Moreau stood at the edge of a prefabricated rail outpost, hands behind his back.
Around him, soldiers and surveyors worked in synchrony moving crates, aligning steel segments, checking line tension on a new radio mast.
Behind him, Rivet approached with a dispatch folder.
"Report from the eastern corridor. Spanish units under German command attempted to sabotage the track near Pertusa. They failed, but two of our sappers are dead. Five more injured."
Moreau didn't react.
His eyes were fixed on the horizon.
"Franco's militias hit a convoy near Sesa. Italian explosives. Wiped out two fuel trucks. The third caught fire, but the driver managed to pull it clear."
Moreau took the folder but didn't open it.
"And Guderian?"
"Coordinating fire missions from the Vicien hills. He's pushing artillery now, not just eyes and cargo. We're seeing actual patterns targeted hits, supply denial."
Moreau finally turned, flipping open the folder.
"Let them try."
