Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 64: "I seek to defend her. With steel, and motion, and will.”

The thunder of revolution had faded into an silence.

Paris, after more than three weeks of silence after blood, betrayal, and backroom gunfire, was once again breathing cold.

Delon's purge had gutted the old cabals.

The "ghost list" was now a myth, a part of history everyone wanted to forget.

Even a small remembrance of that list send shivers down to shine of those guilty.

France had teetered at the edge of an civil war and somehow survived.

It is true as Delon and Beauchamp both said.

This Republic can survive anything.

But as with all things in the Third Republic, the silence was always deceptive.

Upfront everything was going fine and by fine in France it meant economy in shambles, political revolution with parties fighting each other and people about to revolt.

But beyond the chaos something else was rising.

A character who finally lit the spark which will soon engulf the French Army.

In a small, dimly lit corner of the Secretariat-General for National Defence, Charles de Gaulle stood by the window, watching Paris through the haze of gray morning.

The city still reeked of fear.

Behind him, on a heavy oak desk, sat the final proofs of a book that would shake what bullets could not.

Vers l'Armée de Métier.

"Finished at last," said Colonel Georges Dumont, leaning against the doorway.

He was older than de Gaulle, a quiet man with eyes sharpened by trench mud and the smell of mustard gas.

"Yes," de Gaulle replied, not turning. "Now we see if words can do what rifles failed to."

Dumont stepped closer, reading the spine. "A professional army. Mobile forces. No reliance on static lines."

De Gaulle turned now, posture straight, voice calm. "If France doesn't change how it fights, she won't survive the next war."

Dumont eyed him. "You really believe another war is coming?"

"I know it is," de Gaulle said. "It's already here just moving quietly, like smoke under a door."

Two days later, the book hit the streets.

It wasn't dramatic at first.

A few columns in military gazettes.

A quiet review in Le Figaro.

A footnote in La Dépêche.

But the circles that mattered read it and they didn't stay quiet.

Inside the Ministry of Defense, a young lieutenant burst into a corridor.

He clutched the new book in his hand, fresh off the press. "Sir!" he called breathlessly, approaching General Henri Gouraud's office.

"Commandant de Gaulle's manuscript....he's published it."

Gouraud didn't look up from his desk. "Yes, I've seen it."

The lieutenant paused, surprised. "But it's...."

"A bomb," Gouraud said flatly. "Yes, I know."

On the other side inside army clubs, officers debated its chapters between puffs of pipe smoke.

In cafés near Place de la Concorde, bureaucrats whispered over underlined copies.

And in high-ceilinged salons across Paris, men with too many medals and too few convictions growled that a Major was lecturing generals.

The French High Command was livid.

But not everyone was dismissive.

Étienne Moreau and Renaud were seated under the Montmartre café, sipping hot coffee while watching a fresh newspaper flutter in the breeze beside them.

The front page read:

"A Call to Arms: De Gaulle Proposes New Doctrine for French Army"

Moreau glanced at it, smiling faintly. "He finally published it."

Renaud raised an eyebrow. "Took him long enough. You've been muttering about that book for some time now."

Moreau chuckled. "Not the book. The man."

"You think he's dangerous?"

"I think he's necessary."

Renaud leaned in. "Then why do half the men upstairs want to court martial him?"

"Because they fear him," Moreau replied, eyes narrowing. "Same reason they feared us."

He took another sip of coffee.

"Besides," he added, "he wrote the future in ink, and they still can't read it."

That afternoon, in a dusty strategy office off Rue Saint-Dominique, de Gaulle was summoned.

The generals sat like statues behind a long conference table.

General Gouraud, stone-faced and regal, spoke first.

"We've read your work, Major."

"I assumed so, sir."

"Do you stand by it?"

"Yes."

"Even the part," Gouraud tapped the paper sharply, "where you imply our current structure is obsolete?"

"I don't imply it, General," de Gaulle said calmly. "I declare it."

A few officers shifted uncomfortably.

Another, General Lemoine, growled, "You presume much for a man with no division under his command."

De Gaulle tilted his head. "Perhaps if I did, we'd be having fewer funerals and more victories."

Murmurs echoed.

Gouraud raised a hand. "Enough. The book is public. We cannot censor it without proving its point. You're dismissed, Major."

De Gaulle saluted crisply. "Thank you, sir."

As he turned to leave, he added, "The truth doesn't care for rank, gentlemen. It only cares for survival."

In a hallway, Beauchamp caught sight of him.

The Major General gave a thin smile. "So, you've finally published the thing."

"I did. Sir."

"And you think that will change anything?"

"I don't think," de Gaulle replied, "I know."

Beauchamp looked amused. "You and Moreau… always a storm at your heels."

De Gaulle's face hardened slightly. "It's the air that needs clearing, sir. Not us."

Beauchamp didn't answer. He simply nodded and walked away.

Back at the barracks where Moreau and Renaud were temporarily stationed, a messenger delivered a package.

Moreau opened it slowly.

Inside: a fresh copy of Vers l'Armée de Métier.

A short note was tucked between its pages.

"They won't listen to us, Étienne. But maybe they'll listen to war when it knocks. – CDG."

Moreau turned the book over in his hands. "Renaud."

"Yeah?"

"He's lit the match."

Renaud grinned. "Let's hope the fire doesn't catch the curtains."

Moreau smirked. "It always does."

That night, Delon summoned Beauchamp and Perrin.

"The president has read the book," Delon announced.

Perrin raised a brow. "And?"

"He said: 'Let the boy speak. Let him dream.'"

Beauchamp frowned. "And you?"

Delon's voice was tired. "I've spilled enough blood. Maybe it's time someone else picked up the pen."

Two days later, in a quiet study overlooking the Seine, Charles de Gaulle stood behind a podium.

He adjusted his glasses and addressed the audience of uniformed officers, professors, and a few brave deputies who still believed in reform.

"If France continues to prepare for the last war," de Gaulle said, voice firm, "she will lose the next one before it begins."

Murmurs filled the hall.

"I do not seek to replace the republic," he continued. "I seek to defend her. With steel, and motion, and will."