Patrols moved as usual, staggered in four-man teams.
Quiet.
Watchful.
Ordinary.
Morning.
Until the black Citroën rolled in.
Major Moreau was midway through coordinating the day's rotation with Lieutenant Serin when the staff car pulled past the tank line without announcing itself.
A small tricolor flag fluttered from the fender.
No dust trail, no sound beyond the engine.
It stopped with sharp precision in front of HQ, and the passenger door opened.
Out stepped a man in a gray wool coat, cap low over his eyes, gloves too clean for the front.
Serin stiffened. "Intelligence?"
Moreau nodded once. "Looks like it."
The man approached, offering no salute.
"Major Moreau?" he asked, voice smooth and clipped.
"I am."
The man extended a leather folder. "Orders. Code Aureline. From Deuxième Bureau."
Moreau opened the folder.
Inside was a single page, stamped "Ultra Confidentiel," in heavy typewriter strokes:
