Skeleton

Three days later, in the early morning, a thin fog covered the fields of Seine-et-Marne like a shroud.

When Loran pushed open the heavy wooden door of the barn, an unusual smell wafted out. It wasn't the smell of old dust and mildew, but rather the rust, machine oil, and the burnt smell of some kind of metal processing.

He raised the kerosene lamp in his hand, its dim yellow light sweeping across the inside of the barn.

The pile of parts was still there. The frames, engines, and gearboxes of two dismantled tractors were neatly arranged on a tarpaulin. Steel plates were stacked in the corner, and tools hung on wooden boards temporarily nailed to the wall.

But next to that pile of parts, there was an extra sack.

A burlap sack, bulging and heavy, leaned quietly against the wall. The sack was tied tightly with hemp rope, the knot rough but practical, a method typical of those who did manual labor.

Lorraine put down the basket in his hand, which contained enough dark bread, cheese, canned goods, and a bottle of water for three days.

He approached slowly. His boots rustled softly on the ground covered with sawdust and iron filings.

There were no footprints around the sack. The barn door lock was intact, and the windows were still boarded up. How did the sack get in?

He crouched down, his fingers touching the rough linen. A soft metallic clanging sound came from the bag. It wasn't hollow; it was heavy.

Loran untied the knot.

The light from the kerosene lamp shone into the bag.

The first thing that catches the eye is a set of precision tools made in Germany: vernier calipers, micrometers, and a level, the brass graduations gleaming with a cold, hard luster under the light. Below the tools, neatly stacked are a dozen or so cans of welding rods, branded Swiss. Next to them are several rolls of steel wire of different diameters, a bundle of cable, and several bottles of specialty lubricant labeled in German.

At the very bottom, there was an oil paper package.

Loran took out the oil paper package and opened it. Inside was a thick stack of drawings, not the rough sketches he had drawn by hand, but professional technical drawings.

The title bar is labeled in both German and French: "Improved Interleaved Road Wheel Suspension System - Based on a Simplified Design of the Panzer IV Ausf. A".

The drawings were extremely professional, with each part having three views, dimensions, material requirements, and processing instructions.

In some places, annotations were even made with red pencil: "Civilian bearings can be used here, with a load-bearing loss of about 15%" and "The thickness of the steel plate can be reduced to 8mm, without changing the shape."

This significantly reduced the cost of the project.

Turn to the last page, and in the bottom right corner there is a line of handwritten text:

"Don't ask where it comes from. Focus on your work. Time is running out. —A man who never wants to see Verdun again."

Lorraine's fingers paused on the page. The light from the kerosene lamp trembled—no, it was his hand that trembled.

These tools, these materials, this blueprint, may be worth more than a thousand francs.

More importantly, they solved the most critical technical problem: the road wheel suspension system.

Without this, all he could create would be a metal shell that couldn't go off-road.

Who gave it to him? LeBron? But the old man complained last night, "I don't have anything extra to give you."

Father? Olivier didn't understand these technical details.

Loran stood up, took the kerosene lamp, and walked around the barn.

The holes in the walls, floor, and roof showed no signs of intrusion. The only possibility was that someone had a key or was highly skilled at picking locks.

He walked back to the sack and examined it again. At the very bottom of the sack, in a compartment of the toolbox, he felt a small piece of cardboard.

The piece of paper, about the size of a business card, is worn at the edges. It has no name on it, only a badge image of crossed hammers and wrenches, with a line of small print below:

"The Skilled Workers Mutual Aid Association was founded in 1919."

1919. The year after the end of World War I.

Lorraine had heard of this organization. After the war, millions of veterans returned to shattered France, many of them having lost their job skills. Some skilled workers, mechanics, welders, and electricians spontaneously formed a mutual aid society to introduce each other to jobs, share skills, and help their comrades reintegrate into society.

Olivier has not mentioned joining such an organization, but LeBron is likely to have connections.

As the sky outside the window gradually brightened, the grayish-white light leaked through the hole in the roof, intertwining with the yellow light of the kerosene lamp.

Loran took out the tools one by one and placed them on the worktable.

The vernier caliper's graduations are as clear as new, but the handle is worn shiny, clearly indicating long-term use. The micrometer's measuring faces have fine scratches, marks left from measuring metal parts.

On the edge of the bubble tube of the spirit level, there is a small "V" carved with a blade—the first letter of Verdun.

