The squadron of Roquefeuille, carrying the impressive troops of Marshal de Richelieu, crossed the Bay of Fundy in five days thanks to favorable winds, and nothing could prevent their landing.

The chosen location was ideal: a long beach within a bay. While the bay itself was not very deep—far from an ideal spot for a fleet to anchor—Roquefeuille’s goal was not to remain there.

All he needed to do was unload Richelieu’s men and the supplies necessary to carry out the grand plan conceived over the winter.

This bay was flanked by two rivers, the left one being the wider of the two. Along this river lay a small village named Biddeford.

It was the first village to fall into French hands. The inhabitants were powerless, unable even to voice complaints against the overwhelming force of the French army.

Marshal Richelieu’s men were so numerous that even if they decided to take everything, the villagers could only weep in silence.

To the great relief of the young recruits in Boucher’s company, this first step was a resounding success without a single shot being fired. However, witnessing the heartbreaking capture of the village dealt a heavy blow to morale. It served as a stark reminder that war did not solely affect soldiers.

“C-Captain,” stammered Private Petit hesitantly, “are… are we really allowed to do this? I mean… I know they’re English colonists, but…”

Adam looked at Private Petit, fully understanding his sentiment. He shared the feeling. Before becoming a soldier, Adam had been a settler in New France. He had more in common with these humble people, struggling to make ends meet day by day, than with many of King Louis XV’s ordinary subjects.

“Allowed? Legally, we can do many things in times of war. Morally, that’s another matter. Killing is wrong, condemned by both God and man. Yet, it’s what we soldiers do. We’re even paid to do it. Kill enough Englishmen, and you’ll be rewarded. You might even be treated like a hero. To our enemies, we are already guilty."

"So, we can do whatever we want as long as no officer forbids it? Is that what war is?"

"Welcome to the real world. Take a good look at these officers. They’re so well-dressed, they speak so courteously to each other, exchanging pleasantries—even with the enemy if they share the same rank. But in truth, their hands are no cleaner than yours or mine. War is ugly, and we’re encouraged to do things that everyone would condemn in peacetime. What’s happening in this village, we’ve done hundreds, thousands of times in Germany. The English do the same, and so do the Spanish. Everyone does.”

Adam saw that the soldier was feeling deeply guilty, but it was essential for him, as well as all the other recruits, to understand now that there was nothing heroic or beautiful about war. The sooner they learned this lesson, the easier the rest of the war would be.

Otherwise, they would all drown in guilt and alcohol to escape their self-loathing.

“I think war has always been this way. Kings change, strategies change, weapons change, battlefields change, but some things will never change, even a thousand years from now. Civilians will continue to suffer, go hungry, fall ill, and die.”

“Is… is there really no other way?”

“If there was even one, don’t you think we’d use it?”

The soldier grimaced at his powerlessness and said nothing. He eventually nodded and stepped back, keeping his eyes on the village of Biddeford as it was looted.

Yet there was nothing of great value there. But for the inhabitants, it was their home. Every item taken was a fragment of their lives.

Adam did not intervene to stop the pillaging and watched as the marshal discussed plans with a few officers around a map spread out on an improvised table, weighed down at the corners to keep it from blowing away. Indeed, strong gusts of wind made the tall grass near the Saco River sway.

The young captain was joined by Colonel de Bréhant, whose expression was unusually serious.

“My colonel? Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing serious, Captain. We’re a bit farther north than planned.”

“Will this affect His Grace the Marshal’s plans?”

“I don’t think so, but we’ll need to march quickly, roughly following the coastline. Fortunately, there appear to be decent roads here connecting the villages.”

“That’s a relief. It would be disastrous if we had to carve a path through the woods with all this equipment, especially the cannons.”

The colonel nodded, watching a small group of soldiers laboriously place a heavy black cannon onto its wooden carriage, mounted on small wheels.

“Fortunately, that’s not the case, but we’d do it if we had to. According to our maps, there are three villages before our initial objective: Arundel, Wells, and York.”

“So, our initial target was nearby?”

“Ah, yes. We believe we can reach it in two days. Perhaps three, as there’s a wide river there that will likely require a detour to find a narrower crossing point.”

“I understand. Will we set off today, or wait until tomorrow?”

“That’s precisely what’s being discussed right now. The conditions here are not bad; we could very well stay to unload everything and set out tomorrow. Alternatively, we could send a few companies ahead as an advance guard to prepare for our arrival and scout the terrain.”

As Colonel de Bréhant had announced, Richelieu’s army resumed its march on the morning of March 29 and entered Arundel, Wells, and York without encountering any major resistance. Calling them villages was quite generous, as they were little more than a handful of buildings and a few fields.

York had some infrastructure dedicated to the fur trade, but there was nothing of note there.

The marshal’s initial objective lay a little farther ahead, across a wide river. It was Portsmouth.

The road leading to this town stopped abruptly at the riverbank, and naturally, the inhabitants had moved all the ferries to their side, making it impossible to cross directly.

