Strategists of the Lost Republic

As he stepped into the motor pool.

The sun was still creeping over the horizon, but the mechanics were already at work, the rhythmic clanking of wrenches and noise of engines filling the silence of dawn.

Today was important.

Today, he would see exactly what he had to work with.

Standing near the parked tanks, Lieutenant Renaud watched the mechanics with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

His uniform jacket was unbuttoned, and his sleeves were rolled up a sign that he had been here for a while already.

"You're up early," Renaud muttered without looking at him.

"So are you," he replied, stepping closer.

Renaud exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "Figured I'd see what's got you so worked up."

He gestured toward the tanks. "Your 'revolution' in action?"

His eyes flicked toward the row of Renault FT tanks parked in the yard. The Renault FT – The Old Veteran

The Renault FT was a small, boxy machine, its dull green paint chipped and worn with age.

Two men could barely squeeze inside the commander and the driver.

The turret, though a revolutionary design in its time, looked almost comically small now.

"Old, isn't it?" Renaud said, nudging one with his boot.

He nodded. "It's from the last war."

And that was the problem.

The Renault FT had been cutting-edge in 1918, but by 1934, it was a relic.

7mm of armor, barely enough to stop rifle rounds. A 37mm SA 18 gun, short-barreled and weak effective against trenches, but worthless against enemy armor.

And the worst part? A top speed of 7 kilometers per hour. Seven.

It moved at the pace of a marching soldier.

"You really think these things are going to prove anything?" Renaud asked, lighting another cigarette.

He didn't answer.

He wasn't interested in the Renaults.

His gaze drifted toward the one that actually mattered.

The Somua S35 sat slightly apart from the others, its angled armor catching the early morning light.

It was larger, stronger, faster than the Renault FT.

The turret was twice as big, the gun longer and more powerful.

Unlike the boxy shape of the Renaults, the Somua had a sleek, sloped hull, built to deflect incoming shells.

"Now this one's different," Renaud muttered, following his gaze.

He nodded. "It's the best tank we have."

Renaud scoffed. "If you can keep it running."

He wasn't wrong. The mechanics hated the Somua.

It was a pain to repair, the suspension was temperamental, and worst of all the turret was a nightmare.

One man had to command, aim, fire, and reload all at once. In the middle of battle.

"A commander should command," he muttered under his breath. "Not do everything himself."

"What was that?" Renaud asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Mm." Renaud leaned against the Somua's hull, crossing his arms. "Alright, professor. Teach me something. What makes this thing so special?"

He ran a hand along the armor. "The SA 35 47mm gun. It can punch through most enemy armor at a kilometer away. The Renault's gun is useless past a few hundred meters."

Renaud raised an eyebrow. "That far?"

He nodded. "And the armor 40mm thick, well-angled. It can survive hits that would tear a Renault apart."

"And the speed?"

He smiled. "Forty kilometers per hour."

Renaud let out a low whistle. "So you're saying it can outrun everything else we have."

"Exactly."

"Alright," Renaud said, exhaling smoke. "Then why aren't these things being used properly?"

He took a breath. "Because the High Command is stuck in the past."

Renaud frowned. "You're talking about Perrin?"

He shook his head. "Not just him. All of them." He gestured toward the Renaults.

"These were designed for trench warfare. For infantry support. And even now, they still think tanks should be nothing more than moving bunkers."

"And you don't?"

"No." He turned to face him. "I think tanks should be faster than infantry, not slower. They should be leading the charge, not waiting for orders."

Renaud studied him for a long moment. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I don't just believe it," he said quietly. "I know it."

The mechanics finished their final checks, stepping back from the Somua.

One of them, Durand, walked over, wiping his hands on a rag.

"She's ready, Capitaine," Durand said. "But try not to push her too hard, yeah?"

He smiled. "No promises."

Renaud groaned. "We're actually doing this, aren't we?"

"You didn't think I was joking, did you?"

A few minutes later, they were both climbing into the tank.

The commander's seat was tight but familiar, and as soon as he settled in, something clicked in his mind.

He knew this machine.

Somewhere, deep in his memories not of this life, but of the one beforevhe had studied these controls.

He had read the blueprints, the manuals, the battle reports.

He knew how to drive this thing.

Renaud sat in the driver's seat, muttering curses under his breath. "I hate you."

He smirked. "You'll love it once you get moving."

Durand signaled from outside. "Everything's clear, Capitaine. Give her some room before you open the throttle."

The engine roared to life, sending vibrations through the entire hull.

The deep growl of the diesel engine was nothing like the weak sputtering of the Renaults.

This was power.

This was the future of warfare.

Renaud pushed forward on the controls, and the tank jerked into motion.

The suspension was rough, the steering was heavy, but it moved.

And it moved fast.

Not just fast. Faster than anything else on this field.

It bounced over the dirt, kicking up dust, roaring across the open terrain.

He leaned forward, gripping the turret handles, watching the speedometer climb.

If he could prove this machine's mobility and firepower, he could start convincing people.

If he could show that speed and maneuverability won battles, then maybe just maybe he could change everything.

The tank rumbled to a stop, the engine hissing as it cooled.

Renaud wiped sweat from his forehead. "Alright," he admitted, breathing hard. "That was… something."

He smirked. "Told you."

Renaud looked back at the Renaults, still sitting motionless in the yard.

"So what now?" he asked.

"Now," he said, stepping out onto the sunlit ground, "we start training. We refine. We get better."

He turned toward Renaud.

"And when the time comes, we prove it."