Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 39: Illegal Arms Trade, Human Smuggling, Organ Trafficking.

The road back to the base was silent.

Not in peace but in rage, in grief, in exhaustion.

Moreau rode in the Renault R35's open hatch, his uniform soaked in dried blood some his own, most not.

His rifle rested across his lap, his hands gripping it so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

Behind him, his men marched like ghosts.

Thirty kilometers of death, thirty kilometers of memories they wished they could erase.

The prisoners, bound and beaten, were forced to march between their ranks, constantly under watch.

More than once, Moreau saw his men spit at them, curse them under their breath.

He didn't stop them.

He didn't feel like stopping them.

Renaud, walking beside the tank, exhaled heavily, wiping the sweat and blood from his face.

"We lost six men today." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Moreau didn't respond.

"Two more are barely holding on. Medic says one of them is done for."

Moreau's grip on his rifle tightened.

Silence stretched between them.

The only sound was the rhythmic march of boots against the dirt road.

Finally, the gates of the base was seen ahead, lined with soldiers standing at attention.

Colonel Pierre Perrin was waiting at the entrance, flanked by nearly a hundred men.

As Moreau's unit approached, Perrin's sharp eyes took in the bloodied, battered troops, the dead bodies laid on stretchers, the bound prisoners stumbling forward under guard.

His face darkened immediately.

He didn't need to ask.

He already knew.

The worst has happened.

Moreau stepped down from the tank, his entire body aching with exhaustion, with fury.

He locked eyes with Perrin, who gave a sharp nod before turning to his men.

"Secure the prisoners! No one touches them except my men!"

The guards moved in instantly, pulling the prisoners away, dragging them toward the holding cells.

Some of the prisoners protested weakly, but no one gave a damn about their complaints.

Moreau barely acknowledged them.

His mind was still on the battlefield.

Still on the blood, the screams, the useless fucking deaths.

Renaud threw his rifle to the ground, his face twisted in anger. "And the wounded?"

"Get them to the medics. Now." Perrin's voice was like steel.

Moreau turned his head, his gaze drifting toward the stretchers.

He could see the dead being laid out carefully, their uniforms still soaked in blood.

One of the soldiers, Corporal Giraud, stared down at the bodies, his lips trembling.

"They're gone… just fucking gone…"

Moreau heard another soldier muttering prayers under his breath, gripping his rifle so tightly his hands were shaking.

Perrin looked at Moreau, his voice low. "My office. Now."

Moreau and Renaud followed, their boots leaving bloody footprints on the stone floors as they entered the headquarters.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Moreau barely made it two steps inside before he spun toward Perrin, his voice a barely contained snarl.

"What the fuck is going on, Colonel?"

Perrin remained calm, but there was tension in his shoulders.

"Sit down, Capitaine."

"I'd rather stand."

Perrin sighed, rubbing his temples.

He walked over to his desk, pulling out a file, flipping it open.

"What you walked into today wasn't just an ambush. It wasn't just rogue troops."

He looked up, his gaze sharp. "It was a cover-up."

Moreau and Renaud exchanged a glance.

"Cover-up? Of what?" Renaud demanded.

Perrin hesitated for a moment.

Then, he threw the file onto the desk.

Moreau stepped forward, glancing at the pages.

His eyes skimmed over the words, his stomach slowly twisting into knots.

Illegal arms trade.

Human smuggling.

Organ trafficking. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

His throat went dry.

"What the fuck is this?" he murmured.

Perrin exhaled sharply. "That, Capitaine, is what's been happening inside the French military for the past two years. And it goes deep and deeper than we ever imagined."

Renaud let out a harsh laugh, but it wasn't amusement, it was disbelief.

"You're telling me we just fought a battle… because some corrupt fucks in Paris are making money selling weapons?"

Perrin's expression darkened further. "Not just weapons. People. Body parts."

Silence.

Moreau's stomach churned.

He looked back down at the file, flipping the pages, his hands trembling slightly.

The missing patrols.

The unreported deaths.

The staged ambushes.

It all fucking made sense now.

Perrin's voice was cold, sharp as a knife.

"Those missing patrols you were investigating? They're dead. And not from battle. They were harvested. Their organs cut out and sold to the highest bidder."

Moreau and Renaud stared at him, horror slowly dawning on their faces.

Renaud ran a hand through his hair, his face pale. "You're telling me… our own fucking people are butchering soldiers and selling their fucking livers like livestock?"

"Yes."

Moreau's breathing slowed.

His fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms.

"Who's involved?"

Perrin's expression remained unreadable. "That's the problem. We don't know how deep this goes. All we know is that someone in Paris is running this, and they're using military units to do their dirty work."

Moreau's chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths.

"And the bastards we captured? They were a part of it?"

Perrin nodded. "Most likely. Either they were delivering shipments, or they were there to make sure no one found out. But someone in Paris gave the order. Someone powerful."

Moreau felt his rage bubbling up, boiling over.

This wasn't just corruption.

This was pure fucking evil.

"Who do we kill?" Renaud asked, voice flat.

Perrin exhaled. "For now? No one. Not yet. We need proof. We need names. If we act too fast, we'll just disappear like the others who asked too many questions."

Moreau ground his teeth.

His body was begging him to find these bastards and put a bullet in their skulls.

But Perrin was right.

"So what do we do?"

Perrin leaned back, his eyes colder than they had ever been.

"We play the long game. We dig deeper. And when we find the right moment..."

He folded his hands together, voice dropping into something quiet, deadly.

"We burn the whole fucking house down."

Moreau exhaled slowly, his jaw tight.

"But what you guys have to face tomorrow is either help or sabotage. Whatever happened today will soon reach paris and this time people will come down for mainly two reasons. First is to calm down the sentiment of troops so that they don't rebel while at the same time recheck them anyone with sign of rebel will be transferred far away. Second thing is to handle this bullshit. So let us all just pray that whoever is coming tomorrow better not be one of them."

Perrin spoke but this time even he was worried.

Moreau looked at him and realised even Perrin didn't really knew the whole picture, maybe just more then them.

As they exited the building he started thinking, whatever is happening right now didn't happen in the original timeline.

Or maybe it did happened and no one ever truly recorded it.

He is in the blind now.