Reincarnated: Vive La France

The Gendarmerie Nationale had turned every corridor into a checkpoint, every conversation into a calculated exchange.

Nobody wanted to be the one to speak out of turn, especially now that Fournier's investigation had a direction.

The unknown officer.

It wasn't much to go on, but it was the first real lead.

Fournier knew that if they didn't move quickly, whoever was behind this would find a way to cover their tracks.

The key was identifying the officer before word of the investigation spread too far.

Inside the makeshift command post, a former storage room repurposed for the inquiry,

Fournier and Sergeant Delacroix sat at a long wooden table littered with open personnel files.

A single desk lamp flickered, casting shadows across the reports.

A stack of documents, freshly retrieved from the administrative offices, contained the names of every officer who had been stationed at Verdun in the past month.

Fournier flipped open one of the files and rubbed his temple. "Let's start simple. We know this officer was seen near the Renaults the night before the explosion. That means they had access to the maintenance bay. Cross-check that with the depot logs."

Delacroix, already scanning through the night-duty records, muttered, "Problem is, officer access doesn't always get logged the way it should. They aren't expected to sign in and out like enlisted men."

He exhaled sharply. "We could be dealing with someone whose presence wasn't recorded at all."

Fournier tapped a finger against the table. "Then we find someone who remembers seeing him. Perrier gave us a vague description tall, dark-haired, wearing an officer's coat. That could fit half the men here."

Delacroix smirked. "Maybe we should start arresting anyone over six feet tall."

Fournier ignored the sarcasm, flipping to another document. "Let's focus on the officers who had direct oversight of the Renaults. Who was assigned to inspect or monitor them in the last two weeks?"

Delacroix scanned the names, frowning. "Mostly the usual men logistics officers, engineers, maintenance liaisons. But there is one name that stands out."

Fournier leaned in. "Who?"

Delacroix slid the document across the table. "Captain Henri Vaillan."

The name didn't ring any immediate alarm bells, but that didn't mean much.

Fournier picked up the file and started reading. "Transferred from Metz Command, March of this year. Background in supply chain logistics, no direct armored training, but assigned to Verdun's logistical support division."

Delacroix raised an eyebrow. "Supply and logistics? What the hell would a man like that be doing in the maintenance depot at night?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Fournier muttered.

He turned to the next section of the file previous deployments, assignments, commendations.

Nothing unusual. But then, he spotted something that made his pulse quicken.

"Delacroix," he said quietly. "Vaillan spent the last two years overseeing shipments from Belgium."

Delacroix straightened, immediately following his line of thought. "And what did Dumas say? That he saw something like this sabotage before… in Belgium."

Fournier closed the file with a quiet snap. "Find Vaillan. Now."

----

Vaillan wasn't in his assigned quarters, and that was the first red flag.

The officers' barracks were quiet this late in the evening, most men either asleep or finishing up their reports for the day.

Fournier moved through the narrow hallways with purposeful steps, Delacroix and two gendarmes following close behind.

When they reached Vaillan's door, Delacroix knocked. "Captain Vaillan? Open up."

No response.

Delacroix glanced at Fournier, who nodded.

One of the gendarmes stepped forward and turned the handle unlocked.

Another red flag.

The door creaked open, revealing an empty room.

No personal belongings, no clothing, not even a discarded uniform.

The bed was made with military precision, and the only sign that anyone had lived there was the faint scent of tobacco smoke still lingering in the air.

Fournier stepped inside, his jaw tightening. "He's gone."

Delacroix cursed under his breath. "We were too slow."

Fournier scanned the room. "No. If he left in a hurry, he would've left something behind."

He gestured to the gendarmes. "Search everything."

They moved quickly, pulling open drawers, checking beneath the bed, inside the small footlocker at the base of the room.

Nothing.

Then Delacroix, checking the desk, froze. "Wait."

Fournier turned. Delacroix had lifted a loose floorboard, revealing a small, folded envelope hidden beneath it.

Carefully, Fournier took it, unfolding the paper inside.

The message was brief.

Too brief.

"Arrival confirmed. Awaiting next phase. Maintain discretion."

No signature.

No date

Just a single phrase beneath the message, written in shorthand.

Fournier didn't recognize it immediately, but Delacroix did.

His face darkened.

"That's not a French code."

Fournier read it again, his pulse quickening. "Then whose is it?"

Delacroix hesitated. "I don't know for certain. But it looks a lot like old German cipher markings."

Silence filled the small room.

The seriousness of that implication settled over them like a heavy fog.

If foreign interference was confirmed with proofs unlike yesterday where they just discussed this possibility then the explosion wasn't just about internal military politics anymore.

This was espionage.

But for what?

Why in a small barrack of French Army for a single tank?

---

Fournier wasted no time.

They needed to stop Vaillan before he disappeared completely.

They split into teams.

Delacroix and one gendarme would check the train station, in case Vaillan had taken the most obvious route out of Verdun.

Fournier and the remaining officer moved to the motor pool, where military vehicles were stored.

If Vaillan had planned this escape in advance, he might have secured transport.

The motor pool was dimly lit.

Fournier moved between the vehicles carefully, his hand resting near his sidearm.

A faint scraping noise echoed from deeper in the garage.

Fournier signaled to his partner, motioning for silence as they approached the far end of the building.

Near the last row of vehicles, a figure crouched beside a supply truck, fumbling with something near the engine.

"Hold it!" Fournier barked.

The man turned sharply—Vaillan.

For a split second, their eyes met.

Then Vaillan bolted.

Fournier drew his revolver but didn't fire, knowing they needed him alive.

He ran after him, boots slamming against the concrete floor.

Vaillan sprinted for the service door at the back of the motor pool, his breath ragged.

He shoved it open just as Fournier reached him, grabbing the back of his coat and yanking him backward.

The force sent both men crashing to the ground.

Vaillan struggled, but Fournier pinned him, wrenching his arm behind his back. "You're done," he growled.

Delacroix and his team arrived moments later, weapons drawn.