Captain

Hello and thank you Dekol347, Mium, DaoistDQ8t5A, Microraptor, Porthos10, Pimbadeiro, Odin_12 and ThisguyAEl for the support!

I hope you will enjoy this chapter!

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Before Adam's tired eyes, which resembled two blue gemstones like the clear waters of a hidden mountain lake, tiny snowflakes danced peacefully, carried by an almost imperceptible breeze.

They looked like dust, so small and light that even the slightest movement of air made them drift, giving the impression they could remain suspended indefinitely.

Even though there was almost no wind, the cold February air—only slightly less biting than January's—seeped through layers of clothing, chilling the young man to the bone. His jaw clattered furiously, and he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering.

Clenching his teeth was one way to cope, but it was exhausting. He couldn't hold them tight like that for days.

The nearly two-week journey from Halifax had been a grueling ordeal, not only for his body but also for his mind. Each kilometer traveled, each day spent gazing at the ocean and the frozen shores of this still largely untamed continent, tested his willpower.

During such a long journey, isolated from his friends, his thoughts grew deafening.

So, this is it? Am I really going to become a captain? I'll have my own company? My own soldiers? Am… am I really ready to command them? What if things go wrong? What if I fail? No, no… it'll be fine. Albert, André, Martin, and Jean-Baptiste will be there to advise me! But… they won't always be there! Argh!

The gray sky seemed oppressively low, as if the clouds were weighed down by snow eager to fall and blanket the world.

Leaving the sea behind, the small frigate carrying the young lieutenant for the past two weeks sailed into the Saint Lawrence. Soon, they would reach Quebec.

On the deck of Aréthuse, Adam watched the snow-blanketed landscapes with both anticipation and trepidation, mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead.

An approaching shadow caught his eye as it moved across the deck near him, growing quickly to signal someone drawing near.

"You seem calm, Lieutenant Boucher," said the Marquis de Bréhant, stopping beside Adam with his hands resting on the frozen rail.

"In that case, I'm putting on a good show, Colonel. I'm scared stiff."

"Ahah, there's no need to worry. It's just a simple ceremony. Think of it as just another troop inspection."

"It's not that… I'm afraid I won't measure up, sir."

The Colonel offered a soft, understanding smile.

"Lieutenant, we've reviewed your file thoroughly. You have what it takes for this rank. As for 'measuring up,' it's up to you to prove yourself worthy of the honor and to meet the expectations. Do your best."

"Y-yes, Colonel."

"You know, most captains come from the nobility and often start with no experience, thanks to their family's influence. You, on the other hand, already have some experience, which gives you an edge over them. Of course, you'll face limitations due to your status as a commoner, unlike them. If they have the talent, they can rise very far."

Adam hesitated to say more but decided against revealing any great ambition that might be frowned upon. Deep down, however, a part of him didn't want to stop at the rank of captain. He wanted to aim higher—if possible, before the end of this conflict.

Such aspirations were highly unlikely, as the nobility fiercely guarded its privileges. Allowing commoners to rise to captain was already seen by many as a dangerous precedent, something that should have been prevented to preserve the Royal Army's image and the prestige of the officer corps.

As long as the nobility remained closed and its status defended, the highest ranks would stay reserved for its members. It would take a revolution to break centuries of tradition and allow competent individuals from the lower classes to rise to the army's highest positions.

I'm sure this is François's influence again, but I have no intention of lingering here! Yeah, I couldn't care less about being promoted! I just want to go back to my own time!

No matter how loudly he told himself that, he didn't believe it. He relished the powerful feeling that came with recognition. Pride. It was like a drug, driving him to excel and stand out, whether in battle or not.

When he had introduced his comrades to fries or rugby, he had been deeply satisfied by their reactions. In their eyes, he saw a kind of respect that fueled his desire to keep going.

If the Colonel—or better yet, the Marshal—acknowledged his worth, Adam would be overjoyed.

Despite his fear of failure, the idea of promotion filled him with a strong sense of satisfaction. Naturally, he had accepted his new rank and would accept any further promotion as long as he remained here.

I don't know… I don't know anymore… Should I have deserted last year to return to Hastenbeck? Or did I make the right choice? No, I definitely made the right choice! I'd probably have been shot or maybe hanged by enemies along the way!

"You'll have a tremendous job ahead of you, Lieutenant," said the Colonel pensively, as though reflecting on his own situation. "You'll be commanding new recruits, but I'm confident you'll manage."

