Conversation

Loran stared at the few thin copper wires in his hand until dawn before he came to his senses.

A few thin wires cannot be used as a charger. The voltage must be measured and adjusted gradually. In addition, the stability of the current must be ensured.

Before we knew it, it was already broad daylight.

Loran gathered the wires and other items into a storage box, then put on his coat and walked to the Eighth University.

The streets were bustling with people, and the cries of vendors filled the air. Occasionally, a car would pass by, drawing envious glances from other citizens.

Having grown up in the 21st century, Loran hadn't seen such a lively scene in a long time, and even though the buildings here were all uniformly oppressive gray and black, he was in a particularly good mood.

Paris 8 University is not far away, just two streets away.

When Lorraine arrived, Charlotte had been waiting for a long time. She had a scarf around her neck and her face was slightly red from the cold.

"Lorraine, you don't look well."

Loran nodded slightly and said helplessly, "That's right, I have insomnia."

"Don't put too much pressure on yourself. You only have one life, and your health is the most important thing. Also, Professor DuPont might be very angry. Do you want to find some time to meet with him?"

"Angry, teacher?" Loran asked in surprise.

"You broke the contract, Loran. Have you forgotten? You didn't go to discuss your thesis with the professor yesterday. You could have completed your doctorate and become a professor." Charlotte sighed softly.

"Feel sorry."

Lorraine remembered that he was supposed to set a graduation date yesterday when he went to discuss his thesis with Professor DuPont, but he had forgotten because he was busy with some other things.

Given Professor DuPont's personality, he would likely be angry for a long time if this matter were delayed.

Charlotte followed along, preoccupied, gently kicking away the snow in front of her. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye, and her heart skipped a beat.

A military vehicle stopped in front of the school, and the students looked on in surprise. A young officer got out of the vehicle and stood in the snow, his gaze fixed on the backs of a young couple.

Charlotte naturally took Lorraine's arm.

"Lorraine, are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?"

Upon hearing this, Lorraine was instantly overcome with hunger and exhaustion, so he simply agreed and let Charlotte lead him in a certain direction.

......

After breakfast, Loran walked alone on the path, her mind filled with thoughts.

If only someone could discover the flaws in the Maginot Line, it might draw attention and lead to a redeployment of border defenses in response to the German blitzkrieg.

But it is clear from history that this person did not appear, or rather, he did appear but did not accomplish what he was promised.

Before he knew it, Lorraine had arrived outside Professor DuPont's office. The thinning-haired old scholar was patiently organizing a document, which was clearly the paper that Lorraine had given him last month.

"Professor, I'm sorry, something happened yesterday." Loran's tone was tinged with guilt.

"It's alright. The important thing is that you're here now. I've read your thesis, and there aren't any major problems. We can hold your graduation ceremony next week. Whether you stay at the Eighth University to teach or find another way out depends on your decision."

DuPont continued tidying up the paper without even lifting his eyelids, clearly still angry.

Loran asked, "Professor DuPont, what are your thoughts on this war?"

Although well-educated young people outside are making wild and absurd statements, Loran has to test his teacher's opinion. After all, the professor's words carry a lot of weight, especially an old scholar like Professor DuPont, who is admired by many military officers.

Professor DuPont glanced at it and casually said, "Lorraine, this is not something you should be thinking about. Your responsibility is to contribute to academia, nothing more."

"I can utilize my talents in the military field."

These words displeased DuPont. He hated such self-righteous people, and even though he knew Lorraine well, he was still controlled by his emotions at this moment.

"This is simply incomprehensible, Loran. I originally thought you were a serious scholar, but your recent performance has been increasingly disappointing."

Then, DuPont pushed Lorraine out the door and slammed the door shut.

Loran wanted to say something more, but his words were cut off at the door, which made him extremely frustrated, but he did not give up.

Lorraine believed that one day his thoughts would be conveyed to Professor DuPont, and then, through his connections, he could alert the higher-ups that the Maginot Line was not impregnable, but rather had a huge vulnerability.

Although that opportunity isn't now.

Sleepless nights and a tense nerve left Loran sitting in the university library, facing an open book, "The Evolution of European Military Strategy in the Nineteenth Century," but his eyes couldn't focus on a single word or sentence.

