I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

Despite the pleas for a few extra days to allow the men to rest, the Duke of Richelieu ordered the army to resume its march. The men, whose health was only just beginning to improve, did not understand this decision and showed signs of discontent, but what could they do? They were nothing. The ones who made the decisions were great lords, some of whose lineages dated back to the days when France was still being built, the glorious era of chivalry.

What they didn’t understand was that their commander was just as powerless as they were. The longer he remained inactive, the more the Court would rise against him. Eventually, His Majesty would strip him of his command, just as he had done with the Duke of Estrées.

Although he had an unflattering reputation, the old marshal feared the tribunal of public opinion. At his age, after so many trials and sacrifices, he did not want to be remembered as a coward.

Moreover, there were many disadvantages to staying in Hanover. It was important to remember that France was at war, and one of its enemies, commanded by a member of the British royal family, was slipping further away each day. The longer he remained inactive, the greater the distance between them would grow. The Duke of Cumberland would then have time to recruit local militiamen and mercenaries while fortifying his position.

The Marshal Duke of Richelieu could not accept this, so not only did he decide to resume the march north, but he also ordered them to pick up the pace.

In the long column formed by his regiments, there were sighs and groans. Everyone hoped that the enemy would stop fleeing and decide to confront them. Anything seemed better than continuing like this.

As promised, the French army did not touch Linden Castle, the sublime Herrenhausen Palace, the King's house, or the electoral castle.

A week later, the French army arrived at Nienburg. It was a charming fortified town along the Weser River, partially protected by a significant wetland area. It was well-organized and relatively clean.

Adam could not imagine that this town had a rich history. Over the centuries, it had faced numerous crises. It had been captured many times by enemy armies and almost entirely destroyed on a few occasions. After a long period of instability, it had finally tasted the intoxicating scent of peace.

After the foreign army that had illegally occupied it finally decided to leave after the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648), the town was equipped with new fortifications designed according to the most modern military architectural treatises, with bastions, half-moons, glacis, cavaliers, escarpments, and counter-escarpments, as well as an impressive stone bridge. On the other side of this bridge, a modest bastion was erected with the sole purpose of protecting its access.

Because the Duke of Cumberland and his army were not present to defend the town as honor and duty would command, Nienburg decided to open its gates to Richelieu in hopes of fair treatment. This wise decision, as the marshal had planned to use all his firepower if necessary, pleased the old man and his officers.

On this 18th of August, the Duke conducted a full review of his army. The decisive battle against the Duke of Cumberland that he and his men had been eagerly awaiting seemed near.

We are almost there. Cumberland cannot flee forever! I have no choice: I must win a resounding victory.

Adam and his friends were lined up behind their regiment's banner, a white cross on a red background. It was held by the ensign, a man who seemed very experienced, with broad shoulders and short legs. He stood proudly alongside Monsieur the Marquis de Bréhant. With fixed gazes, no one moved, as if they had been petrified by a spell.

The Marshal Duke passed before them, observing their uniforms and posture.

My men, the officer thought as he walked with a firm step, must be in top shape! Damn it! They look like nothing! They resemble militiamen!

Clenching his jaw, he refrained from making this insulting comparison. Eavesdroppers were many, and he had no doubt that these words would be twisted and reported to His Majesty. By insulting the king's soldiers, he risked insulting the king himself.

Diable! Is this really my army?! They can barely stand!

Indeed, although it had successively entered several enemy towns and gained more ground each day on the Duke of Cumberland, his army was a sorry sight. Disease was still rampant, and they were severely lacking in supplies. This problem had existed even under Estrées and was contributing to their sluggishness. But his biggest problem was currently invisible: there were significant internal conflicts. Factions had formed within his staff, each with its own opinion on what should be done.

The fat Duke of Orléans, belonging to a cadet branch of the royal family since he was a direct descendant of Philippe d'Orléans, brother of Louis XIV, for example, threatened to simply leave. He had been very upset to learn at the last minute of Richelieu's appointment as head of this army. According to him, the only one worthy of leading the troops to victory was himself. Despite his uninspiring appearance, he had actively participated in operations during the previous war and had even distinguished himself.

To show everyone that he was as much a soldier as a prince of the blood, he always wore a cuirass under his long scarlet coat trimmed with gold.

According to him, and in this, he agreed with the old marshal, what this army lacked most, in addition to discipline and supplies, was unity.

The more time Marshal Richelieu spent with this army and these officers, who seemed to be waiting for any excuse to return to France, the more he believed that a decisive victory over the Hanoverians would be a matter of luck, which was not good at all.

After taking Nienburg, the officers commanding the French army slowed its pace. It was as if they suddenly realized that they were not tireless machines.

Adam rejoiced, although at the same time, he hoped for a quick resolution so he could return to Hameln.

Indeed, he had not given up on the idea of returning there and perhaps returning to his own time. Meanwhile, he did not neglect his duties as François and as a soldier. Every day he trained in handling his rifle and did other exercises. Mainly, he contented himself with running. He never tired of noticing how enduring this body was.

The young man, in his original body, wouldn’t have been able to endure half of what he was putting this one through. His friends let him continue, although they were curious about some of his movements. What he called "crunches" and "push-ups" were completely incomprehensible to them.

He had also begun to learn the local language. In the Holy Roman Empire, there were many more or less autonomous states and at least as many different dialects. Thus, those in the north, near the North Sea, couldn’t understand those in the south who spoke a kind of Italian. Here, it was a Germanic language somewhat similar to German. Fortunately, that was the option he had chosen in school. That was also why his parents had decided to send him on a trip to Germany so he could improve his language skills.

Despite the years spent studying this language, he only knew the basics. He hadn’t been any more diligent in this subject than in history, which he now deeply regretted.

