Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 197: "After all, it’s not every day we get someone actually capable in the French army."

Chapter 197: "After all, it’s not every day we get someone actually capable in the French army."

The Gare de l’Est was shrouded in February fog.

Steam hissed from the brakes of a waiting military transport train, and porters in navy-blue uniforms ran between cars, loading crates, duffels, and ammunition cases.

Paris, behind the train station was silent as always except for the native big rats who were having their own adventure in the smell which is supposed to be hidden by the word romantic.

Moreau thought to himself.

Who came here in this rat infested, smelly city and thought yes..this is the smell of romance.

But at the same time the city was so asleep as if reluctant to wake from its centuries-long dreams.

Major Moreau adjusted the collar of his greatcoat

Beside him, Captain Renaud carried a half-burnt cigarette and a brown leather satchel, his expression halfway between admiration and boredom.

"Say what you want about Paris," Renaud muttered, "but she still knows how to look dramatic."

Moreau glanced up at the iron bars of the Eiffel Tower peeking through the mist.

"It’s the farewell before the storm."

"Or maybe just smog," Renaud said, exhaling smoke. "But poetic, all the same."

They approached the railcar marked for officers.

Two soldiers snapped to attention, saluting.

"Major Moreau, Captain Renaud," one said. "Your compartment is ready, sir. Orders from General Flavigny."

"Thank you," Moreau nodded. "And the equipment?"

"Loaded and secured in Car 6, sir. Three trucks, comms gear, and weapons crates. The R35s will be delivered separately to the staging yard in Bitche."

As the train began to make noise and jolt forward, the men found their compartment spartan, with two bunks, a folding desk, and a small window covered in dust.

Moreau set his cap on the table and unfolded the regional maps.

"From here, we cut northeast through Châlons, then Metz, and down to Haguenau. Final destination, Fort Simserhof perimeter."

Renaud sprawled on the lower bunk. "Any idea what General Flavigny is like?"

"A career officer. Infantry roots. Decorated in ’18. Known to prefer fieldwork over Parisian chatter."

"My kind of man."

"Let’s hope he thinks the same about us."

The train moved through the countryside.

Through the window, they saw villages with shuttered windows.

Men with armbands stood at crossings.

Children waved at the train.

Occasionally, posters flew past.

"Buy French Bonds", "Strength Through Unity", "France Vigilante."

Renaud studied the countryside. "It’s quiet. Too quiet, almost."

"They remember the last war. And they feel the next one breathing down their necks."

"God help them if it breaks out in full."

Unfortunately for Renuad, god will not help them.

As German tanks will thunder across these territories it is men not god’s who must take the lead to stop them.

They arrived at Haguenau by mid-afternoon.

The train hissed as it came to a stop.

Soldiers lined the platform, most wearing overcoats stained with mud and oil.

One stepped forward, saluting crisply.

"Major Moreau? Welcome, sir. The General has been expecting you. Transport is ready."

Moreau returned the salute. "Thank you, Sergeant...?"

"Sgt. Lefèvre, sir. 2nd Battalion, 3rd DLM. I’ll escort you to command headquarters."

As they moved away from the station, Renaud leaned over the side.

"You feel it? That smell? Damp pine, oil, frost, and gun grease. It smells like war. Even though Pairs is ready to put its head inside dirt but those at border know what is important."

Moreau remained quiet, his eyes fixed on the treeline. "It smells like a country holding its breath."

They passed convoys of military vehicles along the forest roads.

Anti-tank barriers sat at intersections, manned by troops from the 9th Infantry Regiment.

Field bunkers peeked out from earthen mounds like buried sentinels.

French flags hung in the cold breeze.

Finally, they reached the compound near Fort Simserhof a complex of bunkers, barracks, and dugouts.

At its center, a long building with a sloped roof and field antennas rising from the back.

"Command HQ," Lefèvre said, stepping out. "General Flavigny is inside."

Moreau and Renaud straightened their uniforms and entered.

Inside, maps covered every wall.

Officers bent over tables, murmuring over supply chains and artillery placements.

In the center of it all, a man with snow-white hair, tall shoulders, and a lined face looked up from a report.

"Major Moreau also known as the Lion of Spain" General Flavigny said with a warm smile. "We’ve been waiting. After all, it’s not every day we get someone actually capable in the French army."

Both men laughed, a mix of irony and truth.

Moreau saluted. "Sir. An honor."

"Sit, Major. You too, Captain Renaud. Paris sends me a gunsmith and a jokester. I assume between the two of you we’ll either win this war or blow something up in spectacular fashion."

Renaud gave a mock bow. "Possibly both, General."

Flavigny handed Moreau a file. "Your unit designation is Groupe Tactique Moreau. You command two armored squadrons of Renault R35s, one battalion of motorized infantry, and a reinforced weapons company with your PAPs and M36-Rs. You’ll be responsible for rapid interdiction across a 22-kilometer front."

"Enemy strength?"

"Unclear. Intelligence says the Wehrmacht has elements of the 25th Infantry Division drilling just across the border. We’re also seeing Luftwaffe flyovers near Saarbrücken. Nothing violating airspace yet."

Moreau opened the map. "We’re exposed here."

"Yes. But we’re also positioned for leverage. This sector stretching from Wingen to Lembach is both a corridor and a bottleneck. If they come, we stall them here."

Renaud looked around. "So what do we call this? The line before the Line?"

Flavigny smirked. "We call it the place we make our stand before Paris has to."

Moreau nodded slowly. "Then we’d better get to work."

The General clapped him on the shoulder. "I’ll leave you to meet your officers. Don’t be surprised if they’re nervous. They know your reputation."

Moreau raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

Flavigny chuckled. "The one that says you’re either a genius or a lunatic. Time will tell."

They exited the building after that.

Renaud looked around, arms crossed. "Well, Moreau. Home sweet trench."

Moreau took a long breath.

"No. This time it’s not a trench. It’s a stage. And the curtain’s about to rise."