I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

As soon as Marshal Duke of Richelieu learned of the presence of a Prussian army north of Hanover, he began issuing orders to move his army, which was mostly stationed in Magdeburg, as quickly as possible. He also sent letters to his officers, including the Duke of Broglie, based in Halberstadt, to meet in Hanover so they could march together against this enemy.

When they finally arrived on March 1st, Bremen had already fallen into enemy hands, along with their second camp in Verden.

It was said that the Prussians had an army of twenty-five to twenty-seven thousand men, which was fewer than Richelieu’s thirty-two thousand. Indeed, he had been reinforced by troops from neighboring camps in Brunswick and Celle. He had a decent number of squadrons and more than enough artillery pieces.

Confident in his chances of victory, he set off north at dawn on March 2nd. They passed through Wedemark and then the village of Holdenhagen, located on the northern bank of the Aller River. The next day, the duke ordered them to set up camp once again around the village of Böhme, a tiny village named after a small, fast-flowing river that emptied into the Aller.

The cold water of the Böhme chilled Adam’s right hand as he dipped his canteen to fill it before the battle that was soon to take place. It certainly wasn’t as pure as the bottled water one could find in a supermarket or from a tap, but it was better than some of what he had had to drink since arriving here.

The river made a comforting sound as it flowed over the large black rocks in its path, undeterred. The current was strong despite the gentle slope at that spot, due to the recent rains. When it rained, it never did so in small amounts. The waterlogged ground could no longer absorb anything, forcing it to remain on the surface. Roads and fields were often flooded. It was hell for camping or even just getting around.

“Push! Harder!”

Behind him, on the same road they had all followed, several men were wading through the thick, sticky mud, trying to move a heavy cart laden with a large quantity of supplies, including what was needed to feed everyone.

It was almost nightfall, and though they had already set up camp, they had not yet eaten.

I’m so hungry. Damn, I want something hot and filling! I’m dreaming of a huge four-cheese pizza with a thick crust!

Meals in Richelieu’s army were never plentiful, except on very rare occasions. Most of the time, they consisted of hot cereal porridge mixed with a bit of meat and vegetables for flavor.

When the soldiers had the chance to eat a good meal, which usually happened for a day or two after successfully taking an enemy town, they turned into gluttonous monsters, barely able to think.

More than once, Adam had seen conflicts break out over a piece of meat.

“François!” P’tit Pol called, waving his hand high to be noticed by his friend. “We need a hand here!”

The young corporal, who hadn’t seen a penny of Frederick II’s and his brother’s ransom and therefore hadn’t been able to buy a lieutenant’s commission, approached and quickly understood the problem.

“Damn!” he said, seeing the situation.

“Tell me about it. We need to lift the cart to get the wheel back in place, but it’s too heavy.”

“Well, we need to unload it to lighten it.”

“No time, and honestly, we don’t really feel like taking everything out just to put it all back in. Are you coming?”

“Yeah. Do I just need to push?”

“That’s right,” replied Charles, his hands already in place near those of Jean, which seemed twice the size of his own. “On three. One, two, three!”

Everyone pushed, and the cart slowly righted itself. Jules hurried to get the wheel back on track, forcing it onto the long wooden axle running through the cart.

“It’s done! It’s back on. Let it down slowly! Slowly!” Jules reminded them, not wanting to see one of his friends get hurt so foolishly.

“Looks like we’re good.”

The cart continued on its way and parked beside the others outside the camp. The cooks quickly got to work, and a delicious smell began to waft through the air around Böhme.

Holding his bowl in both hands to warm up a bit, Adam sat with his friends. They all smiled, but it was clear that they weren’t at ease. Their faces were pale, and their smiles were hollow. P’tit Pol trembled so much he had trouble making cartridges, and Charles was cleaning his musket for the third time. The others weren’t faring any better.

It’s strange. Why am I not particularly worried about tomorrow? The enemy army is so close, and surely I’ll have to kill people. Yet, I’m not trembling…

Part of him was afraid, but another part, the one that wanted to distinguish itself in battle and rise through the ranks, seemed to be eagerly awaiting the fight.

Adam hadn’t participated in a real battle since Rossbach last November. That had been four months ago, though it felt like an eternity. In the meantime, he had only been involved in small skirmishes, most of which weren’t even worth recounting.

Here, around these few villages, in these wide, open plains, tens of thousands of men would fight, and surely thousands would die.

The air around the small group was heavy, as it was around all the other groups. It was as if a dark cloud hung over the camp. The soldiers, tired from the intense march in the harsh weather, had trouble eating. Some couldn’t swallow anything, and it was very likely that many of them wouldn’t be able to fall asleep easily that night.

Dressed in their uniforms, weighed down by the frequent rains, they all reeked of wet dog.

“I’ve heard,” said Jean, looking at his small steaming bowl, “that the Prussians set up camp less than half a day’s march from here, and their officers gave their soldiers good meat.”

“Well,” replied Charles, “our officers should do the same! Our soldiers would surely be in a better mood!”

"Ha! That’s for sure," Louis said, stirring his cereal porridge with his spoon as if making sure there wasn’t anything strange mixed into his food. "I bet right now they’re eating roasted chicken or grilled pork."

Everyone, Adam included, started to salivate at the thought of the delicious aroma. What they had been served looked like animal feed compared to what the higher-ranking officers were eating.

Despite this inequality, no one felt it was unfair. After all, all the officers were from the nobility. Even though they no longer resembled the noble knights of old, they were still the elite of society. By virtue of their high birth, they could hold all the most prestigious positions in His Majesty’s armies, as well as in his government.

