I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

Monsieur de Bréhant 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 François, 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 François, 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. François, 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.

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, François?"

"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’Éstrées 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.