Paris, March 1938
Renaud stepped in, closing the door with care.
He didn't salute.
In this room, the act was unnecessary.
Moreau was bent over a folder, pencil moving in short, deliberate strokes.
"Sit," Moreau said, without looking up.
Renaud took the chair opposite. "You want the latest."
"I want everything," Moreau replied, flipping the page toward him. "Army first."
Renaud leaned forward. "Active divisions are at full strength. The winter conscripts are in place, training accelerated by six weeks. Eastern Corps can be at the Alsace line in forty-eight hours if you give the word."
"Cut that to thirty-six," Moreau said. "We can't have our own slowness undo our advantage."
"It's already being done," Renaud said. "Reserves are quietly rotating through live-fire drills. Ammunition stockpiles for field artillery are at one hundred and ten percent of requirement."
"And mechanized?" Moreau asked.
