Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 55: “That this country doesn’t make heroes. It devours them.”

Paris.

It rained that morning.

Not the gentle kind that clears the air, but a thin, irritating drizzle that seemed to soak into your bones without ever touching your skin.

The sort of weather that made old men bitter and clerks nervous.

Thin, bitter rain streaked the windows of the Ministère de la Guerre, gathering in crooked trails like veins across the glass.

Three floors underground, beneath layers of sandstone, marble, and the illusion of republican order, a war room was filled with people and tension.

The walls were grey, bare but for a single clock ticking far too loud.

Around the long oak table sat twelve men some in uniform, others in tailored civilian coats.

Each carried scars: from Verdun, from politics, from the bitter silence of losing control.

"Gentlemen," said Major General Beauchamp, tapping his fingers on the folder before him, "thank you for arriving early. Let's get to it. You all know why we're here."

The room fell silent.

Colonel Valois, from the intelligence bureau, leaned back in his chair. "The general's execution stunt didn't sit well. We ignored it, hoping it would die down. It hasn't."

Another officer, older, his hair silver and uniform immaculate, snorted. "You mean we're afraid of him."

"No," Beauchamp said coldly. "We're afraid of what it means. When military officers start playing judge, jury, and executioner, it sets a precedent."

He flipped open the file.

A photo clipped to the top grainy, black and white, of a man standing before a tank.

"Étienne Moreau," Beauchamp said. "Capitaine. Verdun. Promising. Dangerous."

"Dangerous?" asked Colonel Vaillard, tilting his head. "The man was clearing out traitors. Leading tanks. Getting results."

"He was also executing plans without authorization," Beauchamp replied sharply. "Working with General Delon off the record. Disobeying hierarchy. Acting like a man with impunity."

"Or like a man who gives a damn," muttered Commander Lefèvre.

"Let's be clear," said Colonel Valois, head of the intelligence bureau, his voice like ice. "What happened in Verdun was effective. It was also a humiliation for this office. For Paris. The fact that a field officer was involved in operational autonomy and then a general

presided over a public execution… without consultation, without oversight… is intolerable."

A thin man in a civilian coat raised a finger. "The newspapers buried it," he said. "But word still spread. In the cafés. In the barracks. Among the junior officers."

"He's popular," said Commander Lefèvre, grim. "The men adore him. Perrin protects him. Delon praises him. And the press has started whispering."

"Whispering what?" asked a civilian advisor from the Foreign Ministry.

"That he's incorruptible," Valois replied. "That he stood against traitors. That he did what Paris wouldn't."

Beauchamp let out a short, dry laugh. "And you all know what happens to the incorruptible."

"He becomes a symbol," Valois added. "And symbols are dangerous."

Another voice Lieutenant Colonel Drouet, pale and twitching spoke up. "It was a fucking execution. Without oversight. In front of troops. And now we have three garrison cities where junior officers are openly quoting him."

"And quoting Delon," Beauchamp added. "That man gave us a fire, and now Moreau's carrying the torch."

The room went into a thick silence.

Beauchamp finally sat forward. "So. We've summoned him. Officially, it's a committee review. Internal affairs. Review of field conduct, chain-of-command discrepancies, psychological evaluation. Unofficially…"

He let the word hang in the air.

"It's a test," Valois said. "To see what kind of man he is. And what kind of man we want him to become or erase."

"What if he plays along?" Vaillard asked. "Keeps his head down?"

Beauchamp exhaled smoke. "Then we keep him. On a leash. Promote him just enough to pacify. Slow-roll his future until he becomes harmless."

"And if he resists?"

"Then we bleed him through the system. Slowly. Delays. Reassignments. Anonymous complaints. A whisper campaign. Quiet exile."

Lefèvre frowned. "This feels... like poison, not justice."

"It's not about justice," said Valois. "It's about stability."

Beauchamp tapped his pen on the table. "And make no mistake, gentlemen we are not the only ones watching."

A junior aide knocked and stepped in, delivering a sealed telegram.

Beauchamp opened it, scanned the lines, and smirked.

"Well. As expected, the Capitaine's already stopped by Colonel Perrin's office. Couldn't stay away from his father figure."

"Perrin?" Vaillard raised a brow. "Still loyal?"

"Too much for his own good," Beauchamp said. "He's aging, predictable. A romantic. One of the old guard who still believes the army should mean something."

"That makes two of them," Valois muttered.

There was a pause.

Then the civilian again spoke. "What about the general?"

Beauchamp didn't blink. "He's untouchable. For now."

"He'll protect Moreau," someone added.

"That's why we're playing this smart," Beauchamp said. "This is about doubt, not punishment. We don't need to break the Capitaine. We only need to dirty him. Even a smear will cloud the image."

"And the soldiers who admire him?" Lefèvre asked.

"Will see a man dragged in chains," Valois said, "and remember that this Republic feeds its young to survive."

The door opened again.

A new figure entered.

Lieutenant Colonel Droud, red-eyed, smelling faintly of cognac.

"They've confirmed the schedule," he said. "Moreau arrives tomorrow. 0900. He'll be escorted directly from Gare de Lyon to the committee chamber."

"Any risk he speaks publicly?" someone asked.

"Doubtful," said Droud. "He's disciplined. But… he's angry."

Beauchamp rubbed his temple. "Let's prepare for every version of him. The soldier. The rebel. The strategist. The idealist."

"And what if he calls us out? Names names?" Vaillard asked, voice low.

Valois opened a separate folder.

"Then we smear him," he said, coldly. "We leak to L'Action Française and Le Figaro that he's unstable. That he's obsessed with reform, that he's been unwell since the border incident. That his mind broke after the executions."

"Fabricate psychiatric files if we have to," another whispered.

Beauchamp didn't flinch.

"This is not about winning or losing, gentlemen," he said, voice calm. "It's about control. This army has survived revolutions, emperors, collapses. We will survive one Capitaine."

The meeting ended.

One by one, the men filed out.

Except Valois.

He lingered behind. "Beauchamp," he said, "what if he doesn't go quietly?"

Beauchamp stubbed out his cigarette. "Then we'll remind him."

"Of what?"

Beauchamp looked up. "That this country doesn't make heroes. It devours them."