I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

The Duke of Newcastle found his rival, who was also his political partner, standing before his desk, surrounded by clerks and military officers from both the navy and the army. They were observing and commenting on a large, detailed world map, though not without errors.

Everyone raised an eyebrow at the intrusion.

"My Lord Duke? I don’t believe we have an appointment? As you can see, I am currently busy. Could you come back later?"

“I’m afraid it’s urgent, sir,” the Duke of Newcastle said coldly, surprising those present a second time.

“Very well. We were almost done, but... Gentlemen, please excuse me. It seems this cannot wait a few hours. I will see you out.”

The officers, all high-ranking men accustomed to commanding thousands on various battlefields, grimaced as they headed toward the door in deathly silence. This treatment was perfectly unacceptable. It was no different than being treated like mere footmen.

The door closed behind the men, leaving the Secretary of State and the Duke alone in the vast room, so silent one could have heard a pin drop. Even the small clock on the large desk seemed to have stopped ticking.

“Well, sir! What a dramatic entrance! Those gentlemen won’t soon forget it. What was the urgency?” Pitt asked, carefully folding the map while inviting the Duke to sit down.

“Sir, you’ve returned from Plymouth, I believe?”

“Indeed.”

“Did you meet with Admiral Hawke?”

“Him and the captains who disobeyed his orders, responsible for the loss of three of His Majesty's ships and many others.”

Hmm, the words and tone suggest that he holds those three men accountable rather than the admiral…

“What do you make of the matter? Be honest, I beg you.”

“When am I not?” the man replied, sitting heavily across from the Duke, chuckling softly.

The Duke’s gaze did not waver, and William Pitt adopted a more serious posture, as if he had been accused of a crime and had to defend himself.

“In truth, sir, I am torn. Grave mistakes were made that day, and a great opportunity was squandered. That fleet which departed from Brest… it could cause us much trouble. The time that has passed without any action leads me to believe it did not set sail for our coasts or for Scotland. We would have spotted them. That leaves the West and the South. If it finds our squadron currently besieging Saint-Louis in Senegal…”

“I am not speaking of that squadron, but of the admiral.”

Don’t deflect the conversation, Pitt! That won’t work on me!

Pitt was slightly taken aback by his rival’s sharp tone.

They had known each other long enough to interpret each word and intonation with relative accuracy. He tilted his head slightly to the side.

The Duke of Newcastle’s face was rigid rather than impassive, his breathing shallow, and his movements minimal. Everything suggested that he was worried.

“Mr. Hawke made an error in judgment, but that’s just my opinion. If the court, which will soon convene aboard HMS Neptune, declares that the conditions were no longer suitable for victory, then the admiral will be in the clear.”

“And if they declare that he did not do everything in his power to secure a victory at sea?”

“Then I will defend him, as I did with Lord Byng. No, I will fight even more fiercely, for the kingdom needs experienced men like him. We cannot afford to lose this man.”

That was precisely what the Duke wanted to hear, but was he sincere? That was the real question, and it had been tormenting him since Holland House.

I wish I could trust him, but… I think him capable of sacrificing Hawke as if he were nothing more than a chess piece, important, yes, but a mere piece all the same. I wonder what piece I am to him? A rook? A bishop? Perhaps just a pawn?

The two men remained still and silent for a long minute, but as it became clear that he would not learn more, the Duke stood up.

“I sincerely hope you will support him alongside me, sir. If he were to die, it could have the most terrible effect on our officers. They might seek to avoid confrontation for fear of losing ships and being punished by the Admiralty and His Majesty.”

Pitt nodded slowly, his expression difficult to read, before handing the Duke a paper.

“What is this?”

“I intended to share this information with you, but since you are here… The minister, or rather the ex-minister, of Frederick II of Prussia, Karl Wilhelm von Finckenstein, was executed in public in Berlin last week. The charge was high treason. You can inform your man; after all, it’s thanks to him. A shame it wasn’t the goal—it was quite a move.”

“…"

"Honestly, you surprise me, My Lord Duke. I didn’t know you to be so determined. It’s good to know.”

“For the good of the kingdom,” the Duke whispered.

