Chapter 28 - 28:

Words : 1076 Updated : Sep 10th, 2025

The forest swallowed them as the patrol advanced deeper into the border zone, moving in tight formation, silent and methodical. Moreau marched with a steady, controlled pace. Renaud walked just off to Moreau's right, shifting his MAS-36 rifle slightly as he muttered under his breath. "Still don't like this." "This is the second time you have mentioned it," Moreau murmured back, keeping his voice low. "This time, I mean it," Renaud replied, shifting his grip. "You ever notice how quiet it gets before things go to hell?" Moreau didn't answer immediately. He had noticed. There were no distant sounds of farm animals, no early morning carts rattling on roads beyond the trees. Even the birds had gone silent. That wasn't natural. The patrol followed French Army doctrine for reconnaissance in border zones. Their formation was staggered, spread out in layers to reduce vulnerability. At the very front, the two lead scouts moved at least twenty meters ahead, their rifles raised, eyes constantly scanning the tree line. They were the first to spot any disturbances and the first to disappear if something went wrong. Behind them, the main force of infantrymen moved in loose but structured lines, spaced at five-meter intervals close enough to remain in sight of one another but far enough apart to avoid a single explosive or burst of gunfire wiping out multiple men at once. The Renault R35 followed cautiously in the rear, its turret rotating slowly as the commander inside swept the area with binoculars. The radio operator walked just ahead of the tank, staying within transmission range but keeping distance to avoid being compromised if the vehicle was hit. Moreau's voice was low but firm as he gave quiet orders. "Lead scouts, stagger your movement. I want one of you always covering while the other advances. No one moves blindly into an opening. Squad leaders, keep your men in sight, but don't cluster. We keep our formation disciplined." "Understood, Capitaine," one of the sergeants, Dubreuil, acknowledged, adjusting his helmet before turning back to check his men. Moreau kept his expression unreadable. 1936 was supposed to be the moment. That was the year Hitler would send his troops into the Rhineland, violating treaties, testing the world's resolve. But right now, in April 1934, they weren't supposed to be doing anything. Renaud gave him a sideways glance. "A big question to ask what the fuck are we about to walk into?" Moreau exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the mist-laden path ahead. "That's what we're about to find out." The patrol had been moving for an hour when Moreau raised his fist a silent command. The men stopped immediately, lowering themselves slightly, rifles at the ready. Ahead, the trees opened up into a narrow clearing, where an old gravel road cut through the woods, running parallel to the demarcation line. Moreau knelt, brushing his gloved hand over the dirt. The surface was disturbed. Not by foot traffic. Tires. Heavy ones. Sergeant Bisset, the most experienced scout, stepped up beside him. The older soldier let out a slow exhale, rubbing his thumb along one of the indentations. "Mon capitaine… this is fresh." Moreau's stomach tightened. "How fresh?" Bisset ran his fingers through the soil, testing the dampness. "A day. Maybe less." Renaud crouched beside them, his expression darkening. "That's military weight." Moreau didn't answer. He already knew. This wasn't just a random sweep anymore. He gave a quick series of silent hand signals. The patrol immediately shifted formation, spreading out into a wider arc, adjusting their positions to create overlapping fields of fire while keeping movement cautious. The scouts moved ahead at a slower pace, taking cover more frequently, their rifles now raised at all times. Moreau motioned to the radio operator. "Signal the outpost. Let them know we've found fresh vehicle tracks leading deeper into the woods." The radio operator adjusted his headset, his voice low as he transmitted the report. The response from the outpost was a momentary silence then a simple acknowledgment. Moreau turned back to the tracks. "Direction?" he asked. Bisset pointed deeper into the forest. Moreau nodded. "We follow." Renaud sighed, adjusting his rifle. "Of course we do." The patrol moved forward cautiously, tracking the tire marks as they wound through the undergrowth. The woods grew thicker, darker, more enclosed. The Renault R35 struggled with the uneven terrain, its engine grumbling as it navigated through thick roots and damp soil. Then, through the mist, they saw it. A wooden outpost, built from sandbags and timber, sat near the road. The French flag still hung limply on the side of the structure, but the door was ajar. Moreau raised his fist again. Stop. Spread out. Stay ready. The men fanned out, forming a loose defensive arc. The tank commander inside the Renault adjusted the turret slightly, ensuring he had line of sight. Moreau and Renaud advanced first. Sёarᴄh the Nôvelƒire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The wooden door creaked softly as Moreau pushed it open. Inside, everything was eerily untouched. Weapons still on the racks. Mess tins sat on the table, half-eaten food still inside. A radio station in the corner, logbook open. Moreau walked forward and read the last message written. "Unidentified movement along the demarcation…" It had never been sent. He turned to Renaud. "They never even got a chance to call for help." Renaud scanned the quiet room, his jaw tightening. "No struggle. No bodies." Moreau's gut twisted. If it had been an attack, they would have fought. If it had been an accident, they would have found something. But there was nothing. A shout came from the perimeter. "Sir! Over here!" Moreau was outside in seconds. A scout knelt near the road, holding up a small metal fragment. Moreau took it, turning it over in his fingers. It was curved, thick… unmistakably part of a track link. Renaud leaned in, voice low. "Tell me that's not what I think it is." Moreau didn't answer immediately. The fragment was fresh. Renaud exhaled. "Well," he muttered, "I think we just found something we weren't supposed to." Moreau stared toward the fog-covered trees. Germany wasn't supposed to be here. Not yet. But something had changed. And for the first time, he didn't know what was coming next.

Chapter 28 - 28:

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