Hello!
Over 700 people have added my novel to their collection!
Here is a new chapter!
Thank you mium, porthos10, AlexZero12, Ranger_Red, toby_cavazos1961 and Dekol347 for your support!
-----------------------------------------
September 26th.
The past few days had been quiet.
The French had taken advantage of the lull to settle into the few scattered cabins lost in the middle of the woods and to familiarize themselves with this unknown region—their new hunting ground.
They had remained discreet, preparing their next strike. They wanted it to be devastating.
So, they had let a few convoys pass.
The British seemed to have lost their trail, and Adam hoped they had gone in the wrong direction.
After all, you'd have to be mad to strike this deep into enemy territory and expect to get away with it.
They still saw themselves as masters of the world.
That morning, a strange silence hung over the forest. The kind of tense stillness that comes before a violent storm.
Thick gray clouds, heavy with moisture, rolled quickly across the sky, pushed by a steady wind from the north. Rust-colored leaves were torn from the branches, swirling briefly before joining their sisters in the mud.
No one spoke.
The men were spread out on both sides of a wide dirt road, now darkened by recent rains. They lay in the underbrush or hid behind mossy trees.
Everyone had their place.
Adam had spent the past hour inspecting their positions one by one. He'd exchanged a few words of encouragement, even a couple of jokes.
They knew why they were there, but he thought it best to remind them.
They'd been given a mission, and they were going to accomplish it—and cover themselves in glory.
If they killed enough British soldiers, they'd be seen as heroes.
Just because they weren't standing alongside their comrades at Fort Bourbon didn't mean they couldn't play a decisive role in this war.
Despite the distance from their base, they were about to deal a heavy blow to the enemy
Adam returned to his position and gave his secondary weapon a final check: an ordinary British musket nicknamed the Brown Bess. Like the French Charleville, it was an improved version of an older model.
The Brown Bess was a direct descendant of the 1722 Land Pattern musket. Its French counterpart, the 1754 model, had inherited the design of the 1717 version.
The concept was essentially the same—lucky, given their current situation.
But one small difference was a problem: the caliber.
The British barrel, shorter than the French one, was also a bit wider to accommodate ammunition roughly 18 mm in diameter. The French musket, on the other hand, was designed for balls closer to 16.5 mm.
It was possible to use French rounds in British muskets, though not without issues. But the reverse was much trickier.
British balls were difficult to fit into French muskets—when they fit at all—and risked wearing down the weapon prematurely. Worse, they could get stuck.
Dangerous.
So, they had improvised. Each ball meant for a French musket had to be filed down by hand.
All right, everything seems in order.
Adam hadn't abandoned his trusted musket. It was loaded with a modified British round.
His secondary weapon, however, was loaded normally.
"Captain," Marais whispered as he approached, crouched as if walking through a tunnel, "they're coming."
Adam nodded.
"Good. I've checked all our positions. The men are ready."
The captain glanced toward a massive tree a little farther ahead. It towered over the road their target convoy would follow.
What couldn't be seen from the road was that its trunk had been carefully hacked with axes and now stood only thanks to a few ropes.
"It'll fall?" Adam asked, though he had already confirmed it himself.
"Definitely," Marais replied with absolute confidence. "Without those ropes, it'd already be lying across the road."
"Good," Adam said quietly. "Wait until the second cart is in position before cutting it. We'll attack the moment it crashes onto the convoy."
"Understood. With a bit of luck, it'll crush a few redcoats on the way down."
"That would be ideal."
Their prey was formidable. But with the element of surprise and the number of weapons at their disposal, they were confident. Even outnumbered two to one, they felt no fear.
"If this goes well, we'll be able to hit even bigger convoys next."
Lieutenant Marais smiled, picturing the fury of the British.
Adam scanned the underbrush on the far side of the road. They had altered the terrain slightly to make the ambush more effective.
A trench had been dug deep enough to shelter a man, and the displaced earth had been used to build a low embankment.
It wasn't pretty, but that didn't matter. It wasn't meant to last years—just long enough to protect the men during the assault.
Huh?
For the briefest instant—barely the blink of an eye—Adam thought he saw three figures standing among the twisted trees with their claw-like branches. One tall, and two smaller.
But there was nothing.
He ran a hand across his tired face.
"Something wrong, Captain?"
"It's nothing. How long until they arrive?"
"A few minutes. We should see them at the end of the road any moment now."
Adam didn't answer. He took a deep breath. The scent of damp earth filled his nostrils.
He set down his Brown Bess at his feet and picked up his Charleville, cocking it with a steady hand.
"Good luck. May God watch over you, Lieutenant Marais."
"And over you, Captain. Over all of us. And may His wrath fall upon those damned redcoats."
Adam nodded without a word.
More focused than ever, he scanned the road rising gently to his right through the branches.
Then, he spotted a tricorne. Then an arrogant face and a scarlet uniform trimmed with gold.
