Fort Bourbon was in turmoil.

Early in the morning, a patrol had discovered one of their comrades hanging from a tree along the road to Albany, like a macabre scarecrow. His filthy uniform confirmed his allegiance to their ranks, but the unfortunate man could not be easily identified, as his face had been methodically flayed.

His muscles were laid bare, exposed to the sun and swarming flies, leaving only a few patches of skin intact. The spectacle was one of indescribable sadism, and no one dared to imagine the agony the soldier had endured. It took a monster even to conceive of such a horrific act.

Several critical muscles and nerves had been severed in the process, causing severe bleeding that ultimately led to his death. Even if the barbaric act had been more precise, infection would have claimed his life.

The upper half of his coat, soaked in blood, was as red as an English uniform.

The poor man had been brought back to Fort Bourbon, wrapped as best as possible to grant him the respect he deserved—and to shield the new recruits from shock. The sight was that appalling.

The enemy had gone so far as to cut off the French soldier’s eyelids to give the grotesque illusion that his eyes were still open. When the patrol discovered him, several men collapsed in terror.

Undoubtedly, they would be haunted by nightmares for the rest of their days.

News of the atrocity spread through the fort like wildfire. Sadness quickly gave way to anger—so fierce that every officer had to raise their voice to maintain order, preventing the troops from succumbing to blind rage and embarking on a reckless quest for revenge.

In the commander’s office, three imposing figures gathered, their faces as unyielding as stone.

The Marquis de Montcalm, clad in a magnificent black coat embroidered with silver thread and matching breeches, stood near a window, his back turned to the outside. His piercing gaze rested on the Marquis de Hautoy and the Marquis de Bréhant, who shared equally stony expressions.

“Gentlemen,” he began in a low voice, “I have summoned you to discuss an immediate and calculated response to the barbaric act committed by those damned Rangers. Their crime cannot go unpunished. We must strike decisively—not only to avenge this affront but to restore our soldiers’ morale.”

De Hautoy, his hand gripping the gilded hilt of his sword, tightened his grasp until purple veins bulged across the back of his hand. The man who had been captured and tortured to death belonged to his regiment.

“They are savages, General,” he spat with barely contained rage, “and they should be treated as such. No mercy for these monsters! Allow me to lead my men into the forest; we will hunt them to the ends of the earth if we must. We won’t stop until the last of them is dead!”

Montcalm raised a broad, rounded hand to signal the seething colonel to calm himself.

“And you will lose men in a futile pursuit. These Rangers are skilled, Monsieur de Hautoy. They know these woods better than we do and will scatter long before you can reach them. They could be hiding anywhere. What will you do—search behind every tree? Move every stone? Be reasonable.”

“But General—”

“Furthermore,” Montcalm interjected, his brows furrowing, “if I were to let you take your men in pursuit of these bandits, do you not think Fort Bourbon would become an easy target for our enemies? Even if Monsieur de Bréhant remains here with his forces—and I do not doubt their ability to defend it—we risk losing this strategic position. In short, we cannot afford to spread ourselves so thin.”

De Hautoy simmered with rage, feeling like a caged lion, but he forced himself to nod in agreement.

Monsieur de Bréhant, who had remained silent until then, straightened slightly, his gaze thoughtful.

“My General,” he said in a measured tone, “while I agree that chasing these men blindly would be suicidal, we must acknowledge that our troops’ morale is fragile. They are in such a state that the smallest spark could ignite a conflict. We cannot ignore their thirst for vengeance. Letting their anger fester risks undermining discipline, which would be just as detrimental as a lack of manpower. Waiting too long could cost us dearly.”

“Gentlemen, as I said, it is not a question of leaving these men in peace. Colonel de Hautoy, just because I cannot approve a search of the forest does not mean I intend to remain idle. I have called you here to hear your proposals.”

De Hautoy gritted his teeth and nodded, leaving the floor open to Colonel de Bréhant.

“My General,” de Bréhant began, “the strategy we’ve employed so far has been relatively effective. While we’ve suffered some losses, we’ve managed to engage these Rangers and inflict losses of our own. We must continue to lure them to us, fighting them where we can win at minimal cost.”

Montcalm’s frown deepened, as he despised such tactics, considering them unworthy of an officer and dishonorable. He would have much preferred a proper pitched battle, where numbers and discipline determined the outcome. Unfortunately, he knew this enemy would deny him such a fight, favoring ambushes and skirmishes like the Indians.

“What do you propose, Colonel?” he asked at last.

“If we rely on the same tactic too often, our enemy will grow wary and stop falling into our traps. Therefore, we must carefully devise a strategy to eliminate as many of them as possible in one stroke. We need to offer them a larger, more tempting bait—something so irresistible they will leave their hiding places to seize it. I have a plan in mind, but it carries risks.”

Montcalm and de Hautoy turned their eyes toward the colonel, urging him to continue.

“These men are bandits, so let’s dangle treasure under their noses. Let’s stage an attack on one or more villages and send out a convoy transporting an enticing treasure and captives—of course, our men in disguise. We’ll ensure they attack us at a location of our choosing, and when they drop their guard, believing they’ve taken the convoy, we’ll strike back with overwhelming force!”

