Jacques Fournier adjusted his cap, trying his best to find the right position so that the visor could effectively block the sun from getting at his eyes. The Frenchsar sighed; such was life in the land they call Texas, a place that very well could be considered the closest thing to hell on earth. Why a bunch of Americans decided to settle here and try to declare independence from Mexico, he would never understand, it seemed to him just another example of American foolhardiness.
A trait they inherited from the English, no doubt. He kept that thought to himself, for he could see he was in the presence of troops who spoke clear English. The Anglo-Texians were, from his personal experience, generally stubborn and easy to set-off and he was in no mood to try to start a fight. He had his fair share of it in his youth, that was certain; angering an Anglo several times your size only asked for a broken snout.
Jacques was an immigrant, his parents moving across the turbulent Atlantic to settle at the former Texian capital of Washington (not, of course, to be confused with the official US capital) when he was only ten. He had fond memories of life in Pouance, especially of the magnificent ruins of the castle that towered over the town, built to defend the Count of Anjou’s holdings against Brittany. The town was quaint, with its medieval houses and its overall history; although not a big town by any stretch, it seemed like Paris in comparison to Washington (at least, at the time his family arrived there on a buggy September evening in 1856). Washington itself was in a period of decline at that point, the construction of a new railroad that connected to Galveston bypassed the Brazos River completely. Since then, it had recovered somewhat thanks to the influx of French settlers but to Jacques, it will forever be a puny town.
Rubbing his snout, he realized he was in a particularly foul mood today, as he wondered with all of his grumbling why he chose to stay in Texas rather than move back to France. His thoughts, however, were interrupted when he heard a voice cry out, “Attention!” That call, while spoken in English, was easy for the non-English speaking recruits (and there were many at this camp) to understand, for it was a universal demand that was drilled into each and every sar and wosar present.
The throng of recruits stood stock still as an officer, who stood out with his calf-high leather boots and saber attached to his belt, appeared on the parade grounds. He was a stern-looking rattlesnake and clearly a Tejano, as they were the only Nonsaurians allowed to become officers; while Hispanics were generally treated with suspicion by a good chunk of the Texian population, the significant influence France had during the time the Franco-Texian Bill was still active and the large presence of French nationals in the Republic had given the Catholic Hispanics greater power and representation. He was soon accompanied by two other officers, one a Bead Lizard and the other a Variraptor; the snake began speaking in clear (albeit accented) English, “Reservists, you have been called up because our great Republic faces a great threat for the Mad Emperor-”
As the officer continued on with his speech, Jacques realized the purpose of his two companions: they served as translators for those with only a tenuous grasp on English. One, the lizard, translated into Spanish, and the other into French; while he himself knew a fair amount of English, he thanked God that they had someone who spoke fluent French so he could fully understand what the rattlesnake was saying.
The essentials of the speech were that the Republic was facing double threats from California and the Confederate States: the Californian Emperor, Joshua Norton, was seeking to expand the Arizona Territory all the way to the Rio Grande while the Confederates were seeking to push west into the panhandle toward the river. Texas was also in a less direct war with its old friend, the United States, for President Wigfall had wished to enforce the Republic’s old northern claims along the Colorado River. The long and the short of it was that Texas was in serious trouble and that was why the Federal government was calling up all able-bodied sars and wosars who had previously completed their two years of service in the Army as Reservists. The regular Texian Army, numbering only less than five thousand troops, can barely compete with the much larger armies fielded by the Californians and Confederates, much less also keep garrisons in the various forts that dot the country.
And that was why Jacques was here, at this recruitment camp located to the northeast of San Antonio, where its namesake had fallen during the Texas Revolution. After the officer was finally done with his speech, Jacques was mustered to a part of the camp where the Reservists would test their accuracy. As he approached the overall firing range, he was curious as to what weapon the Republic was using now; he didn’t pay much attention to what guns the Army acquired since he served in the Army where has equipped with a Springfield rifle-musket. There, he was handed an example of the current standard-issue rifle of the Army of the Republic of Texas and grimaced at the very sight of it: a brand-new Austin Model 1867, a variant of the Dreyse Needle Gun. As the rifle utilized by the German armies during the Franco-Prussian War, Jacques almost felt he wanted to throw up at the thought of using a rifle that was used in the utter humiliation of his homeland.
Looking down at the weapon, he noticed that some of the other Frenchsars were having reservations about their choice of rifle as well. The Variraptor approached Jacques and, seeing his displeasure, asked “I see you are having second thoughts on the choice of rifle, huh?”
Nodding, Jacques gave his one-word reply: “Oui.”
“That’s what I thought,” the officer sighed. “I myself disagree with it but the Department of War decided to choose the Dreyse after the Prussian triumph over the Austrians. They thought it was a significant improvement over the Springfield minie rifles… which it certainly is. Nonetheless, they did pass over a contract from Sharps in favor of the Dreyse as they were so eager to adopt the Prussian rifle.”
Sighing, Jacques muttered, “They should have gone with the Sharps, not this Boche rifle.”
The officer simply shook his head. “That is not a decision I can make, that is for the Secretary of War. You could take it up with Monsieur Stockdale but something tells me he will not listen to one lone Reservist, regardless of how much effort it would take to seek a personal audience with him.”
Jacques simply stood there, staring glumly at the rifle before the officer walked off to talk with another Reservist. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally sighed and approached the firing range where he prepared to fire his rifle. Of course, he wasn’t used to a breech-loading weapon, much less one utilizing a bolt mechanism. Thankfully, there was a soldier there to instruct him on how to fire, load, and maintain the weapon and it didn’t take long before he got the hang of shooting it downrange. The targets were a group of hay bales and Jacques had scored an average amount of hits; he didn’t really care much for the rifle he was issued but he realized, much to his consternation, that he would have to rely on the damned thing until such time when all Reserves would be ordered to stand down.
