Wearing British clothes as a second-generation aristocrat

Soon, the day to board the ship arrived as scheduled.

After bidding farewell to his tearful mother, his still-serious father, and his group of cronies in London, Dugan boarded a carriage and headed to Portsmouth.

Portsmouth Harbour, Britain's largest naval port, was already bustling with activity. Waves crashed against the rocks of the dock, making a dull thud. Ships of all sizes were moored in the harbor, their masts standing tall and sails fluttering in the wind.

The soldiers of the 94th Infantry Regiment, dressed in red uniforms and carrying packs, lined up neatly and boarded the transport fleet bound for India in an orderly manner. Meanwhile, Dugan, with the special order of the First Lord of the Navy, went straight to the most conspicuous flagship of the fleet, the HMS Victory.

As a mainstay warship of the British Navy, HMS Victory was a large and sturdy vessel with numerous gun emplacements and a smooth and clean deck, which was quite different from other crowded and dilapidated transport ships.

The crew members had already been notified, and upon seeing Dugan, they immediately stepped forward respectfully and bowed: "Major Connby, hello. I am the crew member ordered to guide you. Your private room is ready. Please follow me."

Dugan nodded slightly in return, carrying a suitcase containing clothes, weapons, and a small amount of money. He followed the crew up the narrow gangway to the deck, past the busy soldiers, and into the cabin.

Contrary to his expectations of a crowded and filthy warship, his single room, though not spacious, was very clean. It contained a single bed, a desk, and a chair, with a small storage cabinet in the corner. It was even thoughtfully equipped with a whale oil lamp and several rolls of stationery, making it a hundred times more comfortable than the communal sleeping quarters of ordinary soldiers.

This is the privilege that comes with connections and power: no need to squeeze into a small space with others, no need to endure bumps and stench.

Just as Dugan put down his suitcase and was about to organize his belongings, the door to the next cabin was pushed open, and a middle-aged man in a dark military officer's uniform came out.

The man was about thirty-four or thirty-five years old, with a tall and straight figure, a resolute face, deep eyes, and a gentle smile at the corner of his mouth. Although he was not dressed in fancy clothes, he had an aura of authority that commanded respect without anger. He was obviously an officer with rich combat experience.

The man's gaze fell on Dugan. He paused slightly, then stepped forward, extended his right hand, and said in a warm and humble tone, "Hello, young man, I am Arthur, also an officer on this trip to India. It seems we are neighbors."

"Nice to meet you!" Dugan quickly extended his hand and shook hands with him lightly. "Hello, Mr. Arthur, I am Dugan Connby, a major staff officer of the 94th Infantry Regiment."

Dugan introduced himself frankly, neither humble nor arrogant.

In his eyes, Mr. Arthur was just an ordinary middle-aged officer. Perhaps he had made great military achievements, but he was just one of the countless officers in the army. He never imagined that this seemingly ordinary man would one day defeat Napoleon and become famous throughout Europe as the Duke of Wellington.

"Connbei?" A hint of surprise flashed in Arthur's eyes, clearly indicating that he had already heard of this name.

After all, the old Earl's letter had already been delivered to him, and the duel between Duggan and Ken had made him somewhat famous in London's aristocratic and military circles. However, the rumored Duggan was a playboy who only knew how to eat, drink, have fun, and cause trouble.

But the Dugan before him was calm and composed, with clear eyes, and at least very polite. He showed no arrogance towards this unremarkable middle-aged man, which aroused Arthur's curiosity.

"Judging by your age, this must be your first time serving in the army, right?" Arthur leaned against the bulkhead and chatted casually. "This time we're going to India not just for a simple garrison, but to deal with the Indian Maharaja's army trained by the French. Those Indian soldiers are equipped with French weapons and use French tactics; they're not just simple barbarians."

When the topic of war came up, Dugan immediately became interested.

Although he was just a surgical intern before he transmigrated, he had a good understanding of modern world war history, especially the Anglo-French War and the Indian colonial war.

"You're right, Mr. Arthur." Dugan nodded in agreement. "The French infantry tactics are indeed unique, especially under Napoleon's command. They focus on concentrated firepower, are good at line charges, and their soldiers are well-trained and orderly in their advance and retreat. In addition, the French have given strict training to Indian soldiers. Although I believe we will win, it may not be an easy victory."

Arthur's curiosity deepened. He had only mentioned it casually, but he hadn't expected that this supposedly spoiled brat would have such a clear understanding of military tactics, or at least that he sounded quite knowledgeable about them.

So Arthur continued, "Oh? It seems you have some ideas about infantry tactics. Could you share your insights with me?"

Dugan's heart skipped a beat. People, especially young people, are competitive.

Since this senior officer had asked such a question, it would be too embarrassing for me not to say something.

Dugan paused, feigning deep thought, before slowly beginning to explain the rear-slope tactic that Wellington would later develop during the Peninsular War, presenting it as his own idea: "The French are very skilled in using column tactics, but I have an idea that might counter their tactics. We can utilize the terrain to deploy our infantry behind the hillside, forming concealed positions to avoid the French's frontal fire. When the French charge down the hillside, we can then position ourselves on higher ground, with only one or two men per column, changing the traditional three-column formation. This allows us to concentrate our firepower while simultaneously sending a small number of cavalry to flank and outflank the enemy. This will reduce our own casualties and effectively rout the enemy."

Upon hearing this, Arthur's eyes lit up. He leaned forward slightly, his expression becoming serious and focused. The tactic that Dugan described seemed simple, but it struck at the heart of the French army's tactics. The French army relied on frontal firepower, and once they lost their line advantage, their dense line formations would become sitting ducks. Moreover, the advantage of firing from a high vantage point could maximize the power of the rifles.

Arthur remained silent for a moment, his mind racing as he considered the feasibility of this tactic. It seemed far-fetched, but it wasn't entirely impossible. If used properly, it could definitely deliver a crushing blow to the French.

"Your idea is very bold, but also very brilliant," Arthur said slowly, his tone full of approval. "Concealed deployment, high ground, and flanking maneuver avoid the French army's advantages while leveraging our strengths. If it were to be used in actual combat, it would surely have unexpected results."

Dugen secretly gloated, thinking to himself, "I'm a time traveler. I can just throw out some stuff and it'll be enough to shock you all."

However, Dugan maintained a humble expression: "Mr. Arthur, you flatter me. This is just a thought that came to mind in my spare time. After all, I have never been on the battlefield. It was just something I said casually."

Little did Dugan know that his casual remark had planted a seed in Arthur's heart.