It wouldn’t change the outcome, but it had bought them enough time to flee from the French army.

The French forces advanced north along the river like a long serpent, eventually fording it thirteen kilometers from its mouth. In doing so, they entered the province of New Hampshire.

However, they encountered a bay at this location, which they had to skirt around, causing further delays for the French troops.

While a significant part of the marshal’s forces moved toward Exeter, located slightly farther west, François’ company and several others were tasked with taking control of Portsmouth.

Upon arrival, Adam and his comrades realized that the marshal had overestimated the importance of this community, assuming there would be many inhabitants to subdue and possibly some form of resistance.

Hmm, looks like they’ve all fled... Not surprising.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Adam observed his soldiers as they began to enter the village.

They seem torn about how to feel. They don’t know whether to be frustrated or relieved.

“Captain Boucher, I see some houses over there. Send a few men to search them.”

“Understood.”

Adam ordered his company to follow him along the narrow dirt road that ran alongside the river, almost to the sea. At the end of the path, they found two small wooden houses, beautifully crafted and well-built.

A few aromatic and medicinal plants had been planted nearby, and the soil was prepared for sowing.

“Wow! This house is incredible!” exclaimed Tournier, one of Adam’s soldiers, from behind him.

His comrades shared the sentiment, their eyes shining with admiration.

“Good grief! If only I could live in a house like this!”

“It’s huge!”

“The interior is amazing too,” said Private Petit, peeking through a window partially covered by a white curtain.

“Search the house. Lieutenant Marais, take ten men and check the house across the way. Same for you, Lieutenant Laroche.”

“Yes, sir!” replied the two officers in unison.

Adam pushed open the wooden door of the large house, one hand resting on his pistol, ready to draw it if needed.

The house was indeed stunning, three or four notches above the finest homes in Louisbourg, Halifax, or Quebec, despite being entirely made of wood. It was evident that whoever had built it had put considerable effort into its construction.

Looks like a luxury chalet! I wonder how much it would cost to build something like this.

Deeply impressed, Adam and his men entered the eerily silent house. The sound of their footsteps on the wooden floor was the only noise apart from the wind rattling the windows.

In the main room, the fireplace was cold. The walls were adorned with numerous hunting trophies, including antlers from various deer. A stunningly lifelike stuffed fox stood poised as if caught off guard by a predator.

Its large eyes seemed to stare directly at the intruders.

The soldiers in Boucher’s company, seemingly affected by the strange atmosphere, suddenly fell silent, as if they had entered the lair of a bear. They even appeared to be trying to move as quietly as possible.

What’s with this vibe? Feels like we’re in a horror movie, Adam thought as he stepped into a room filled with potted plants.

The plants were of all kinds—different shapes, sizes, and colors. Each pot seemed to house a unique plant. Some were tall, making the room feel crowded, while others were as small as a baby’s hand.

Curious, Adam leaned closer to a particularly colorful plant that appeared to have just bloomed a few hours earlier. He was surprised by its scent.

It was like walking through a vast flower field in the middle of summer.

He didn’t linger in the room and retraced his steps. Three of his men were already on the massive wooden staircase leading upstairs. Adam decided to follow them, but as he was about to reach the top, a gunshot rang out, freezing everyone in the building.

Bang!

“Argh!”

“Watch out! There’s someone here!” a soldier shouted from upstairs.

Shit!

“Luc’s hit! He’s bleeding badly! We need help!”

“Damn it! Everyone, get over here! Weapons ready! We’re not alone! How many enemies?!”

“I... I don’t know!”

Bang!

A second gunshot echoed down the hallway upstairs, and a lead ball struck the wooden wall opposite a door that had just been opened.

Damn, damn, damn! Just our luck!

“Stay behind cover! We’re on our way!”

“Captain! Luc’s dead!” shouted Private Petit, his eyes brimming with tears, his body trembling.

“Get him downstairs! We need more room!”

Adam pressed his back against the wooden wall separating the room where the enemy was hiding from the hallway and cocked his pistol. Carefully, he peeked without exposing himself, but all he could see was a wallpapered wall and a small piece of furniture.

“Try to find a mirror! I want to see who we’re dealing with!”

A few minutes later, the young captain was handed what he had asked for. Slowly, he moved the mirror in front of the room’s entrance and adjusted its angle.

It’s a bedroom, but everything’s overturned to make a shelter. Damn, he knew we were coming and got ready.

In the reflection, Adam spotted the barrel of a musket. Behind it stood a massive old man, as big as a mountain, with long snow-white hair and a thick beard.

He looked a bit like Santa Claus—except he was armed and didn’t seem to be dressed in red.

Bang!

The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces, and a shard lodged itself in Adam’s left hand. Hot blood, as red as a British uniform, began to flow from the wound, though he felt no pain.

He could move it perfectly fine.

Without showing any emotion, Adam pulled out the shard and let it fall to the floor.

“He’s alone, and he’s an old man!”

