The Marshal’s Decision

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Marshal de Richelieu and Colonel de Bréhant stood still as statues to the left of Anne-Sophie's pallet.

She, very weakened but alive, was so pale she could have been mistaken for a corpse. This only made her dark eyes and hair, as well as her red lips, stand out even more.

Under the tent, no one spoke, which was both distressing and uncomfortable.

The stares of the duke and the marquis were so cold, so piercing, that the young woman regretted not dying during the attack. The pressure was unbearable.

It was even worse than the terrible pain she felt from where she had undergone emergency surgery.

Alas, Louis was not there to support her.

She needed support now more than ever, as her secret had been discovered. Unfortunately, neither the surgeon nor the other soldiers, excluding Louis' friends, had managed to keep silent about her true identity.

Though still dressed in her uniform, Anne-Sophie could no longer pass as a man. She had thus dropped the mask and stopped having the look and voice that had been hers since enlisting in Mr. de Bréhant's regiment.

Marshal de Richelieu pinched his lips and furrowed his brows.

"And so," he finally said in an icy voice, "what is your real name?"

"A-Anne-Sophie Vernais, Your Excellency," the young woman answered meekly, her voice barely audible.

"Date and place of birth," the duke continued in a flat tone, leaving no room for emotions.

"October 7, 1736, in Saint-Menges, Your Excellency."

"Father and mother?"

"J-Jacques and Renée Vernais."

"Are they still alive?"

"Y-yes, Your Excellency."

Anne-Sophie noticed a subtle change in the duke's gaze.

"Do they know that you enlisted in the King's army disguised as a man?"

"No, Your Excellency!" she replied with renewed energy, full of anxiety.

The marshal hesitated, but as he had no proof, he nodded and continued in a voice devoid of warmth.

"Your marital status."

"S-single."

The duke quickly calculated and shook his head.

"Then you are still under your parents' authority. Why did you do this?"

"Your Excellency, my parents earn little despite working very hard. I thought I could ease their burden by joining His Majesty's army and sending them part of my pay."

"Ah, so they knew."

"No, Your Excellency! Th-they thought I had gotten a job in another city! They didn't know anything!"

Richelieu turned to Colonel de Bréhant, who was very embarrassed by the situation.

***

A woman disguising herself as a man, acting like a man, living among men, fighting alongside men. It is unacceptable and shameful!

The old marshal was furious.

This shame wasn't just for the woman; it tarnished the company, the regiment, its colonel, himself, and His Majesty.

For society to function, everyone must play their role. That had always been the case. Men kept society running, women kept it alive by caring for homes and children. This had worked perfectly since the dawn of time. It is the natural order!

Even though there had been exceptions, allowing women on the battlefield was unthinkable. This was part of common sense. Everyone knew how precious their lives were. Without women, there would be no children, and without children, a state would perish.

That's why it was up to men to take the risks. They could be replaced.

Even if only a handful of men remained, they could preserve the kingdom from decline and even help it flourish!

The marshal cast his gaze back to the wounded woman and sighed again.

"You understand, Miss Vernais, that your situation is very delicate. Naturally, we will handle this matter discreetly. There is no need for this to be widely known, as it would only cause more problems, especially for His Majesty, who seeks to improve the image of his armies. Therefore, you will not be beaten, humiliated, or imprisoned. We cannot erase you from our records entirely, as everything must leave a trace, but it will come close."

The marshal once again consulted the file of Soldier Pierre Louvet from the Picardy regiment.

What a waste. His... Her record wasn't bad. If only she had been a man... There's no use thinking about that, the duke thought as he looked back at the bedridden young woman.

"After much reflection, I have decided not to dismiss you with dishonor, out of respect for your acts of bravery and the good work you did as Pierre Louvet. You will simply be released from your obligations to the army and will only receive payment for the period of your service. Understand that this is a very generous act. For a less remarkable soldier, I would not have hesitated. This way, you will not be left penniless and will not have to endure the shame of being dismissed before your peers."

The old marshal could see a hint of relief in the young woman's eyes. She could be described as beautiful with her dark eyes and captivating lips.

How did she manage to pass as a man for so long? The more I look at her, the stranger it seems. Were her comrades idiots, blind, or complicit?

"Of course," he continued in a firm voice, "you will be sent back to France. You will return to your village, to your parents, and do what your parents and the King expect of you. Find a husband, help him in his work, start a family, and make them proud."

As soon as he finished, he saw despair growing on the young woman's face, but he showed no more empathy. The fact that she was getting away with such a mild punishment was already exceptional.

She should consider herself lucky that this matter isn't going any further. No whip, no beating, no prison. I can do no more.

With that, the marshal and the colonel disappeared from the tent, and Anne-Sophie placed her cold hands on her face. Stifled sobs echoed inside the tent, guarded by two soldiers from a regiment other than Mr. de Bréhant's to avoid any incidents.

***

Louis wanted to see Anne-Sophie. He wanted it so much that his body ached from not being able to do so. His helplessness tormented him, and the thought of what the woman he loved must be feeling at that moment only worsened his state.

Every second away from her was like a torture session.