“Ah, that was really good!” Jean said cheerfully, finishing his piece of cheese.

“Yes, it’s been a long time since we’ve eaten so well,” Jules agreed, licking the cream off his fingers.

“We won’t get in trouble if we don’t bring everything back to camp, will we?”

“What do you think? Everyone does it. You must have seen it, right?” Louis replied to Hippolyte, who was also finishing his meal.

“Yes, it was good,” Adam commented somewhat flatly, his meal only half-eaten despite his hunger.

The group of friends was sitting peacefully in the middle of a vast, sunlit clearing, the tall grass so high it seemed to compete with the trees, which looked down on them with disdain as they reached for the sky. A gentle breeze made the leaves in the trees dance and swayed the wildflowers. Butterflies and bees flitted about in this scene worthy of a painting from the following century, blissfully unaware of everything happening in the world.

In this summer landscape, the six soldiers seemed out of place. They too, influenced by these peaceful insects, might have been lulled into thinking they were safe from danger. As if here, in this clearing, the war couldn’t reach them.

The bodies lying in the dry grass proved otherwise.

They wore Hanoverian army uniforms, riddled with holes in various places. These men varied in age and were in poor condition, apart from being dead for nearly an hour. They were dirty, unshaven, and clearly malnourished.

While the likelihood that they were deserters from Cumberland’s army was high, they could also have been scouts looking for food for their army.

“Come on, it’s time to head back. We’ve strayed too far from the camp,” Jules said, standing up and brushing off the blades of grass from his coat, which he had used as a cushion. When he saw that a few ants had ventured onto his, he quickly shook it out.

Jean carried a bag filled with food, stolen from the Hanoverian soldiers, while the others carried the belongings of the fallen soldiers. They walked for a while through the grass, following the long trail they had made on their way there, and reached a narrow dirt road. It led to a larger road that connected to Nienburg. When walking on one of these roads, carved out by the regular passage of pedestrians and animal-drawn carts, he often expected to see a modern car. Sometimes he caught himself listening for the familiar sound of an engine.

They passed by many villages and hamlets but didn’t linger since the French army had already searched them.

Suddenly, Adam felt the need to ask the question that had been burning in his mind since he woke up.

“Tell me, does any of you regret enlisting?”

The five soldiers looked at their companion, not surprised by the question. It had been some time now since they crossed the kingdom’s borders, and during all this time, except for the Battle of Hastenbeck, all they had done was march, train, pillage, and set up camps.

“Well,” Louis began after a brief reflection, “I suppose it depends on what we were looking for when we decided to sign up. If it was to make a fortune, like P’tit Pol, then clearly, it’s a bust. Right?”

“Don’t even mention it! The pay is worse than what I earned helping my parents.”

“If you wanted to see the sights, like Jules and I did, then I suppose there’s nothing to regret. Do you agree with me?” Louis asked his friend, who had stopped to remove a pebble from his right shoe, which was a bit worn at the tip.

“Hmm, no, I don’t really have any regrets. Although, it seems like all the landscapes in this region look the same. But it’s certainly different from Corbie.”

All the soldiers nodded in agreement, which made Adam tilt his head slightly. Not being from this time and not knowing the Corbie of this century, he couldn’t give his opinion. The brief image he had seen in a dream of this village seemed, from his point of view, very similar to all the villages they had passed since his journey through time. All had that picturesque look, as if life hadn’t changed in five centuries.

“As for Charles, well, his father wanted to see him become a soldier and a brave one at that. In a way, he’s accomplished his mission, hasn’t he?”

“Yes! I’m a great soldier now that I’ve killed enemies, hehe! But my father won’t be satisfied unless I return with at least the rank of corporal. I need to distinguish myself, but for that, there needs to be a battle!”

“And you, Jean?” Adam asked as he shifted his heavy rifle from one shoulder to the other.

“I have no regrets. I’m with my friends. That’s all that matters to me.”

Everyone smiled at this simple and honest response. Finally, they asked their friend.

“And you, François? Do you regret signing up?”

“I’m not sure. I had my reasons, but… I wonder if I needed to go this far.”

Adam was referring to a memory that had surfaced during the night. That’s how it usually happened, but sometimes it occurred when he heard a particular sound, smelled something, or saw something. Dreams being what they are, in many cases, he woke up without any memory of what he might have seen from François’ life. Here, that wasn’t the case. The images he had seen were as clear and vivid as a movie. Thanks to this memory, he had gained some additional information about the circumstances of François’ enlistment.

It had happened without his father’s consent, Charles Boucher. He had seen him in that memory, which wasn’t his own, furious with him. He had even gone to the barracks in Dunkirk to try to cancel his enlistment. This was just before their departure for Saint-Omer, about thirty kilometers to the south. In the end, he couldn’t do anything, and François left with his friends. He hadn’t said goodbye to his father, only to his mother, a beautiful woman with long chestnut hair with auburn highlights and lovely blue eyes.

This was shortly before the start of the war and the change in alliances. His regiment was there when the Marquis de Bréhant received the order to prepare to leave for Germany, which he did in March.

François/Adam’s friends fell silent for a long time, not knowing what to say. They knew everything, of course, about this sad story and the reasons that had driven him to disobey his father in this way. What they hadn’t told him was that Charles Boucher had secretly met with them in Dunkirk and asked them to look after his son until the end of his contract.

At least he remembers his last conversation with his parents. I don’t even remember what I last said to Dad… I-I want so much to hug him!

The more days passed, the more the hope of returning naturally, without the help of the watch, to his own time was fraying, like a rope worn by years of exposure to the elements. He feared he would never see his friends and family, the walls of his house and his room, or hear the sounds he had grown accustomed to.

If I get back… No, when I get back home, the first thing I’ll do is hug my parents and apologize. For everything I’ve said and everything I’ve done.