Strategists of the Lost Republic

The camp was already alive with activity soldiers in blue-gray uniforms moved between trucks, mechanics worked on tanks, and junior officers barked orders.

1934. Verdun. France.

It still didn't feel real.

He forced himself to walk with confidence, matching Lieutenant Pierre Renaud's pace.

His body responded like it had done this a thousand times before because it had.

Somehow, this body retained muscle memory, habits, and instinct.

He wasn't stumbling around like a lost man; he was a French Army captain, and everyone around him treated him as such.

But his mind, his soul was something else entirely.

Renaud pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a casual flick.

"You're acting strange, Moreau," he muttered, exhaling smoke.

"How so?" he asked, keeping his voice even.

"You're too quiet. Usually, you'd be complaining about the lack of decent coffee by now."

He smirked slightly. "Maybe I finally got used to military life."

Renaud gave him a sidelong glance, skeptical but unconcerned. "If that were true, we'd have to check if someone replaced you with a German spy."

That comment hit too close to home.

He was, in a way, a foreigner in this time period.

But he forced out a chuckle and kept walking.

Ahead of them, a row of Renault FT tanks small, archaic by modern standards stood parked near a maintenance station.

Oil stains and the scent of burning fuel filled the air. Mechanics in overalls worked on the engines, wiping grime off their hands.

This was the heart of the 2nd Armored Division, one of France's earliest attempts at modernizing its military.

And it was painfully outdated.

France had the numbers.

The resources.

The industry.

But it had no vision.

He clenched his fists.

In six years, this army, his army would crumble in weeks.

Not because they lacked soldiers or weapons, but because of bad strategy, arrogance, and outdated doctrine.

He knew what was coming. And no one else did.

Not yet.

The command building was a stone structure, repurposed from an old World War I fort.

A red-and-blue French flag hung outside, fluttering in the breeze.

They entered, walking past a few junior officers who saluted quickly before returning to their reports.

The hallway smelled of ink, paper, and faint traces of old gunpowder.

They stopped in front of an office door. "Colonel Jean Perrin" was painted in bold letters on the plaque.

Renaud knocked once before pushing it open.

"Capitaine Moreau and Lieutenant Renaud, reporting as ordered," Renaud said crisply.

The man behind the desk barely looked up.

Colonel Jean Perrin was an aging officer with thinning gray hair, a sharp mustache, and cold blue eyes.

His uniform was immaculate, his medals carefully polished.

A man who had survived the trenches of 1914-1918 and never let anyone forget it.

"You're late," Perrin said, voice gruff.

Renaud kept a straight face. "Apologies, sir."

Perrin gestured at the two wooden chairs in front of his desk. "Sit."

They obeyed.

The Colonel didn't speak for a moment, flipping through a folder.

Étienne caught a glimpse of the papers training reports, personnel files, and logistics updates.

Finally, Perrin looked up.

His sharp gaze landed on Étienne.

"I understand you've been advocating some… changes," the Colonel said.

Étienne kept his face neutral.

So soon?

Had someone already reported his comments?

"Sir?"

"Your enthusiasm for armored warfare," Perrin said, tapping a pen against his desk. "Your suggestions about using tanks independently rather than as infantry support. Lieutenant Renaud tells me you've been talking about it since yesterday."

Étienne's mind raced.

He had only been in this world for a few hours.

How much had the "old" him already discussed?

He glanced at Renaud, who looked as puzzled as he was.

Renaud hadn't reported anything.

So someone else had been listening.

Étienne met Perrin's gaze. "Yes, sir. I believe our current doctrine is outdated."

Perrin leaned back in his chair. "Outdated?"

His voice was calm, but there was an edge of challenge.

Étienne chose his words carefully. "Sir, times are changing. Tanks are no longer just battlefield accessories. In the next war, they will be decisive weapons, not just support for infantry charges."

Perrin snorted. "The next war? Moreau, do you know something I don't?"

More than you can imagine.

He kept his expression impassive. "Germany is rearming, sir. Hitler is pushing the boundaries of the Versailles Treaty. The British and Americans might not act, but we should be preparing for any possibility."

Perrin narrowed his eyes. "And you believe tanks are the answer?"

"Yes, sir. If we invest in mobility, speed, and coordinated attacks, we can avoid the kind of stalemates that defined the last war. A well-trained armored division could outmaneuver an entire infantry corps."

Perrin stared at him for a long moment, then scoffed. "You sound like de Gaulle."

That was twice today someone had compared him to Charles de Gaulle.

Étienne kept his face blank. "Is that a bad thing, sir?"

Perrin exhaled slowly. "De Gaulle is a stubborn dreamer. He talks of maneuver warfare, of fast-moving mechanized units but this army is built on solid, disciplined formations. Trench warfare won us the last war."

"It also cost us millions of lives, sir," Étienne said before he could stop himself.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating.

Perrin's blue eyes locked onto him, sharp as a dagger.

Renaud shifted uncomfortably beside him.

"Careful, Capitaine," Perrin said, voice quiet but dangerous. "We do not disrespect the dead in this office."

Étienne took a breath. He had to tread carefully.

"I would never disrespect the dead, sir," he said firmly. "I am saying that we must honor them by ensuring that we never fight another war the same way."

Perrin studied him.

Finally, the Colonel sighed and tapped a stack of papers. "The Ministère de la Guerre has already ordered new tanks. Somua S35s, Hotchkiss H35s. They will arrive in the coming months. But they will still be assigned to infantry divisions."

"That is a mistake, sir," Étienne said before he could stop himself.

Perrin's eyebrow twitched.

Étienne exhaled.

Slow down.

Be smart.

Don't push too hard.

"Respectfully, sir, I would like to propose an experimental exercise," he said. "A simple drill where we test fast-moving armor units independent of infantry command."

Perrin drummed his fingers on the desk.

A long pause.

Then, to Étienne's surprise, the Colonel gave a small nod.

"You get two Renault FTs and one Somua," he said. "Nothing more. And I want a full report on my desk in three days."

Étienne fought to keep his expression neutral.

A test.

A small one but a chance.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"Dismissed," Perrin said, already turning back to his paperwork.

Étienne and Renaud stood, saluted, and left the office.

Renaud let out a long breath as soon as they were outside. "What the hell was that, Moreau?"

Étienne shrugged. "A discussion."

Renaud looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "You don't just argue with Perrin about tactics. Do you have a death wish?"

"No," Étienne said. "But I do have a plan."