His friends wanted to help, of course, but the orders of a marshal and a colonel could not be bypassed without paying a price.

However, they couldn't just stand still while their friend needed help.

Jean, Jules, Charles, and P'tit Pol presented themselves in front of the tent and asked the guards if they could pass, and of course, they were refused, as expected. They then started talking amongst themselves, just in front of the guards, to divert their attention.

Meanwhile, Louis circled the tent and stopped by the pallet where Anne-Sophie lay.

He couldn't see her, but he could hear her breathing behind the canvas.

She... she's crying.

His heart tightened to the point where he thought it would be crushed. Louis cautiously slipped a trembling hand under the canvas and ran his fingers through Anne-Sophie's hair, causing her to gasp in surprise.

"It's me," he whispered. "Louis. A-are you okay?"

"L-Louis?!"

"Keep it down," whispered the young man without withdrawing his hand. "Jean, Jules, Charles, and P'tit Pol are distracting the guards, but it won't last long. I can't stay."

"Louis… They... they're going to send me back to France. I... I don't want to leave! I don't want to leave without you!"

He could feel her body trembling, but he couldn't take her into his arms.

"Where exactly are they sending you?"

"They're sending me back to my village, to my parents. Louis, I... I don't want to go! I want to stay here, with you!"

"Your hometown... Saint-Menges, near Sedan..."

Though he couldn't see her, he could hear her crying and feel the warmth of her skin. She had taken his hand in hers and placed it against her tear-soaked cheek.

"I told you, didn't I? Aboard the Foudroyant, I told you that you wouldn't be alone, even if you were discovered."

"Louis..."

"Even if they send you to the ends of the earth, I'll come and find you. When... when the war is over, I'll go to Saint-Menges, so... wait for me, okay?"

"Yes, I will," the young woman said in a barely audible voice, holding tighter to that hand that felt so broad and reassuring. "I promise I'll wait for you!"

"I have to go. Anne-Sophie, please, take care of yourself."

"You too!"

Slowly, the hand the young woman held slipped away and disappeared under the tent's canvas. She was alone again.

***

Adam had naturally heard about Anne-Sophie's situation, but unlike his friends, he wasn't shocked to learn that a woman had taken up arms disguised as a man.

He was too used to seeing female soldiers to feel the slightest discomfort. That his friend was in love with this woman didn't surprise him either, but he was deeply saddened to learn that they were going to be separated, as the woman he had fallen in love with was going to be sent back to France.

From his point of view, it was stupid.

They could have let her stay here, couldn't they? And they must have noticed that a female soldier wasn't a problem, right? Tsk!

However, he kept his opinions to himself and did his best to comfort his friend, who seemed to be in the depths of despair. Unfortunately, they were interrupted by new orders.

They were to move out and march toward the nearest fort, Fort Miller. As for Anne-Sophie, she would likely remain a few days at Fort Edward before being taken to Quebec.

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Even though the French had suffered many casualties in the previous battle, the marshal didn't seem willing to give the British any respite to reinforce their front line, which had just been breached.

The young lieutenant could understand the duke's thinking, even if it wasn't very prudent. Fortunately, their army lacked nothing except rest.

By taking Fort Edward, they had secured a large amount of food, fodder, alcohol, and black powder. There was no doubt this fort would soon become their base of operations for the future.

Their marching pace was quite fast, and it wouldn't take long for this army to cover the eleven kilometers separating them from their next target. This was because, this time, they weren't cutting through the woods but faithfully following the road along the Hudson River.

Adam and his men were in the middle of the column, while the Indians and coureurs de bois were at the front, serving as scouts. They were excellent in this role, as they had proven time and time again since their departure from Fort Carillon.

The only problem was their practices, which disturbed both Marquis Montcalm and the regular soldiers. Those who had followed Marshal de Richelieu had the hardest time tolerating it. Whenever they saw an Indian scalp a British soldier, they had to restrain themselves from stopping it or even turning on their ally.

Yet, the marshal let them do as they pleased, as if this was a small price to pay for their assistance.

Adam struggled with it as much as his comrades and did everything he could to avoid watching, even though he was used to seeing horror films.

At both Fort Carillon and Fort Edward, they had gone around the corpses to collect their scalps. Seeing it up close, Adam had vomited everything in his stomach, thinking he might die from witnessing such an atrocity.

A few shots rang out a few hundred meters to the north, startling some small birds.

Hmm, I guess it was a good idea to send them into the woods… You can hear the gunfire, Adam thought as he gazed at the trees lining the road to Fort Miller.

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The column didn't stop or slow down until they reached the fort, which couldn't compare to Fort Edward.

It was more of a waystation used in the war against the French and their allies.

Not being directly threatened, it had been minimally fortified, surrounded by only a palisade and a ditch, with protection on one side from the Hudson River.

The army began deploying and digging trenches, as well as building embankments for the few artillery pieces they had brought along.

They were quite numerous, despite having sent units in all directions along the way, as the duke had kept the bulk of his army on this side of the river. The reason was simple: he had obtained valuable intelligence at Fort Edward regarding enemy forces stationed at Fort Miller.

