Dinner

Lorraine's heart skipped a beat. He knew he had gambled on the most crucial card, but the intelligence officers' keen observation also brought new dangers; they would definitely trace the source of the information.

He remained composed, having already prepared his excuse: "Lieutenant Colonel, the sources are scattered and unofficial, mainly from private communications of some international military historians, as well as vague connections I've gleaned from textual analysis of a few German professional journals. I cannot provide a single, definitive source; this is merely a noteworthy signal derived from comprehensive reasoning."

He cleverly presented himself as an extremely astute researcher skilled at piecing together information from publicly available fragments.

The intelligence lieutenant colonel stared at him intently, as if trying to find a flaw in his face, but in the end he just nodded slowly and didn't ask any more questions, but the doubt and curiosity in his eyes were even stronger.

Colonel Derain finally spoke again, his voice steady and decisive: "Mr. Loran's presentation today offered a unique perspective, and some of the details he provided are noteworthy. Military decision-making requires listening to all sides, especially dissenting opinions based on solid research. Given his professional background and analytical capabilities, I propose that Mr. Loran be temporarily appointed as a special interim analyst in the General Staff's 'Operational Research and Analysis Department,' with the corresponding rank of Second Lieutenant, specifically responsible for conducting supplementary vulnerability assessments and risk simulations of existing defense plans from historical and cross-disciplinary perspectives. He will serve a three-month probationary period. Any objections?"

This proposal is ingenious. It gives Loran an identity and an entry point into the system, but confines him to a supportive, temporary, and trial framework. His position is low-ranking, so as not to immediately threaten the vested interests, and it is also easy to observe and control him.

A moment of silence fell over the room. The old general snorted and turned his head away, tacitly approving. The others, whether out of respect for Derian, genuinely swayed by Lorraine, or simply wanting to see what this eccentric would do next, refrained from strongly objecting.

"Since there are no objections, it's passed." The major general presiding over the meeting quickly summarized, seemingly wanting to end this meeting that had brought unnecessary controversy as soon as possible. "Lieutenant Loran, please go to Colonel Delian's office after the meeting to complete the necessary procedures. Meeting adjourned."

The officers rose and left one after another. Many cast complex glances at Loran as they passed by, including curiosity, disdain, scrutiny, and deep thought.

Loran slowly sat down, feeling his back already soaked with cold sweat.

He took his first, albeit unsteadily, step. He gained a small but crucial foothold.

After the crowd dispersed, only he and Lieutenant Marchand, who was organizing documents, remained in the conference room.

Marchand walked up to him and said in a low voice, devoid of emotion, "We only made a preliminary confirmation of the Vulture's Cry three days ago through a top-secret channel. Your academic exchanges and textual analysis are frighteningly sharp, Lieutenant Loran."

He paused, looking directly at Loran: "Or rather, where exactly did you 'hear' this rumor from?"

Loran looked up and met Marchand's gaze. In those deep brown eyes, he saw doubt, but deeper still, there seemed to be a secret expectation of an "unconventional answer."

The real test may have only just begun.

But he has already obtained his ticket to enter the eye of the storm.

"Lieutenant," Loran said slowly, a weary but serene smile on his face, "sometimes, history itself is a talking ghost. I just happen to understand a little of its language."

Marchand chuckled, patted Loran on the shoulder, and then his eyes sharpened.

"It seems you're not such a boring person after all. I hope to see you on the battlefield again in the future, Lieutenant Loran!"

The brand-new second lieutenant's uniform was dark blue, the wool blend fabric crisp and unfamiliar, and the small metal star on the epaulettes gleamed with a cold, hard luster in the dim light of the apartment.

Loran stood in front of the full-length mirror, stiffly adjusting her collar.

The person in the mirror was both familiar and unfamiliar. Beneath his dark brown hair was a face that was still pale but with increasingly sharp eyes. His crisp military uniform was like a hard shell, completely separating him from the university teaching assistant he used to be.

He touched the brass button on his cuff; the cool touch reminded him of his current status.

In his briefcase, besides his father's letter and the green folder, there was now an ID card bearing the General Staff emblem and several employment documents stamped with a red seal. A strange, slight feeling of excitement welled up inside him.