The Paris Daily News on the rack was all fine, and the soldiers were drinking wine, completely unaware of the impending danger.

Outside the window was a leaden gray sky, with patrol planes occasionally flying low overhead.

Being unable to leave France, having no one listen to his advice, and having a dead phone all amplified Lorraine's sense of powerlessness.

All he has is memory, and in the present moment, memory seems to be nothing more than unheard babbling.

"Mr. Loran?" A slightly stiff voice quietly sounded beside him.

Lorraine looked up and saw Madame Duval, the librarian, looking at him with a slight frown.

"You've been staring at the same page of the book for forty-seven minutes. If you're not feeling well, perhaps you should go back to your apartment and rest. Also," she lowered her voice, with a different, cautious tone, "there are two gentlemen looking for you at the front desk; they're in military uniform."

Lorraine's heart sank. Had what was bound to happen finally come? Was it because his words to Charlotte in the coffee shop had somehow reached the ears of someone who shouldn't have heard them? Or had the warning he tried to convey through Charlotte's father, veiled in academic jargon, finally touched a nerve with certain sensitive individuals?

He closed the book, his fingertips icy cold, and slowly said, "Thank you, Madame Duval. I'll be right there."

With each step he took to the forefront, Loran considered his words carefully, figuring out how to make the other party completely believe him, thereby attracting the attention of higher-ups and ultimately saving the country.

Although it sounds unbelievable—an ordinary university teaching assistant daring to meddle in national affairs—Loran had no choice but to place his hopes on this.

Two soldiers stood beside the reception desk, not the menacing military police he had expected. One was older, with a composed expression, a major. The other was a capable lieutenant. The lieutenant stood ramrod straight, his dark brown eyes locking onto him the moment he appeared, lacking the sternness of an interrogator, but possessing a calm, focused concentration like someone scrutinizing a map.

"Mr. Mark Lorraine?" The older major stepped forward, his tone polite enough, but with a businesslike distance. "I am Major Morris from the Army General Staff Historical Archives. This is Lieutenant Marchand. We have some questions about modern military geography research and would like to consult you privately. Professor DuPont recommended you, believing you have unique insights in this field."

Recommended by Professor DuPont?

Lorraine had her doubts. Although the professor meant well, he would never think of her when he was angry.

It seems that Charlotte's plan has been successful, as the other side has followed the clues and come looking for them.

This was exactly what Loran needed. Although it carried the risk of being arrested, he succeeded, at least the other party was still able to communicate.

"It's an honor," Loran said softly.

They were led to a small seminar room on the first floor of the library. After the door was closed, the noise from the street decreased considerably.

Looking at the two officers in their serious military uniforms, Loran felt a strange pressure.

Major Morris got straight to the point, spreading out several enlarged, finely drawn copies of topographic maps and pointing to the contour lines and vegetation markings in the Ardennes Forest and its surrounding area.

"Mr. Loran, we have noticed that some of your recent research seems to focus on the terrain and historical military accessibility of the Arlon-Sedan line, especially in the non-main roads and mountainous forest areas that are considered difficult to traverse."

Lorraine felt his throat go dry. They had indeed noticed. Was it through the records of the books he borrowed? Or had Professor DuPont mentioned it unintentionally? In just one night, it seemed that people of this era were not as arrogant as he had imagined.

He forced himself to remain calm and replied in an academic tone: "Yes, Major. My paper deals with the nascent ideas of mobile warfare in the late nineteenth century, where misjudgment of terrain often led to strategic disadvantages during the Napoleonic era and earlier campaigns. The Ardennes region has been traversed by armies throughout history, but it was a matter of cost and speed."

"Is it merely a historical academic interest?"

When Lieutenant Marchand spoke for the first time, his voice was steady, but carried a scrutinizing tone.

"As far as we know, you seem to have a particular concern about the possibility of misjudgment in the modern world. This was even expressed in your private conversations with Miss Durand."

He knew, he really did know, all thanks to Charlotte.

Loran's heart tightened, and he took a deep breath, but then he saw that Marchand's eyes held no threat, only inquiry.

