Moonlit Conversation

Because the small town of Hameln had fallen under their control, Adam thought they wouldn't need to camp out in the wild anymore. With the stifling heat, all he wanted was to lie down in a bed in a cool room and not move. Unfortunately, due to the very large number of French soldiers in such a small town, which had only about three to four thousand inhabitants, they were largely forced to remain outside the walls.

The marshal's army indeed consisted of nearly sixty thousand men, including ten thousand cavalrymen. Finding accommodation for all these people in such a small town was simply impossible.

The inhabitants, however, were not spared. Starting with the officers, they were forced to host at least two French soldiers under their roofs. This, as Adam quickly learned, was a common practice, even in peacetime.

The soldiers of Marshal d'Éstrée closely monitored the local population and ensured that order did not collapse. Above all, they made sure there were no conflicts during their stay in the town.

What the marshal needed was time to reorganize his troops and take possession of everything the enemy had left behind in their flight. He couldn't afford any distractions.

It's so quiet, Adam thought after moving away from the camp and the town.

The Weser River flowed peacefully before him, faintly illuminated by an almost full moon and the stars. The water level was very low due to the heat of the past few days. The silt that usually covered the riverbed and was now exposed to the open air had become dry and cracked. As for the wetlands in the region, they weren't in great shape either.

The heat is finally dropping. I can finally breathe!

A feeling of loneliness suddenly overwhelmed the young man, who was sitting on a large, rounded rock. A tear began to roll down his cheek, and as soon as he noticed it, he hastily wiped it away, forcing himself to stop crying.

I want to go home…

Even though this body seemed older, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, inside, he was only sixteen. Despite putting on a brave face at school, he was aware that he was actually just a kid. He was far more fragile than he let on.

Often, he felt like he was playing a role, deceiving those close to him, starting with his friends and family. He pretended to be confident, to be someone reliable and strong. Even on vacation, even in another country, he hadn't taken off this mask, because so far, this strategy had worked out well for him.

Even though he often clashed with his teachers and parents, he had managed to make loyal friends and to be liked by girls.

His appearance, in the latter case, certainly played a role, as he was rather good-looking, but that wasn't all the girls wanted. At least, that's what he had come to understand over time. To be popular, you had to know how to talk, be able to make quick decisions, and be a bit wild.

When he had changed schools, he had created this persona, and he had been surprised by his own success. Since then, he hadn't taken off his mask even once.

But that evening, it tore like a fragile sheet of paper.

What should I do? What should I do to go home! I miss my home! I want to see my parents again!

Adam broke down in tears, thinking about the life he had left behind. The worst part was that he hadn't had a choice. No one had warned him that he would travel through time, and no one had explained to him how to make the return trip. It was entirely possible that he would remain in this time period until his death!

It was this terrible thought that finally caused him to crack.

Despite everything that had happened, all the reprimands and even the arguments, he loved his parents deeply. More than anyone else, they worried about him. Like all good parents, they wanted what was best for him. They wanted his happiness and for him to become a good adult.

But he had disappointed them.

By wearing this mask for so long, he had come to forget who he really was. Bad grades at school, poor behavior toward teachers, acts of delinquency, lies. He had become someone despicable for a bit of popularity.

To help him, his parents had paid for a vacation abroad, even though financially they weren't in the best situation. They wanted him to travel, see new landscapes, and meet new people.

Not only had he not thanked them, but he hadn't called them even once since he left. He hadn't even kissed his parents goodbye when he left.

I'm such a piece of shit! Damn it!

A noise behind him suddenly startled him. Someone was approaching.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you."

It was Jules.

"Are you okay?" he asked with concern, sensing that his friend was not well.

"Ah, it's nothing," Adam replied, quickly stifling the sound of his sobs. "I was just thinking."

Jules had a rather pleasant face with a straight nose and bright eyes. In one of the rare memories that had surfaced, Adam had seen him with his long blond hair down, framing his face like curtains. In that memory, they were sitting near a much narrower river than this one, trying to fish with rods improvised from simple branches. He seemed much younger than he was now. Maybe he was twelve or thirteen. They seemed to be having a lot of fun with François.

Seeing this image as if the event had been experienced by Adam was very unsettling.

Since his awakening, he still didn't know how to interact with these people who thought of him as their friend. Adam felt guilty, even though he wasn't responsible for this situation. That was also why he had isolated himself. Every time they called him by that name that wasn't his, he felt like he was deceiving them. Like he was an imposter. And the more time passed, the worse he felt.

I can't tell them how I feel. That I'm not their friend. That he's dead, in a way.

"Don't worry," Jules said in a very understanding tone. "It's normal to not feel well. I completely understand."

