Paris.
Ministry of War Headquarters
The walls of the Ministry's south wing were lined with portraits of long-dead marshals and glories of past campaigns, many now obscured under dust and indifference.
War, it seed, was not declared here only prepared for.
Major Moreau stood straight outside General Beauchamp's office.
Captain Renaud, leaning against the wall beside him, humd a march tune under his breath and made a mock salute to one of the portraits.
"General Hédouin," Renaud whispered, eyeing the oil painting. "Died in his bath in 1874. A hero of soapy martyrdom."
Moreau gave him a sidelong glance. "Try not to say sothing idiotic in the first ten seconds."
Renaud grinned. "That's a tall order. You know I peak around eight."
The door opened.
A corporal nodded them in.
General Beauchamp stood by the window.
Maps were pinned across the wall behind his desk.
Folders were stacked in a rigid grid on the desk itself.
The room was warm but cold at the sa ti.
"Gentlen," he said. "Co in."
They saluted.
Beauchamp waved a hand. "At ease."
He gestured to the chairs.
As they sat, he opened a folder with a small smile.
"Let begin by saying the M36-R is a goddamned marvel."
Moreau inclined his head. "Thank you, sir."
"And the PAP, I have already said enough"
Beauchamp continued, tapping the paper, "But it's never enough to complint for it being simple, elegant, deadly. Your teams at Hotchkiss and Saint-Étienne did good work. Field reports from Avignon say the PAP continues to handles like a dream, even for green recruits."
Renaud added, "I personally find it adds to my natural elegance."
Beauchamp ignored him.
Not only him but even the fierce General Delon would avoid his mouth which is famous for spewing bullshit.
"You've done your country a great service, Moreau. And now, it's ti you return to the field."
Moreau sat straighter.
"Effective imdiately," Beauchamp continued, "you are reassigned to command an armored division of the 3rd Light chanized Division near the Maginot Line, specifically between Forts Schoenenbourg and Simserhof. You'll also lead an infantry battalion outfitted with both the PAP and the M36-R."
Moreau blinked. "Sir, that's a full regintal responsibility. I....I'm still a major."
Beauchamp laughed. "For you, ranks don't matter at this point. Would you rather I send so half-blind colonel from Toulouse who hasn't left a desk since Verdun?"
Renaud raised his hand. "Can we send that guy anyway? Might make our division look even better."
Beauchamp smirked. "Delon and I fought like hell to get this pushed through. We argued, pleaded, shouted. This is yours, Moreau. Don't disappoint us."
"I won't, sir," Moreau said firmly.
Beauchamp stood and pointed to the map on the wall.
"Here's what you're dealing with. The 3rd DLM is stationed along the Alsace-Lorraine corridor. You'll be under General Flavigny's command. Your sector includes forested terrain, soft ground, and winter patrol lines.
"The German Wehrmacht has been making 'training movents' across the border. Nothing overt, but they're testing reactions. Fort Simserhof reports distant artillery drills from the Saar side. Recon units report road construction near the Palatinate Forest. That likely ans rapid deploynt prep."
Moreau frowned. "They're planning to use soft corridors, not direct assault paths."
"Correct," Beauchamp said. "They're looking to avoid fortified lines if they co, it'll be through lowlands and forest breaks."
He traced a line on the map from Bitche toward the French side. "This is your high-risk entry vector. The roads are narrow, unpaved, so barely navigable in spring thaw. Your tanks need to be mobile, quick, and support your infantry directly."
"What about the forts?" Renaud asked. "Schoenenbourg is solid. Simserhof's got a working 75mm turret."
"Yes, but they're static. Good for artillery support, not reactionary response. You're the hamr outside the walls."
Moreau nodded. "How many Renault R35s are fully operational?"
"Twenty-eight in your command. Each fitted with the short-barreled 37mm Puteaux gun. Limited anti-armor capability, but good against infantry and light vehicles. And your crews are green. You'll need to train them fast."
"Any cavalry support?"
"A squadron of Spahis from North Africa is attached for reconnaissance. Veteran riders, good n. They've been operating along the German border for months now."
"Communications?"
"Each company has a radio truck. HQ relays run through Fort Casso. Don't expect miracles, but it's better than the ss we had in '18."
"Logistics?"
"Motor pool at Hagenau. Supplies routed from Strasbourg, with fallback through tz. The roads are narrow, but if you coordinate well with the railheads, you'll manage. Just keep an eye on the fuel lines any disruption there and your armor turns into bunkers."
Renaud whistled. "So, patchy air, twitchy border, and half-frozen mud. Sounds like a vacation."
Beauchamp looked at him. "And you, Captain Renaud. Your official orders are to follow Major Moreau's command. But unofficially you are to keep him from acting on impulse."
Moreau raised an eyebrow. "Impulse?"
"Yes," Beauchamp said, deadpan. "We both know you, Moreau. You get passionate. If a German general stares too long at your trenches, I don't want you charging across the line demanding single combat."
Renaud laughed. "General, leave this guy to . I'll keep him on a leash. A short one. Maybe a muzzle, if we find one large enough."
Even Beauchamp smiled. "This is serious, but it's also personal. We trust you both."
Moreau stood and saluted. "I won't disappoint you, sir."
Beauchamp returned the salute. "Bonne chance, Moreau."
They stepped out into the corridor.
The door closed behind them.
Renaud turned and threw his arms around Moreau in a quick, rough hug.
"Finally! Two years of drills, docunts, and engineers with bad breath and we're back in uniform!"
Moreau chuckled. "Two years of blueprints, budgets, and bureaucrats. And now... a real command."
"And ," Renaud added. "A bonus."
Moreau looked at him. "You? You're the challenge."
"Challenge, charm, sa thing," Renaud said with a grin.
As they walked down the stone steps of the Ministry, the wind bit their faces.
But it couldn't cool the heat rising in Moreau's chest.
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