These tools belong to a veteran. A veteran who survived the mud and steel of World War I, preserved his skills, and is now giving these tools to another madman.

Loran picked up the drawing and spread it out on the worktable. There were dark stains on the corners of the drawing, not oil stains, but the kind of blood rust color that couldn't be washed off.

The paper itself had an old yellow tinge, as if it had been pressed in a drawer for twenty years.

Lorraine sat down and began to study.

The improved staggered road wheel design is not complicated in principle; it simply uses two sets of staggered road wheels to increase the ground contact area and improve passability on soft ground.

However, the machining accuracy requirements are very high, the wheel axle must be parallel, and the spring damping force must be uniform.

The simplified design on the drawings cleverly uses recycled car leaf springs as a substitute and standard bearings instead of special bearings.

Although the performance will be compromised, it is enough to simulate the visual effect of "a tank being able to drive on complex terrain".

More importantly, the drawing specifies the detailed processing steps and required tools. Loran's existing equipment—a bench vise, hacksaw, file, and welding machine—was just barely sufficient.

He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was 7:20 in the morning.

Today is Wednesday, and he should be reporting to the General Staff. But Colonel Derain said yesterday that he was going to Verdun to inspect the defenses and wouldn't be back until Friday.

This means he has two days of "free time," after which he will have to periodically report on his work progress to avoid arousing suspicion.

Lorraine took off his military jacket, hung it on a nail on the wall, and put on old work pants and a thick sweater that he had brought from Paris.

He took out goggles and leather gloves from his toolbox and lit the welding torch.

Blue flames spewed out, emitting a steady hissing sound.

He adjusted the air pressure, and the flame changed from blue to a bright white-blue.

The first steel plate was a 10mm thick armor plate, or rather, a simulated armor plate. The actual Panzer IV tank had 30mm of frontal armor, and with its angled arrangement, the effective thickness was even greater, but it didn't need to be bulletproof; it only needed to resemble it.

Loran drew cutting lines on the steel plate with chalk. The front armor was sloped at an angle of about 30 degrees; the Germans knew that the slope would increase the effective thickness.

The welding torch flame touched the steel plate, instantly melting the steel. Molten slag dripped down like orange-red tears. The cutting line slowly advanced, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of ozone.

He remembered the photos on his phone.

One of the photos shows a German Panzer IV tank advancing through the Polish countryside, its sloping front casting a distinct shadow in the sunlight. At the time, French military commentators mocked, "The sloped armor will reduce internal space; the Germans don't understand design."

But they were wrong. Sloping armor not only increases protection, but more importantly, it changes the overall silhouette of the tank, making it more streamlined and modern.

The first steel plate was cut. The edges were uneven and needed to be ground. Loran turned off the welding torch, picked up the angle grinder, and sparks flew as the grinding wheel touched the steel plate, the noise echoing deafeningly in the barn.

After half an hour of polishing, the edges of the steel plate became smooth. Loran then used calipers to measure the dimensions: 1.8 meters long, 0.9 meters wide, and a 30-degree bevel angle. This met the requirements of the drawings.

He put down his tools, walked to the barn door, and pushed it open a crack.

The fog outside had dissipated, and the winter sun shone weakly and palely on the desolate fields.

In the distance, the spire of the church tower in St. Regis peeks out. Further away, gray clouds gather on the horizon, suggesting snow is imminent.

Lorraine took out some dark bread and cheese from the basket, ate a few bites with cold water. The food was cold and coarse, but he ate it quickly.

The afternoon's work involved welding the chassis frame.

Following the blueprints, he welded a rectangular frame out of angle iron, 5.4 meters long and 2.9 meters wide, which were the dimensions of the Panzer IV hull. The welds had to be strong because they formed the foundation of the entire structure.

The welding rod melts under the electric arc, the molten iron fills the joint, and after cooling, it forms a silver-gray weld scar.

Loran's movements gradually became more skillful from the initial awkwardness. His body memorized the rhythm: spot welding to fix, checking alignment, full welding for reinforcement, knocking off the weld slag, and checking for porosity.

Sweat soaked the collar of his sweater, and the lenses of his goggles were bruised from the flying sparks. His wrists began to ache, an inevitable result of holding the welding torch for a long time.

But as he stepped back and looked at the gradually taking shape steel skeleton, a strange sense of satisfaction welled up inside him.