As expected, the officer leading the convoy was on horseback. A fine animal, ash-gray in color.
Adam had given clear orders: that man was to die first. Three sharpshooters had been assigned to this dishonorable but necessary task.
Cut off the head of the snake first.
Behind him, a long line of wagons advanced in single file, flanked by regular soldiers and militiamen.
As predicted, there are provincial troops. Looks like they're finally running short on regulars.
The rhythmic sound of wheels in the mud made a nearly soothing cadence, but it was accompanied by a more ominous sound of footsteps.
Clop, clop, clop.
Squelch, squelch, crack. Squelch, squelch, crack.
Splash, splosh, splash, splosh.
The escort was impressive—fitting for a convoy of this size. Perhaps two hundred men, an appropriate force to escort these twenty wagons to Fort Bourbon.
Ten men per wagon.
Since the recent incidents to the north, between Albany and Fort Bourbon/Fort Edward, it had been deemed wise to reinforce the escorts, even if it meant calling up New York provincials.
Good, very good. However many they are, we have the terrain on our side—and that's enough.
Adam raised his musket, placed his finger on the trigger, and waited.
From the corner of his eye, he watched the tree that was supposed to fall at any moment.
The commander—a portly old captain with a ruddy nose—passed by on his horse, followed by the first wagon.
Then came the second wagon.
At that moment, the ropes were released.
But the tree didn't move.
One second. Two. Still nothing.
The second wagon was passing, slowly.
Adam saw it and felt anxiety surge within him. A drop of cold sweat slid down his back.
Come on! Fall! FALL!
Crrrrrr-CRACK!
A thunderous crash tore through the silence. The massive tree collapsed amid shouts, crashing down on the first three wagons.
They were crushed beneath its thick branches.
In an instant, some thirty men were gone.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The volley that followed was devastating. Adam couldn't see it, but the English captain was struck down by a perfect salvo that killed him instantly.
His body slumped over like a sack of grain, while his mount bolted in panic.
"FIRE!" Adam roared, though it was hardly necessary.
To the redcoats, it was as if they'd stepped into hell.
Death came from both sides of the road.
Adam dropped his smoking musket, grabbed his Brown Bess, shouldered it and cocked it in one swift motion.
A metallic click rang near his ear and within seconds, another shot rang out.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
All his men had done the same, creating the illusion that they were twice as many as they really were.
From that distance on the road, it was hard to miss.
It was a massacre.
Over a hundred men were dead before they could even regroup and form a line.
The provincials, less disciplined than the regulars, saw the redcoats drop like flies. To them, it was as if death had come just for them.
Despair quickly replaced fear on their faces.
As expected, several turned and fled. They had no desire to die—especially not for a pitiful wage.
Adam allowed himself a faint smile.
One man, three men, seven men, twenty men…
Fear and cowardice were truly terrible afflictions for any army. Those who failed to flee in time had to make a difficult, but understandable choice.
"I surrender! I surrender!"
One man, three men, seven men, twenty men.
The smile on Adam's lips widened.
He turned to his lieutenant and gave a signal. In response, the man nodded slightly.
"Surround them! If they haven't thrown down their weapons, kill them! If they move, kill them!"
In an instant, silence fell on the road. Terrible, heavy, crushing.
The men who had surrendered raised their hands, wearing expressions the French found most satisfying.
Adam stepped forward, dignified like a general, while the enemies were gathered together. Barely a dozen remained.
In his presence, despite his young age, none dared to lift their gaze, for fear of provoking his wrath.
He stopped right in front of them, so close he could smell the stench of their filthy clothes. In truth, he didn't smell much better himself.
"Lieutenant Marais," he said in French, without taking his eyes off a trembling prisoner, "inspect those wagons. Lieutenant Bellemaison, gather the muskets and cartridge boxes. Don't forget the powder."
His subordinates obeyed, taking several men with them. They didn't need eighty soldiers to keep a handful of shocked prisoners under control.
But Adam didn't move.
He simply stared at the few men, paralyzed with fear.
"Gentlemen," he began in perfect English, "you can consider yourselves lucky. I have no intention of killing you. You surrendered, which was very wise. Once our work here is done, you'll be released."
"R-really? You… You're not going to execute us?"
Adam turned his attention to a man as tall as he was, broad-shouldered, with skin tanned by years of working under the scorching sun.
"I told you, didn't I? I'm no liar. I always keep my word. You'll see soon enough. But first, I have a few questions… and I expect honest answers."
The provincials swallowed hard, but all nodded, convinced that a lie would be their death sentence.
"First of all, where did you come from? I mean this convoy, of course."
"L-Long Island! This convoy came from Long Island! We… we passed through New York, then followed the river. We stopped several times to load the wagons. Others joined us along the way."
Adam nodded, visibly satisfied.
"And your destination? You were heading to Fort Bourbon, weren't you?"
