Reincarnated: Vive La France

Three days.

Three long days of drills, maneuvers, and adjustments.

Three days of fighting not just the outdated doctrine of the French Army but also logistical problems that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

At first, everything had been running smoothly.

The tank crews were improving, their coordination sharpening as they adjusted to maneuver warfare rather than slow infantry support.

Even the skeptical officers had begun to see the advantages of speed over static positioning.

Then the supply issues started.

On the second day, fuel shipments arrived late.

Mechanics who had been working on the Somua reported that certain parts were suddenly "delayed" due to a mix-up in logistics.

Blank ammunition for the training exercises was rerouted to another unit without prior notice.

Moreau knew exactly what was happening Clément was tightening the noose.

None of it was direct interference. It was death by a thousand cuts.

But they had adapted. Workarounds were found, alternative sources secured, and training continued.

And now, he was walking toward Colonel Perrin's office, the finished report in hand.

The wooden floor creaked beneath his boots as he stepped into the administrative wing of the base.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ink, paper, and dust, the familiar atmosphere of military bureaucracy.

A clerk at a small desk near the entrance glanced up.

His uniform was neat but bore none of the wear of field duty one of those officers who had never left the comfort of headquarters.

"Capitaine Moreau," the clerk greeted, adjusting his glasses. "Here to see Colonel Perrin?"

"Yes," Moreau replied, holding up the folder. "Training report."

The clerk gave a sympathetic look, as if he already knew that bringing reports to Perrin was never a pleasant experience. "He's inside. He just finished his morning briefings."

Moreau nodded, stepping past the desk. He took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

A gruff voice answered. "Enter."

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Colonel Jean Perrin sat at his desk, his broad frame hunched slightly as he flipped through a stack of reports.

The morning sunlight filtered through the small window behind him, casting long shadows across the cluttered wooden surface.

Moreau saluted. "Capitaine Moreau, reporting, sir."

Perrin glanced up, setting aside his pen. His expression was unreadable.

"Ah, Moreau. The tank enthusiast."

The title wasn't entirely mocking, but neither was it complimentary.

Moreau kept his face neutral. "The training report, sir," he said, stepping forward and placing the folder neatly on Perrin's desk.

Perrin picked it up, flipping it open with a sigh. "I assume everything went smoothly?"

Moreau hesitated for a fraction of a second. "There were… logistical complications. But the exercises were completed as scheduled."

Perrin gave him a sharp look over the top of the folder. "Logistical complications?"

Moreau kept his tone even. "Fuel delays, missing supplies, some rescheduled shipments."

Perrin exhaled through his nose, flipping another page. "I see. And did you file complaints with the logistics office?"

Moreau chose his words carefully. "No, sir. The issues were manageable, and I didn't want to slow down training."

Perrin's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he returned to the report.

He knew.

Of course he knew.

He had been in the army long enough to recognize the quiet sabotage of a political enemy.

Moreau waited as Perrin skimmed through the pages of data, observations, and recommendations.

"This is… detailed," Perrin muttered, flipping to a section of technical analysis. "Performance assessments, fuel efficiency records, comparative speed tests. Most officers just send me a page or two of general remarks."

"I thought a full breakdown would be more useful, sir," Moreau replied.

Perrin made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. "Yes, yes. You and your kind love reports."

That stung more than it should have. Your kind.

Moreau knew what he meant.

He had read enough accounts of pre-war France to know that men like Perrin viewed the tank reformers officers like De Gaulle, like Moreau himself as theorists, dreamers, men who loved concepts more than the brutal reality of war.

"Let's see…" Perrin muttered as he reached the conclusions section.

He frowned slightly. "You're suggesting an increase in high-speed maneuver drills?"

"Yes, sir. The Somua S35 performed significantly better when allowed to operate at full mobility. The Renaults were slower, but they were still more effective when moving rather than engaging from static positions."

Perrin set the report down, rubbing his temples. "And you genuinely believe this kind of warfare will work in a real conflict?"

Moreau knew this was the moment that mattered.

"I do, sir," he said, keeping his voice firm but not arrogant. "The Germans are rearming. They are testing fast-moving, coordinated tank strategies in Spain. If we do not prepare for that kind of war, we will be at a disadvantage before the first shot is fired."

Perrin exhaled slowly. "You assume, of course, that the next war will be mobile. You assume we won't be able to hold them at the borders. You assume they will bypass fixed defenses."

Moreau's stomach twisted slightly. He knew they would. He had seen it happen in history. But he could not say that.

"I believe, sir, that it is our duty to prepare for all possibilities," he said carefully. "If we rely only on fixed defenses, we will become inflexible. And inflexibility loses wars."

Perrin was silent for a long moment.

He tapped his fingers on the edge of the report, his expression unreadable.

"You are ambitious, Moreau. Ambition can be dangerous in this army," he finally said.

"You're lucky that your report is well-written, and your exercises were conducted within regulations. Otherwise, I would have been forced to reprimand you."

Moreau kept his posture straight. "I understand, sir."

Perrin sighed again and leaned back in his chair. "Your training will continue, for now. But keep in mind—"

He fixed Moreau with a pointed look. "You have made enemies. I don't have to tell you that."

"No, sir," Moreau replied. "You don't."

"Good," Perrin muttered, closing the folder. "Then you may go."

Moreau saluted sharply before turning to leave.

Just as he reached the door, Perrin spoke again. "Moreau."

He paused, glancing back.

"You've stirred the pot," Perrin said. "Make sure you don't end up drowning in it."

The warning was clear.

With a quiet nod, Moreau stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

The morning sunlight hit his face as he stepped back into the open air.

Renaud was waiting nearby, leaning against a jeep with his arms crossed.

"Well?" Renaud asked, raising an eyebrow.

Moreau exhaled slowly. "The training continues."

Renaud smirked. "Looks like you survived the first battle, then."

Moreau looked down at his hands, still holding a spare copy of the report. "For now."

He knew better than to believe this was over.

The paperwork was done.

The exercises had been justified. But Clément wasn't going to stop.