Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 198: “We’ll make them bleed in drills so they don’t bleed in battle."

Chapter 198: “We’ll make them bleed in drills so they don’t bleed in battle."

Major Moreau stepped out of his quarters, boots crunching in frost.

His uniform was pressed, cap firm over short dark hair, his M36-R slung over his shoulder not for use, but for presence.

Captain Renaud trailed behind, munching on a stale croissant he’d bartered from a supply truck.

"So," Renaud said between bites, "ready to meet your circus?"

"Not a circus," Moreau said. "A hammer. Or it will be, if we shape it."

They approached the briefing hut, where three junior officers waited in front of a cracked door.

All saluted sharply.

Behind them, soldiers moved in brisk order, refueling trucks, securing weapons, and laying out lines for inspection.

"Gentlemen," Moreau began, his tone level, "I’m Major Moreau, your new commanding officer. I expect order, discipline, and initiative. This is not Paris. There are no favors here. We earn everything with precision and sweat."

The first officer stepped forward. "Captain Jules Serin, sir. Commanding 2nd Company, motorized infantry. Transferred from the 27th Chasseurs Alpins."

"Serin. I read your file. You held the Col de Vars against artillery last winter. Good."

Serin nodded. "We’re green here, but eager. My men train hard."

"We’ll make them bleed in drills so they don’t bleed in battle."

The second officer stepped up. "Lieutenant Pierre Lafont. In charge of armored logistics. Twenty-nine R35s on site, three in overhaul. Ammo depots locked and rotated every forty-eight hours."

Moreau nodded. "You’ll walk me through every tank schedule today. And tell your mechanics: rust is an enemy too."

"Yes, Major."

The third man, taller and younger, wore glasses that fogged as he saluted. "Sous-lieutenant Georges Marcelle. Heavy weapons platoon, sir. We have six mounted M36-Rs and four PAP squads on rotation."

Renaud leaned in and whispered, "He looks like he teaches Latin."

Moreau gave Marcelle a quick once-over. "You’ll be coordinating with engineers for reinforced positions. I want those M36-Rs mobile and ready within three minutes of alert."

Marcelle pushed his glasses up. "Three minutes? We’ve been doing five, sir."

"Then do better."

Marcelle swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Now," Moreau said. "Let’s see the steel."

They moved onto the parade ground, where rows of soldiers stood at attention in four formations.

A light wind stirred the flag overhead.

Trucks lined the far end of the field, and beyond that, the silhouettes of Renault R35 tanks waited.

Moreau walked the line slowly.

Renaud followed, eyes scanning boots, buttons, rifles.

"At ease," Moreau said, stepping to the first formation. "You are soldiers of the Republic. And more importantly, you are the edge of France’s shield. If the Germans test us here, you are the first they will face. That means you will be the first to fire, the first to hold, and if necessary, the first to die."

A hush fell over the field.

Moreau paused. "But we do not die easily. We do not give ground freely. We stand together, trained and armed not just with weapons, but with knowledge. And with that, we become more dangerous than anything they expect."

He nodded. "Resume your duties."

The troops broke ranks to resume their positions.

Moreau turned toward the tanks.

The Renault R35s sat like crouching beasts.

Low, narrow-turreted, with curved armor plates and caterpillar treads partially coated in road dust.

One bore the chalk number 218 another had a faded emblem from the previous regiment a red fox head.

Lieutenant Lafont brought forward two mechanics and saluted. "Tanks are rotated daily. Turrets manually tested. We’ve reinforced track guards with additional plating based on your design notes."

Moreau examined the turret ring of 218.

He ducked inside, eyes narrowing.

"Loader’s hatch is stiff. If this jams in combat, the crew is dead."

The mechanic flushed. "We greased it yesterday, sir."

"Then grease it again today. And tomorrow."

He climbed down and gestured to Renaud. "Climb into the lead tank. Tell me how it feels."

Renaud shrugged. "If it explodes, I want it noted I did it for science."

Inside the cabin, he yelled.

"Tight. Smells like old socks and gun oil. A lovely French blend."

"What about sightlines?"

"Narrow, unless you’re an owl. Periscope works, though. Traversal’s smooth."

Moreau nodded and turned to Lafont. "Ensure every gunner has target drills by the end of week. I want them able to hit a moving mark at 300 meters under simulated fire."

They moved to the weapons locker next.

Wooden crates opened to reveal PAP submachine guns boxy, reliable, chambered for 9mm.

Marcelle demonstrated a field strip, his hands deft and practiced.

Moreau watched.

"And jamming?"

"Rate is under 2 percent. Barrel stability in cold is reliable."

"Reload time?"

"Four seconds with a trained grip."

Renaud picked one up and cocked it. "It seems they don’t want to give shoddy product to its creator."

Next came the M36-Rs mounted on tripods or carried with reinforced slings.

Box-fed, shoulder-braced.

Heavier than most battlefield rifles, but elegant in their balance.

Moreau picked one up.

The grip was smooth, the stock firm.

"She make noises when fired," Marcelle said softly. "At 100 meters, it slices through sandbags and helmets alike."

Moreau tested the sight alignment.

"Issue two per squad. One in reserve. Maintenance logs every 48 hours."

He turned. "Captain Serin. Infantry training plan?"

Serin stepped forward with a notebook. "Obstacle drills three times weekly. Urban simulation in an abandoned farm compound two clicks east. Live fire every Saturday."

"Add night maneuvers. And start cross-training one platoon on tank-infantry coordination."

Renaud muttered, "He’s going to train them to death."

Moreau heard. "Better trained than buried."

By late afternoon, the unit gathered on the field again.

Moreau stood at the head of his formation.

Flavigny arrived quietly, watching from the rear.

Moreau faced them.

"Men, I have seen war in blueprints and in blood. What we build here is not just a defense, but a promise that France will not fall because her sons were found sleeping. We are the wall. Let them break themselves upon it."

Applause rose, fists raised.

Flavigny stepped forward. "Carry on, Major. Make this the sharpest edge we have." free𝑤ebnovel.com

Moreau nodded. "We will."