Strategists of the Lost Republic

The corridor outside Colonel Perrin's office was quieter than before.

The scent of old paper and ink still lingered in the air, but Étienne barely noticed it.

His mind was already racing ahead.

He had just secured his first step.

Two Renault FTs and one Somua S35.

It wasn't much.

The Renaults were relics from the last war small, slow, and lightly armed.

The Somua S35, on the other hand, was one of the best tanks France had fast, well-armored, and deadly in the right hands.

It wasn't enough to change the tide of history. Not yet.

But it was a starting point.

"Are you actually serious about this?" Renaud's voice broke through his thoughts.

Étienne turned his head slightly.

His lieutenant looked almost… bewildered.

"You really think a bunch of tin cans are going to prove anything to Perrin?" Renaud scoffed, lowering his voice as they stepped outside the stone building.

Étienne inhaled deeply.

"I think," he said slowly, "that if we can demonstrate even a fraction of what tanks are capable of, it will make people talk."

Renaud snorted. "Talk? Moreau, the entire army has been talking about tanks since 1918. And guess what? Nothing's changed. Do you really think a single exercise with three vehicles is going to change the minds of those old warhorses in Paris?"

Étienne stopped walking.

Renaud took another drag from his cigarette, watching him with an amused yet skeptical gaze.

"Tell me something, Pierre," Étienne said, keeping his tone measured. "When was the last time you saw an infantryman outrun a tank?"

Renaud blinked.

"Well," he said after a moment, exhaling smoke. "Never, obviously."

"And yet," Étienne continued, "we still treat tanks like they belong behind the infantry instead of leading the charge."

Renaud narrowed his eyes, his amusement fading slightly. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

Étienne met his gaze. "I am."

Renaud let out a sigh. "Merde. I was hoping this was just a passing phase."

"It isn't."

Renaud scratched the back of his neck, looking genuinely uncomfortable now. "Look, Moreau. I like you. You're a good officer. But you're playing with fire. The High Command doesn't like radical ideas. You start pushing too hard, and you'll end up transferred to some godforsaken garrison in North Africa."

Étienne smirked. That wouldn't be the worst thing.

At least he wouldn't be in a doomed army.

But no. He had work to do here.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not an idiot. We'll do the exercise quietly. We don't need to challenge Perrin just give him results."

Renaud sighed again, rubbing his forehead. "Fine. But if we get in trouble, I'm blaming you."

Étienne chuckled. "Noted."

The motor pool was a large, open field near the barracks, where mechanics worked on half-tracks, trucks, and a handful of tanks.

The scent of oil, fuel, and metal was stronger here, mixing with the occasional distant rumble of engines.

Étienne and Renaud approached a row of Renault FT light tanks, their dull green paint chipped and worn.

One of the mechanics, a man with grease-streaked hands and a cigarette dangling from his lips, glanced up.

"Capitaine Moreau," the mechanic said, nodding.

Étienne returned the nod.

The old Moreau must have been known here.

"Where's the Somua?" Étienne asked.

The mechanic smirked, wiping his hands on a rag. "You mean the beauty? She's over there, sir. We keep her separate from these old clunkers."

Étienne followed his gesture.

There it was. The Somua S35.

Sleek. Heavily armored. Faster than most French tanks.

A machine built for modern warfare.

It was the future, but in the hands of a military that didn't understand it.

Étienne ran a hand along the cool metal.

In another timeline, this machine would be wasted deployed piecemeal, scattered across defensive positions instead of concentrated into powerful armored divisions.

Not this time.

Not if he could help it.

"What's the status?" he asked the mechanic.

"Tracks are good. Engine runs smooth. Had some trouble with the turret's traverse, but we fixed it," the mechanic said, patting the side of the tank like a proud father. "She's ready for anything."

Étienne nodded. "Good."

Renaud leaned against the side of the Renault FT, arms crossed. "Alright, genius. What's the plan?"

Étienne looked at him.

"Speed," he said simply. "I want to see just how fast we can maneuver these things."

Renaud gave him a dry look. "You do realize the Renaults aren't exactly built for speed, right?"

Étienne smirked. "That's why we have the Somua."

That evening, after the reports were filed and the base had settled into its usual late-night rhythm, Étienne sat at his desk, poring over maps.

The dim light from his oil lamp cast flickering shadows on the walls.

His mind was full of different thoughts.

Everything he did had to be precise.

Every move, every conversation, every drill had to be carefully calculated.

One wrong step, and he could ruin everything.

A knock at the door made him look up.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, and Renaud stepped inside, closing it behind him.

Étienne raised an eyebrow. "Did Perrin send you to keep an eye on me?"

Renaud scoffed, pulling a chair over. "No. But I figured I should at least try to understand what the hell you're doing."

Étienne leaned back slightly. "And?"

Renaud sighed, rubbing his temple. "Look. I'm not blind. I know we're lagging behind the Germans. I know our tactics are outdated. But you're talking about changing the entire army's way of thinking. That's not something one captain can do."

Étienne nodded. "I know."

Renaud frowned. "Then what's your end goal, Moreau?"

Étienne studied him for a moment.

How much could he say?

How much should he say?

He took a deep breath. "My goal is to make sure that when war comes and it will come we're not caught standing still."

Renaud watched him carefully. "And you really believe tanks are the answer?"

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

Renaud exhaled, shaking his head. "Merde. You really are serious about this."

Étienne smirked. "I told you."

Renaud sighed. "Fine. I'll back you. But if this blows up in our faces, I'm transferring to the cavalry and pretending I never met you."

Étienne chuckled. "Deal."

Renaud stood, stretching. "Get some sleep, Moreau. You look like you haven't had a decent night's rest in days."

I haven't had a decent rest since I woke up in 1934.

"Yeah," Étienne muttered. "I'll try."

As Renaud left, Étienne leaned forward, staring at the map again.

His first test was set.