Reborn As a Pirate

Remember in a second【】

"The wind direction is southeast and east, the wind force is two knots, and it is a breeze!"

"Anchor!"

"Fold in the square sail, unfurl the jib, and catch the wind!"

"Hoist the schooner!"

"The Jackdaw is heading west! Cruise attitude!"

At ten o'clock in the morning, an order sounded on Lake Pontchartrain, and the Jackdaw stepped on the waves and slowly left the shore, starting a new round of cruise in the direction of the battlefield less than one kilometer from the lake.

On the seventh day of the alert, Lorraine had given up aimlessly looking for enemy ships on the vast lake, and instead, like the Iron Felt Battalion, carried out targeted cruises in cooperation with the actions of the Earl's Guards.

Generally speaking, in order to cope with the carriages and bumpy roads, his boat needs to maintain a low speed of 3-5 knots, travel an average of no more than 8 kilometers per hour, and drive for about two hours to reach the shore of the battlefield lake.

It is said that this is the optimal solution for both "grace and speed".

Lorraine made a calculation. As the host of a war and the only coach of nearly 8,000 mercenaries, the earl needs to spend 4 hours going to and from the battlefield every day, and another 2 hours to and from Kent Manor, plus the time spent in the barracks. Business time...

In fact, this genius general is so busy every day that he doesn't even spend more than 2 hours on the battlefield.

This time may not be enough for a small-intensity naval battle.

Is the army so idle?

Or was this the method by which the Earl told the Baton Rouge Legion that the war was far from over? They still have a lot of time to intercept the smuggled arms confidently?

Sure enough, the world of politics is too difficult to understand.

Lorraine sat on the bow of the boat, crossed his legs lazily, looked at the blue sky, white clouds, and the blue sails on the lake, and sighed long and faintly.

"Meow?" White Ears rubbed against his thigh comfortably.

Lorraine reached out and picked up the little fat cat, and squeezed its swollen belly a few times: "I can hardly run anymore, tell me, how much did you eat today?"

"Boat...Captain." Noah stood timidly behind Lorraine, arguing for her soul mate, "White ears are not used to fish in the river,

In the past few days, the meal standard has been reduced. Pierce pureed the fish, mixed it with milk and biscuits, and he barely ate a little, not much. "

"Not much is how much?"

"About... 300 grams."

"Three hundred grams is a big bowl! Which cat can eat like this!"

Nuoya pursed her lips, and retorted in a low voice: "Other people's cats don't know how to divination...it's hard work to have white ears."

In this world, even Nuoya would be stubborn.

Lorraine sighed depressedly, threw his hands away, and threw the fat cat back to its doting owner.

Only then did Nuoya become happy: "Captain, are you irritable?"

"Well... the British don't know when they will be willing to make a move. The Earl is idle every day. This battle has been fought for nearly two months, and our plan has been started for more than ten days... If this continues, when will I get back the capital? ?”

"Count Galvez... isn't he going to end the war? I heard from the sailors that the British haven't launched an attack for a long time, and the mercenaries are fighting the Indians these days."

"I don't know." Lorraine scratched his hair. "In the last interview, the earl clearly said that he was tired of this war. Karen also said that the number of mercenaries sent to the front line these days is far greater than the number of mercenaries who were attrition and withdrawn. It should be It is right that he is preparing to enter the final stage of increasing troops. But he only stays on the front line for 2 hours a day, can he really be sure of the battle situation?"

"Analyzing the battle situation is not his job. There is a staff group of the Governor's Mansion stationed on the battlefield, and they are in charge of the quick response and specific command. The count only needs to decide the strategy." Katerina stepped on the deck and walked up, throwing Come over with a binocular, "It's halfway through the trip, and today is still calm."

"You just want to tell me that today is another day of futility?"

...

Beating the marching drum, Robbie and his comrades walked neatly through the dense woods.

He is the sergeant drummer of the Iron Felt Battalion of the 7th Regiment of the 3rd Division of the Baton Rouge Regiment. He was ordered to participate in the training for seven days, and he is already very familiar with the conditions of the oak forest under his feet.

Where the ground is flat, it can be faster, and where the branches are overgrown, it needs to be slower.

Marching in a fighting posture is the strong point of the Iron Felt Battalion. Lieutenant Colonel Erwin said the most on weekdays, "The speed of the first round of shooting determines the chance of survival of the team", and the entire Iron Felt Battalion regards this as a standard.

They do not seek to make progress and never take risks, but they are also the most obedient to orders and undertake the most rigorous training.

That's why there is the Iron Felt Camp, which is well known to the world.

Their survivability is the strongest in the entire Louisiana Army, and even, perhaps the strongest in the entire New France Army.

But today, Robbie's drumbeat is much more chaotic than in the past. A layman may not be able to hear it, but the comrades who spend time together day and night have already noticed it.

The second lieutenant who served as the flag bearer raised his hand high: "Stop the drumming, rest on the spot for five minutes!"

With the order, the drums stopped, and the gunmen in the front row raised their rifles obliquely forward with uniform movements, paused to lean on their feet, and then dispersed, looking for dry tree trunks to rest their tired feet.

The second lieutenant frowned and walked in front of Robbie: "Sergeant Senna, why are you absent-minded today?"

"Sorry sir! Sorry sir!"

"I don't need an apology. I just want to know what got my drummer upset."

Robbie's face froze, and he turned

^0^ Remember in a second【】

Holding the drumstick, he hesitated: "Second Lieutenant, it's been seven days. The lieutenant colonel has never executed a military order for such a long time. He said that fatigue is the enemy of survival, and all tactics must take into account the soldiers' physical fitness."

"This is just a training session. The enemy is imaginary. Perhaps the purpose of the lieutenant colonel is to train our physical fitness and will."

"The enemy may not be imaginary!" Robbie snapped the drumstick, "Yesterday we were in charge of the fall, and I saw the lieutenant colonel and three majors riding side by side, discussing how to deal with the attack."

"How do you know what they're discussing?"

"Lip language! Ravna's mother hates me. Every time we have a tryst with her, we use lip language across the river. This is the secret of love!"

The second lieutenant looked at his drummer dumbfounded, and patted Robbie on the shoulder: "Just being familiar with [Waiting for me in the firewood room] is not proficient in lip language. Sergeant, calm down and concentrate. If you continue to beat like this, we will soldiers will trip over tree roots."

Robbie was disappointed. He could see that the ensign didn't trust him at all.

"Yes..." He stood at attention helplessly and saluted, before he turned around, there was a crisp gunshot from the woods, and a wave of warmth splashed all over the back of his neck.

On the branches of the oak tree, he saw a dozen or so crested and painted Indians poking out from among the dense branches and leaves.

He heard the second lieutenant behind him fall weakly and fell to the ground with a muffled bang.

He felt the bewilderment and horror of his comrades in arms, and he fired immediately with repeated orders, obviously every gun was ready to go, and obviously those guns were in their hands, but no one launched a counterattack against the target that was close at hand.

They need clear orders!

Robbie held the drumstick tightly, raised his arm violently, and slammed it heavily on the blood-spattered skin, boom!

"Indians found! Enemy attack! Against..."

bang bang bang!

There were three simultaneous gunshots from all directions, and two buckshot hit Robbie, one in the chest and sending him flying, and the other in the arm, which knocked the drumstick away.

He felt severe pain, his strength seemed to be sucked away by something, and he could no longer control his body.

He fell on his back next to the second lieutenant, twitching, staring straight at the golden tree crown.

Ravna, your mother...she was right.

goodbye……

Dear, this chapter is over, I wish you a happy reading! ^0^