Chapter 29 - 29: The Plot Thickens

Words : 1074 Updated : Sep 10th, 2025

Moreau held the track link in his gloved fingers, its weight heavier than it should have been. Fresh. Not rusted. Recently left behind. There was no doubt now German armor had passed through this forest. The question was why, and where had they gone? Sergeant Bisset knelt beside the track marks, running his fingers over the indentations. He frowned. "Mon capitaine… there's more here." He motioned for Moreau to look closer. The impressions in the soil weren't just from one vehicle. Moreau followed Bisset's hand as he pointed further along the dirt path, where the tracks became more chaotic. "See that?" Bisset continued. "Multiple vehicles. Not just one or two at least half a dozen, maybe more. And there's something else…" He paused, squinting at the ground before brushing away a layer of damp leaves. Beneath them, faint but unmistakable, were boot prints. Moreau's pulse quickened. Infantry. That changed everything. Tanks on reconnaissance missions didn't operate without support. S~eaʀᴄh the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This wasn't just a scouting maneuver this was something bigger. He straightened and turned to Renaud. "Get the men into formation. We're moving forward, slow and staggered. No one separates. No unnecessary noise." Renaud gave a short nod and turned to the squads. "You heard the capitaine! Spread out, keep your heads on a swivel. If you see movement, you signal first, you fire second." The men responded immediately, shifting their positions. The scouts moved ahead again, this time even more cautiously, their rifles raised at all times. The infantry spread into a loose but disciplined formation, ensuring they weren't clustered too tightly in case of an ambush. The Renault R35 tank followed at a slow, calculated pace, the gunner inside keeping a steady watch through his scope. Moreau checked his watch. They had been in the forest for over an hour now. The deeper they went, the stronger the unease grew. He glanced at the trees ahead. There was no visible sign of enemy movement, but his instincts screamed that they were being watched. Then came the first real break in the silence. One of the scouts, a young private named Marchand, raised his hand and crouched near the base of an old, gnarled tree. "Sir, over here," he whispered. Moreau moved quickly, Renaud just behind him. When he reached the spot, his stomach turned. Marchand was pointing at a rifle. A MAS-36. French. It was lying half-buried in the mud, its strap twisted and snapped as if it had been ripped from the owner's shoulder. Nearby, an overturned helmet sat on its side, dented along the rim. Moreau picked up the rifle, turning it over. The chamber was empty. The safety was off. The last person to hold this had been ready to fire. "Missing patrol," Renaud muttered. Moreau nodded. "One of them, at least." Bisset knelt beside the scene, his experienced eyes scanning the details. He gestured toward the disturbed soil leading toward the trees. "Something happened here. See the way the dirt's scattered? Someone was dragged." Moreau followed the direction Bisset pointed. The tracks led deeper into the woods, away from the path. Not running. Dragged. Marchand swallowed. "Sir… do we follow it?" Moreau thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Not yet. We follow the tire tracks first. Whatever happened here, it's already done. If we find the missing men, we find them together. We're not splitting up." There were no objections. Every man there knew the risk of chasing ghosts in the woods. If something had happened to the patrol, it had happened fast and there was no guarantee that whoever had done it wasn't still nearby. They continued forward, following the tank tracks and boot prints, their pace slower, more measured. The forest thickened around them, the underbrush growing denser. The further they went, the more unnatural the silence became. Renaud walked just ahead of Moreau, keeping his rifle raised. "Something's off," he muttered. "Tracks this deep should lead to a camp, a depot something. But there's nothing ahead but more fucking trees." "Unless they left in a hurry," Moreau said. "Or wanted to make sure they couldn't be followed." Renaud frowned. "You think they knew we'd come looking?" Moreau exhaled slowly. "They would if they expected someone to notice the missing patrol." The thought settled over them like a weight. Had this been planned? Had the missing men been taken as a distraction? If so, then what was the real objective? One of the scouts up ahead suddenly whistled a short, sharp signal. Moreau immediately raised his fist. The patrol stopped in place, rifles raised, eyes scanning. "Marchand, what do you see?" Moreau whispered. The young scout hesitated for a second before pointing toward a clearing just beyond the trees. "Sir… there's a truck." Moreau's pulse quickened. He motioned for Bisset and two others to flank wide before he and Renaud crept forward. When they reached the edge of the clearing, Moreau saw it. A French military truck. Abandoned. The canvas cover at the back was torn, and the doors were open. Moreau moved in, raising his revolver slightly as he stepped toward the driver's side. The seat was empty. Blood on the steering wheel. Dried. At least a day old. Renaud peered into the back, his expression unreadable. "It was transporting crates… but they're gone." Moreau scanned the clearing. There were no bodies. No bullet casings. Just the truck, sitting there, like someone had placed it as a warning. Bisset knelt beside the tire tracks. "Sir… the prints don't stop here. Whoever was driving this, they were forced out." Moreau ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. This wasn't just a missing patrol. Something had been taken from this truck, and the patrol had either seen it or gotten in the way. And whatever it was, it was important enough for someone to make sure they disappeared. He turned back to his men, speaking low but firm. "We're setting up a defensive position here for now. We report this to command, then we decide how to proceed." Renaud looked at him. "And if command tells us to pull back?" Moreau clenched his jaw. "Then we know we're onto something."

Chapter 29 - 29: The Plot Thickens

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