The Battle Of Hastenbeck

Seeing their friend so confused, the small group of soldiers couldn't help but exchange sorrowful glances, as if having a silent conversation.

"You don't remember?" asked a young man with hair as red as Joanna's. "Well, you did take a nasty hit to the head. We're in Hastenbeck, near Hameln, deep in enemy territory. We won a great victory yesterday against the Hanoverian troops led by the Duke of Cumberland. We managed to drive him off, that butcher of Culloden!"

Little Paul's enthusiasm didn't seem to be shared by everyone.

"Yeah, right, it was chaos over there!" grumbled Jules, shaking his head, his fine blonde curls bouncing on his forehead. "We only noticed he'd left at the end of the battle, all because Marshal d'Estrées thought we had an enemy at our back when we didn't!"

"But at least we won!" insisted Little Paul. "Hey, maybe we'll get a reward? After all, it's thanks to the Picardy Regiment and Mr. de Chevert, who commands us, that we won this battle!"

"Hmm, if I were you, I wouldn't count on it too much," Jules said. "It's mostly thanks to our artillery that we routed the enemy."

Adam was struggling to think. Most of the information made no sense to him, but thanks to his friends, he began to grasp the situation.

Hanoverians? Cumberland? D'Estrées? I don't get it, except that there was a battle yesterday. Oh, my head hurts so much!

"So, um, the enemy is retreating, right?"

"Yes!"

"And our… regiment distinguished itself?"

"Yes!"

Uh, okay. I guess. Damn, this is ridiculous! None of this makes any sense! It feels like I'm in a dream! That's it! I'm hallucinating! Am I hallucinating? This doesn't really feel like a hallucination; what am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to react?!

"T-that's good."

The weak response, which sounded more like a question, was interpreted oddly by the small group.

"Don't look so grim, François! You'll see more battles like this!"

Adam, exhausted by the recent events, didn't have the strength to correct these people every time they called him by that name. He let the enthusiastic soldiers talk and recount a battle that didn't stir any feelings in him.

They chatted cheerfully for a few more minutes, but as Adam slowly pieced together the puzzle, they were interrupted by the old surgeon, who had already returned. In a fit of rage, he chased everyone out except for Adam, of course, who, like all the patients in this hospital, needed rest.

As soon as they left, Adam's face grew serious. Lying still on his poor cot, he tried to ignore the groans and complaints coming from the nearby beds to focus on his own situation.

Thanks to his friends, whose names he had somewhat memorized, he understood that France was at war with the Hanoverians, the English, and the Prussians, and that they were winning. He didn't know where Hanover and Prussia were, but he suspected they were somewhere in Germany. As for the reason behind this war, he had no clue.

To him, ever since the end of World War II, there had been no reason to go to war with the Germans, as they were allies and friends. The problem was that he no longer seemed to be in his own time. The clothes his friends were wearing and the main thing that made him think this, as absurd as it might seem...

Unfortunately, he was as bad at history as he was at geography. Just as he didn't know who these Hanoverians and Prussians were, he had no idea who this enemy general they had driven off was. In fact, he hadn't even memorized his name.

Adam was so bad at history that he mixed up the kings and confused them with the wrong centuries.

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Later in the evening, just as everyone was returning to their tents, a worrying rumor began to spread throughout the camp and soon reached the young man's ears. The Duke of Cumberland was said to be planning a surprise attack on the French army at sunrise. Someone had heard this story from a friend who knew someone in a grenadier brigade who had heard that this was what Hanoverian deserters had revealed to Marshal d'Estrées.

This rumor unsettled many of the French soldiers, exhausted from the recent battle. Many wondered if the rumor was true. If it was, it was particularly cunning of the enemy commander, because an army that had just won a victory would certainly not expect to be attacked that very night by the defeated army.

In the end, the night passed quietly. There was no attack at dawn or during the night.

That night, Adam alternated between phases of sleep and wakefulness. Often, he wasn't sure whether he was sleeping or not. Without thinking, he turned to his usual side and felt intense pain from his head injury. This pain far outweighed the one he felt in his shoulder, where he was said to have been shot.

The pain was so intense that it made him cry. He used all his strength to stay silent, not wanting to be seen in this state and draw attention to himself. All he wanted was to sleep and wake up in a familiar environment, in a modern and comfortable bed.

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It was already well past dawn when Adam finally woke up. His headache, though still present, was much more bearable as long as he didn't do anything foolish.

From his cot, he could hear heavy explosions in the distance. Curiously, he instinctively knew they were cannons and mortars, not threatening thunder. The sound of the marshal's cannons was short and regular, while thunder was long, like a dog's growl.

His dreams had been restless for most of the night, and when he opened his eyes, he had come to the conclusion that he, Adam, now occupied the body of another, the one these people who had come to see him called François. Whether he liked it or not, he had also acquired part of his memories, and perhaps even more.

I-I have to get up! I can't stay in the hospital forever, thought Adam, without realizing that a normal person would certainly choose to stay safe until at least the cannons fell silent.