The two officers stared at Colonel de Bréhant in surprise. This proposal was entirely unexpected.

Montcalm's face subtly darkened, reflecting his distaste for the idea. It repelled him—more fitting for highwaymen than for honorable officers and soldiers of His Majesty.

He had lost count of how many times he had argued, sometimes heatedly, with Governor Vaudreuil on this matter.

However, he had to admit that defeating such an enemy might indeed require methods as unconventional as they were bold.

“A convoy, you say?” Montcalm murmured, narrowing his eyes. “It might work, but the illusion must be flawless.”

“Monsieur de Montcalm is right,” Hautoy added, clearing his throat softly, his skepticism apparent.

“These rangers are like animals. They’ll sniff out a trap the moment they detect the slightest inconsistency. If that happens, we’ll lose our opportunity and make them even more vigilant.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” Montcalm sighed, shaking his head gravely. “If they uncover our plan, they could turn it against us and cause devastating losses. Surely, you were planning to use many soldiers. And what if we lose them all in the action?”

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A heavy silence filled the room. Montcalm's words echoed as a stern warning, but Colonel de Bréhant, his gaze unwavering, refused to back down.

“Isn’t that true of every battle, sir?” he replied calmly. “We, the officers, bear a heavy burden—the outcome of the battle, but also the lives of our men. A poor decision can lead to disaster; this is nothing new. It’s no different here.”

The general and the colonel fell into an intimidating silence. Colonel de Bréhant pressed on with a firmer tone.

“As you so rightly said, Monsieur de Hautoy, the illusion must be perfect. This will require meticulous preparation. However, even if we cannot eliminate the risk of a mistake, we can always lure our enemy by appealing to their emotions. Let us not fear excess: show them gold that will drive them mad and pitiful civilians so wretched they cannot be ignored.”

Colonel Hautoy took two steps forward and leaned over the desk at the center of the room, closely studying the largest and most detailed map of the region. It depicted rivers, wetlands, lakes, ruined or abandoned villages, forests, and winding roads.

“The first thing we need is a target. After all, these fictitious civilians and this grand treasure cannot come from nowhere. The problem is that everyone in this area has already been attacked. Villages have been destroyed, and the inhabitants displaced—if they haven’t fled on their own.”

“And those there?” Colonel de Bréhant asked, pointing to a few locations southeast of the fort.

“Monsieur de Richelieu passed through there in the autumn. To my knowledge, there’s nothing left,” Montcalm sighed.

“Could they not have rebuilt? I mean, that was several months ago.”

“Would you take such a risk if it were you? Would you endanger your family by settling so close to the frontier, under constant threat of attack?”

Monsieur de Bréhant fell silent again, knowing Montcalm’s words were true. Only someone desperate—or mad—would seek to claim land so near the positions held by the French.

Even Albany struggled to rebuild its population. If not for the regular army blocking and guarding the Hudson River, it would still be a ghost town.

“Then let’s send out scouts. Small, highly mobile, and discreet patrols. Give them a few days—I’m sure they’ll find camps and isolated hamlets. In the meantime, we can continue refining our plan and select the most advantageous spot for an ambush.”

Montcalm nodded slowly. Despite his reservations, he saw that Bréhant’s tenacity and audacity could present an opportunity.

“Let us only hope this audacity does not become our ruin. I’ll leave it to you, gentlemen, to select the men best suited for this mission.”

***

That evening, on Long Island, in a wooden barrack, the atmosphere was electric. The air, thick with tension, seemed to weigh heavily on the soldiers, adding to their somber expressions.

Though the sun had long since set, the tension made the air in the long rectangular room, reeking of sweat, stifling.

Standing or sitting on their narrow beds, the men of Captain François Boucher’s company brooded over what had happened that morning. It didn’t matter that he belonged to another company or regiment—he was, above all, a brother-in-arms!

And the idea that one of their own had been tortured and displayed in such a manner ignited their tempers.

They were like bombs on the verge of exploding.

“Bloody hell! We can’t let this slide! We should be hunting them down like the dogs they are!”

“Damn it! They should all be hanged!”

“That’s too kind! We should burn them alive—all of them! And if we can’t find them, then burn this whole damn forest!”

“We’ve been waiting far too long! What are we doing?! We should be out there!”

“Yes! Make them pay!”

“C-calm down!” stammered a hesitant voice. “W-we need to wait for orders! Just a bit of patience!”

“Patience?!” another roared. “I think we’ve been patient enough! Ah! We’ve wasted an entire day! Damn me if these bastards aren’t punished!”

The shouts grew louder in the modest building. This unrest echoed throughout the barracks, creating the impression that the entire island—if not the entire fort—was one massive powder keg.

In this electrified atmosphere, Adam, having just left an important meeting with his fellow officers, arrived at the building where his men were quartered. Accompanied by his two lieutenants, he climbed the small wooden steps leading to the building’s exterior and burst into the main room.

