Hello! Here is a new chapter!
Enjoy!
Thank you Ranger_Red, Mium, Shingle_Top, Dekol347, Porthos10 and DaoistuQngeZ for the support.
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The sky was uniformly gray, and though it was not late, it felt as if night was about to fall.
There was a slight humidity in the air, but no heaviness to suggest an approaching storm. A soft wind blew from the north, bringing some relief to the men trapped inside Fort Bourbon, as well as those surrounding it.
It was September 7th.
Adam had lost track of the days. It could have been Wednesday or Saturday—it no longer made a difference. Every day was the same now.
The only exception was Sunday, which began with a brief mass.
The young captain, who had long since lost any trace of youth, leaving only an ordinary man with a hardened, tense, and grimy face, was sitting on the ground, his back resting against a cannon he shared with five other people.
Everyone was dozing off where they sat, but there was nowhere decent to rest.
Like him, like all of them, the garrison of Fort Bourbon had become nothing more than silhouettes, shadows, part of the scenery. Their eyes were empty, devoid of hope.
They were little better than walking corpses.
Yet the English had not launched an assault in three days.
Since their last failed attack, which had forced the French to abandon the Petit Pont, they had done nothing but bombard them.
Their artillery thundered several times a day—nearly once an hour, day and night. The spirit of the brave French soldiers mirrored the state of the ramparts protecting them.
Adam closed his eyes and dozed off for a second. His head, weighed down by his tricorn hat and powdered wig, fell against his chest, jolting him awake.
His eyes snapped open, and he immediately scanned his surroundings, as if ensuring there was no immediate danger.
Ah, it's fine. Everything's okay.
Sniff!
He sniffed loudly and crossed his arms over his chest, adjusting them so they wouldn't move when he fell asleep again. He closed his eyes once more.
Rrrroooon...
A sound reached his ears, but he didn't bother opening his eyes. Adam realized the noise he had just heard was his own snoring.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A series of heavy detonations erupted around the fort. The alarming sounds roused the garrison, but before they could react, the impact of the bombardment shook the besieged fortress.
Adam felt a vibration, as if the earth had trembled. It came from the ground beneath him, but also through the massive cannon supporting his back.
Tss, they're so damn annoying! Don't they ever get tired?!
With great effort, Adam got up, stepping over a comrade who had only half-opened an eye at the sound of the bombardment. The men were packed so tightly in that spot that it was difficult to move.
And this was hardly an isolated case—the small fort was overflowing with soldiers. Since the fall of Île Longue, they were practically stepping on each other.
Of course, there were no barracks, and even fewer beds to accommodate them all.
Losing that island had been a devastating blow to the French. It played a key role in the troops' declining morale.
Let's see what's happening… As expected, they're not moving. Rhaa, I think I'd actually prefer if they launched an assault!
Impatience was creeping through the garrison, spreading like poison.
It might have seemed harmless, but that was the danger. The longer this went on, the more tensions grew.
In that sense, the soldiers' exhaustion was actually a good thing—they no longer had the energy to fight amongst themselves.
For a brief moment, Adam silently watched as the cannon smoke from Île Longue slowly dissipated in the wind.
The English had turned their captured cannons against them and could now target the entire western side of the fort, as well as the demi-lune south of Fort Bourbon. The loss of that island had been an immense tragedy, and they now regretted too late not having stationed more men there.
Damn it! If only we had at least had time to sabotage those damn cannons! Maybe we could have gotten some sleep!
Adam's mood was foul. His face remained in a constant scowl, which had a noticeable effect on his men.
He was well aware of it, but what could he do? Smile? Laugh? Sing?
There was no reason to do any of that. Worse yet, it might even start a massive brawl if taken the wrong way.
Adam turned away from the outside and returned to his spot before another soldier, searching for a decent place to rest, could take it. The position was uncomfortable, but it was better than leaning against a comrade's back.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!
A wild animal-like sound made him place a compassionate hand on his hollow stomach.
Despite being increased in the past months in anticipation of a siege, the fort's reserves had quickly proven insufficient. The garrison was so large that the amount of food needed to keep them in shape was colossal.
The supplies had been split in two before the siege began, just like the gunpowder and ammunition. The most important stockpile was inside Fort Bourbon, while the second was stored in the building next to the powder magazine.
The only consolation for the besieged in this dire situation was that the redcoats couldn't enjoy these supplies either, as everything had been obliterated in the explosion of the powder magazine.
Not knowing how much longer the siege would last, Colonel de Bréhant had ordered even stricter rationing. Everyone had to tighten their belts and be patient, waiting for better days.
Grrrrrrrrrrrr?
