I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

Adam, now a corporal, wore woolen chevrons on his sleeves, just above the elbow. Very simple, they instantly indicated his rank within the company. His role primarily involved assisting the sergeants in maintaining discipline among the troops, ensuring that exercises were properly carried out, and that any unruly elements were punished. For this, he would be aided by the lance corporals.

Captain Gilbert, Armand Gilbert, was a man nearing forty, with a triangular face and a chin split in two by a scar that extended up to his lower lip. His long brown hair, tied in a simple ponytail like any common soldier, had begun to gray around the ears. His eyebrows were thick and bushy, and on his left cheek, he had a large mole that resembled a big pimple. He had likely tampered with it in the past, as it now appeared quite unsightly and noticeable. Only a beard, which unfortunately for him was forbidden in the king of France's armies, could have concealed it.

He had had long conversations with him in recent days, and from what he had observed, this was not a man to be disrespected or taken for a fool. He was strict with his men as much as with himself. However, he could be somewhat dishonest when he made a mistake. Placing immense importance on order and discipline, he kept a firm hand on his soldiers to ensure they stood out from the rest.

While much of the army had behaved disgracefully throughout this campaign, acting more like militias or highwaymen, his soldiers had only taken what was necessary or useful. If excesses were committed, the culprits were invariably punished.

This company had apparently distinguished itself during the Battle of Rossbach and had effectively supported the efforts of the Grenadiers of France when it was necessary to break the enemy infantry formation. However, this had come at a high cost, as they had lost a corporal and a dozen soldiers.

Replacing them would not be easy, especially so far from France. This problem was shared by many other companies. None were at full strength.

Captain Gilbert had accepted the newly promoted François Boucher but had serious doubts about his abilities. He would have preferred to have him as a lance corporal to test him and gradually train him for his future duties as a corporal, but he had been forced into this decision.

Out of respect for both the rank and the man, he had complied with the decision of the Marquis de Bréhant, whose reputation was well-established. Under his command, the regiment had thrived and had even distinguished itself on two occasions: once at Hastenbeck and again at Rossbach.

However, he had been very clear with the young man: he expected a great deal from him and would be closely monitoring him to ensure he did his job well. If he proved incapable of handling his new responsibilities, he would do everything to replace him with someone more experienced and deserving.

"Pick up the pace! Set up the camp!"

"At your orders!"

"We're behind the other companies! I want us finished before the others! Understood?"

"Yes, Captain!"

Corporal Boucher, or Adam, had sweat covering his brow as they had been marching quickly over the past few days to reach the immediate vicinity of Leipzig. The entire army of the Duke of Richelieu had been moving to join those of Soubise and Hindburghausen, or rather what remained of them.

Indeed, they had suffered greatly before Richelieu's arrival at Rossbach, especially their cavalry, which had been almost completely destroyed.

From the west of the city, the armies were taking positions in the villages near the large city, gradually tightening their grip on the units that had taken refuge there. Monsieur de Bréhant's Picardie Regiment was setting up a camp in Markkleeberg, to the south of the city.

There, many tents were being erected, but not haphazardly, as there were rules to follow to ensure easy navigation within the camp. Distances had to be maintained to allow for good circulation within the encampment. The last thing the officers wanted was to waste time searching for their men and trying to get them out to organize a defense or an attack.

"Corporal! Go help those soldiers! They seem to be struggling!"

"Yes!" Adam responded energetically, leaving his current task to help a small group of soldiers trying to set up a tent near a muddy road.

On this 15th of November, almost all the trees in the region had lost their foliage. The air was getting colder as December approached. Rain and hail showers followed one after another without end, and the sun was barely visible. Estimating the time of day became difficult. Sometimes it seemed as though night was falling, even when it was still morning.

"Are your stakes driven in properly?" Adam asked the soldiers struggling to set up their tent.

"Ah, yes, I think so. But in the mud, they don't hold well."

"The others managed, so why not us? You two, hold the poles. I'll help set up the canvas."

"Thank you, Corporal!"

The tents were very simple, designed to be produced and set up quickly. They consisted of two long poles planted in the ground, connected by a third horizontal one. The canvas needed to be placed on top, ensuring an equal amount on each side, then stretched and secured. It was as simple as that. But here, the ground was unstable, and there was wind. It blew into the canvas, inflating it like a ship's sail.

"Turn this way. That way we won't be bothered by the wind. Throw it over, and now we can unfold it. Wait, it's in the wrong direction. There! Where are the stakes?"

"Here!"

"Good! Keep holding and securing the canvas. I'll get them."

With an extra pair of hands, the tent was quickly set up. Adam moved between the tents, regularly asking if anyone needed an extra hand. Finally, all the tents were erected.

"All tents are ready, Sergeant!"

"Good work. We seem to have been quite efficient. I'll inform the Captain. Where is he, by the way?"

"I think I saw him with the lieutenant. They were heading towards the center of the camp."

"Very well. I'll see if I can find him. In the meantime, make sure the men don't wander off, and go see the vivandières to prepare us a good hot meal."

"At your orders!"

Adam had quickly adapted to this soldier's life, and it worried him greatly. The more time passed, the less he felt like a stranger in this era. The sounds and smells that had seemed strange to him in the first days now went almost unnoticed. The scent of hay, the animals, the wood fire, his own smell, the sound of the drum, carts rolling in the mud, hooves striking the ground, the officers' commands, and the soldiers' laughter. Sometimes he wondered if he would be able to return to his old habits once he was back in his own time. He often thought about his family and friends. He would then think about everything he had done and even more about everything he hadn't done. He couldn't even remember the last time he had told his parents that he loved them.

As soon as we take this city, I'll ask again for permission to leave the army and go to Hameln.