The clamor ceased immediately. A heavy silence fell over the room, as though the captain’s arrival had frozen time.

His piercing eyes swept over the room, and the soldiers instinctively looked away, embarrassed. The atmosphere was so strange that it almost gave the three officers the impression that they had interrupted a plot being hatched against them.

“What’s going on here?” he finally asked in a cold, almost cutting tone.

All Adam received in response was an awkward silence, until a soldier with an oval face and a crooked nose stepped forward to defend the group.

“C-captain, we’re just talking.”

The captain’s icy gaze lingered on the soldier for a moment without showing the slightest emotion, making the young officer appear even more intimidating.

“Talking, huh?” Adam replied in a calm but chilling tone. “You call this talking? We could hear you from outside, you know.”

The soldiers lowered their heads even further, shrinking into themselves as if hoping to disappear into the walls.

“Listen closely,” Adam resumed, his tone calmer but heavy with gravity. “I’m not going to blame you. It’s the same in other barracks, including the officers’ quarters. Everyone is… tense, to put it mildly. Angry would be more accurate. Your feelings are valid and shared, don’t doubt that. But let me tell you one thing: acting impulsively would be a grave mistake. That’s exactly what our enemy wants.”

“But Captain, we can’t just do nothing!”

A murmur rose but was quickly stifled by the captain’s sharp glare.

“What do you think? That we’ll stand idle? Do you really think they can attack our comrades, torture them, and get away with it? They will pay, trust me. But we’ll take the time to prepare properly. We’ll make sure not a single one of them escapes us. Understood? Not one.”

The soldiers exchanged furtive glances. Adam’s gaze was so calm yet so firm and full of determination that they could feel his thirst for vengeance. It was enough to slightly soothe their rage.

“Good. Now, it’s late. Go to bed,” he concluded. “Get some rest—you’ll need it. We’ll resume exercises tomorrow morning and in the coming days to ensure we’re ready when the time comes. We’ll give those bastards what they deserve. I can’t give you a precise date, so just be patient. Good evening, gentlemen.”

The soldiers nodded, almost relieved, and each returned to their bed. The tension in the room finally dissipated.

The captain left with his two lieutenants. As soon as they were outside, the three men let out an exhausted sigh, as though they had just fought a battle. It wasn’t just the conversation that had drained them; it was also the general atmosphere in the fort.

All this tension was taking a toll on their nerves as well, leaving them utterly depleted. They were not machines.

Back in their quarters, Adam sat on the edge of his small bed, removed his tricorne and powdered wig, and slipped off his dusty shoes. Despite his precautions, he had tracked some dirt into the room.

Tch, I’ve gotten dirt everywhere again. If I can, I’ll try to get my hands on some slippers. That shouldn’t be too hard to manage.

“Ah…”

He let out a deep sigh that seemed to carry all his weariness. Cracking his neck, he turned to his lieutenants.

“Marais, Laroche, tomorrow we’ll intensify the exercises. Spread the word without going into details, but make it clear that His Majesty needs his soldiers to be better trained than ever. We must prove that our company deserves its place, and I don’t want ours left out of this operation.”

Laroche, skeptical, furrowed his brows slightly, hesitant to speak openly for fear of offending his captain.

“Captain, our company is very new. Others will certainly be prioritized due to their seniority. I doubt we’ll be on the list of candidates.”

Adam nodded, a joyless smile on his lips.

“I’m well aware of that, but you never know. Sometimes persistence is rewarded. Perhaps Colonel de Bréhant or the general will notice our efforts. Who knows? They might reward us by giving us the chance to prove ourselves.”

Adam seemed confident, but in reality, he knew the chances of his company being selected for the operation proposed by the Marquis de Bréhant were slim.

He glanced out the window, where the shadows of the night blanketed the island. All that could be made out were the vague outlines of nearby buildings in the darkness.

Because the sky was clear, the stars and the Milky Way were distinctly visible. The moon, however, was only a thin crescent.

I know there’s almost no chance we’ll be chosen, but if we don’t do anything to get selected, then we’ll have no chance at all! We have to show them we’re just as capable as anyone else!

At Fort Bourbon, there were indeed many other companies much older and more talented, composed of veterans who had fought in multiple wars. Just as there was a hierarchy among the soldiers within a single company, there was a ranking among the companies in the same regiment.

The colonel and his lieutenant were themselves captains of companies. The first and second companies were thus the most important and prestigious in the regiment.

According to what had been discussed during the meeting, which had lasted most of the afternoon, there would be two teams: one playing the role of an escort and the other posing as captured civilians.

While the first would endure heavy fire for long minutes before retreating and abandoning a large bounty, the second team would wait for the enemy to come close and lower their guard before seizing hidden weapons to eliminate them swiftly.

Unyielding discipline, exemplary courage, and lightning-fast reflexes were required to be part of either team.

Adam clenched his fists.

No way I’m staying on the sidelines! We’ll go in, and we’ll crush those bastards! And I’ll keep climbing the ranks until I reach the very top!