Adam's stomach rumbled as if asking a question, and a similar sound from the belly of the soldier Petit, recently promoted to anspessade, answered him.
Grrrrrrrr!
Adam smirked slightly, but the expression quickly faded as he started imagining a table covered with plates, steaming pots, and sizzling pans. He pictured a roasted chicken with potatoes and onions, all bathed in a rich, fragrant sauce of captivating color.
Then, he imagined a massive herb-crusted ham, pink as a flower and tender as a woman's breast.
Fries… I want to eat fries. Golden brown with sauce. No, multiple sauces. Ketchup, barbecue, curry… Or covered in melted cheddar with bacon.
A single tear rolled down the captain's dry cheek as he envisioned all these dishes, and it only worsened when he began to dream of desserts.
He had a sweet tooth, and that hadn't changed in this body. He craved cream-filled cakes, chocolate pastries, praline choux, or even just simple fruit tarts.
If someone asked him his favorite dessert, he wouldn't know what to answer—he loved them all. Traditional bakeries were like jewelry stores in his eyes.
A Paris-Brest. A custard flan. A raspberry tart with pastry cream. An apple-banana crumble…
Grrrrrrrrrrr!
His stomach let out a long growl, as if to tell Adam it fully approved of all these choices and would gladly sacrifice itself to devour them all.
Glup!
Adam swallowed the saliva that had rapidly pooled in his mouth before he started drooling all over himself.
He sensed someone approaching but didn't move. He didn't even open his eyes to see who it was.
Still, he noticed the man had stopped near him and imagined he was either looking at him or staring at the enemy camp across the river. The presence remained still for a few seconds, then Adam felt him settling down beside him.
The captain sighed internally and shifted slightly to make some room for the newcomer.
"Thanks," the man said in an exhausted voice. "I'm crevé, as you often say."
Adam barely opened his eyes and slowly turned his head to see who was sitting next to him, leaning against the 24-pounder cannon.
"Ah, Albert. I figured it was you. Though I had my doubts. You've got a shitty voice."
"Thanks," Albert replied with a weary smile. "Much appreciated."
The sounds coming from his throat were raspy and distorted. Even he struggled to recognize his own voice.
Adam was in the same state after breathing in so much cannon smoke. They were all slowly getting sick.
Albert Fontaine shifted against the cannon's carriage, searching for a comfortable position. It was far from making a decent backrest.
He grimaced and finally stopped moving, as if he had found the least uncomfortable spot.
His distant gaze turned to the dull sky, and Adam mimicked him, wondering what had caught his attention up there. But there was nothing.
It was even impossible to tell where the sun was.
Albert looked much older since the siege had begun. Adam did too, but in Albert's case, it was even more striking.
It showed especially at the corners of his mouth, on his forehead, and around his eyes. Several long white hairs had also appeared near his ears, long and slender.
If he wore a modern shirt and cleaned up his hair, he could easily pass for a schoolteacher.
Certainly, thought Adam, he would have made a good teacher. A math or French teacher, perhaps?
Sensing his young friend's intense gaze, Albert turned to Adam and asked what he was thinking about.
"Hmm, nothing. Just silly thoughts."
"Oh? Now I'm curious."
"I was just wondering… if you had ever thought about what you'd do after the war."
"What do you mean? I'll keep my rank, gain seniority, and who knows, maybe I'll get promoted one day? What else do you expect me to do? This is all I've ever known. It's all I know how to do. I think I've told you that before, haven't I?"
"Ah, yes."
Adam smiled awkwardly, recalling his previous conversations with Albert.
They remained silent for a moment before Adam noticed his friend pulling something out from under his uniform, which, over time, had become almost as gray as the dull sky above them. It was a golden locket, very beautiful, held by a fine gold chain of remarkable delicacy.
"What's that?" he asked, curious.
It was the first time he had seen it, and from the way his friend was holding it, Adam immediately assumed it meant a great deal to him. Perhaps even more than the pocket watch that had transported him to this era meant to François.
"My treasure," Albert replied simply with a sigh.
Pressing a small metal latch, the locket opened delicately, revealing two tiny locks of hair. They were not the same color—one was brown, the other a golden blonde. Both looked quite old.
"Does this… have something to do with your wife and son?" Adam asked hesitantly after an interminable silence.
Albert had never officially admitted to his friends that he had once had a family, but he had once told them a heartbreaking story of an impossible love that ended with the death of a wife who had given up everything to be with the man she loved and the cruel separation of the husband from his child, whom he could not afford to raise.
Adam had always assumed that the husband in the story was Albert himself, but he had never dared to bring it up in front of him.
