I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

As tension mounted around Leipzig, the situation remained very calm to the north, around Halberstadt. Everything indicated that nothing significant would happen until April 1758, the usual time when military operations resumed.

While the old Imperial General Hildburghausen was marching towards Pegau, far from there, twelve anonymous soldiers were heading northeast, escorting a large cart pulled by a powerful ox. It was only a quarter full, mostly with their tents, straw mattresses, and cooking utensils.

Everything here looked the same. Fields, paths, trees, rocks, hills, and rivers stretched endlessly. Even the villages they avoided like the plague only added to this sense of monotony. No matter where Adam looked, it was all the same.

When they weren't talking among themselves, a deathly silence fell upon them, broken only by the steady sound of the ox's hooves hitting the muddy ground.

I'm bored... This sucks, Adam thought as he walked in step with the others, avoiding the dirtiest spots.

All he had done since that morning was walk. Sometimes they stopped in a hamlet or isolated farm, hoping to find some food to bring back to their headquarters in Halberstadt, but more often than not, they found nothing.

That's why they had to keep walking.

The Duke of Richelieu's army consumed a staggering amount of food every day. There were the men, of course, but they also had to feed all those who accompanied them and the animals, especially the horses of the various cavalry units.

The area around Halberstadt had been stripped bare very quickly. It was like a bottomless pit, swallowing everything that could be eaten. So, the Duke made the only possible decision: to send his men farther and farther out. But there came a point when a day was no longer enough to go out and come back. That point had long since been passed.

So, the soldiers deployed by the Duke had to spend the night away from headquarters and return only when their cart was full. Of course, this was not without risks. They could encounter bandits, deserters from the Cumberland or Brunswick-Lüneburg armies, or an enemy patrol.

That's why there were so many of them around this wooden cart, which was normally used to transport crops. It had been seized from a farm twenty kilometers from Halberstadt, near a village called Oschersleben. Convincing the owners hadn't been difficult: a bit of a threatening tone, and the army's grim reputation did the rest.

Adam's (or François') ability to quickly learn languages—unless it was limited to Germanic ones—had allowed him to communicate with the locals every time they stopped somewhere. He spoke on behalf of the group, asking for anything edible and easy to transport: eggs, vegetables, fruit, dried and salted meat, chickens, etc.

The sergeant commanding this squad, Étienne Dupuy, was very satisfied with his work and didn't hide it. Adam then felt useful, which made him want to do more for this group, representing a third of the company.

Among them were his three tent mates: privates Guillaume Corbier and Jacques-Marie Lebrun, and the anspessade Jean Collet. The latter was the man who had almost been struck by Jean when they learned they had to march on Halberstadt, which was threatened by the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg. There were also his friends, a corporal named Martin Costier and a private named René Gabin.

Adam didn't like the latter much and avoided interacting with him whenever possible. He found him strange and as dumb as a rock, not to mention violent. In a way, it showed on his face. He had the look of someone who couldn't be trusted.

I'm sure this guy would have had a rap sheet a mile long if he had lived in my time, Adam thought, eyeing him sideways.

He walked at the back of the group, to the left of the creaking cart, jolted by the uneven road, and talked animatedly about what he had done in the various towns they had passed through since the start of the campaign. The worst part, probably, was that he was proud of his deeds, unfortunately very common in wartime.

According to rumors, before joining the king's armies, he had done time in prison for theft, insult, and brawling. Unemployed and penniless, the army seemed like a good option to avoid dying like a dog in some random street.

"It's getting late," Sergeant Dupuy said to the group after looking at the sky. "We'll stop here for the night. Corporal Costier, Private Corbier, find us a safe spot a little off the road to set up the tents."

The man, who must have been around thirty, didn't need to say more. After so much time operating this way, they all knew what a good spot looked like. They mainly tried to avoid damp areas because no one wanted to sleep in a place that turned into a swamp at the first rain. Elevated spots were therefore preferred.

The sergeant gave a few more orders, and everyone got to work.

In an instant, three white tents were set up in the middle of a small clearing. It seemed safe and was surrounded by bare or nearly bare trees. Their branches looked like claws stretching toward the sky as if trying to grasp the low, moisture-laden clouds.

It was impossible to find dry kindling, so they had to rely on blankets to keep warm. The one Adam wrapped around his shoulders was heavy and thick, handmade with good quality wool. It was very useful at night to keep from falling ill. Unfortunately, he couldn't use it when it rained, and he had to stand guard. It would turn into a sponge, and he wouldn't be able to use it again until it was dry. He had made that mistake once and regretted it bitterly for three days.

