Hitler stood near the large window of the conference room, arms crossed, staring outside.
Keitel cleared his throat behind him. "Mein Führer, Guderian's latest report came two hours ago. The French now control a corridor from Barbastro to Laluenga. Their engineers are laying rail lines as they move."
Hitler didn't respond.
Keitel shifted. "Franco's lines are folding. It is remarkable. No defensive posture is holding longer than an hour. The speed..."
"I've seen the map," Hitler interrupted.
There was a pause.
He turned. "And what do you make of it?"
Keitel hesitated. "They are not fighting conventionally. Logistics, mechanization, pace. But it's quieter. Less... visible."
Hitler walked slowly toward the table where Guderian's reports were spread.
Sketches, unit reports, intelligence intercepts.
He tapped one finger against a marked triangle near Huesca.
"We thought the French Republic was weak. Fractured. These are not the tactics of a crumbling state."