No, you can't understand. No one can! Everyone I knew, all my friends, my parents; none of them were even born! I'm alone, and I can't say anything to anyone!

"Miss home, huh? Leaving the village, staying in a barracks, and now marching in a foreign land... it's a lot to handle."

"Yeah, I miss home. I'd like to go back, but I don't know when that'll be possible."

Adam deliberately kept his response vague, and it seemed to work.

"No one knows. The others aren't in great shape either, you know? Everyone's wondering how long this campaign will last. All we can do is follow orders as best we can and look out for each other, like we promised on the day we enlisted."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. I shouldn't worry about things I have no control over."

Jules looked at his friend with a hint of surprise. That statement was surprisingly wise. He settled down next to Adam and gazed with him at the river, which flowed south to north at this point until it emptied into the North Sea.

"Hey, Jules?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a strange question?"

"Of course. Ask me anything."

"What's today's date? The exact date?"

Jules slightly turned his head and observed his friend's face, of which he could only make out the profile. Despite the darkness, he could distinguish the tight bandages wrapped around François's head. If he had seen blood on them, he hadn't noticed any change that afternoon, meaning his friend wasn't bleeding anymore. But that didn't mean he was in the same condition as before his injury.

"It's July 28th. It's Thursday."

Adam bit his lower lip, regretting that his new friend hadn't mentioned the year, the one piece of information he really cared about.

"Wh-what year?"

Jules looked at his friend with concern. Not knowing what day it was, that was understandable, but not knowing the current year, that was far more serious. His gaze filled with worry, he stared at Adam for a long time, not realizing that Adam was sweating profusely, imagining all sorts of scenarios in which he would be exposed.

He feared, in the worst case, that they might torture him, thinking he was a spy, only to reveal that he had traveled through time and accidentally possessed François's body like a demon, all to end up on a stake.

"1757," Jules said, almost in a whisper.

"1757, right."

Jules let out a small sigh of relief, seeing his old friend's reaction.

"Are you sure it wasn't too early to leave the field hospital?" he felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

"Don't worry, Jules. My thoughts might be a bit scattered, but I'm not in as much pain. Others need a place in the hospital more than I do."

Jules gently nodded and said nothing more. They remained silent by the river for a while before going to bed.

1757?! 1757?! It's 1757?! What important stuff happened in 1757?! I don't even know what war this is or how long it lasts! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I should've paid attention in class instead of wasting time goofing off and chatting! The only wars I know are the First World War, the Second World War, and the Hundred Years' War! When did the Hundred Years' War end?! Wait, wasn't that in the Middle Ages?! Shit, I don't know anymore!

While intensely processing this new information, Adam headed straight for the tent assigned to him in the camp. Since all the tents looked identical, he had to memorize its location.

The camp, set up at the foot of the town of Hameln, at a reasonable distance from the river, covered a large area with its streets and guards. It was like a city made of white cloth. In some places, fires were burning, as they had needed to heat food.

The smell was strong, like that of a poorly maintained stable. If you concentrated, you could still smell the scent of burnt powder, even though the cannons had stopped firing by mid-morning. They were all lined up like little soldiers outside the camp, closely guarded to prevent sabotage. Although Marshal d'Éstrée had sixty-eight of them, which was considerable, each piece was precious.

Because the weather was dry, the king's soldiers didn't have to wade through mud or sleep wet. They could count themselves lucky to only have to complain about the heat and the insects. These were numerous in the region and didn't care about the soldiers' consent, invading the tents. Mosquitoes were the most cunning and annoying.

Adam had been bitten in several places, particularly on his arms and legs. His limbs had turned red from scratching. The fact that he could close his tent, which he shared with other soldiers, hadn't stopped them from getting in.

He removed his tricorn hat, placing it with his cartridge box and belt, to which a bayonet was attached. It was the long point that fixed to the end of a rifle. Barbaric to the eyes of a modern-minded person who had only known peace, it was actually a very common weapon at the time. During an infantry charge, it allowed soldiers to continue fighting. These long rifles could only fire one shot at a time. After each shot, the weapon had to be reloaded and regularly cleaned, which took time. A bayonet, however, didn't need reloading. It was just a long point designed to be driven into the enemy's body.

The young soldier, too exhausted from the day, didn't dwell on it any further and carefully removed his white coat, being mindful of his shoulder wound, which was as sensitive as his head, and lay down on it. Between the dry grass and his coat, there was only a thin mattress, no different from the one he had woken up on in the field hospital. It was just a sack filled with straw. His coat offered an additional layer, but it was incomparable to the modern comfort Adam was used to.

Oh God, my back! Please let me wake up in a real bed! Let this all just be a dream!