Adam met the Colonel's gaze and bowed in gratitude.

"Thank you for your encouraging words, Colonel! I won't let you down!"

The weight of the responsibilities Adam would soon bear was immense, but thanks to the Marquis de Bréhant's words, he felt a little more confident. Fortunately, as a lieutenant, he had gained experience, just as the Colonel had mentioned.

He had learned his role under an excellent captain and had done reasonably well after the captain's death on the eve of the Battle of Fort Carillon.

His mind grew clearer, and his outlook on the future more confident. All his doubts dissipated, something the Colonel noticed with a faint smile.

The order to travel to Quebec had officially reached him, sealed with the coat of arms of Governor Vaudreuil, the highest representative of Louis XV in New France.

Adam wondered whether this journey was a reward or a test.

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On this first of March, 1759, a splendid sun illuminated a bright sky of deep blue. Although the air remained crisp, it carried the fresh scent of spring.

The gray, somber skies had completely disappeared.

The snow had already melted in many regions, and nature was coming back to life—or rather, awakening after a long slumber. The St. Lawrence had swollen, and the current was strong, but nothing prevented the Aréthuse from advancing toward its destination.

Gradually, the city of Quebec became clearer between the trees.

They were almost there!

As they approached Quebec, Adam felt his heart race. His palms grew clammy, and he was overcome by waves of heat. The cool air felt like a gentle caress on his face.

The city, perched atop its cliffs, emerged from the winter mist with an icy majesty. The massive fortifications, built to withstand British attacks, were almost intimidating.

Yet they also represented a reassuring safety, a barrier between the French forces and their enemies, as well as the wild beasts.

Slowly, the Aréthuse moved along the river and came to a stop opposite the port. By rowboat, Adam, the colonel, and his major—his right-hand man more than his lieutenant colonel—disembarked.

Entering the city, Adam was overcome by a certain apprehension. He was about to meet the city's governor and receive a certificate signed by His Majesty. Then, he would be granted command of a company.

Naturally, the group of officers made their way toward the fort.

In the courtyard, more than thirty soldiers stood waiting in formation, motionless and tightly aligned.

Adam saw some of his comrades—survivors from Captain Gilbert's company who had accompanied him here—join the group to present themselves and assume their own commands.

After all, it was unthinkable to leave a freshly formed troop with inexperienced officers and non-commissioned officers. Those who had survived the treacherous Indian attack at Fort Edward had all been promoted accordingly.

"This way, gentlemen. The governor and the marshal are expecting you," said an officer standing at the entrance of a grand stone building that seemed golden under the bright sunlight.

Adam felt his throat tighten and a growing weight press upon his young shoulders. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, leaving him unable to think clearly.

The room where the ceremony would take place was imposing, though modestly decorated. Situated at the heart of this immense building steeped in history—the same one that housed the governor's private apartments—it was lit by natural daylight streaming through impressive windows nearly three meters high.

The windows were framed by long, thick scarlet curtains held back by delicate golden cords.

The parquet floor was so polished, so shiny, that it perfectly reflected the various elements of the room.

A large oak table occupied the center of the space, covered with a simple white cloth that draped a few centimeters over the edges. The governor and the marshal stood before it, lending the moment a solemn gravity.

Colonel de Bréhant, majestic in his richly adorned uniform with gold embroidery, took his place to the left of the marshal, who currently served as the commander-in-chief of the King's armies in New France. He was soon joined by his major, responsible for all administrative matters of the company, which naturally included reviews and promotions.

Marshal-Duke de Richelieu stood as straight as a pillar, his aristocratic features and piercing gaze a reminder that he was as much a courtier as he was a soldier. Although nearly the same age as Governor Vaudreuil, who stood to his right, he dominated the assembly both in stature and in the commanding martial presence he exuded.

The governor, on the other hand, displayed a calmer demeanor despite the richness of his attire and the grandeur of his wig. His gaze also conveyed a certain strength, though it was subtler, giving the young man the impression that he was a reasonable and attentive leader.

To Adam, Colonel de Bréhant—unlike the major—seemed like a genuine ally. He found some comfort in the discreet kindness of the colonel's barely visible smile.

The major, true to his role in the regiment, resembled a brick wall: solid, immovable, and unyielding.

Adam stopped at a respectful distance from these distinguished officers, standing so straight one might think a rope was tied around his neck. His hands hung at his sides, the one holding his black tricorn hat slightly more tense than the other.

