I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

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 Aréthuse 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..."

"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—we 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 Océan. 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—a 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 Bréhant, 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—thanks to their experience at sea—Captain 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.

"François?!"

"Huh? Ah! Jean, Jules, P’tit Pol! You’re here!"