Chương 41: Smoke and Silence (Part 1)

The white-robed figures marched toward us, their boots eating up the uphill distance at a relentless pace. How long before they were upon us? Fifteen minutes? Ten? But why us? Why not the emperor? It made no sense. Had they received bad intelligence — mistakenly believing we were somehow important? Well. It didn't matter. In truth, it was a good thing. Yes… as terrifying as it was, my mission was to keep Napoleon safe. And this bought us time.

Even before the white robes arrived, Emile would warn the emperor of the assassins. Napoleon would be evacuated safely and would likely send his artillery platoon to help us engage the enemy. Together, along with the security squad Cinderella was fetching from the neighboring hill, we would have the numbers. And even if things went south, once Napoleon was safe, we could just retreat to the main camp. So, we just needed to hold them. It was simple, really. But…

how do you hold off an enemy that outnumbers you five to one? I didn't know the answer, and it scared me out of my mind. They had just killed Louis and Jean-Baptiste. I was just playing cards with them! I couldn't believe… No, what am I thinking? Snap out of it! This is a time loop. In a few hours, I will be playing cards with them again. I just need… well, I need to not die myself. Right now, I needed to act like a captain. I had to yell something encouraging to the soldiers, lift their spirits, or something.

And preferably, I needed to do it without sounding like I was about to wet myself.

"EVERYONE, LISTEN UP!" I had their attention.

"These stupid English bastards in their white robes think we are more important than the Emperor, and they've fancied an attack on us instead! That's good news. That means the Emperor can safely evacuate, and all we need to do is hold them off for a little while. Soon, reinforcements will arrive! From the other security squad, and from Napoleon's artillery!" I stopped, taking in their unsure, terrified faces. I needed to add something more.

"And remember the truth of our situation!" I yelled, projecting every ounce of confidence I could fake.

"We are in a time loop. No matter what happens to you here, you will wake up tomorrow. You are immortals!" The soldiers nodded, standing a bit taller, though they still looked scared to the bone. They knew they were in a time loop, yes, but that didn't make the prospect of death marching up the hill to claim them any less agonizing. But even afraid, they stayed. My lazy soldiers were brave like that, and right now, I was deeply grateful for it. Now it was Henry's turn to shout orders.

This was important too, because between us, he was the one who actually knew what he was doing. He barked his commands rapidly, organizing the defense with efficiency.

"Find your vantage points! Use the trees! Get behind the rocks and down into the shallow trenches! Keep your profiles low and your muskets ready! Do not bunch up!" Hearing Henry make order out of the chaos did wonders for my nerves, and probably the soldiers' too. It made me appreciate the man anew; his practical expertise was exactly what we needed to get out of this alive.

It took only a few minutes, and we were all in place, taking cover in strategic positions with loaded muskets in our hands and eyes fixed downhill.

"We will shoot our first volley at the seventy-yard mark," Henry ordered sharply.

"You will wait for my command. Aim for the enemy in the first row. I say again: do not shoot before I give the order!" I understood why he had to say it. Seeing an enemy charge like that triggers panic. I felt an urge to pull my trigger even now. But we were severely outnumbered; we couldn't afford to miss a single shot. I gripped my musket firmly, taking my position beside Henry behind a large, thick oak tree.

"Like you said," Henry muttered to me in a low voice, "this is a time loop, and we are immortal. But not you. When the enemy gets close—after our first volley—you make a run for the main camp. There is no shame in it." I nodded. Of course I would. I truly, genuinely did not want to die. The attackers began climbing. Despite the slope, they kept a strong, steady pace. At roughly two hundred yards they halted. I could see now that one of them wore a white robe marked with a striking red cross.

He paced before the others, barking sharp English orders and pointing directly at us—he had to be their captain. Then, he raised his musket and screamed a single word at the top of his lungs. I could safely guess the word was "Charge!" because the very next second, the entire line bolted into a frenzied sprint, screaming like demons as they surged straight toward us. Their tactic was clear: they weren't going to trade fire from cover. They were charging full speed to absorb our volley.

Some would fall, but they knew our numbers were small. It would take us twenty seconds to reload, and by the time we fired a second shot, they'd already be upon us. At close quarters, it would be a slaughter. I think Henry knew that too. And from the look in his eyes, it meant he intended to fight to the death. I looked down at my arms. I was shaking violently. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging them, but I forced my arms to steady. They were getting closer. Surely they had passed the seventy-yard mark.

We should shoot! What was Henry waiting for? I glanced at him. He raised his arm, his face locked in a mask of immense concentration. Waiting… waiting…

"FIRE!" he roared. I squeezed the trigger. Crack! Crack! Crack! We hit them. Seven dropped — red blooming across stomachs, arms, faces — collapsing mid-stride. The men behind them shoved the falling bodies aside without breaking pace. Some were visibly wounded and kept running anyway, eyes wide and frenzied.

