Missing

The convoy rumbled down the winding roads.

The closer they got to Bouzonville, the quieter the men became.

It wasn't fear at least, not in the traditional sense but a heightened sense of uncertainty.

Moreau could feel it in the way they gripped their rifles tighter, in the way conversations grew shorter, and in how even Renaud, usually the first to crack a joke, sat silently beside him in the lead half-track.

The small town of Bouzonville finally came into view as the convoy rounded a bend in the road.

Moreau caught sight of the old church steeple rising above the rooftops, its cross silhouetted against the evening sky.

Beyond the town, the border loomed just a few kilometers away, a line of dense forests and open fields stretching toward the horizon.

From this distance, it was impossible to see anything unusual.

The border looked as quiet as ever.

The vehicles slowed as they approached the garrison checkpoint, a small military outpost built from sandbagged fortifications and wooden barracks.

French soldiers were stationed along the perimeter, some leaning against their MAS-36 rifles, others engaged in conversation.

A guardhouse stood beside the road, its sentry stepping forward with a raised hand to signal for the convoy to halt.

Moreau stood up from his seat, adjusting his cap as he motioned for the column to stop.

He hopped out of the half-track, his boots landing on the dry earth with a dull thud.

Renaud followed, stretching his arms before exhaling loudly.

"Well, here we are," Renaud muttered. "The edge of civilization."

"Not quite," Moreau said. "But close enough."

The guard, a young corporal, snapped to attention as they approached.

His uniform was neatly pressed, but there was fatigue in his eyes the kind that came from long, uneventful nights spent watching an enemy that wasn't supposed to be there.

"Capitaine Moreau, 3rd Armored Division," Moreau introduced himself, presenting his orders. "We're here to conduct reconnaissance of the sector. Who's in charge?"

The corporal hesitated for a second before stepping aside. "Lieutenant Berger is commanding the garrison, sir. He's inside."

Moreau nodded. "Very well. Carry on."

As the convoy rolled into the outpost, Moreau took a quick survey of the surroundings.

The soldiers stationed here were few, barely a reinforced platoon, and they moved with the casual weariness of men who hadn't seen action in a long time but were constantly on edge.

A handful of Citroën-Kégresse half-tracks were parked beside a supply shed, along with a couple of Hispano-Suiza trucks likely used for logistical support.

No heavy armor, no artillery this wasn't a position meant to hold against a serious attack.

They were here to watch.

That was all.

Moreau turned to Renaud. "Get the men unloaded. I want a full status check on our tanks, half-tracks, and radio communications within the hour."

Renaud nodded, already barking orders to the men as Moreau stepped inside the small wooden command building, where a handful of officers were gathered around a large table, maps spread out before them.

Lieutenant Berger looked up from his notes, a tired but sharp-eyed man in his early forties, dressed in a slightly wrinkled uniform.

He rose to his feet as Moreau approached, extending a hand.

"Capitaine Moreau," Berger said. "They told me Verdun was sending someone, but I wasn't expecting armor."

Moreau shook his hand firmly. "Consider it an insurance policy."

Berger smirked, gesturing to the map on the table. "You're here about the reports, then."

Moreau pulled up a chair, glancing over the detailed sector map. "I assume you've had eyes on the area?"

Berger nodded, tapping a pencil against a marked grid location along the border. "We've received multiple civilian reports of unusual activity near this section. A few nights ago, a group of farmers claimed they saw vehicles moving in the woods across the river, well within the demilitarized zone. No one got a clear look, but it wasn't French. Our own patrols have reported seeing strange lights in the distance, hearing engine noises where there shouldn't be any. No signs of encampments, but we suspect something's moving at night."

Moreau frowned. "And what has command said?"

Berger sighed. "Nothing useful. They told us to keep monitoring but not to provoke anything. We've had no direct confrontations, but I have men who swear they're being watched when they patrol."

Moreau exchanged a glance with Renaud, who had just entered the room, arms crossed.

"You think it's just a psychological trick?" Renaud asked.

Berger shook his head. "I wish I could say yes. But something doesn't feel right. And two days ago, we sent out a small patrol three men, standard route. They never came back."

Silence settled over the room.

Moreau's fingers drummed against the table as he considered the implications.

"No distress calls?" he asked.

Berger shook his head. "No gunfire either. They just… vanished."

Moreau exhaled slowly, his mind already running through possibilities.

Lost? Unlikely.

Desertion? Impossible.

Ambushed? Most likely.

"We're heading out tomorrow morning to sweep the area," Moreau said. "We'll need full cooperation from your men."

Berger nodded. "Of course. We'll provide guides familiar with the terrain. But be careful. If something is out there, it's already watching us."

Moreau stood, rolling his shoulders slightly. "Then we'll make sure to watch back."

As they stepped outside, the temperature had dropped slightly.

The men were already setting up for the night, some stacking supplies, others checking their rifles under the glow of lanterns.

Mechanics were running final diagnostics on the Renaults, ensuring they were fueled and ready for movement.

Renaud lit a cigarette, watching the scene with an air of forced nonchalance. "So, we're just going to walk into the dark tomorrow and hope we don't get shot?"

Moreau smirked. "That's the plan."

Renaud exhaled a long trail of smoke. "Perfect."

Moreau walked toward his command tent, pulling out a fresh map and marking potential search routes.

He knew the routine send out patrols, establish contact with locals, rule out obvious explanations.

But something about this mission felt different.

The missing patrol wasn't an accident.

The sightings weren't just paranoia.

Something was happening in the Rhineland before it should actually happen and they were about to find out exactly what.

Whether Paris wanted them to or not.