"What do you think will happen tomorrow?" Louis asked, nervously playing with his long blond hair that framed his handsome face, making him look far less like an angel.

"With any luck," muttered P’tit Pol, "we won’t be able to fight because of the rain."

Adam gazed up at the gray sky, looking thoughtful.

Rain? Maybe there’ll be some tomorrow, but I’m not sure it’ll stop our officers from sending us into battle. We’ll probably just be wading through the mud.

Later, when nearly everyone had retreated to their tents to rest before the battle, Adam found himself wandering through Marshal-Duke de Richelieu’s camp. The last traces of daylight had disappeared hours ago, but the sky was too overcast to admire the moon and stars.

Exhausted, he had fallen asleep as soon as he lay down on his straw bed. But as soon as he slipped into the realm of dreams, he had a terrible nightmare.

He saw himself in battle, facing the fearsome Prussians, his feet firmly stuck in thick, black mud, so heavy he couldn’t move. Then he fell, either pushed or wounded. People began to trample him—both allies and enemies—until he was slowly sinking into the mud, leaving only his face above it.

Unable to move, he tried to scream for help, but no sound came from his mouth. He woke up with a start, trembling with terror.

Fearing this dream was a premonition, he thought about running away, since the camp wasn’t far from the road the army had followed while pursuing the Duke of Cumberland northward. Almost in a panic, he left his tent, which had suddenly felt too small, even just for him alone. If he’d had more courage, he would have taken his chances and tried to reach Hameln. Maybe he would’ve found François’s pocket watch there, and maybe he would’ve found a way to return to his own time.

Maybe... the young man sighed inwardly as he wandered between the tents.

Without realizing it, he found himself in front of his friend Charles, who was still sitting by the small fire where they had all gathered to eat earlier. He was still polishing his long musket, as if trying to make it shinier than a brand-new weapon.

"You should get some sleep, Charles. It’s getting late."

"Oh, François. I didn’t hear you coming. Shouldn’t you be with your company or asleep by now?"

"I couldn’t sleep, it’s still a bit early for me," Adam lied as he stepped closer.

"A bit early," Charles said thoughtfully. "Aren’t you tired after all that marching?"

"Yeah, I’m tired," Adam nodded softly, "but not enough."

Charles gave his friend a strange look as Adam sat down beside him by the fire. Despite being close to the flames, their uniforms were still a bit damp.

The fire burning in front of them was much smaller than it had been earlier, but now and then you could still see a few tiny flames and glowing embers among the cracked, partially ashen branches. There was something hypnotic and soothing about these flickering lights, but Adam preferred when there were large flames. He liked watching them envelop thick branches and slowly devour them, rising high into the night sky. They made a light sound, accompanied by a gentle crackling that made you want to wrap yourself in a thick blanket and sleep like that.

If it weren’t so cold, he would have stayed outside his tent for a few more hours.

"Hey, François?" Charles said in a surprisingly hoarse voice.

"Yes?" Adam responded instinctively, turning toward his friend, whose serious face was turned toward the small, smoking fire.

"How do you stay so calm?"

"Calm?" Adam replied in surprise. "I don’t feel particularly calm."

"When I look at you, it seems like tomorrow will be just another day. How do you do it?"

"If you think I’m not scared, then I’m doing a good job pretending. I’m just faking it, that’s all."

"Oh. I thought… Never mind."

The two friends remained silent for a moment in the darkness, barely lit by the tiny campfire. It was a strange atmosphere, yet it seemed perfectly fitting for the eve of a battle.

Charles was the reserved type. Adam had realized that after months of being in his company. He didn’t talk much, which usually gave more weight to everything he said, unlike Jean, who said everything that came to mind, even the most trivial things.

In the end, they hadn’t spoken much, Adam and him.

"My father," Charles suddenly began as if talking to himself, "hardly ever told me what it meant to be a soldier or to go to war. He often told me about what he’d seen during his time as a soldier. You know his favorite story, right? The one where he saw His Majesty. He loves to tell that one. He tells me all the time, just like he often told me about his most glorious moments in battle, the camaraderie he shared with the friends he made in his regiment, and the mischief of his brothers-in-arms. How many times has he told me those were the best years of his life? So I stupidly thought war was like that. Joyful moments punctuated by glorious ones."

Charles paused as if to catch his breath. Adam couldn’t recall seeing him speak so much before. Yet, his friend didn’t seem finished. It was as if a dam had broken.

"I know now," Charles continued, his voice firmer, "that’s not what war is. In fact, I realized that right from the start. When you almost died, I thought… I really thought I was going to lose you, François. That there would only be the five of us left… until there were four, then three, then two, and then just me. What I’ve seen doesn’t match up with what my father told me."

"I think your father didn’t want to remember the bad parts. So he made an effort to smile and tell the least difficult moments to convince himself that that was war. War, no matter how fine our uniforms, is ugly. People suffer, and people die."

Charles nodded.

"That’s true. War is ugly. We should say that more often, back home and in the palaces. Maybe there’d be fewer wars if people knew what really happens when war breaks out?"

Adam couldn’t help but smile, but it was a sad smile, thinking of the naive statement his friend had just made.

If you only knew. As long as war is far away, people couldn’t care less. And even if it took place in a nearby country, they’d keep living their lives because they’re not the ones suffering and dying. War—no matter what you know about it—you only really understand it when you live it. No one would play war games if it were that simple. We’d be disgusted, even scared at the sight of blood and the sound of explosions. When I used to play, I laughed at war. What an idiot I was!