Hello! Here is a new chapter!
Enjoy!
And thank you for the support Microraptor, Mium, Porthos10, Dekol347, Shingle_Top, Ranger_Red and p_raj!
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Adam returned to Fort Bourbon in the late afternoon under a dazzling sun.
At some point during the day, all the gray clouds had scattered, leaving behind a magnificent blue sky dotted with just a few small white clouds.
The temperature was also very pleasant—ideal for traveling. Adam even felt as if he were strolling through a park where nature had been intentionally left to flourish.
When he arrived at the fort's gates, he was surprised to notice a strange atmosphere. Yet he had only been away for the day.
He crossed paths with young Martin Morrel de Lusernes not far from the northern demi-lune, where his company was busy filling in the trenches left by the enemy.
"François! Where were you? We've been looking for you everywhere!"
"I was on a mission with the Iroquois. What's going on? Why is everyone so excited? It feels like a celebration."
"That's exactly it! We've won great victories! The soldiers who came with the commander told us all about it earlier! It's all anyone can talk about in the whole fort!"
Adam's eyes widened in surprise.
"Really? Monsieur le Maréchal de Richelieu?"
He immediately thought of his friends who were likely still south of Acadia.
Now that the siege is broken, I hope to get news from them soon! I hope everyone's all right!
"No," Martin said, shaking his head vigorously. "These are news from India! Well, they're not exactly fresh, but it's very encouraging!"
"Hmm, hold on a moment. I need to make a report to Monsieur de Montcalm first. Then you can tell me everything, all right?"
"Very well! I won't keep you any longer, then."
With that, Adam entered the fort and went to find the Marquis de Montcalm. Unsurprisingly, the esteemed officer was as busy as ever, surrounded by reports and letters. In a state of organized chaos, they were spread out across his desk, partially occupied by a very detailed map of the fort.
His sharp eyes scanned the documents with astonishing speed, a sign that he knew precisely what information he sought and where to find it.
With a nervous hand, he scribbled new details onto a fresh document, already covered in ink stains and cross-outs.
"My lord, Captain Boucher reporting," Adam announced in a clear voice, snapping a sharp salute.
"Ah, very well," Montcalm replied simply, reluctantly tearing his gaze from his work. "Come closer."
He made a gesture, somewhat elegant, inviting Adam to sit across from him. The young captain bowed respectfully and carefully pulled out the chair, trying not to make too much noise.
"Were you able to learn more about those savages' intentions?"
Adam, sitting stiffly on his modest chair, clenched his teeth but made sure not to display any emotion at hearing such an insulting expression. He had heard it so many times since arriving on this continent, yet he could never get used to it.
Fortunately, he hadn't been sent further south or to the sugar islands. There, he would have faced far more scandalous situations for someone accustomed to 21st-century morals.
He much preferred hearing the word "savage" all day long over the term "negro." He certainly wouldn't have tolerated the sight of an army of enslaved men toiling under the scorching sun on plantations, insulted and beaten with whips and sticks, or worse.
"My lord," Adam began in a deliberately detached tone, "I spoke with the Mohawk chief Akwiratheka in the presence of his son, his daughter, and the village counselor, their matriarch. The meeting went well. They knew we were under siege, but to remain neutral, they chose not to intervene. However, they seemed completely unaware of your return to the region."
Montcalm frowned but did not interrupt Adam. He gestured for him to continue.
"They—they were also surprised when I mentioned the presence of Indian warriors alongside the redcoats as scouts."
Montcalm narrowed his eyes and clasped his hands on his desk. He didn't look convinced.
"Really? Could it be they feigned surprise to lull us into a false sense of security?"
"I... don't think so, sir. They genuinely seemed surprised. They claim it's an isolated group, unaffiliated with their village and beyond their control."
"I see. But we must remain cautious. These savages can certainly lie, appear innocent, and stab you in the back the moment you turn away. Did they say anything else?"
"Only that they would handle it internally."
At those words, the Marquis's expression changed, shifting from doubt to anger. He slammed his hand on the desk as if to crush an insect.
Bam!
"Ah! Of course! That's exactly what I was just saying! It's like asking a suspected thief to investigate the very crime he committed! Even if their clan wasn't involved, they'll make no effort to punish the culprits! They'll cover for each other until their shameful acts are forgotten! But we won't forget!"
