Reincarnated: Vive La France

Patrols moved as usual, staggered in four-man teams.

Quiet.

Watchful.

Ordinary.

Morning.

Until the black Citroën rolled in.

Major Moreau was midway through coordinating the day's rotation with Lieutenant Serin when the staff car pulled past the tank line without announcing itself.

A small tricolor flag fluttered from the fender.

No dust trail, no sound beyond the engine.

It stopped with sharp precision in front of HQ, and the passenger door opened.

Out stepped a man in a gray wool coat, cap low over his eyes, gloves too clean for the front.

Serin stiffened. "Intelligence?"

Moreau nodded once. "Looks like it."

The man approached, offering no salute.

"Major Moreau?" he asked, voice smooth and clipped.

"I am."

The man extended a leather folder. "Orders. Code Aureline. From Deuxième Bureau."

Moreau opened the folder.

Inside was a single page, stamped "Ultra Confidentiel," in heavy typewriter strokes:

"Protect all assets referenced in Package EDELWEISS. Priority: MAXIMUM. Subject is traveling with family unit and is expected to attempt crossing via forest sector 17-G.

If contact is made, ensure extraction to rear command post. Use of force is authorized against any obstruction, including hostile enemy patrols. Subject must not fall into German hands.

Lethal force is permitted if protection fails. Retrieval of personal belongings and documents is critical."

Moreau read it twice.

He lowered the folder. "A civilian crossing?"

"Not just any civilian," the man said. "A Jewish family. Austrian-born. On foot. Likely moving at night."

Moreau narrowed his eyes. "We're about to violate the neutrality of our own patrol pattern for a family?"

The man's tone didn't change. "He's not just a refugee. The father is a physicist. A specialist in wave resonance and radiofrequency behavior. Formerly of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute."

Moreau looked up. "Why do we care?"

"Because," the man said, glancing around and lowering his voice, "we've intercepted reports that he was conscripted into German weapons development. He fled. Abandoned a facility outside Berlin. The Abwehr is looking for him, and we believe he's carrying schematics. Maybe more. His name is Dr. Reiner Weiss."

The name meant nothing to Moreau but the context did.

The man continued. "Berlin's digging for something. Something big. If we get him, we don't just deny it to them we gain it ourselves. Your past proposals on PAP modifications? Your recoil-less launcher theory? That's caught attention. High Command thinks you're the right man to secure a genius when he walks into our hands."

Moreau folded the folder shut. "And if he doesn't make it?"

"Then you make damn sure no one else does. Especially not the Germans."

The air between them become serious.

The man replaced his cap. "The family will likely attempt a crossing tonight. That's the estimate. But we don't know the route. 17-G is the widest part of the forest barrier. If they come through anywhere, it'll be there."

He turned toward the car, then paused.

"They might look like civilians. They are civilians. But as of this moment, they are national military assets."

Then he was gone.

The Citroën reversed and rolled silently back down the gravel path, disappearing into the mist.

Moreau called an immediate field council.

Inside the briefing hut, he laid the folder on the table before Captains Renaud, Serin, Marcelle, and Sergeant Chalon.

Coffee sat untouched.

Renaud read the page and set it down.

"Austrian scientist. On foot. With family. Orders say we defend them with force."

Chalon's brow furrowed. "Force against whom?"

Moreau answered flatly. "Anyone. Even if it's the Wehrmacht."

The room went still.

Renaud leaned back in his chair. "You realize what you're saying."

"I do."

Chalon straightened. "We're not at war. Not officially."

Marcelle, voice quiet, said, "But we might be in twenty-four hours if this goes wrong."

Moreau stepped forward. "Listen to me. These aren't just orders they're a test. High Command isn't sending armor here for fun. They're watching. If we can protect this man, we gain more than intelligence. We gain relevance. The war is coming. One way or another."

He placed his palm on the folder.

"This is our line. Today. Tonight."

Renaud exhaled, then nodded slowly. "So what's the plan?"