"LOAD! Second volley!" Henry screamed.

"Fire at will!" I needed to run now. I knew it. This was the window. But I looked at my soldiers. I saw Antoine and Mathieu loading behind a large rock. Their faces were ashen with terror. They knew they were sacrificing themselves. The fact that it was a time loop didn't make it any less terrifying, but they were doing it anyway. And I think… I think they were doing it for me. I started to load my musket. Oh, what am I doing? Why am I not running? I can't believe I'm this stupid!

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"Drizella!" Henry looked at me, bewildered.

"After the second volley," I said.

"I'll go then." They were so close now. Yet, for some unbelievable, crazy reason, a sudden calm washed over me. As I primed my pan and rammed the lead ball down the barrel, my hands were perfectly steady. I could see their ugly, screaming faces now. Pox on you, I thought. Just wait until I put my lead in you… Then, we heard a new eruption of gunfire! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! But it wasn't any of my soldiers. And it wasn't the enemy either.

Men were surging from the side of the hill, pouring fire directly into the white-robed attackers! They weren't far off, and they were closing the distance fast. But who were they? It wasn't the squad from the neighboring hill—Cinderella wouldn't have even reached them yet, let alone brought them back. Then, I remembered. This was the squad Juliette had bribed to patrol the area and assist me! The men from the 23rd Regiment.

They must have heard the first volley that killed Louis and Jean-Baptiste and rushed to our aid. They were flanking the enemy, taking them completely by surprise. It was the absolute best thing that could have happened. I saw at least four enemies crumple to the dirt. But the morale effect was even more devastating. The white robes looked confused and panicked. They shouted at each other, and most importantly, their suicidal charge broke. Our second volley was ready. We opened fire, each soldier picking his moment.

I aimed steady. Maybe thirty-yard shot. Crack! Through the smoke, I saw it clearly—I hit a man squarely in the stomach, and he collapsed to his knees. The enemy was now caught in a brutal crossfire between our two squads. More bullets found their marks. At this distance, the carnage was horrifyingly clear: blood spraying, men screaming in agony, bodies littering the rocky floor of the hill. Unfortunately, the enemy quickly regained their composure.

The captain with the red cross stood tall and began barking rapid orders. Within moments, his men had identified a cluster of large rocks and sprinted for cover, returning fire almost immediately. The squad from the 23rd Regiment had been standing exposed. They were easy targets. I watched two of them take fatal hits, dropping hard to the ground. The rest scrambled into a shallow ditch and flattened themselves, reloading under fire. Now the entire dynamic of the battle had changed.

Where before it had been a desperate charge meant to overwhelm us through sheer numbers, it was now a proper firefight — two sides crouched behind cover, loading and shooting, measuring every yard. The white robes numbered fewer than forty now, but they still had us two to one. Occasionally, a small group of them would try to advance — crawling or sprinting toward closer cover while their comrades laid down fire to pin us. But my soldiers didn't flinch.

They picked off the advancing men sharply, and the white robes could only push forward at a crawl. That was all I really needed. Time. The reinforcements from the neighboring hill were coming. The artillery platoon would follow. If we held a little longer, we might not just survive this — we might actually win. Take prisoners. Interrogate them. Learn something that could matter. Yes… we could actually do it! I finished loading my third round.

I spotted two white robes breaking from cover, sprinting toward a tree about thirty yards closer to our position. Oh no, you don't. I raised my musket, tucked the stock tight against my shoulder, and tracked their movement. I squeezed the trigger. A hit! One of them went down — a hit to the left thigh, blood bright against the white robe. His companion grabbed him, hauling him up, trying to drag him back to cover.

They limped as fast as they could, but before they could reach the cover, a shot from our line took the helping soldier cleanly in the head. He dropped like a stone. The injured man was left to frantically drag himself the remaining few yards through the dirt. Henry gave me a hard look. Yes, it was time for me to bolt. I would head down the far side of the hill, meet Cinderella and the reinforcements halfway, and brief them on the situation.

Then, if I judged it safe enough, I might join the Napoleon artillery squad. I moved low and fast, abandoning the firefight to pick my way down the back slope. My progress was a blur of jagged rock and thorny brush that tore at my sleeves, but I didn't stop. As I rounded the base of the hill and the ground below came into view, my stomach dropped. Another group of white robes. Maybe twenty of them, moving steadily up the slope in a wide formation. Had they split off from the main force? No — they couldn't have.

