It had been raining for five days straight, the soft patter of autumn rain confirming to everyone that France had officially entered the rainy season. The roads were full of puddles and mud, prompting Laurent to slow down, carefully navigating the steering wheel as he grumbled to Charles in the back seat. "This is only the beginning, Lieutenant. It's like training for battlefield driving!"
Charles smiled, thinking Laurent had probably never seen the true depths of battlefield mud—those puddles were nothing by comparison.
As the car rolled into Davaz, the small town looked quieter than usual under the rain. Streets were empty, street vendors had disappeared, though guards remained vigilant, standing watch at intervals along the roadside.
Charles couldn't help but wonder how Madame Élisa, who made her living selling croissants, managed in this weather. And old Mr. Éto, who sold potatoes, was probably huddled under some tarp, bargaining with anyone brave enough to venture out. Smart Madame Deneuve, who sold pizza, had converted her home into a storefront, so her business remained unaffected.
Charles saw Madame Deneuve peering out, waving to him. He waved back, only to be jolted forward as the car screeched to a sudden halt. He looked ahead to see a soldier, umbrella in hand, blocking their path—a stocky artillery colonel, judging by the insignia on his sleeve. A car was parked nearby, suggesting he had just arrived.
As the colonel outranked Laurent, the latter displayed the expected respect, lowering his voice to ask, "Good day, Colonel. May I be of assistance?"
The artillery colonel ignored Laurent, walking directly to Charles and speaking with an air of hesitation. "You must be Charles? May I have a word with you?"
Charles looked curiously at the stranger, who, like most Frenchmen, sported a well-groomed mustache. High cheekbones gave his face an angular look.
"And you are…?" Charles glanced at the rain outside, hinting that this wasn't the ideal weather for a conversation.
The colonel extended his hand to Charles. "My name is Estienne. You may not have heard of me, but I'm certain you've heard of my tank—the CA-1, the tank that recently won the bid. I—"
In an instant, Laurent threw himself at the colonel, tackling him into the muddy ground. Pressing the colonel down, Laurent shouted at the nearby guards, "You fools! Get over here and help!"
Several guards quickly ran over from both ends of the street. The whistle of a patrolling officer added to the commotion, drawing curious neighbors who peeked out to watch.
Laurent and the guards scrambled to disarm the colonel, stripping him of his gun and sword as Laurent cursed, "How did you idiots let this guy through with weapons?"
"Sir, he's a soldier," one guard replied defensively, "and he's a colonel…"
"So what if he's a colonel?" Laurent snapped. "Does that mean we shouldn't check his identity?"
Shortly afterward, Deyoka and Camille arrived, alerted by the ruckus. They took one look at the situation and guessed what had happened, quickly moving to escort Charles away.
The artillery colonel, now bleeding slightly at the corner of his mouth, struggled and called out to Charles, "Wait, Charles! I just want to talk! I mean no harm!"
Charles turned, studying the colonel, and nodded. He assured his mother Camille, who was visibly shaken, and Deyoka, who remained cautious, "It's alright. If he intended harm, he wouldn't have revealed his identity."
Reflecting on the situation, Laurent agreed. If the artillery colonel had meant any harm, he would've drawn his gun.
Nevertheless, Laurent was thorough, personally searching the colonel again, even pulling out a cigarette from his pocket before finally standing down.
In Deyoka's small house, the artillery colonel, now dressed in Deyoka's spare civilian clothes, looked slightly awkward in the oversized attire due to his slimmer build. Laurent and a few guards kept vigilant outside the door; he hadn't even changed out of his wet uniform, fearing that any delay might give the "suspect" a chance to escape. Follow current novels on NovᴇlFir(e).nᴇt
The colonel shivered, rubbing his swollen mouth, and nodded apologetically to Deyoka and Camille. "My deepest apologies for intruding without notice. I can understand how it looked."
"Here to visit the rival you defeated?" Charles asked pointedly.
"No, Lieutenant!" The colonel's voice carried a hint of embarrassment. "I just… I wanted to know your thoughts on tanks, Lieutenant."
Deyoka chuckled. "You seem to have forgotten that we're competitors. I've never heard of gathering intelligence in quite this way!"
The artillery colonel shook his head dejectedly.
"I think I may have made a mistake, Mr. Deyoka. I'm just an ordinary artillery colonel with a penchant for tinkering and inventing."
"One day, I heard about your tank invention, Charles. It got me wondering—what if we could mount a cannon on it?"
"There were several times I wanted to reach out to you, but…" His voice trailed off.
Charles nodded, understanding the awkwardness between "innovator" and "improver." Adding a cannon onto a tank originally designed to be light and nimble was bound to raise questions, even accusations of copying.
The CA-1 tank was essentially a modified Holt 60 tractor with armor plating and a 75mm short-barrel cannon. It even featured a spiked front designed to slice through barbed wire. For all these reasons, the artillery colonel had probably felt uncomfortable about meeting Charles.
"Then Mr. Grevy approached me," the colonel continued. "He said he would help, even offered to buy my design and produce it. Besides, he already held a tank patent. So…"
Deyoka nodded in understanding; with Grevy's permission, any "improvements" would be legally protected from accusations of infringement.
The artillery colonel looked down, embarrassed, tightening the coat around him. "I should have come to you from the start."
Camille offered him a steaming cup of coffee, feeling it was only polite now that she was certain he meant no harm. The colonel accepted gratefully, giving her a warm nod of thanks.
Charles suddenly remembered something. "Colonel, you mentioned your name was…"
"Estienne, Lieutenant," the colonel replied.
"Estienne?" Charles nodded slightly.
He recalled hearing about this colonel—a man with a passion for design and innovation, known as the "Father of French Armor." Estienne's ideas would eventually inspire the Germans' blitzkrieg tactics; his "swarm tactics" were essentially a precursor to lightning warfare.
A talented colonel like Estienne… would he be worth recruiting?
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