"N-no, sir. Uh… I heard we were going to Fort Edward. To support our army that's laying siege to it."
"Ah, yes. Fort Edward. That's what you call it. What do you know about that siege?"
The prisoners hesitated, but the broad-shouldered man answered.
"We're just provincials, sir. We don't know everything… But I overheard some regulars talking. They said they were losing a lot of men… but they were making progress. They said the fort would fall soon and that they'd probably keep moving north to reach Montreal before winter."
Adam's gaze hardened, making the man in front of him tremble even more. He looked about to faint.
"And General Amherst? What do you know about him? Has he arrived in the New World?"
"Y-yes! He's leading a very large army on the coast and has engaged one of your generals. I… I don't know which one, forgive me!"
"Really? And… who's winning?"
The Englishman, the most cooperative since the start of the exchange, hesitated. Another prisoner answered in his place, voice trembling:
"G-general Amherst seems to have the upper hand… That's what the rumors say, but… m-maybe they're just meant to reassure the colonists."
Adam didn't lose his temper, though his face was far from pleasant to look at.
"I see. Understandable. You know, in New France, Amherst's name is greatly feared. He's seen as a great general. You're lucky to have him. Of course, I believe that in the end, nothing will change—no matter the size of his army. And I believe Fort Bourbon—Fort Edward—will hold. No matter. Let's continue."
Adam asked several more questions and in doing so, obtained several very interesting pieces of information. There weren't a thousand ways to find out what was happening in the world, or in the British colonies.
So, the British government is on the brink. They are voting on new taxes to make up for their losses. With some luck, a treaty will be signed before things worsen here.
He sighed inwardly.
General Amherst is truly a thorn in our side. They should never have agreed to his release, not even in exchange for a whole fleet of sailors. Damn it! What will happen if he manages to defeat Richelieu? Could that ruin all negotiations?
He didn't know, but feared the worst.
His face, however, showed no emotion.
"Thank you for your answers, gentlemen. I see you've been honest. I'll keep my word."
The young captain turned to his officers.
"So? What do we have?"
Lieutenant Marais returned, eyes gleaming like those of a starving child before a grand buffet.
"Captain! There's plenty of food, but also three wagons with military supplies! Powder, tents, muskets, shoes, blankets… It's wonderful!"
Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise and broke into a wide smile.
"What luck! Ahah! Perfect! Hmm, we can't waste too much time! The fugitives won't take days to reach Kingston. It's unfortunate, but we'll have to sort out what we can carry… and destroy the rest."
Around him, Marais and the nearby soldiers all wore the same expression. It was like being asked to choose one dish from a banquet of dozens and give up all the others.
"I… I understand," Marais stammered regretfully. "W-we'll sort through it."
Adam nodded and pointed to the pile of muskets on the ground.
"Priority to the weapons. If we want to increase our chances of success in future ambushes, we must boost our firepower."
"Hmm, could we use the prisoners? With their help, we could take more. Especially since our camp isn't close by."
Adam pursed his lips, then quickly shook his head.
"No, I said I would release them. If we show them our camp, we'll have no choice. They'd have to die."
From Marais' expression, Adam could tell he didn't see why that would be a problem.
"Think about it, Lieutenant. What happens when Kingston and Albany hear that we execute our prisoners? In our next engagements—which are inevitable—they'll fight like lions to the bitter end if there's no hope of escape. But if word spreads that we are fair and merciful… then they'll be more likely to lay down their arms when they realize they've lost."
"But sir, they've had time to count us! They'll say we're just two companies! Please, reconsider!"
Adam smiled, his gaze firm.
"Lieutenant, do you truly believe our strength is only that of two companies? With all these weapons? They'll keep underestimating us. Isn't that perfect?"
This time, Marais understood. His face relaxed. Impressed by his captain's vision, he gave a slight bow and got to work.
Adam turned to the prisoners, who, of course, hadn't understood a word of the exchange. They looked at him with a mix of fear and hope.
"Very well. You're free to go. Go home—but remember this! If our paths cross again, it might well be the last time."
He paused.
"The war is nearly over—try not to get yourselves killed now."
The twelve men stood frozen for a moment, in disbelief, before slowly backing away. They didn't start breathing normally again until they were several hundred meters away.
All the way, they had expected to hear musket shots behind them and die tragically.
So many things were said about the French.
Who hadn't heard of the massacre at Fort William Henry?
Meanwhile, the French emptied the wagons at a stunning pace. Each man overloaded himself beyond reason, groaning under the weight of sacks and weapons.
Adam himself carried five muskets on each shoulder, two pairs of pistols at his belt, and four powder horns slung around his neck.
Then they vanished silently into the trees.
Behind them, a towering column of fire and smoke rose into the gray sky, as the flames finally reached the powder barrels left behind—far too heavy to be moved.
There was a first explosion, then a second, even more violent. The air shook for miles around.
They were heard all the way to Kingston.