His long reddish-brown hair was carefully combed, more so than usual, giving him a slight resemblance to a young Scottish nobleman.

The silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the grand stone fireplace, above which hung a magnificent portrait of Louis XV as a victorious warrior-king.

"Lieutenant François Boucher," began Richelieu in a clear, solemn voice, like a priest delivering a sermon in his church, "you learned under Captain Gilbert what it means to be an officer in the glorious royal army, and you assisted him until his tragic death at Fort Carillon. Since then, you have carried out his duties without holding his rank, until the company under your care was too weakened to be maintained."

Adam swallowed hard and involuntarily lowered his head, recalling those terrible events.

"We have concluded," continued the aged marshal in a formal tone, "that the loss of your men was not due to any poor decision on your part, which is why you were not held accountable. Your actions since the Battle of Fort Carillon on July 8, 1758, have convinced us of your worth, even in adversity. The recommendations of your colonel and the various reports from Nova Scotia attest to an officer capable and worthy of the King's trust."

Each word seemed to hang heavily in the air, and Adam felt his breathing slow, only to quicken again under the weight of the moment. He had prepared for this, but hearing it articulated so officially made the experience feel different, almost surreal.

He felt as though he were dreaming.

The marshal gestured to the major of the Picardy Regiment, who approached to hand Adam a sealed document. Adam did not move but extended both hands while bowing respectfully, striving to appear as dignified as possible.

He took the paper with trembling hands, his heart on the verge of bursting, and waited for what came next. There, at the bottom, was the King's signature.

"As such, His Majesty grants you the rank of captain as of today," Richelieu continued, his voice louder now, as if proclaiming it to the entire world. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you, General! I will prove myself worthy!"

The marshal gave a slight nod and gestured for the major to proceed. The major removed the epaulet from Adam's left shoulder before turning to face the other officers and the governor.

With precise, almost mechanical steps, he walked over to the oak table and placed the small epaulet down before taking a new one, more ornate and gilded.

When he returned to Adam, the major fastened the new epaulet onto his right shoulder. There was no other word to describe what Adam felt at that moment but "immense pride."

The young man held back his tears and struggled not to let his joy show. Finally, a red silk sash with golden fringes was handed to him.

"Your new company awaits you, Captain."

Vaudreuil then spoke, his voice less piercing but just as firm: "You will command men in circumstances we know to be challenging. War is not something to be taken lightly, and your responsibilities will be immense. It is through these trials that good officers prove themselves. Use this promotion to serve France with honor."

Adam nodded, feeling the weight of all four men's gazes on him. He knew the hardest part was only just beginning.

As Adam was about to leave the room to formally take command of his company during a troop review—albeit a smaller one, as only his company would be present—Colonel de Bréhant stopped him.

"Captain Boucher, come now, you're about to take command of your first company. Surely you don't plan to present yourself like this, do you?"

Adam stared at his superior, confused by his words. He was clean—well, mostly—groomed, and wearing his epaulet, sword, and sash.

What's wrong with that?

"Here. Consider it a gift. For the new year, albeit a bit late," the colonel said with a satisfied smile, handing him a magnificent white wig.

A… a wig?! I… I'm really going to wear that?!

Even as a lieutenant, he had never worn one, although it was customary on special occasions. Given the circumstances, he had simply powdered his hair until now.

The wig was an important element of an officer's attire. The colonel wore one, as did his major, and, of course, the marshal and the governor.

Like the rest of his outfit, this wig symbolized his rank and enhanced his prestige in the army. At the time, wearing a high-quality wig was a given for members of high society or those aspiring to be recognized as such.

It was no coincidence that many captains wore wigs, even outside of ceremonies. This was true, for instance, of the young Martin Morrel de Lusernes, as he hailed from nobility.

"Thank you, Colonel, for this gift! It's magnificent, and I will take great care of it!"

"I should hope so. It's a fine wig made of real hair. Try it on—let's see if it suits you."

Obediently, Adam concealed his hair beneath the wig, whiter than his uniform. After a few adjustments, it was so well-fitted that one might have thought it was his own hair, merely powdered and styled.

"Perfect. It suits you splendidly. Although, it doesn't quite hide the scar on your temple. Hmm, in fact, it seems even more noticeable. Well, let's say it adds character. Is it comfortable?"

"Yes, Colonel. There's no discomfort."

"Excellent. In that case, let's head down. We mustn't keep your company waiting any longer."