"Aim the cannon at the Major. Now"

The march was relentless.

Moreau didn't allow for rest, not even a brief halt to regroup.

The orders were clear no stops, no unnecessary interactions, no hesitation.

Every kilometer they crossed reduced the chances of an ambush, but only slightly.

The Renault R35 led the column, its engine growling as it rolled through dirt roads and forest paths at a steady, unwavering pace.

Behind it, the column of troops marched, keeping a tight formation.

The prisoners were bound to the back of the Renault, their arms tied, their legs occasionally stumbling as the rough terrain tested their endurance.

"Faster!" Moreau barked.

There was no time to feel pity.

Renaud, walking beside him, exhaled sharply. "You do realize we've covered nearly 30 kilometers in four hours? These bastards aren't going to hold out much longer."

Moreau's jaw tightened. "They don't need to. They just need to be alive when we reach Perrin."