I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

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—a 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 François 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—a 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-Lüneburg’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, François, 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."

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’Océan, 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.

"François..."

"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 André 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. François 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 François, 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—not 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—a simple sheet in reality—he 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—perhaps in two centuries—but I’ll have so much to tell you. I’ll take good care of the company for you.