It is the spring of 1757.
A year ago, Great Britain declared war upon France, restoring the natural order of world affairs; and promptly suffered a series of humiliating defeats and indignities. A British fleet failed to beat the French in an even fight (for which Admiral Byng has just, and justly, been shot), Minorca was lost, and British soldiers have suffered through hell in the Black Hole of Calcutta. Also an attempt to assassinate Louis XV has miscarried (not that that has anything to do with Britain of course, and cannot in any way be condoned; but it is a bit of a shame it didn’t come off . . .).
Albion perfides est sur le pied arrière! Vive la France! Mais sacré bleu! L’Anglais ne savent pas quand ils sont vaincus. Alors, nous devons les renvoyer à penser à nouveau. Aux armes, citoyens! Formez vos bataillons! (Attendez! C’est un anachronisme! Nom de Dieu, bordel de merde! Quoi qu’il en soit, vous avez l’idée . . .). Vive le Roi!
Saindoux is the key to slipping through the constricted Passage en Bas, which might be termed the backdoor to Canada. Possession of Saindoux will be essential for both armies, and allowing the enemy possession will result in them penetrating deeply into one’s rear, with consequences at once both humiliating and unpleasant.
Both sides, therefore, have sent expeditions towards Saindoux. The British have assigned a brigade under Lt. Colonel Flower, who will attempt to batter his way through, whilst Lt. Colonel Grenouille, commanding the French, has leapt into action, gathering a slightly smaller force, which he will augment with the braves of Le Grand Franc (apparently an honest Indian . . .).
The terrain is typical backwoods, full of trees and waterways, bushes and brambles, bears and wolves, and goodness knows what else. Very unpleasant anyway. And the flies will be out soon, so best get it all over with quickly, or we shall be undone.