"Then stop acting like the enemy."

The forest became even more suffocating for them to walk.

Every step forward felt like stepping into the unknown.

The patrol had advanced carefully, methodically, ensuring they had full control before the confrontation even began.

The Renault R35 remained moved slowly as it gave confidence to the troops with its hulking mass of steel and firepower.

Its turret had locked onto the direction unknown French regiment, the 37mm cannon was trying to get a better vision to aim directly at their center.

Moreau crouched low, signaling Renaud, who had positioned his squad to the right.

Three fingers raised.

They were ready.

From this vantage point, the enemy soldiers were clearly visible.

Twenty men.

They stood in a loose formation, weapons slung lazily over their shoulders, too relaxed for soldiers stationed near the border.

Some smoked, others murmured to one another.

A few of them stood over a crate, poring over a map spread out across its surface.

Moreau frowned.

They weren't patrolling.

They were waiting.

For what?

The question has been distrubing him for a while.

"Marchand, move forward. I need a better look."

The scout gave a short nod, then disappeared into the undergrowth.

The rest of the patrol waited, tense.

Seconds passed.

Then, a shout erupted from the enemy ranks.

"Merde! We're compromised!"

The moment shattered.

Rifles were grabbed.

Cigarettes hit the ground.

Boots scrambled across dirt.

The Paris regiment jumped into a defensive stance, bodies snapping into muscle memory.

Moreau immediately raised his fist.

"Hold your fire! DO NOT engage unless ordered!"

The Renault R35 crept forward, just a fraction, its barrel shifting slightly to make its presence impossible to ignore.

From both flanks, Moreau's men closed in, securing a tight perimeter around the enemy unit.

Renaud's voice was a whipcrack through the air.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS! YOU'RE SURROUNDED!"

A tense silence followed.

The Paris regiment didn't lower their rifles, but they hadn't raised them either.

Some exchanged nervous glances.

Others shifted, uncertain.

Then, one of them, a stocky corporal, let out a scoff.

"What is this bullshit? You're pointing guns at French soldiers?"

His voice was laced with disbelief, his hand twitching near the stock of his rifle.

Moreau didn't waver.

"You tell me, Corporal. What's a regiment from Paris doing in a restricted zone near the border without authorization?"

The corporal hesitated.

Behind him, one of his men muttered, "We don't have to answer to them."

Moreau sighed.

Wrong move.

He took a step forward, rifle still firm in his grip. "You don't have to answer, no. But here's what will happen if you don't. My men will detain you. Your weapons will be confiscated. You'll be marched to headquarters, where I'll be forced to explain why an unidentified unit, deep in a sensitive border region, refused to identify itself."

His tone darkened.

"And trust me, the War Ministry doesn't like mysteries."

The corporal swallowed hard.

He wasn't a coward, but he wasn't stupid either.

One of the younger soldiers in their ranks, barely in his twenties, spoke up suddenly.

"We're conducting exercises. Orders from high command."

Moreau chuckled, shaking his head.

"Exercises? Without notifying the border garrisons? Without insignia? Tell me, do you take me for an idiot, or do you just assume I was born yesterday?"

The lieutenant of the Parisian unit tall, thin, with sharp, cold eyes finally stepped forward.

His expression was unreadable, but Moreau could see the calculations running through his head.

"You're making a mistake, Capitaine."

Moreau raised an eyebrow.

"Am I? Because from where I'm standing, you're outgunned, outmaneuvered, and out of time."

The lieutenant tilted his head slightly. "And what if we refuse to comply? Are you prepared to kill fellow Frenchmen?"

Moreau's eyes didn't waver.

"No." He let the word hang in the air before adding, "But I am prepared to have you detained for insubordination and espionage. That's what this is looking like. A group of French soldiers, unmarked, positioned in a strategic location with no clear orders? That doesn't just get brushed aside."

The lieutenant's jaw tightened.

Renaud, standing just a few steps behind Moreau, let out an exasperated sigh.

"Look, mon ami, we both know where this is going. You're stuck. If you were supposed to be here, you'd have backup. You wouldn't be bullshitting about exercises."

The corporal shifted uncomfortably. His fingers twitched at his side. "This is ridiculous. We're French. You're treating us like the enemy."

Moreau smirked. "Then stop acting like the enemy."

Another silence.

One of the soldiers in the enemy unit, standing closer to the tree line, leaned toward his companion.

"What the hell do we do?" he whispered, but the sound carried.

The lieutenant heard it too.

His nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply.

He was losing control of his men.

Moreau knew it.

Then, the lieutenant sighed.

And slowly deliberately he raised his hands.

Moreau's breath remained steady, his rifle still raised, but he knew it was over.

The lieutenant's rifle slipped from his grip, falling to the dirt with a dull thud.

A moment passed.

Then, one by one, the rest of the Paris regiment followed suit.

The sound of weapons hitting the ground filled the clearing.

It was over.

Moreau signaled to Renaud.

His second-in-command immediately moved forward, directing men to secure the surrendered weapons.

The Renault R35 didn't move, didn't shift.

Its presence was still a silent warning.

Moreau took a deep breath and stepped toward the lieutenant.

The man watched him carefully, his eyes colder now.

Moreau spoke first.

"Now, you're going to explain to me what a regiment from Paris is doing this deep in border territory, with no orders, no insignia, and no paperwork."

The lieutenant didn't reply right away.

Instead, he let a small smirk curl at the corner of his lips.

Then, softly, he spoke.

"Capitaine Moreau."

A chill crept down Moreau's spine.

He hadn't introduced himself.

The lieutenant tilted his head slightly, eyes studying him.

Then, slowly, he chuckled.

"You've stirred the hornet's nest, Capitaine."

Moreau's expression didn't change, but his mind raced.

The lieutenant leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only Moreau and Renaud could hear.

"Be prepared, Moreau. Either for a court-martial… or death."

The words hung between them, suffocating.

Moreau didn't flinch.

But deep inside, he knew.