This is not an interrogation, or at least not entirely.

"During wartime, everyone pays special attention. As a historian, I prefer to learn from the past, and I apologize if this has caused any misunderstanding."

"No need to apologize," Marchand said with a relaxed smile.

Loran took a deep breath and slowly calmed down.

"If I could, I could execute you right now on charges of treason." Marchand's voice turned cold.

The atmosphere instantly plummeted to freezing point. Loran's face was extremely grim. If this lieutenant had brought him here just to commit violence, it was far too much trouble. The police could have easily handled the situation without any problems.

But what is the other party's real purpose?

Major Morris cleared his throat and said in a gentler tone, "It's not necessarily a misunderstanding. There are differing opinions within the General Staff regarding the optimistic view that there is no fighting on the Western Front."

"However, Mr. Lorran, you need to understand that any public questioning of the current strategy, especially in unofficial settings, can be interpreted as undermining morale and confidence, which is a very serious accusation in wartime."

"Professor DuPont strongly vouches for your talent and patriotism. We have also reviewed your background; your father is a respectable veteran. Therefore, we are more inclined to believe that our visit is driven by scholarly concern rather than malice."

"So, you two came to see me today to warn me to keep quiet?" Loran asked, forcing himself to be brave.

"You can think of it that way, of course, just by remaining silent to the outside world." Lieutenant Marchand continued, his gaze as sharp as ever. "Mr. Lorraine, suppose, just suppose, there is even a slight possibility that your concerns might become a reality."

"Given your understanding of history and geography, if the enemy were to actually attempt a breakthrough from there, where might the biggest weaknesses lie in our existing defensive deployments, reserve force configurations, and transportation hub defenses? This isn't a general statement, but rather a specific one, down to the junctions between divisional and regimental defense zones, key nodes in supply lines, and the pre-established locations of communication hubs."

This question stunned Loran. They weren't here to silence him? Were they here to consult him?

Although done in an extremely subtle and reserved manner, this was exactly what Loran desperately needed: to get the message out.

Even if the other party is only a lieutenant or a major, this is a good start.

Loran took a deep breath, walked to the map, studied it carefully, and then began to explain his views.

He pointed out several key bridges and road junctions, explaining why rapidly mechanized forces needed to control them; he mentioned the weaknesses on the flanks of the Sedan fortress complex, and potential crossing points on certain sections of the Meuse River under specific weather conditions; he even pointed out, based on memory, several key locations where French reserves failed to close the gaps in time after German breakthroughs due to confused orders and blocked roads.

During this process, the contempt in Maurice and Marchand's eyes gradually disappeared, replaced by extreme shock and surprise. The two of them took out their notebooks without any regard for their image and wrote down every word.

Marchand's gaze kept shifting between Lorraine and the map. Even though he was hailed as a rising star in the General Staff, he felt that he was far inferior to the young man in front of him.

When Lorraine finished speaking, the room fell silent.

Loran wasn't too surprised by this, because he was judging from the perspective of later generations; it would be strange if the other party wasn't surprised.

"A very detailed analysis." Major Morris closed his notebook, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

"Although it's based on many assumptions, thank you for your insights, Mr. Lorraine. Please keep today's conversation confidential, for your own sake and for the sake of others involved."

They said nothing more and got up to leave. As they reached the door, Lieutenant Marchand stopped and glanced back at Loran.

"Mr. Lorrain, your father Olivier Lorrain's experiences in Verdun are recorded in some old General Staff files. His regiment held key positions during the final counter-offensive, at the cost of eighty percent casualties. Sometimes, correct judgments are born in the closest places to hell, and they require a very high price to prove. In the rear, the price might be one's future, or even freedom."

"If you are interested in the military, I am willing to do my part. With your talent, I believe you will soon be able to rise to a high position. Because our positions are not sufficient to fully convey your insights."

His eyes were sincere, he nodded slightly, then turned and disappeared at the end of the corridor with Major Maurice.

Loran sat in the seminar room lost in thought, and Marchand was reminding him.

Your words have been noticed by many people; your voice is too weak; your position is not secure.

A public opinion that is correct might lead to imprisonment.

Loran's expression turned serious.