Curiously, no soldier felt reassured by this new information. That old man had already killed one of their own and seemed determined to fight to the end.

I’ll try reasoning with him; it’s worth a shot.

“Hey, old man, why don’t you put down your weapon? You’re all alone, and there are forty of us!”

“In your dreams, boy!” the old man shouted from his barricade in heavily accented English, so thick it sounded like a different language.

“Why resist? You’re going to die for nothing!”

“I’m certainly going to die, but I’ll take a few of you with me! You shouldn’t have set foot in my house!”

“We can burn it down with you inside, old-timer!”

“Y-you!”

The old man’s fury made his voice shake. His face turned purple, making his hair and beard appear even whiter.

“Be reasonable! Surrender without causing trouble!”

All Adam received in return was a long torrent of insults, most of which were entirely foreign and incomprehensible, even with his level of English. It was as if the man had begun cursing him.

“C-captain? What… what do we do?”

“Shut up! I’m thinking!”

OK, OK… He’s not going to surrender, and we couldn’t care less about this house. Fine, I’ll do what I said.

“Search the rest of the house. Leave the upstairs alone. When you’re done, set it on fire.”

“C-captain?!”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Private Petit.”

The soldiers looked at their captain in fear as he walked away and returned to the ground floor. It took them several long seconds to find the strength to move.

Adam was fully aware of the gravity of the act he was about to commit, but he was responsible for his men. Their lives were at stake, and he couldn’t endanger them simply to take control of a house—or rather, an upstairs room.

This house wasn’t strategic. Neither was Portsmouth. So, it could be destroyed.

As for the old man, likely too stubborn to abandon his home like the rest of the town’s inhabitants, it was unfortunate, but he was going to die without achieving anything.

Adam entered the living room again and sat on a wooden chair as if he were at home. He looked around, observing each of the hunting trophies one by one.

This old man is quite the hunter. As I thought, we have no choice. I can’t take any risks; he’s too dangerous.

“Sir, we found nothing.”

“I see.”

The soldier gave him a conflicted look, hesitating to voice his opinion.

“Get everyone out. I’ll go talk to the old man and try to convince him… or at least I’ll try.”

The soldier’s eyes subtly changed. He hoped his captain could persuade the man because, even though he was an enemy and had killed one of their comrades, he didn’t want to burn the old man alive.

Adam made no effort to be stealthy on the stairs. On the contrary, he seemed to deliberately warn the old man of his approach.

Where Private Luc Brisson had been killed, blood stained the wooden floor. There was a lot of it. The planks were becoming sticky now, though they had been slippery just moments ago.

“Come on if you dare, you filthy French bastard! I’m waiting for you, and I’ve got a whole arsenal!”

Adam let out a deep sigh.

“You really won’t surrender, will you?”

“You got that right! Get out of my house, now!”

“You killed one of my men, and from what I’ve seen, you’re a good hunter. You’re a threat, old man. I shouldn’t let you live.”

Adam fell silent, still hesitating to cross the line he had set for himself. This man was old but not a soldier. He had killed many, but always in combat.

Here, it would be murder.

If he crossed that line, there would be no turning back. The more he thought about it, the less he recognized himself.

What am I doing?! What am I becoming?!

Adam wanted to slap himself back to his senses.

“Why... why won’t you surrender? Why are you so eager to die? It’s stupid,” the young man groaned. “Why didn’t you leave with the others?”

“Are you stupid or what, kid? This is my home! I built this house with my own hands! It’s my entire life! And you think I’m going to abandon it that easily? I don’t want to die, but I won’t let some damn Frenchman set foot in here! If you want to burn it down, go ahead, but there’s no way I’m leaving!”

The young officer felt his energy draining fast, as if he were taking an extremely difficult exam. He sighed once more.

“I see... I understand better now,” Adam murmured in French before continuing in English. “Hey, old man, we intend to take over this whole region. Are you going to take up arms to stop us?”

“What?! What did you say? Take the region? Hah! You’ll get your asses kicked by the Redcoats soon enough. Why would I bother? And besides, I’m way too old for that! Thirty years ago, maybe, but now... I’m out.”

Adam let out a sigh of relief and nodded.

“Very well. In that case, we’re leaving.”

“Huh?”

Adam didn’t prolong the exchange, as if afraid he might change his mind again. He would likely be reprimanded later for not assaulting the house and eliminating this man. He would certainly be criticized for his lack of bravery.

Without another word, he left the house and found his company waiting outside the front door. The body of Private Brisson lay under a bloodstained white sheet, revealing only its shape.

All the soldiers were gathered and awaiting their captain’s orders. Fear was plainly visible, and for the first time in his life, Adam realized that the fear was directed at him.

He didn’t like that feeling.

“Soldiers, we’re leaving. Let’s regroup with the others.”

“C-Captain,” a young sergeant ventured, “what about the house? And the old man?”

“We’re doing nothing. I’ll take full responsibility. Form up.”