Adam discreetly clenched his fists and remained silent. He was just a lowly captain; he could not openly contradict his superior. The gap in rank and status was far too great.
"These cursed Iroquois, more than any other savages, have mastered the art of false promises. I wonder if it's natural to them or if they learned it from the English."
"Sir, their... their chief seemed sincere."
Montcalm raised a thick, dark eyebrow before letting out a mirthless laugh.
"Sincere? The sincerity of those people is as trustworthy as a truce with the English. Mark my words. Today, they promise neutrality, but yesterday they were wholeheartedly with the redcoats. What of tomorrow? They'll turn against us at the first sign of weakness—don't doubt it for a second, Captain."
Adam opened his mouth but had the sense to realize that further defending the Iroquois would be counterproductive. Despite the fervent objections in his mind, he decided to remain silent.
"Ah, we'll see… Good work, Captain. You may go."
Seeing that the marquis was dismissing him, Adam prepared to leave but remembered there was still one matter to address.
"Uh, sir, I have one more thing to report."
"Oh? What is it?"
"The Mohawk chief, Akwiratheka, has agreed to sell us food. However, they can only provide limited quantities to avoid threatening their reserves."
"Ah, yes. I had forgotten," Montcalm said with a thin, humorless smile. "Very well. Did they propose a price?"
"No, sir. Before leaving, I told them to send a representative to negotiate directly with you or another high-ranking officer. As you instructed, I told them we would buy their food at a very generous price. I didn't go into details, as I wasn't sure what would be acceptable."
"You did well, Captain. Hmm, negotiation is a delicate art. In the meantime, return to your men. There is still much to be done."
"Yes, sir! At your command!"
With that, Adam left the office and found Martin waiting for him near the northern demi-lune.
Behind him, his men, lined up like condemned prisoners before a firing squad, dug and sweated like oxen.
"So? Did it go well?" Martin asked, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.
"Well, yes? Why?" Adam replied with a shrug. "It was just a mission report. So? You were telling me about India? What exactly happened?"
Martin's face lit up, and a wide smile spread across his lips. Because the siege of Fort Bourbon had been so grueling, this smile only deepened the lines on his face, aging him by a few more years.
"Yes! As I was saying, the men who came with Monsieur de Montcalm shared information about the war over there! India—you know where that is?"
"Uh, yes, of course."
Martin squinted skeptically at Adam's confident nod, doubting that his friend, who couldn't have received the same education, could pinpoint the territory on a map. Still, he continued, deciding it didn't really matter.
"It's so far away, so the news took a long time to reach us. It dates back to February."
"February?! But it's September now!" Adam exclaimed, stunned.
For someone who had known modernity like no one else in this era, such a delay was mind-boggling. With a single click and no delay, he could converse with someone on the other side of the globe if he wanted! Here, even someone with a twisted imagination couldn't fathom such a possibility.
It would be as absurd as talking about teleportation and time travel in his original time.
This is madness! How can anyone plan military operations with such delays? It's impossible! Any information we get is bound to be useless! For all we know, India could have entirely fallen into British hands by now!
Martin, understanding his friend's thoughts, nodded slowly with a grimace.
"Yes, I know. But it's inevitable. For information to reach us—assuming no obstacles along the way—it must sail around Africa and pass through France. By the time it crosses the Atlantic, we lose another one or two months. Anyway, the important thing is that we're informed too: apparently, we managed to recapture Madras!"
"Madras?" Adam repeated, furrowing his brows as he searched his memory.
He'd had a few hours of geography lessons on India but retained little, except that it was a vast territory composed of states as large as countries, with significant differences in wealth.
Everything else was a blur of clichés. Thus, the name Madras evoked nothing for the young man.
You say that, but I don't even know where it is… Wait! Madras! François' father had a bayonet with that name engraved on it? I remember seeing it in a dream! Yes, I think that's it! He must have fought there when he was a soldier!
"It's… It's a big city?" Adam asked, thoughtful.
This time, it was Martin's turn to feel ignorant.
He had to admit that while he had extensive knowledge on various subjects thanks to his quality education, he still had significant gaps. All he could do regarding India was name and locate the different French trading posts and identify the most sought-after (and profitable) goods exported to France.