They had come from another direction entirely. The woods, perhaps. And they saw me. Shouts. Pointing. They began spreading deliberately wide. They completely blocked my path. I looked desperately across the valley toward the neighboring hill. Yes, I could see them—the security squad Cinderella had gone to fetch. They were mobilizing, but it would take them time to arrive, and when they did, they would run headfirst into a force twice their size. I was trapped. We all were.

Suddenly, our prospects looked incredibly grim again. But there was still the artillery platoon. They had the numbers and the firepower; we just needed to wait for them. Panting and out of breath, I scrambled back up the incline and threw myself into the dirt beside Henry. He looked at me with wide eyes.

"More enemy," I said, still catching my breath.

"Twenty of them. Coming up the other side. We're surrounded." Henry's expression darkened with grim understanding. A long moment passed.

"We should gather all our forces and make a run for it," he finally decided.

"They outnumber us, but if the 23rd squad covers us, maybe we can make a break toward the shore road. But if we break from cover, we will be completely exposed, I thought, terrified. All forty of the white robes on this side will snipe at us.

"We will be slaughtered," I said, swallowing hard.

"Yes, we will," Henry agreed softly.

"But we will form a phalanx around you. You will have a real chance to make it out alive. If we stay here, it is only a matter of time before they overrun us."

"The Emperor's artillery platoon!" I insisted desperately.

"We just have to hold out a little longer. They will surely come…"

"Look!" Henry shouted, pointing violently toward the coast.

"Does it look like they are coming?!" I squinted through the smoke and confusion. The artillerymen and Napoleon's personal guard were just standing there, in the exact same formation as before. But I had sent Émile! He should have reached them by now, and they definitely heard the heavy gunfire. At the very least, they should have been escorting Napoleon to safety. I… I didn't understand. Then I spotted Émile. He was stumbling toward us from the direction of the shore. The enemy saw him too.

Immediately, three white-robed soldiers popped up from behind their rocks and opened fire. Émile didn't even know where the shots were coming from; he just ran blindly. The first volley missed, but they reloaded fast enough for a second. A bullet clipped his arm. He screamed, stumbling, but forced his legs to keep moving. He spotted our position and practically dove behind the thick oak tree, collapsing between me and Henry. He lay there, heaving for breath, his face ghostly pale.

A dark crimson stain was rapidly spreading across the sleeve of his coat.

"The artillery platoon… they didn't care about my warning," Émile gasped out, coughing through the pain.

"The officers… they said Napoleon doesn't run away from such trifles! When I told them we were outnumbered and begged for support, one of the officers shoved me into the dirt. He said it was our job to keep them safe, not the other way around." What Émile said hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. The artillery platoon wasn't coming. Not a single man of them. They just… didn't want to help. But what was this? Weren't we on the same side? Weren't we fighting and dying to keep them safe?

Without their support, it was only a matter of time. We were trapped, severely outnumbered, and bleeding out. It didn't take a tactical genius to see how this was going to end. Yet, beneath the crushing despair, something else gnawed at me. Something didn't sit right. Napoleon's personal guard was clearly still there with the artillery. Even if they refused to reinforce us, why wouldn't they evacuate Napoleon? The man was famous for his paranoid caution. I raised my spyglass and there I saw the Emperor.

He was just… sitting. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of him. It might have been the first time I had ever seen him sitting still, not pacing or barking orders. Adjusting the focus, I looked closer. The Emperor was holding a spyglass of his own. And it was pointed directly at our hill. Not just at our hill, I realized, my blood running cold. It was pointed at me. In that single, agonizing moment, everything clicked. I was stupid, yes. I had always been stupid.

But when all the cards were finally laid bare on the table, even I couldn't miss the truth staring me in the face. The Julian group that wanted me dead. The treasure delivered to the Empire with nothing asked in return. The endless cannon fire all morning — its noise and smoke perfect cover for the white robes to approach unseen. And now the Emperor of France was simply sitting in a chair, watching me fight for my life. Napoleon had betrayed me. Napoleon wanted me dead. He was the enemy.

As to why he put on this elaborate charade instead of just executing me quietly—it was because I was an official member of the Thomas Thomas faction. My death needed to look like a random English ambush that had absolutely nothing to do with him. If he killed me himself, he would make an enemy of the Thomas Thomas group, a powerful time-looper faction he held active contracts with.

All he had to do was sell me out, order his cannons to fire blindly at the sea, and collect millions of francs in treasure for the privilege. And now he was watching me, needing to ensure his lucrative contract was fulfilled. Sure, one piece of the puzzle was still missing: I had no idea why the Julian group wanted me dead—a million francs' worth of wanting me dead. Really, why? What was so special about me? I wasn't important. I was a nobody. I didn't deserve this, you bastards! A fiery rage igniting in my chest.

And I will survive. Despite all of this, somehow, I will survive… if only to spite you all!