Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 181: General Delon is back.

The light through Beauchamp’s tall windows was cold with little bit of frost.

He sat behind his desk, a cup of steaming coffee in hand, glancing over the test report with an increasingly unreadable expression.

Across from him stood Major Étienne Moreau, flanked by Delorme and Chevalier, both engineers still dressed in their workshop coats.

The office was silent, except for the ticking of a brass desk clock and the occasional scratch of Beauchamp’s fountain pen annotating the margins.

He finally looked up.

"Fifteen degrees of dispersion at 400 meters. Penetration estimate twenty-eight millimeters. Recoil zero. Structural integrity? Full."

He leaned back, folding the paper carefully and setting it aside.

"You’ll forgive me if I ask again... are you sure you didn’t steal this from some Swedish ghost bureau?"

Moreau cracked a small smile. "No ghosts, sir. Just French ingenuity."

Beauchamp grunted. "Remind me to put that on the poster."

Delorme chuckled. "Assuming the Ministry lets us print one."

Chevalier added.

"Assuming they let us keep our budget."

The three of them laughed.

Beauchamp smiled but waved hand. "Enough. You’ve built something absurd, and it works. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am." He leaned forward, locking his fingers.

"Still this is what I expected of you, Moreau."

Moreau gave a crisp nod. "We’re ready for whatever comes next."

Beauchamp exhaled through his nose and leaned back in his chair again. "Next. Yes, well. First I need to convince half a dozen colonels and a defense committee that doesn’t know a breech block from a billiard cue. So give me time. I tell you this country doesn’t need that one ball, small moustache, jew hater to destroy it."

Delorme straightened. "Are you planning a full demonstration?"

"I’ll schedule something within the week. A controlled trial, observers, cameras if we’re lucky. That will get the right people talking."

He paused, then added, "Don’t wear your best uniforms. There’ll be mud."

They all laughed lightly.

The tension in the room lifted.

Chevalier scratched his head. "You wouldn’t believe the nightmares I had about that first test."

"I would," Beauchamp said. "I sat through a Chamber debate last week where one deputy called the Maginot Line ’a really long train station.’"

Moreau raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Are they pretending to be dumb, how can anyone not know it."

"I will give you on better thier whole family is dumb. Another claimed we should deploy horse-drawn howitzers in Tunisia."

"Brilliant," Delorme muttered.

"France at her finest," Beauchamp said, sipping his coffee. "Now go get some rest. I’ll handle the politics."

They saluted.

Beauchamp stood and returned to his desk.

As the door closed behind them, he set down his cup and reached for the telephone.

He didn’t get the chance to dial.

A knock.

Then the door creaked open as his aide entered, breathless.

"Sir....General Delon has arrived. He’s waiting for your call."

Beauchamp froze.

Then he smiled.

"Well," he murmured. "So the old hammer returns. Well it’s time Paris got more interesting."

Beauchamp rose and crossed to the outer office where Delon waited by the fireplace, back straight, hat under one arm.

His dark uniform coat bore the faint trace of snow.

But nothing else about the man had aged.

They shook hands, then embraced as old brothers do.

"Beauchamp." Delon said warmly. "You haven’t changed."

"Not enough, apparently," Beauchamp replied. "They still let me keep an office."

They sat, and the aide quietly disappeared.

"Welcome back," Beauchamp said, studying the man across from him. "It’s been... too long."

Delon nodded slowly. "Two years is long enough to miss the stupidity. But not long enough to forget it. I guess the president can take a big howitzer up his ass thinking he could tame me by sending me far away."

Beauchamp poured them both a glass of Bordeaux. "And your posting in the Vosges?"

"Quiet. Beautiful. Boring. Not a single traitor to shoot."

They clinked glasses.

Delon sipped. "I read about Moreau."

Beauchamp arched an eyebrow. "That fast?"

"I don’t live under a rock, Beauchamp. I’ve been reading the military pages. PAP, Lion of Spain and not to mention some rumours of a new gun he is testing."

Beauchamp smiled. "He just left. The test was a success."

"I knew it," Delon said, grinning. "I always said he’d outpace us all. Hell, if I’d had five of him during the Paris purge, I’d have turned the war room into a courtroom."

Beauchamp’s smile faded slightly. "He’s quiet. Precise. But that mind of his moves like a turbine."

Delon nodded. "And yet we both know what comes next."

Beauchamp looked out the window. "They’ll want it. But not without concessions."

Delon scoffed. "Concessions? Beauchamp, those old fuckers will try to squeeze every franc from its barrel. They’ll demand bribes in committee and call it defense oversight."

Beauchamp ran a hand over his face. "I know."

"They’ll claim ’national budget constraints’ or ’strategic parity.’ What they really mean is how can I get a slice without touching the blade."

He stood and walked slowly to the fireplace, arms folded.

Beauchamp followed him with his eyes. "So what do you propose?"

Delon turned, a sly smile playing across his face. "You let me handle it."

Beauchamp hesitated. "Just returned and already kicking tables?"

Delon laughed. "They sent me to the countryside to cool off. I’ve cooled. Now I’m back and it’s time to remind the capital why they were afraid of me."

Beauchamp smirked. "They’ll come running."

"They’ll come whining. And I’ll be waiting with a ledger."

The two generals stood there in the quiet for a moment, sipping wine, sharing the warmth of fire and memory.

Outside, the snow began to fall harder.

Delon looked back. "Moreau... he wasn’t supposed to be part of that circus. But we couldn’t stop it, now the least we can do now is support him till our last breath."

"I agree," Beauchamp said. "Let him work. Build. Innovate more."

Delon raised his glass again.

"To the future," he said.

"To the hammer," Beauchamp replied.

They drank.