"Uh, I don't know, but does it really matter?" he said, scratching his head as if to brush off his embarrassment. "As long as we beat the English, it's a good thing, right?"
"Hmm, yes, I suppose you're right. So that's why everyone's in such a good mood?"
"Exactly!" Martin exclaimed, regaining his enthusiasm. "From what I understand, the siege started in December and wasn't going well for our army. Luckily, Monsieur de Conflans arrived just in time with many warships! The English ships in the area were so scared they fled in a hurry! Haha! Eventually, Madras fell in February, the 17th or 19th, I'm not sure. Whatever! What matters is that it's a great victory!"
Conflans? Is that supposed to mean something to me?
Adam thought for a moment but couldn't recall anyone by that name. Listening to his friend, all he could determine was that he was in the Royal Navy.
"Uh, that's great, but… I don't want to ruin the mood, but isn't this a bit much for just one city?"
Far from losing his enthusiasm, Martin grinned even wider. His eyes shone with such intensity that they looked like lanterns.
"I said we had won great victories, not just one, François! Haha! This is only the beginning!"
"What? There's more?"
"Yes!" Martin continued, as excited as if recounting his own exploits. "While our soldiers on land took control of the Madras region, Monsieur de Conflans sailed further north to a place called Bengal! A captain, a veteran who served in India during the last war, told me it's a very large and wealthy region! But it was dominated by the English."
"W-was? Why are you speaking in the past tense? Wait, you mean…"
"The English lost it!"
Adam's jaw dropped in astonishment. He didn't know how large Bengal was or what riches it held, but he knew India was an immense territory. Bengal couldn't possibly be a tiny strip of land between two rivers.
"I didn't understand everything since politics over there is apparently very complex, but there was a local lord in Bengal—a nawab, I think—who betrayed his predecessor a few years ago to seize power. Except his predecessor was our ally. Of course, this new nawab sided with the British. He practically handed Bengal to them on a silver platter to secure his position."
"What a disgrace!" Adam burst out, imagining a scene worthy of Game of Thrones. "I hope he was punished for his crimes!"
"Oh yes! Turns out, when Monsieur de Conflans arrived, this traitor was waiting for help from the Dutch to drive out the increasingly greedy British. They were bleeding him dry so badly that he had to borrow money from all his friends. But we got there first and completely ruined his plans!"
"I-Incredible! But it can't have ended just like that, can it? What happened to this nawab? Wasn't he killed?"
Martin seemed to take wicked pleasure in making his friend wait. He was beginning to understand what Adam must feel when telling one of his wild stories, slowly building the tension. He continued.
"Shortly after landing in front of Calcutta, Monsieur de Conflans supposedly met this treacherous nawab, who welcomed him like a liberator. The fool. All his crimes were immediately exposed, and without any trial, Monsieur de Conflans had him beheaded."
Adam was torn upon hearing this. The man clearly deserved death—he'd seen men die for far less—but did a Frenchman truly have the right to do such a thing?
Unsure, he accepted it as it was, hoping there wouldn't be serious repercussions. He didn't know the man's name or face, but from Martin's description, he imagined a vile character loathed by all.
He vaguely thought of Scar from The Lion King, the treacherous brother who killed to usurp the throne. In his mind's eye, he pictured a dark-skinned man with cruel eyes, dressed in luxurious fabrics adorned with jewels.
Unfortunately, many details were missing from the story, as most hadn't been passed along.
Thus, Martin could only recount how the ships encountered by Monsieur de Conflans' squadron belonged to Vice-Admiral Pocock and were later met again in Bengal. But during this second encounter, a fierce battle broke out, and only a single British ship of the line managed to escape.
This survivor had quickly sailed south to circle around the vast Indian subcontinent and warn their comrades in Bombay, in the northwest of India—essentially the opposite side from Bengal.
The British suffered heavy losses due to a significant imbalance in strength. They had fought eleven against twenty.
Fortunately, Pocock had the sense to raise the white flag before it ended in a bloody massacre. He was thus captured.
Martin's story abruptly ended just as the siege of Calcutta began. The British and their allies had holed up in a fort called Fort William.
As for their leader, Adam had no idea who he was. In truth, it was Robert Clive, a military man and colonial administrator who had brought wealth and glory to the British East India Company—and to himself.