The group ate a cold, meager meal together while the sergeant studied his map of the region, which fit on a small piece of paper. His brows were so furrowed it looked like he was angry. Sometimes he mumbled incomprehensible words to himself while turning the sheet in his hands.

Finally, it was time for everyone to retire to their tents. Naturally, they couldn't all go to sleep. At least one sentry had to stand watch to sound the alarm in case of danger.

Adam was lucky, as he got the first watch. The worst part, in his opinion, was being woken up in the middle of the night for a few hours and then trying to go back to sleep. He had a hard time falling back asleep once he was awake. Sometimes, he simply couldn't. He didn't have this problem before when he was still in his original body. He had concluded that it was due to François' body.

"Good night, François, see you tomorrow!" Louis said as he disappeared into his tent.

"Good luck!" Jules called out behind him as he too entered the small canvas tent.

"See you later," announced Charles, who was scheduled to take over after Adam's watch.

Soon, only the anspessade, Jean Collet, who was also on guard duty, and Adam remained. They settled down around the lanterns that had just been lit and began to chat quietly to keep boredom at bay.

"Hey, I've been wondering," said Jean Collet at one point, subtly illuminated by the warm light of the lantern and the cold light of a crescent moon, "how is it that you speak their language so well? Are you from a region close to the Empire?"

"Not at all, no," Adam answered honestly. "I just learned."

"You learned? That's impressive! How long did it take you?"

"Hmm, it must have been... three months, I think?"

"Three months?! Isn't that a bit too fast? I mean, it's unusual, right? How do you do it?"

Adam thought for a moment, searching for the right words. He himself had trouble explaining it.

"I'm not really sure, to be honest. It's like it just makes sense. Like it's a children's game with little wooden blocks that you have to put in the right place. At first, it was complicated, but the more time goes by, the more it seems logical. You learn one word, you know how to turn it into a verb, that kind of thing."

Seeing the doubtful expression on his colleague's face, he let out a small laugh and scratched his head near his scar.

"Sorry, I'm not being very clear."

"No problem. I was just curious."

Three months... Already! And just as long since I've been here. Damn, sometimes it feels like I've always been here, or at least for years! How can I be getting used to all this?!

Eventually, his watch passed quickly and without incident. Charles and Jacques-Marie replaced them, allowing Adam to go to sleep. Soft snores could be heard at regular intervals from both sides of the tent, plunged into darkness.

He removed his coat and lay down on his thin straw mattress before covering himself with his coat and blanket. After a few adjustments, he found a comfortable position and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, at dawn, they packed up the tents, loaded them onto the cart, fed the ox, and set off again without a clear destination. They were simply to move farther away from headquarters and find a target that hadn't already been visited.

Hours passed, and slowly their cart began to fill up. Often, there was almost nothing to take, even after roughing up the farmers. They followed a road, guided by the sergeant who frequently consulted his map, and when they reached a fork, they let fate decide their path.

But in the middle of the afternoon, he began to show signs of agitation.

"What's wrong, Sergeant?" asked Jules, who had noticed it too.

"Well, there should be a turn here on the right and a fork, but there's nothing."

"Where are we?" Jean asked curiously, moving closer to the sergeant, who was intently focused on his map. "Huh? What are these lines?"

"Roads. We should be here, roughly."

"Oh? And Halberstadt? Is that there?"

"No, here," the sergeant said, pointing with his finger at a large triangle opposite the area Jean had indicated.

"We just need to follow the road. Maybe the turn is a bit further ahead?"

The other soldiers nodded, though they were not confident, hearing Adam's suggestion, who knew the region no better than they did.

The cart started moving again, pulled by the massive ox, which seemed completely unconcerned by this unexpected situation. The terrain here was relatively flat, which made the cart's movement easier. However, it would have moved much faster if the road hadn't been so poor.

The group's main fear was breaking a wheel because, in that case, they would have no choice but to abandon the cart with much of their loot or explore the surroundings in hopes of finding a replacement.

"Huh?"

"That's not a turn."

"What is this river? Sergeant? Where are we?"

"I...," he stammered, staring intensely at his little map, which was as accurate as a child's drawing. "I think... No, that's not right. A river... I think we're off the map."

"Oh, great...," said René Gabin sarcastically, his beady eyes glaring at the sergeant. "We're lost! That's just perfect!"

All their faces turned pale and tense. Getting lost in enemy territory could only be a bad thing. Those who usually found themselves in this situation became bandits to some and deserters to others. In any case, the noose awaited them.

"W-wait! There's a farm over there!" P'tit Pol said joyfully, pointing to a small cluster of buildings surrounded by modest fields and wild-looking wooded areas.

"Well, it is quite isolated... We could try," the sergeant said. "Soldier François? We're counting on you to ask them for directions to get back."