“For the good of the kingdom,” William Pitt agreed. “Fortunately, all is not yet lost in Prussia. We still have two cards to play, though they are not the best.”

“Which ones? Ah,” he realized, “you must be talking about the elder von Finckenstein? Do we know what happened to him?”

“He is still alive, which is all that matters, isn’t it? The Prussians who do not wish to see their kingdom disappear will naturally turn to him, though von Zieten would have been a far better candidate. His suicide, though understandable, is regrettable.”

“And the second? Were you thinking of General Keith? Do you know where he is?”

"No, I have no information about him. Last I heard, he was being pursued by the Austrians. Maybe he surrendered? No, sir, I was thinking of Ferdinand of Brunswick-Lüneburg. I think—no, I am sure—that he hasn’t surrendered and never will. With our support, he might be able to hold them off in the region for several months more, maybe even until next spring, against Prince de Soubise’s army."

“Hmm, perhaps,” the duke sighed as he handed the letter back to Pitt.

Slowly, he walked toward the office door and placed his hand on the magnificent golden handle decorated with delicate engravings.

I can’t tell if he’s an ally or an adversary. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on him. If he truly wants to save him, I’ll know.

“What do you think,” the duke asked without turning around, “where is this squadron headed?”

Pitt, with both hands resting on his left knee, which had suddenly started hurting, slowly raised his head and observed the broad back of the Duke of Newcastle.

“In my opinion, it’s heading for New France. I imagine the worst, so I won’t be caught off guard, but I hope it won’t arrive in time to save Louisbourg.”

“Hmph, even if they did arrive during the siege, what could five thousand men do?” Newcastle replied, slowly opening the door.

“Sometimes, sir, I have a hard time understanding you. In the morning, you are decisive, and by evening, hesitant. Perhaps it’s time to make up your mind? The French are and always will be a threat, as long as they have enough strength to rise again. They must never be underestimated, especially when led by a determined general like Richelieu. And when they’re desperate, they become even more dangerous. That’s when they are at their most cunning, their cruelest, but also their bravest.”

***

At the same moment, far to the west, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, about eight hundred kilometers off the Irish coast.

“No! I’m not moving from here! I’m not going any higher!”

“Stop whining and climb!”

“I refuse! I’m not going any higher!”

“We’re not even halfway up, you know? Come on!”

“I said ‘no’! I’m not moving!”

“As you wish. But if the boatswain comes to drag you up by the scruff of your neck, don’t complain.”

Adam said nothing, closing his eyes as tightly as his hands were gripping the ropes. His hands were clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white. Hot tears flowed freely down his tense, ghostly pale face, whiter even than the sails of the Ocean.

Timidly, he risked a glance down, though he had been warned not to.

Oh my God!

His head began to spin, and his vision blurred.

His body was so tense that it was impossible for him to move even a single muscle. It wasn’t just like glue holding him in place; it was as if screws had been driven into his bones at every joint.

I... I can’t move! I can’t move!

The knot of anxiety that had formed in his stomach while he was still on the main deck had risen into his throat and now seemed ready to escape. It was as if he clenched his teeth to stop the knot from tumbling overboard.

W-we’re so high! My God, we’re so high!

With his head pressed against the ropes forming a ladder to climb the rigging, he refused to take another step. The wind, now stronger, whistled in his ears and blew his hair back.

While this level of wind was quite bearable on the deck, it felt terrifyingly powerful in the heights.

He had never felt such fear before. Compared to this, a battlefield seemed like a pleasant stroll in the park.

“Seriously, you should start climbing. The faster you reach the foremast top, the sooner we can get back down.”

Adam stole a glance at the sailor accompanying him, then looked up at the large platform far above his head. Next, he looked down again. The deck and the people on it looked so small. It felt like he was several dozen meters high, though he knew that wasn’t the case. At best, he was five meters up.

W-why am I so scared?! Why?! Urgh!

Frozen in place for over three minutes, he felt the wind whipping him, gravity pulling him relentlessly toward the center of the earth. A part of him—thankfully a small part—whispered that he should just let go and end his torment.

“Well, we don’t have all day, kid! Come on! You’re a brave soldier, right? A lieutenant? Then prove you’ve got guts and climb!”