The weary captain, lost in his memories, nodded while holding back a tear. Despite all the time that had passed, the wound remained painful. In truth, it had never healed.
"I don't even remember their faces anymore," Albert admitted. "All I have is this," he murmured, his voice trembling.
Adam remained silent, giving his friend time to gather his thoughts.
"I cut a lock of my wife's hair before we buried her. And I did the same with my son before entrusting him to his grandparents. He… He must be nineteen by now."
"You… You haven't seen him since?"
"Once," Albert admitted, his voice torn, as if salt were being rubbed into an open wound. "It was in 1749. November. He had grown so much. I had left him as a baby, and I found a boy. He was running around, laughing. Ahah, I vaguely remember that he had a lively, innocent laugh. I think… I think he looked a lot like his mother. But he had my hair."
Adam slightly opened his mouth as if to say something but hesitated at the last moment. His gaze fell on the two locks of hair, and indeed, one of them could very well have belonged to Albert.
Adam imagined a very young Albert, smiling and joyfully running around a garden, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Were you able to talk to him?"
Albert chuckled sadly but shook his head.
"To say what? 'Hello, Adrien! I'm your father! I abandoned you because I couldn't afford to raise you, but now I'm here! Let's make up for lost time!'"
He gently ran a wide, weathered finger over the brown lock.
"No. I couldn't do that to him. And his grandparents wouldn't have allowed it either. They hate me—and with good reason."
"1749? That was ten years ago!"
Albert lowered his head under the weight of guilt. His pain, which seemed more intense than if he had been shot by a musket or stabbed by a bayonet, was clearly visible on his pale face.
"I know, François. I… I tried to see him again before this war started when I had some leave, but he wasn't at his grandparents' house. I waited in front of their gates for as long as I could, but he never came back. So I left. And after that, well, we went to war."
Albert closed his locket with infinite tenderness and tucked it back beneath his clothes. The cold metal against his skin soothed and comforted him, though it could never replace what he had lost.
"Maybe I'll have the chance to see him in a few years when this war is over. He won't know who I am, but that doesn't matter, as long as he's happy and healthy."
Adam felt his heart ache at the thought of his friend's suffering. Being separated from a loved one and powerless to change it—he understood that more than anyone.
He placed a comforting hand on his old friend's shoulder.
"I'm sure you'll see him again one day. But I also hope you'll be able to talk to him and tell him your side of the story. He has the right to know who his father is, and I'm sure he'd understand."
Albert smiled sadly and nodded, though Adam doubted he would dare when the time came.
At that moment, a commotion began to spread inside the fort, moving quickly from north to south. The garrison awoke and immediately prepared to defend Fort Bourbon with their lives.
"Redcoats have arrived at the fort's entrance under the protection of a white flag," someone explained to Adam as he gathered his men.
He was currently on the opposite side of the fort, so he couldn't see the British envoys. However, he could easily imagine what they had come to say to Colonel de Bréhant.
The discussion was evidently brief, as Adam and the other captains were soon summoned to the commander's office.
Despite their best efforts to appear composed, their exhaustion was evident.
The air in the room was strangely heavy, its plain decor adding to the somber atmosphere. Sunlight streamed through two modest-sized windows, accentuating the drawn expressions of the gathered officers.
All of them stood in a line like common soldiers before the colonel's desk. He was as solid as a rock, one hand resting on his sword while the other hung by his side.
Most notably, a broad white bandage was wrapped around his head.
True to his reputation, the officer had fought alongside his men on the ramparts and had sustained a head wound while repelling a Redcoat.
Seeing him like this, one could not help but feel a sense of pride in serving under his command.
Despite his injury and exhaustion, his gaze remained steady. As it swept over his loyal officers, his eyes briefly met Adam's, and for a fleeting moment, Adam felt courage surge through him.
"Gentlemen," he said calmly, his voice solemn, "these English gentlemen demand our immediate and unconditional surrender. They commend our bravery but claim we stand no chance against their army. Furthermore, they assure us that if we refuse, they will completely raze this fort and annihilate us."
Adam felt his throat tighten but kept his expression unreadable.
A heavy silence fell over the assembled officers. Outside, the entire garrison was just as still, knowing that the words spoken in this room would likely decide their fate.
Adam pressed his lips together and clenched his fists. He refused to let his adventure end like this. Not after everything he had endured.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Albert discreetly bring a hand to his chest, where his precious locket lay hidden.
"And your response, Colonel?" Captain Briscard finally asked in a deep voice.
The Marquis de Bréhant gave a bitter smile and tightened his grip on his sword.
"I politely told them to go to Hell."