"Yes!" Adam replied energetically, not wanting to disappoint his friends and comrades.

It took them an hour to reach the edge of the fields of this stone farm, weathered by time, against which still-flowering shrubs grew despite the season. The flowers, however, seemed on the verge of wilting, having begun to lose their suppleness and color.

There, on the muddy path, they encountered a little girl playing alone with a small rag doll. She was very cute with her two small blonde pigtails. Her round, rosy cheeks immediately made Adam want to gently pinch them. The child wore a simple red and white dress, inexpensive but of good quality.

Soon, the little girl noticed the group of soldiers, and instead of running in the opposite direction, she began to approach them cheerfully, a huge smile on her face.

Adam asked his comrades to stay back and remain silent so as not to alarm the child.

"Hello, Mr. Soldier!" she said, clutching her little doll tightly. "Are you alright?"

"Hello, little miss! I'm fine, thank you very much! What's your name?" Adam asked in the gentlest voice he could muster.

"Hehe, it's funny how you talk, mister! My name is Ida, and this," she said, presenting her doll, "is Lottie!"

"Hello, Ida, hello Lottie. My name is... Adam. Is it really funny when I talk?"

"Yes!" the little girl answered honestly, nodding her head vigorously with exaggeration.

"Maybe it's because I'm from far away?"

Ida tilted her head to the side with curiosity and looked at the other soldiers who were waiting near the cart.

"Are they from far away too?"

"Um, yes. They are too. And we're very tired. We'd really like to go home."

"Really? My daddy is a soldier too. But he left," the little girl said sadly, hugging her doll tightly. "I didn't get to say goodbye."

"Really? Your daddy is a soldier?"

"Mm-hmm, yes!" Ida replied with a certain pride. "He's a great soldier! The greatest! And he's going to kill the bad guys with all his friends! But why are your clothes different?"

A slight feeling of fear crept into the young soldier's heart. Instantly, an excuse came to mind.

"That's because I'm also a great soldier. My leader said that when you're good, you get to wear white clothes."

"Really?!"

She's so innocent! I want to hug her!

Adam resisted the temptation and asked another question, perhaps with a tone that was a bit too serious.

"Ida? You said your daddy left with all his friends. When and where did they go?"

The young girl seemed to struggle and stopped talking.

"Ida, please? I need to quickly join your daddy... to help him."

I'm a monster.

But just as the little girl was about to respond, a woman who appeared to be in her thirties emerged from the house. As soon as she saw Adam, her face turned pale, and she sprang forward. She grabbed a pitchfork and charged at the young man like a furious demon.

Adam's comrades rushed in as well, and not wanting to harm the woman who, deep down, was only trying to protect her child, they merely surrounded her. Threatened from all sides, she waved her pitchfork wildly, keeping a good distance between herself and the hesitant soldiers.

A mechanical sound suddenly broke the tense standoff, and everyone froze. Adam, like the others, recognized the sound of a musket being cocked. It was René Gabin, and he was pointing his weapon directly at the child.

"Fuck!"

"René! Lower your weapon! Now!"

René didn't move, his gaze fixed on the mother, who was now as pale as a corpse. Even her lips seemed to have turned white. Her trembling hands were gripping her pitchfork so tightly that Adam thought he could hear the wood of the handle creak.

"François," René said slowly and calmly, "tell this bitch to drop her weapon."

"René..." Adam murmured in a grave voice, his eyes locked on the barrel of the gun, dreading the sound of a gunshot at any moment.

"Tell her, or I'll shoot her kid."

Adam, trembling all over, turned to the woman, who was shaking as much as he was, and translated the threat. As he did so, he hesitated, contemplating whether he should draw his own weapon and aim it at René. He certainly didn't want to kill him, but René had clearly crossed a line.

He imagined himself drawing his weapon, pointing it at René's head, and pulling the trigger. He pictured a great white plume of smoke obscuring the body of the soldier as he fell backward, brain matter splattering into the air. His hands itched, and his body urged him to do it.

Should... Should I do it? What if he kills me first? What should I do?!

A small pellet of ice struck Adam's forehead, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was tiny and didn't hurt, but it was soon followed by many others. They bounced off the roofs, the people, René's weapon, and the ground, which was too warm for the hail to last more than a few minutes. Depending on where they landed, they made different sounds.

Finally, the mother obeyed and dropped her pitchfork, which fell heavily at her feet. She immediately wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter and hurried her inside the small farmhouse to safety.

René finally lowered his weapon before slinging his musket over his shoulder as if nothing had happened.

"Now, we can talk. Ask her how we get back to Halberstadt... and where the food is."