In the distance, rows of soldiers trained with rifles, their shouts blending with the sound of marching boots and distant hammering from the motor pool.

But today, his attention was focused on something far more important the first test of mechanized tactics.

He approached a small clearing where the tanks had been prepared for the day's drill.

Three vehicles stood waiting: two Renault FT light tanks and one Somua S35.

Renaud was already there, standing with his arms crossed, watching as mechanics finished their final checks.

Moreau soon gathered the small team of tank commanders and drivers, spreading a rough map across the hood of a staff car.

"Alright, listen up," he said, pointing at the map. "This is how we're running today's exercise."

The men leaned in, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Most of them had never been part of an independent tank maneuver they were used to working under direct infantry orders.

"This is not a standard slow advance drill. We're not going to crawl forward, wait for artillery support, and move in rigid formations," he continued. "Instead, we'll use the Somua's speed and the Renaults' maneuverability to execute a breakthrough."

He pointed at the terrain. "We're simulating an enemy defensive line here." His finger traced the central area of the map.

"The Renaults will push forward in a feint attack, drawing attention. Meanwhile, the Somua will flank at high speed, hit them from the side, and retreat before they can react."

One of the tank commanders, Sergeant Marchand, frowned. "Sir, that's… not how we've been trained. We're supposed to advance with infantry support, keep a slow and steady pace."

He nodded. "I know. And that's exactly the problem."

Marchand exchanged glances with another officer, Corporal Boucher, who hesitated before speaking.

"Sir, if we do this without infantry… won't we be exposed?"

"Not if we move fast enough," he replied. "The problem with our doctrine is that we treat tanks like mobile bunkers, not fast attack units. If we sit still, artillery and anti-tank guns will tear us apart. If we move fast and strike from unexpected angles, we'll control the battle."

Marchand frowned. "But what about orders from command? If Colonel Perrin finds out—"

He held up a hand. "This is an approved exercise. Perrin gave us permission to run drills with the vehicles. He didn't say how we had to run them."

Renaud snorted. "That's a dangerous way to play with words."

He smirked. "It's also how we get results."

The tank commanders still looked skeptical, but they weren't outright refusing. That was a start.

"Alright," he said, rolling up the map. "Let's mount up and begin."

The first challenge was simply getting the tanks to coordinate.

As the crews climbed into their vehicles, he slipped into the Somua's commander seat, gripping the controls.

The engine rumbled to life, its deep diesel growl filling the air.

He adjusted the periscope, scanning the field.

Ahead, the Renault FTs were already moving into position, their tiny turrets rotating clumsily.

Their crews struggled to keep formation they weren't used to moving without explicit infantry commands.

"Alright, Renaults, move forward at half speed," he ordered through the radio link.

The old tanks groaned as they began creeping forward, their tracks kicking up dust.

Then came the Somua's turn.

He tapped his driver, Lefevre, on the shoulder. "When I give the signal, I want full acceleration toward the right flank. We'll hold the flank for five seconds, then pull back before they can respond."

Lefevre glanced over his shoulder. "Sir, this thing's fast, but the turret's slow. If we go in too quick, we might not get a shot off before pulling back."

He nodded. That was a problem.

Unlike German Panzer designs, the Somua's turret traverse was sluggish.

If they moved too fast, it wouldn't be able to keep up with the target.

"Then we'll pre-aim," he decided. "Set the turret facing the impact zone before we start the charge. That way, we won't have to adjust on the move."

Lefevre grinned. "Smart thinking, sir."

The Renaults reached the target zone, firing off blank rounds to simulate suppression fire.

Their movements were slow, predictable exactly what French doctrine expected.

Then came the Somua.

"Go!" he ordered.

The engine roared, and the tank lurched forward, kicking up dirt as it shot across the open ground.

"Twenty meters!" Lefevre called.

The target zone loomed ahead.

"Turret locked?" he asked the gunner.

"Locked!"

"Fire!"

The 47mm cannon thundered, the recoil shaking the hull as a direct hit slammed into the target post.

"Pull back!"

Lefevre threw the gears into reverse, and the Somua darted back into cover, disappearing from the enemy's line of sight before they could react.

A clean hit. A textbook breakthrough.

But instead of cheers, what he heard was… silence.

Renaud stepped up from behind the tanks, arms crossed.

Marchand, Boucher, and the other commanders stood staring at the field, looking like they had just seen a ghost.

Renaud let out a low whistle. "Well, that was new."

Marchand stepped forward, shaking his head. "Sir… I've never seen a tank move like that before."

"Now you have," he said simply.

Boucher blinked. "That was… fast. Too fast for anyone to react."

"That's the point," he said. "Speed wins battles."

Marchand still looked unconvinced. "But in a real battle, wouldn't they have reinforcements? Artillery? More anti-tank guns?"

"Of course," he agreed. "That's why we wouldn't do this alone. The key is not speed alone it's coordination. We move fast, we work with other armored units, and we hit where the enemy isn't expecting."

Marchand exchanged glances with Boucher.

The skepticism was still there, but now there was something else too.

Curiosity.

Renaud smirked. "You're actually getting through to them."

He smiled slightly. That was the first step.

But just as he was about to call for another drill, a harsh voice cut through the field.

"Capitaine Moreau!"

He turned.

Standing near the observation post was Major Clément, arms crossed, his expression like stone.

Renaud muttered a curse. "Looks like your 'approved' training just got someone's attention."

He exhaled slowly. This was expected.

Change never came without resistance.

He dusted off his uniform and straightened his cap.

"Well," he muttered, "let's see how much trouble I'm in."