From what Adam had understood, there were about six thousand men there, but like the marshal, he doubted that this number was accurate or that they were all in fighting condition.

Indeed, several prisoners had admitted that most of the wounded had been sent there.

From his position, Adam could distinctly hear the exchanges between the duke and his officers.

The place seemed indefensible, just as the old Marshal-Duke de Richelieu had expected, but since it was a waystation for His Majesty's army, he hoped to find something useful for his troops.

Adam, positioned in the center of the formation, watched as the duke pulled out his gleaming, gold-like spyglass and exchanged a few words with his officers about the siege. He seemed very confident.

The young man looked more closely at the fort. It seemed much simpler in design and smaller than Fort Edward. Several red uniforms could be seen atop the wooden palisade.

Strange... This time, I'm not afraid. Why am I so calm?

***

The highest-ranking officer at Fort Miller was Colonel Thomas Gage, wounded at the Battle of Fort Carillon.

Leaning on a crutch, with one arm in a sling, the thirty-nine-year-old officer stood silently with his subordinates on the rampart, observing the enemy as they prepared to lay siege. His dark eyes scanned the troops, trying to assess their strength.

He hadn't been surprised to see them in the late afternoon.

During the night, he had heard cannon fire for hours. He had immediately understood that Fort Edward was under attack, yet he had done nothing. He hadn't sent his men because he had been informed that the enemy numbered several thousand, perhaps seven or eight thousand.

That was more than he had, but the biggest problem was that it had happened in the middle of the night. He knew that by the time they arrived, the sun would already be up, and his men would be exhausted. The French army would have made short work of him.

He had hoped that General Abercrombie would hold out or even repel the attack, but it was clear he had failed.

Fort Miller, Gage knew all too well, wasn't a strong fort. It wasn't built to withstand a siege. Very little investment had been made here, as it was too far from Lake George, which roughly marked the boundary of His Majesty's control, thanks to the army.

The Crown had invested in Fort Edward because Fort William Henry had fallen, but there had been no question of doing the same here, a mere storage facility.

They didn't even have enough space to accommodate everyone in decent conditions.

Even before the first cannon shots hit the rampart, Thomas Gage had understood that this fort would fall. Then hell rained down upon them.

The palisade splintered, followed by the gates and the northern bastion. The flagpole, atop which their flag flew, was hit by a cannonball and crashed heavily onto three tents, then a mortar shell fell on the right wing of the barracks where nearly eight hundred wounded men had been crammed, most lying directly on the floor.

Pale, he observed the French cannons thundering in front of the fort, his fingers clenched on the wooden parapet as if trying to crush it. His eyes remained fixed on the enemy, unwavering.

Meanwhile, his men were dying and doing their best to help those who had been buried alive under the rubble.

Gage, doing his best to maintain his dignity, let out a deep sigh. At that moment, he no longer wondered if they would all die here, but how.

"Gentlemen, there's no point in insisting. We are numerous, indeed, but under these conditions, we cannot defend ourselves. We don't even have artillery to retaliate. And we have so many wounded. We can either die in vain or choose to surrender. Raise the white flag."

***

The Marshal-Duke showed no emotion, and nothing changed when he saw a man in red waving some sort of white handkerchief. He raised a gloved hand and gave his order.

"Cease fire. The enemy seems to want to negotiate."

The artillery fell silent, and the marshal, clad in his beautiful cuirass that made him look like a grand warrior of old, approached the shattered palisade.

A medium-sized man with a large belly emerged from the fort through the ruined gates, holding an improvised white flag above him.

The discussion was brief, and when he returned, great cries of joy erupted from the French army. He had just won another victory without losing a single man.

The Indians, already with their bags full of scalps after the Fort Carillon episode, did not oppose leading these prisoners to Fort Edward, where a few companies remained stationed.

Marquis de Montcalm approached as the fort was being evacuated, his face surprisingly somber and serious.

"Sir Marshal," he said, "we are deep in enemy territory, and our supply and communication line is very stretched."

"Between Montreal and here, you mean? Yes, it is. That's why Fort Edward is of utmost importance. We must make it a major relay point so we don't have to fall back several days just for supplies. We should make the river navigable between Fort Carillon and Lake George by barge or canoe."

"I'm afraid significant modifications are necessary, sir. It will take time and a lot of manpower, which we don't have at the moment."

"We won't wait for the end of the season, when hostilities slow down, to complete this project, but within a month or two."

"So soon? Is that even possible?"

"We just need to further reduce the threat. Destroying this fort is not enough."

The marquis' face darkened further. It was evident he had something to say, but with so many men around, it wasn't easy to voice an opposing opinion. It would be best to be alone or with just a few officers.

"What are your orders for this troop, sir?" he finally asked softly.

"Hmm, what's the nearest town?" the marshal asked, placing a hand on the golden pommel of his splendid sword.

"The-nearest town? It's Albany. I wouldn't be surprised if General Alcombie's army came from there. Don't tell me you plan to besiege the city with only our six thousand men!"

"Not directly, but I do plan to shake the tree to see what falls out."