportunity, meant they were no longer around.
A minute passed. Then two. Then three. Still, the convoy did not move. It wasn't until ten long minutes later—an unbearably tense wait—that the first wagon was finally pulled off the road.
The convoy resumed its journey.
Almost at the same moment, gunshots erupted along the entire length of the column. It was as if the four captains had agreed to strike in unison.
The attack was brutal.
Adam took aim at a sinister-looking noncommissioned officer, whose narrow face looked like it had been flattened in a press. The bullet struck him right in the eye. His skull burst open like a ripe fruit, splattering bone and brain matter across the tarp of the wagon behind him.
The body remained standing for a moment, as if defying death. Like a devout Christian witnessing a miracle, the poor man dropped heavily to his knees before collapsing into the foul mud.
Adam hadn't waited for him to realize he was dead. Even though he'd fired from higher ground, out of immediate danger, he didn't linger for a second.
He was already running like the wind to escape the fury of the British.
"Rally around me! Don't scatter!" he shouted, his voice hoarse but sharp as a hussar's sabre amidst the musket fire.
Quick and efficient, the French pulled back until they reached a quiet clearing. In summer, it was a beautiful place filled with rainbow-colored flowers. Now, the clearing was bleak and grey, overtaken by tall weeds and man-high thistles.
"Everyone okay? Any injuries?"
"N-no, Captain! No injuries! And everyone's accounted for," Marais answered, catching his breath.
"E-Excellent! We're close enough to Fort Bourbon, gentlemen, but I think we can still cause some trouble. Reload your weapons and catch your breath. In ten, fifteen minutes, we'll strike again—then fall back to the stone quarry to wait for the others. Understood?"
"YES, SIR!"
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The day was fading quickly—much earlier than it would in summer. It was only four in the afternoon, but nightfall was clearly approaching fast.
Adam and his men had hurried their pace to reach the old stone quarry.
The place was exactly as they had left it: a large pit abandoned by the French and ignored by the British. Isolated and quiet—it was perfect for regrouping.
Deniers was already there, though he seemed to have arrived just moments before. It wasn't long before the other groups arrived and reunited.
"Captain Belfour!" the veteran called out with a genuine smile. "Glad to see you in one piece!"
"Captain Boucher, Captain Deniers! I was afraid no one would show up. Captain Collet isn't here yet?"
"Not yet," Deniers replied, turning toward a ridge. "But he shouldn't be far. There—he's coming."
His smile faded when he realized they were fewer than this morning.
Only twenty-nine left, Adam thought grimly.
"Captain Collet, glad to see you."
"Well, that nearly didn't happen. Damn, there was a moment we thought it was all over. Those cursed Brits played a nasty trick on us. And you? How did it go?"
"We were very careful," said Deniers, "but decisive when needed. Unfortunately, we couldn't delay their progress enough. They've probably reached Fort Bourbon by now."
A heavy silence fell over the group. The shoulders of the four officers slumped. Despite their efforts, they had failed their mission.
"I guess there's nothing more to do," Collet murmured. "We were supposed to cut off their supplies and force them to rush the attack on Fort Carillon. Now… I fear the general's plan is compromised."
"If only we could burn their stockpiles…" Adam muttered with a sigh.
Deniers gave a bitter chuckle.
"We'd need a miracle. Trying to sneak into the fort would be suicide. We'd be dead long before reaching the walls."
Collet turned to Adam.
"What about the Iroquois? Could they do it? I mean… they're stealthy. Fast. Maybe they could…"
Adam shook his head.
"They're great warriors, no doubt. But they're not superhuman. They'll refuse, I'm sure of it."
Adam sighed more deeply.
"Can't you at least try to convince them?" Belfour insisted, resting a hand on his sword hilt. "I mean, you're on good terms with them. We could say they're our allies now, right? Maybe they'll listen to you."
"We… we're on good terms, yes, but that doesn't mean they're ready to risk everything without anything in return. It was already hard enough to get them to intervene for a convoy. Now it's a whole fort! Don't forget—they're not our subordinates. They could take it badly."
The four officers looked dejected. Retreat seemed the only option.
"Gentlemen," Adam declared in a near-solemn tone, "our mission has failed. We did what we could with what we had. The strength disparity was too great. We must now return to Fort Carillon and prepare for the worst."
Their shoulders drooped even further.
"I… I'll still go warn our Mohawk friends. They at least deserve to know what's coming. But it's too late to go tonight. We'll stay here for the night. I'll leave at dawn. In the meantime, you'll head back toward our lines. I'll take a horse and catch up as soon as I can."
The three men nodded silently.
Gradually, the sky darkened, and night fell.