Two hours later, every patrol commander stood in formation.

The men were gathered on the perimeter road, helmets in hand, weapons slung, expressions tight.

Moreau stood before them, back straight, his voice carrying evenly across the gravel square.

"Today we received new orders. As of now, all units are operating under wartime protocols. That includes live fire readiness, full sector coverage, and active visual scanning. Recon patrols will double. Radio teams are on full net silence unless code priority is triggered."

He paused, letting that settle.

"This change is not due to German troop movements. Not yet. But it is due to a specific operation. Somewhere in the forest east of our position, a civilian family is trying to escape German territory. Our job is to ensure they make it through."

Murmurs rippled across the men.

"They are not just refugees. The father is carrying scientific material of interest to the French Army. He may be the key to weapons development now in German hands."

Faure whispered to Delcourt, "Weapons? Civilians? What the hell..."

Moreau continued. "If we make contact, you will not question their identity. You will protect them. If an enemy patrol attempts interception, you are authorized to engage. I repeat engage. You are weapons-free if fired upon, or if hostile intent is confirmed."

The squad leaders exchanged glances.

No jokes.

No snide remarks.

"Orders are clear. If the family cannot be secured alive, you will ensure no enemy recovers the contents they carry. That is not a light order. I don't give it lightly."

He stepped down from the platform.

"But if they are what we think they are then this moment, right now, is the first real battle of our war."

The change was instant.

Tents were packed.

Perimeter trenches reinforced.

Every man who wasn't sleeping or eating was scouting.

Rifles were checked, re-checked, and sighted in.

Machine gun crews set overlapping arcs of fire in the tree lines.

Tank crews idled their engines in silence, eyes on the misted ridges ahead.

In the barracks, Lemaitre briefed his squad.

"This isn't a drill. We're expecting something tonight. Civilian crossing, but there might be German patrols involved. You see anyone not in French uniform, you don't assume they're friendly."

Rousseau wiped his rifle barrel clean. "Just like that, huh?"

"Just like that."

Girard's voice was quiet. "What if it's... not clear? What if we see someone, but we don't know?"

"You'll know," Lemaitre said. "Your gut will tell you. And if it doesn't then stay silent and wait for orders."

Faure sat beside Delcourt, checking his grenade clips. "I didn't think we'd be the ones to start it."

"We're not," Delcourt said. "We're just the ones who'll be blamed if we don't finish it."

From across the tent, Benoit whispered, "A whole war for one man?"

Faure looked up. "Sometimes a whole war starts with one man." (1914 Flashback)

By 2100, the forest was nearly silent.

Patrols were out in three-man teams now, staggered every twenty minutes, covering a tight arc from sector 17-A to 17-G.

Each had field glasses, flares, and emergency coded whistles low tech, but effective.

Two sharp bursts for contact.

One long for emergency.

Four short if captured.

Lemaitre led the first sweep.

Renaud and Marcelle remained at HQ, coordinating movement.

Moreau stood outside his command tent, hands clasped behind his back.

Chalon approached.

"Perimeter tight. Squad B rotated out. Tanks are silent on standby. Ammo count full."

Moreau nodded.

Chalon studied his face. "You really think they'll try to come through tonight?"

"They'd be mad not to. The fog's just right. We're expecting rain at 0100. Cover like that doesn't come often."

"And if they don't make it?"

Moreau didn't answer immediately.

"They'll make it."

Then he turned and walked back toward the tents, the folder still under his arm.

In the field, under low clouds Rousseau crouched behind a downed tree.

Faure beside him, Delcourt posted ahead, eyes scanning.

"I don't like this," Faure muttered. "This silence is too clean. It feels like... like something's holding its breath."

Rousseau nodded. "It's the kind of quiet that comes right before someone makes a terrible mistake."

They didn't talk again.

For the rest of the night, they would listen.

Watch.

Wait.

No one would sleep.

Not with war balancing on a single passing footstep in the woods.