Perhaps the only way to gain a voice, a means of protection, and a space to translate historical knowledge into practical action is to join the army.

Not as a soldier charging into battle, but as an insider with access to maps, reports, and communications, even if he is just a low-ranking staff officer.

As Loran left the library, the winter sun stung his eyes.

Just then, he saw Charlotte.

She stood by a stone pillar outside the library, seemingly waiting for someone. Her chestnut hair fluttered gently in the wind, and her emerald eyes lit up when she saw him, only to be clouded with worry again. She hurried to meet him.

"Lorraine! I...I'm a little worried. I saw some soldiers looking for you just now?" Her voice was low and trembled almost imperceptibly. "Are you alright? Did they give you any trouble?"

"It's nothing, Charlotte," Loran said softly. "Just some academic questions about history and geography. The General Staff is interested in past battles."

Charlotte scrutinized his face, seemingly trying to find a flaw. She knew him too well; she could sense the turbulent undercurrents beneath his calm surface. "Really?" she asked softly, her hand unconsciously gripping his coat sleeve. "You look very different."

"I'm just a little tired. I didn't sleep well last night, and I was using my brain a lot just now." Lorraine avoided her gaze and looked at the gray sky in the distance. "I'm sorry, Charlotte, I need to be alone for a while to sort some things out. I probably won't be able to go to dinner. Please give my apologies to your parents."

His refusal was polite but distant. Charlotte's hand loosened, a hint of hurt and deeper confusion flashing in her eyes. "Lorraine, what happened? You can tell me anything."

"It's really nothing." He interrupted her, his tone gentle yet firm. He even reached out and gently brushed away a non-existent snowflake from her shoulder, a gesture carrying a sense of solemn farewell. "I just need a little time. Go back now, it's cold outside."

After saying that, he stopped looking at her, turned around, and merged into the crowd on campus.

Lorraine began to think about how to get into the army. If he went through Marchand's introduction, he would have to start from scratch and climb up step by step. By the time he could make his voice heard, Paris would probably have been destroyed long ago.

If you go through Olivier's connections, everything will be different.

......

Inside the military vehicle, smoke filled the air.

Major Maurice lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled. "What do you think, Paul? What that young man said, though it sounded like a fantasy, was terrifyingly detailed. It didn't seem like mere imagination; it sounded like he'd seen it with his own eyes."

Lieutenant Marchand didn't smoke; he simply looked out the car window at the leisurely pedestrians on the streets of Paris and the posters advertising "Silence and Faith." His profile was somewhat blurred in the smoke.

"Whether it's wishful thinking or not is irrelevant, Maurice." His voice was low, carrying a deep weariness. "What matters is that the bigwigs in the General Staff don't even have the patience to listen to such wishful thinking. They only believe in the tranquility of Maginot's cement and wine."

"So, what we've noted down..."

"A file. Perhaps useless, or perhaps, after some disastrous day, it will become a testament to the fact that some people are not entirely idiotic." Marchand twitched the corners of his mouth, but it wasn't a smile.

"As for Mr. Lorraine, he's a smart man and should already understand his situation. Before the storm arrives, a seagull's warning is just noise. Unless, of course, it can find a ship willing to take it, even if that ship is heading straight for the eye of the storm."

Morris paused for a moment, the veteran's face etched with wrinkles. "You advised him to go on a ship? Which ship? The front lines?"

“No.” Marchand shook his head, his gaze deep. “His battlefield shouldn’t be the trenches. His value lies in his mind and that strange, unwavering insight. The General Staff needs fresh blood, and it needs people to listen to different voices, even if only as background noise. A recommendation, a clerical or junior staff position, might be a sanctuary for him, but for us, it might be a piece of cake.”

"A casual game?" Morris murmured, recalling the heavy light in Loran's eyes at the end.

Marchand did not answer directly. He rolled down the car window, letting the cold air in and dispersing the smoke.

"So that before everything is beyond repair, at least someone tried, not with a gun, but with their brain." He paused, his voice almost fading into the wind, "even though that hope is as faint as a snowflake in this winter."

Finally, let's not forget our common goal.

"Purpose?" Morris frowned slightly.

"Everything is for peace."