Adam slowly opened his mouth, more difficult than if he were a rusty machine, and inhaled a deep breath of salty sea air. Ignoring the crashing waves against the warship’s hull, he raised his right leg and awkwardly placed his foot on one of the thick ropes that made up the shrouds, then lifted his left hand higher.

Slowly, he pulled himself up with all the strength he had in his arms and legs, praying someone would just put him out of his misery.

“That’s it, lad! Just a little more effort! You’re almost there!”

The soldier, who had shed his uniform and tricorn to make the climb easier, barely heard the sailor’s encouragement—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. His heart and the wind were making too much noise.

C-come on, j-just a little more! I’m almost… almost there!

Finally reaching the top, he had to grab onto new ropes forming wide square meshes between the yardarm—the long wooden beam from which the sails were unfurled—and the foremast top. The trick with these new ropes was that they forced him to face the open void, like a spider clinging to the ceiling.

Because he hadn’t looked closely at the setup before reaching the wide platform, he was caught off guard.

W-what the hell is this?! N-no way!

“How do I do this?”

“Like you’ve been doing so far, one step at a time. It’s not complicated!”

“But…”

“No buts! Come on! Hey, don’t forget there’s someone up there to help pull you up!”

Easier said than done! Damn it! Shit! To hell with all of you! Bastards!

With a trembling, uncertain hand, he grabbed one of the vertical ropes as high as he could and pulled with all his might to help him climb. His entire body was aching. His right foot, bare, finally found another thick, rough rope that seemed sturdy enough to support an elephant, though to him, it looked barely strong enough to hold his weight.

Like a man overboard, he extended a desperate hand toward the top, and miraculously, a hand grabbed it. A force suddenly pulled him upward, and finally, he reached the foremast top. Though it would be more accurate to say he collapsed onto it.

“Well! You sure took your time! I thought I’d fall asleep waiting!”

Adam timidly raised his head and glared at the sailor looking down on him. What was frustrating, even humiliating, was that his savior couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old—the same age Adam actually was.

It was easy to read the contempt in his gaze. To this brown-haired, brown-eyed boy, with short hair to minimize the risk of lice—plague aboard ships—Adam appeared to be an adult of twenty-one.

Don’t look at me like that, you bastard! I did my best, okay?!

Soon, another man arrived on the platform, which suddenly seemed quite small. It was Michel Renier, the tall sailor covered in tattoos, his back lined with long scars.

“Good job, lad! Next time, you’ll be even faster! Though, really, it’s hard to do worse.”

Adam, clutching tightly to the ropes securing the top part of the mast, shot a dark look at the sailor, who seemed to be enjoying the situation.

“N-next time?!”

“Of course! You need to practice in case we need you to furl or unfurl the sails! We’re counting on you!”

The young man trembled with rage and terror at the thought of having to climb up here again, possibly in the middle of a storm. He looked at everything above him and shook even harder.

Then, he looked at the yardarms and imagined himself hanging over the void, with no real safety, trying to tie knots without falling. He trembled even more, something the two sailors didn’t miss, as they burst out laughing.

“HAHAHAHA! That face! It’s priceless!”

"Looks like he’s seen a ghost! Haha!"

Adam’s face, already pale as could be—though it seemed impossible—suddenly darkened.

“You think this is funny?! Damn it!”

“We’re just messing with you, kid! Relax a little and enjoy the view!”

With a dark look, Adam turned around and took in the seascape that stretched before him like an immense panorama.

The Ocean seemed so small on this vast expanse of deep blue sea. The sky was equally breathtaking, dotted with a few gray and white clouds, casting large shadows over the water’s surface. From his vantage point, the ship’s movement was palpable. It was almost as if he were one with it.

Around them, the ships of Duquesne de Menneville’s squadron sailed swiftly, their broad sails unfurled and filled by a southwesterly wind.

To the left of the proud vessel, cutting through the waves with disconcerting ease, large gray clouds covered the horizon. You could even see a few flashes of lightning.

“Hmm, there’s a storm over there.”

“Yes. It’s already been spotted, and it seems to be getting closer. With some luck, we’ll avoid it. Otherwise...”

“Otherwise?”

“Well, otherwise, things are going to get rough.”