The old surgeon, surprised to see his patient trying to stand up, urged him to lie down for a few more days. But it was a lost cause, as the young man was as stubborn as he was determined.

Powerless and still too busy due to the recent battle, the surgeon let the foolish young man, too eager to rush to his death, leave.

The field hospital wasn't in the same place as the camp, but a bit further south in a large village located along a river called the Weser. Daylight had been up for a few hours already, and from what Adam could gather by listening to the conversations around the camp, the Duke d'Estrées' army had moved a bit further north to besiege the small town mentioned by his "friends" the day before, the one named Hameln.

They must all be there! I have to hurry and join them!

Adam didn't understand why he was so eager to go. It was as if a part of him really wanted to join the action and witness the fall of the town.

Luckily for him, he wasn't completely left to his fate. At the hospital entrance, he encountered a man in his thirties with a nose as red as a clown's, where tiny purple veins were easily visible. Although he had never seen this man before, Adam recognized him.

It's thanks to François's memories, he realized as he approached the man.

He was the lieutenant of his company. Although Adam knew nothing about military ranks in this army, he had no doubt that this man was much higher-ranked than him.

Like his friends and all the soldiers he passed, this man wore a strange uniform that vaguely reminded Adam of Napoleon Bonaparte. The weapons he had seen, at least, seemed roughly from that period.

Though poor at history, Adam had a few basic notions. He couldn't ignore that name, one of the most famous historical figures in France. The more he saw, the more he understood that, somehow, he had traveled through time. The question now was, what year was it?

Leaning on a makeshift crutch, the lieutenant had also been under the surgeon's care. Fortunately, he had managed to keep his leg, which wasn't the case for everyone.

"Glad to see you on your feet, kid! The Marquis de Bréhant came by the hospital yesterday, but unfortunately, you were asleep. I'm surprised to see you up already. How are you feeling?"

Adam hesitated for a moment and decided to reply more politely than ever to blend in.

"I'm feeling much better, sir. Thank you. Um, I want to return to my company, but I don't know where my uniform is."

Fortunately for Adam, the man didn't notice anything strange in his response.

"Is that wise? Well, as you wish. Follow me, everything's stored under that tent. Everything's labeled."

Noticing the young man's face, pale as a sheet, he couldn't help but add, "Don't worry, soldier. I wager you won't need to fire a single shot. There can't be many people left inside that little town. We've been bombarding it since dawn, and it's more likely they'll surrender either today or tomorrow."

Oddly, Adam felt a sense of dread rising within him. It was as if his future depended on whether or not he participated in the capture of this town he knew nothing about.

He followed the directions to the letter and retrieved his few personal belongings. Under the watchful eye of the quartermaster, he hurried to put on his red jacket and snow-white coat and set off on foot for Hameln. This outfit was really strange for someone used to jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers. Thanks to the habits ingrained in this body, he managed to dress without embarrassing himself. The hardest thing to put on had, of course, been his black felt tricorne hat trimmed with gold.

Because it was far too early to remove his bandages, he placed his tricorne with the utmost care—though not enough to avoid pain—over the soiled dressings. He had been clearly told that the wound was significant and that if he wasn't careful, it could reopen. In any case, it would leave an impressive scar.

Still somewhat nauseous and disoriented, he painstakingly followed a dirt road, guided by the terrible sound of cannon fire cracking through the air. The closer he got, the more visible the fear became on his rigid face.

This was far from the image he had of war, thanks to—or because of—video games. Here, it felt like he was willingly walking into Hell. If he had first very naively thought that because he occupied the body of a soldier, he would know what to do when the time came, he quickly had to rethink that.

Somehow, when he arrived in front of the besieged town, he knew that this was his real battle. The day before, François had, for the first time, loaded his musket with the intent of firing it at someone. His accident had happened early in the battle, so he hadn't had the chance to harden himself in the field.

Regretting his decision the entire way, Adam felt fear rise within him like a slimy serpent along his leg. He imagined himself charging at the small town with its high walls like in the Middle Ages and dying immediately.

As he walked, less and less resolute, Adam noticed that despite such a march, he wasn't tired at all. He had already realized how different his body was from his original one. First, he was a bit taller, then he had good muscles, and finally, his hands were rough as if he had spent many years working. There were even a few small scars and superficial cuts.

Both fascinated and frightened by the fact that he was occupying a body that wasn't his, he didn't slow down, thinking there was nothing he could do about it and that he would have the chance to explore his new body later.

To his great relief, at the very moment he presented himself to his captain, the gates of the town opened, allowing the French troops to enter. The garrison in Hameln, consisting of only two battalions, saw no way they could hold out against such a large army.

The Hanoverians were arrested, and the town was immediately searched for anything that could be of use to His Majesty's army.

Fortunately, a large quantity of resources was found, including fodder for the animals and wine for the soldiers.

"Victory!"

"Long live France!"

"Long live the King!"

"Vive le maréchal d'Estrées!"

"To Hanover!"