This is a beginning.

From lines on blueprints to steel on the ground. From ideas in the mind to tangible entities.

By evening, the chassis frame was complete. Loran turned off the welding machine, and the barn suddenly fell silent, with only the lingering buzzing in his ears. He took off his goggles, revealing clear indentations on his face.

The suspension system needs to be assembled.

He took the Swiss-made bearings out of the sack and assembled the first set of road wheels according to the blueprints. The wheels were made of cast iron with a rough surface, but the bearing housings were machined with considerable precision.

Loran added lubricating oil to the bearings. Those bottles of German specialty oil were viscous and clear, with the indescribable sweetness characteristic of chemical agents.

The first set of road wheels was installed on the axle and rotated smoothly. He then installed the second set, offset by half a wheel track, followed by the leaf spring shock absorption system, which was modified from scrap car steel plates. It was elastic enough, but the preload needed to be repeatedly adjusted.

When it was completely dark, the only light in the barn came from kerosene lamps and welding machine lights.

The cold seeped in through every crack in the walls and floor, but Loran's work clothes had been soaked with sweat and dried several times.

He installed six sets of road wheels, three on each side, arranged alternately. Then he installed the drive sprocket and idler wheel. The drive sprocket was in the front, driven by the gearbox of the first tractor, while the idler wheel was in the rear, responsible for adjusting the track tension.

Around midnight, Loran finally finished the suspension system on one side of the chassis. He was so tired he could barely stand, but looking at the neat row of road wheels, at their cold, hard metallic sheen under the lights, the exhaustion didn't seem so unbearable.

He locked the barn door and dragged his heavy steps toward Saint-Restaurant. On his way to catch the last train back to Paris, he fell asleep in the swaying carriage.

In his dream, he saw the tank moving. Not the crude model he had made, but a real Panzer IV, in droves, rolling through the Ardennes Forest in spring.

He awoke with a start as the train pulled into the station. The lights of Gare du Nord were blurry and indistinct through the steamy windows.

Stepping out of the station, the cold wind instantly sobered him up. A newsboy on the street corner was hawking the morning paper's headline: "Maginot Line Holds Nighttime Exercises; Commander-in-Chief Pétain Declares 'Impregnable'."

Lorraine bought a newspaper.

The front-page photo shows generals standing in front of concrete fortifications, with searchlights piercing the night sky behind them. Each of them wears a confident smile.

In the corridor on the third floor of the General Staff building in Paris, the morning light slanted in through the tall arched windows, cutting bright spots of light on the marble floor.

Lorraine froze the moment he opened the office door and saw Lieutenant Marchand.

Marchand stood with his back to the door in front of Lorraine's desk, leaning slightly forward. He wore a crisp, dark blue uniform, the two silver stars on his epaulets gleaming coldly in the morning light, and his gloved right hand was holding a piece of paper.

Lorraine recognized the paper.

That was the "progress calculation sheet" he made for the tanks.

The document lists the breakdown of tasks involved in building the tank model, estimated working hours, and a list of required materials.

Moreover, at the very top, a few words were hastily written: "Arden Demo Project - Timeline".

How did he get his hands on this piece of paper?

Lorraine's heart pounded in his chest. He clearly remembered tucking this piece of paper into his sketchbook when he left the barn last night, then stuffing the sketchbook into the bottom of his toolbox, which was locked, the key in his pocket.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Lorraine." Marchand didn't turn around, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "Colonel Delian has gone to Verdun and asked me to check the work logs of each department from last week."

He slowly turned around, gently setting down the paper in his hand. The sound of the paper's edge touching the table was exceptionally clear in the quiet office.

Lorraine forced himself to step into the room, took off his military overcoat and hung it on the coat rack, trying to keep the movements natural. "Lieutenant, I didn't know the Colonel had made this arrangement."

"A last-minute decision." Marchand's gaze lingered on Lorraine's face for two seconds before moving to his oil-stained cuffs. "You look tired. Have you been busy lately?"

"I'm doing some data analysis and reviewing case studies." Loran walked to his desk, his gaze sweeping over the progress chart, which was placed in the center of the desktop like a document awaiting review.

"Case studies," Marchand repeated, tapping the progress chart with his finger. "So this is some kind of history reenactment project? The 'Ardennes Demonstration Project'?"

The air in the office seemed to freeze.