Who Paid you?

The room was cold and filled with smoke of cigarettes.

A single oil lamp flickered.

The military police had repurposed an old storage building for the interrogation, its thick brick walls ensuring that whatever happened inside would not be overheard.

Captain Henri Vaillan sat in the center, wrists bound to the chair, his face pale but composed.

His uniform was slightly disheveled from the chase, his breath still uneven.

Yet, despite his predicament, he was calm.

Too calm.

Lieutenant Jean Fournier watched him for a long moment before finally speaking. "You ran."

Vaillan lifted his eyes, expression unreadable. "You chased me."

Fournier smirked slightly, rolling up his sleeves as he took a seat across from him. "Interesting response. A normal officer would've demanded a lawyer, thrown around his rank, pleaded innocence."

He leaned forward. "But you didn't. You knew the moment we found your little message that this was over. Which means you're either incredibly stupid…"

He paused. "Or you knew exactly what you were doing."

Vaillan didn't answer.

Sergeant Delacroix, standing near the wall, exhaled through his nose. "Oh, he knows, alright."

He pushed off the wall and approached, his boots echoing in the confined space. "And we're going to make sure he understands just how bad his situation is."

Fournier leaned back in his chair, sighing. "You've got two options, Vaillan. You tell us everything, or we drag this out for days, and trust me, that's not going to be pleasant."

Still, no answer.

Delacroix circled behind Vaillan, resting a firm hand on his shoulder. "You know," he said conversationally, "I've always admired men who can hold their nerve. That kind of discipline, it's rare. But do you know what's even rarer?"

He gripped tighter, making Vaillan flinch. "Men who don't break."

Vaillan didn't flinch again, but his breathing changed.

Slightly shallower now.

Fournier watched, reading every movement.

He could see it the flicker of calculation, the subtle tightening of the jaw, the barely noticeable twitch of the fingers.

He was holding on, but not forever.

"Alright," Fournier exhaled, standing. "Let's make things simple."

He moved behind Vaillan, pressing a hand against the back of his chair.

"We already know about the detonator wire."

No reaction.

"We know about the message hidden under your floorboards."

Vaillan's jaw tightened.

"And we know you had access to the Renault depot before the explosion."

Still, nothing.

Delacroix sighed dramatically. "You really think keeping quiet is going to do you any good? You're already caught, Vaillan. It's over."

Vaillan finally spoke, his voice low. "Is it?"

Fournier narrowed his eyes. "You tell me."

Vaillan inhaled slowly, shifting slightly in his seat. "You don't know nearly as much as you think."

Fournier let the words sit between them before finally responding. "That's the thing, Captain. We don't need to. Because at the end of the day, your silence isn't going to protect you. It's going to bury you."

Delacroix cracked his knuckles. "And trust me, I'd rather take the long way."

A moment of silence.

Then, Vaillan did something unexpected. He smiled.

"Fine," he said simply.

Fournier and Delacroix exchanged a glance.

Vaillan adjusted his posture slightly, rolling his shoulders as much as his restraints allowed. "I'm a professional. I don't belong to any country. I was given a job. I did it."

Fournier folded his arms. "What job?"

Vaillan shrugged. "Blow up a Renault."

Delacroix scoffed. "That's it?"

"That's it."

Fournier's mind worked quickly, sorting through the implications. "You were paid to sabotage a single tank during training?"

"Correct."

Delacroix frowned, his frustration showing. "That doesn't make sense. Why? Who benefits from that?"

Vaillan exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "Conflict benefits many people."

Fournier narrowed his eyes. "What kind of conflict?"

Vaillan finally leaned forward, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. "There's a war happening in this army, Lieutenant. Not with bullets. Not yet."

He smirked slightly. "But there are sides forming, aren't there? Men who believe in tradition, and men who think change is coming. Some of them are willing to let time decide. Others?"

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "They think the only way to win is to start the fire themselves."

Delacroix's expression darkened. "You're telling me you blew up a tank just to make officers argue with each other?"

Vaillan's eyes flicked toward him. "It worked, didn't it?"

Fournier's stomach turned slightly.

He wasn't wrong.

Since the explosion, the debate over armored warfare had intensified.

Officers who had once been neutral were now taking positions, some reinforcing their belief in static defense, others questioning whether the traditionalists were dragging the army into obsolescence.

The conflict had been minor before, but now?

Now, people were taking sides.

Delacroix let out a harsh laugh. "All this, just to create a little more tension? What kind of bastard pays for that?"

Vaillan's smirk faded slightly. "The kind who think France isn't prepared for the war that's coming."

The words hung in the air.

Fournier exhaled through his nose. "Who hired you?"

Vaillan shook his head. "That, Lieutenant, is something you won't get out of me."

Fournier studied him for a long moment before finally stepping back. "Doesn't matter. We already have enough to end you."

Vaillan tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "Then I guess this is where we part ways."

Fournier didn't answer.

He motioned to the gendarmes.

"Get him locked down. No outside contact. No communication."

The guards hauled Vaillan to his feet, leading him toward the exit.

Delacroix waited until he was gone before shaking his head. "Son of a bitch really thought he was clever."

Fournier rubbed his temple. "Because he was."

Delacroix let out a tired chuckle. "So what now?"

Fournier exhaled. "Now, we let Paris know what we found."

---

The phone line crackled slightly as Fournier sat in the dimly lit office, the Paris military bureau on the other end.

"Lieutenant Fournier, reporting from Verdun," he said, his voice steady. "We have the suspect in custody. Name: Captain Henri Vaillan. He confessed to sabotage."

A pause. Then a voice on the other end.

"Confirmed motive?"

Fournier ran a hand over his face. "Destabilization. An attempt to fuel internal division between factions within the army."

Another pause.

Then: "Acknowledged. Await further orders."

The line went dead.

Fournier sat in silence for a moment before finally standing.

The case was closed.

But somehow, it felt like it was only the beginning.