That's what he kept telling himself, but he didn't believe it. Even he knew it. They had been so deep in enemy territory that it would certainly take weeks to reach that small town. And in this season, he risked falling ill and not finding the watch he suspected was behind his arrival in this era.

When I think that it’s almost December, it’s crazy! Wait a minute, what day is it? The 14th? The 15th? Damn! It's the 15th! It's Dad's birthday!

He immediately realized the absurdity of his thoughts.

Damn, I'm stupid. Dad hasn't even been born yet. Nor Granddad or his own grandfather! Or so I think. Wait... Can I change the future? Oh, damn! What if I never get born? Would I just disappear?

Adam had never been particularly smart, and it was only now, four months after his journey through time, that he was starting to ask himself these important questions.

What if I accidentally kill one of my ancestors, or if they never meet their future wife... Oh my God!

A sudden, violent headache struck him, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. With shaky legs, he approached a cart that was being unloaded, containing all the straw mattresses and cloths to cover the waterlogged ground.

One hand on the side of his face, eyebrows furrowed, his fingers touched the long scar he had received on the day he arrived in this century. It no longer hurt, but it was still somewhat sensitive to the touch. It stretched from his eyebrow and curved above his ear. However, only a small part of it could be seen, hidden by his long hair.

Focus! I shouldn't overthink it, just do what I need to do, that's it! The faster this is over, the sooner I'll be home! Haha, my parents will never believe me!

***

Meanwhile, the pressure was gradually increasing on the inhabitants of Leipzig and the Prussian soldiers still there. The few high-ranking officers who had managed to escape the vast Franco-Imperial army were gathered to exchange opinions in a beautiful house in the heart of the city, the oldest part.

Lieutenant General von Seydlitz, his right arm in a sling, turned to the two other officers present in the room, his gaze hard and filled with strength and determination despite the terrible wound he had received at Rossbach.

"Gentlemen, we must abandon Leipzig; there's no doubt about it. There's no more time for illusions. If we stay, this city will be our tomb. But that doesn't mean the war is over. Even if they take the city, they can't be everywhere. Let's make their lives impossible until they realize that they are not in conquered territory!"

Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick-Lüneburg, his jaw clenched, lifted his head and exclaimed enthusiastically:

"Well said. We must strike them wherever they are weak, give them no respite, and make them regret coming to our land!"

General Keith, sitting back and looking absent, responded in a flat tone while staring at the small flame atop a half-melted candle:

"Gentlemen, you talk about harassing our enemies, but with what means? We have almost no men left, and they are demoralized. Every day, more soldiers desert. Do you think they'll fight to the death for a lost cause?"

Von Seydlitz straightened up abruptly, his eyes blazing, despite the immense pain that extended from his missing hand to his neck.

"It is precisely because the situation is desperate that we must fight with all our strength! Everything can still change! What we need are a few victories, even small ones! The people are with us and will surely fight by our side to drive out the enemy. The French have been so cruel to them that there will be no shortage of volunteers!"

"And how will they fight?" Keith insisted, clearly not convinced. "With sticks and stones? We need at least rifles and powder in large quantities. The best will in the world won't be enough."

Duke Brunswick-Lüneburg scrutinized General Keith as if he were seeing him for the first time. He didn't immediately respond, as this was indeed a major problem if he ever hoped to regain control of Hanover. Von Seydlitz was nervously tapping the surface of the table in front of him with his remaining hand.

"My men still have their horses and sabers; they can certainly do something! I have faith in my men! I may have lost a hand and a large number of my soldiers, but those who have joined us are all loyal and very experienced. They could attack isolated groups or small convoys, seize their weapons and ammunition, then disappear. They know this land well."

Keith and Brunswick-Lüneburg couldn't help but look at the bandaged stump where a large hand, well-trained in the use of the saber, should have been. They dared not imagine what that loss represented for such a man. It was a considerable loss that would have plunged most men into a terrible stupor. But he hadn't uttered a word about it, as if his loss was limited to a coat button.

"Agreed," Keith conceded, "but that might not be enough. We need weapons and ammunition, artillery, and reliable equipment. If we want to take the initiative, we will need our British allies. After all, their hatred of the French is as great as ours, but much older."

"Hmm, the British," the proud cavalryman remarked, "can we really count on them? If we rely on their help, we might all die before seeing the barrel of the first musket!"

Duke Brunswick-Lüneburg turned to Keith for his opinion on a question that had been on his mind for several days.

"General, do you think they might send a few regiments to assist us in retaking Hanover?"

The general finally tore his gaze from the candle and looked at his comrades, whose faces were drawn with exhaustion.

"Honestly," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, "I'm not sure we can count on them. From what I know, their army is smaller than that of the King of France and is spread out across the world. They have to defend their coasts as well as their colonies and trading posts. They will likely be reluctant to send troops to Hanover."

"In that case," the Duke replied, turning once again to von Seydlitz, "I think you are right. It is more important to achieve victories, even modest ones, to counterbalance our failure at Rossbach."

Von Seydlitz looked intently at Duke Ferdinand and nodded in recognition. Keith could only concede and asked:

"How should we proceed?"

The three men fell silent, pondering for a moment. Finally, it was Lieutenant General von Seydlitz who spoke.

"As you so aptly said, my lord Duke, we must strike the enemy wherever they are weak and only fight battles that we are sure to win. The larger our group, the more we will concentrate our enemies. Due to our numerical inferiority, it would be better for us to split into three groups."

The other two generals nodded in agreement, their eyes once again filled with determination.

Taking advantage of the enemy's slow assembly and advance on their position, the remnants of the Prussian army quietly evacuated the city of Leipzig before splitting into three corps. One headed north as if to join Hanover and Brunswick, the second moved northwest as if heading for Berlin, and the third went east as if aiming for Dresden or Prague.