Chapter 33 - 33:

Words : 1071 Updated : Sep 10th, 2025

The patrol moved forward. The dense forest around them, damp with the morning mist, swallowing up their presence as they covered ground. Five kilometers had passed since they had left the abandoned camp behind. They were deep in unknown territory, following tracks left behind by an enemy they weren't even certain was German anymore. The silence among the men wasn't just discipline, it was tension. They had been prepared to face Germans or possibly even Spanish irregulars. But now, something wasn't right. A sharp whistle cut through the air. Three bursts, the scout signal. Moreau immediately raised his fist, halting the entire patrol. The men froze instinctively, their weapons shifting slightly as eyes scanned the trees ahead. The Renault R35's engine noise slowed down as the tank crew cut the throttle, leaving it in a quiet idle. No one moved. Renaud exhaled, gripping his rifle tighter. "What now?" Marchand emerged from the brush, moving quickly but carefully. He was slightly out of breath, his uniform smeared with dirt from crawling through undergrowth. He went straight to Moreau, his face tense. "Movement ahead, Capitaine." Moreau's eyes sharpened. "Hostile?" Marchand hesitated. "That's the problem. It's not German. It's French." Silence. Moreau's brows furrowed. "Say that again." Marchand licked his lips. "I counted at least twenty men. They're wearing French uniforms. Armed. I couldn't see any insignia from my position." A ripple of murmurs ran through the patrol. Some of the younger men exchanged uneasy glances. The enemy they were preparing for wasn't supposed to be French. Renaud narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure? You didn't misidentify them in the fog?" Marchand gave him a sharp look. "I know a French uniform when I see one. These men are ours." Moreau clenched his jaw. French troops? Here? It made no sense. No units from the standing border defense had been assigned to this area. It was too deep into the forest, too close to the unknown. Renaud let out a sharp breath. "Merde… What the hell is a group of French soldiers doing out here?" Moreau ignored the question for now. He turned back to Marchand. "Did they see you?" Marchand shook his head. "No, sir. I stayed low. They weren't actively scouting. More like… waiting for something." Moreau's stomach tightened. "Waiting for what?" Marchand's expression darkened. "I don't know." Moreau looked toward the men. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting for orders. He took a deep breath. There were only two possibilities. One, this was a friendly patrol that had somehow been assigned here without anyone being informed. That was unlikely, given how rigidly patrol routes were scheduled. Two… they weren't supposed to be here. Moreau turned back to Marchand. "You said no insignia?" Marchand nodded. "Nothing visible. Standard uniforms, but no markings. No regimental badges." Moreau exchanged a look with Renaud. That was unusual. French soldiers were always marked with regimental insignia. No insignia meant they were either operating unofficially or hiding their affiliation. Renaud ran a hand down his face. "Alright, let's assume for a second they're not here on friendly terms. How do we handle this? We can't just walk up and ask, 'Pardon, mes amis, but what the fuck are you doing here?'" Moreau smirked slightly but didn't respond immediately. His mind was already calculating. They needed to approach carefully. If these men were friendlies, any aggression could turn into a disaster. If they weren't… then things were going to get dangerous very quickly. Moreau exhaled. "We need more information before we make a move. Marchand, how close can you get without being seen?" Marchand thought for a moment. "Within fifty meters, maybe closer if I use the terrain." "Do it. Find anything you can names, insignia, what weapons they're carrying. Do not engage. If you're spotted, retreat immediately." Marchand nodded. "Understood. Give me ten minutes." He disappeared back into the trees, moving swiftly and silently. Moreau turned to Renaud. "We need to be prepared for either outcome. If they're friendly, no problem. If they're not… we need to control the situation." Renaud gave him a knowing look. "Which means we flank." Moreau nodded. "Take half the squad, move around to their right flank. I'll take the other half and move left. The tank stays in the middle as a deterrent. If things go wrong, we contain them from both sides." Renaud smirked slightly, adjusting his rifle strap. "You're expecting a fight." Moreau's jaw tightened. "I'm expecting answers. One way or another." Renaud took a deep breath and turned to his men. "Alright, you heard him! First squad with me, second squad with the Capitaine. Keep your safeties on, but be ready for anything. We don't fire unless ordered." The men split into two formations, moving quietly into their respective positions. Moreau turned toward Lavelle, the Renault R35's tank commander. "Hold your position here. If things go south, don't fire unless I give the order." Lavelle, a grizzled veteran, gave a firm nod. "Understood, Capitaine. If we do engage?" Moreau's voice was calm. "Then we end it quickly." The men dispersed into the trees, each group moving into their flanking positions with disciplined precision. Moreau moved carefully with his squad, each step deliberate, his rifle now unslung from his shoulder. The ground beneath them was soft, damp absorbing the noise. Ahead, beyond the mist, was a group of French soldiers who weren't supposed to be here. Then, suddenly, Marchand reappeared from the trees, moving faster than before. He had been gone barely eight minutes. Moreau immediately halted. "Report." Marchand's face was tense. "I got a better look. Their movements, their uniforms I can recognize their regiment now." Moreau narrowed his eyes. "Go on." Marchand took a breath. "They're from a regiment based in Paris." Silence. Moreau's stomach dropped. A Parisian regiment? That wasn't just unusual, it was impossible. His mind started working fast. A company stationed in Paris wouldn't have any orders or objective being this far south, deep in border areas. No standard patrol routes. No emergency deployments. Which meant one thing. They were the enemy. Searᴄh the NôvelFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Chapter 33 - 33:

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