The excitement did not come from power or honor, but from the fact that he had finally obtained a position, a fulcrum from which he could legally observe and even attempt to influence that massive war machine from the inside.

He was no longer the helpless prophet who whispered to his fiancée in the coffee shop, "They will come from the impossible," nor was he the anxious scholar who was turned away by Professor DuPont.

He is now Second Lieutenant Mark Lorland, a temporary member of the General Staff's Operational Research and Analysis Division.

Although "provisional" and "second lieutenant" both imply that he is at the very bottom of the power pyramid, at least he is inside the pyramid.

For this "official" position, he even received a small advance on his salary.

After a moment's hesitation, Lorraine didn't go to the cheapest bakery on the corner as usual. Instead, he turned towards a slightly more respectable-looking food shop with fresh fruit and delicate pastries displayed in its window. He bought some apples, a packaged piece of cheese, and even splurged on a small bottle of Bordeaux red wine—not top-tier, but with a respectable label. He didn't know why he bought these things; perhaps it was to commemorate this turning point in some way.

Or perhaps he remembered a promise, a promise that had been postponed twice, to have dinner at Charlotte's house.

The journey was smooth, and when Lorraine, wearing his brand-new lieutenant uniform and carrying a net bag filled with food and wine, knocked on the door of Charlotte's apartment, Charlotte's mother, Yvonne, opened the door.

When she saw the young man in a crisp military uniform standing outside the door, she was clearly taken aback for a moment, then a smile of surprise, relief, and genuine joy bloomed on her face.

"My God, Mark! Come in! Look at you! This is wonderful!" Yvonne's voice rose slightly with excitement. She quickly stepped aside to let Lorraine in, calling into the room, "Henry! Charlotte! Come see who's here!"

Henry Durand, Lorraine's father, emerged from his study, newspaper in hand. Seeing Lorraine, he adjusted his glasses, a look of approval and relaxation spreading across his usually stern face. "Second Lieutenant, congratulations. It seems you've made your choice and gained approval." He stepped forward, patting Lorraine's shoulder lightly, but with the expectation of an elder. "Very good, very good. Wearing a uniform is better than… cough, anyway, it's very respectable."

Charlotte was the last to emerge from her room. She appeared to have just been writing something, as there were still traces of ink on her fingers.

When she saw Loran standing in the center of the living room, bathed in her parents' joyful gaze, her emerald eyes widened instantly. Her gaze quickly swept over his well-fitting dark blue uniform, the stars on his epaulets, and his hair, which was combed neater than usual, finally settling on his deep, yet seemingly more composed, grey-blue eyes.

She didn't speak immediately, but just stared at him blankly, her chest heaving slightly, and the pen in her hand fell to the ground.

At that moment, Loran saw so much in her eyes: the initial shock, followed by an overwhelming surge of pride and joy, then a barely perceptible worry for him about to step into that dangerous world, and finally, all these emotions settled into an incomparably bright and unwavering radiance.

"You..." Charlotte finally found her voice, but only managed to utter one word before her lips involuntarily turned upwards, revealing the dimple that Loran felt so familiar with. But this time, her smile was even more radiant and beautiful than ever before.

"You look different, Lieutenant Lorraine."

Her tone was playful, yet it warmed Loran's heart.

He could sense that Charlotte understood what this military uniform meant to him—not just dignity or recognition, but also a path he had actively chosen.

The atmosphere at dinner was much more relaxed and pleasant than Lorraine had expected.

Mrs. Yvonne happily accepted the food and wine he brought, insisting on having two more dishes. Mr. Henry also opened up, no longer as worried as before, but instead, as an elder, gave Lorraine some quite practical advice on interpersonal relationships and conduct in the army, although most of this advice was based on "obedience" and "caution".

Charlotte listened quietly most of the time, occasionally refilling Lorraine's wine or bread. Her gaze often fell on him, with a gentle smile, but when Lorraine met her eyes, he could see a steadfast support in them.

After dinner, Lorraine and Charlotte went to the small balcony of the apartment.

The air was crisp and cold on this winter night, but compared to the biting winds of the past, it seemed a little milder. The lights of Paris stretched out beneath my feet, and the Seine meandered by like a dark ribbon.

"Thank you for coming today and bringing a gift." Charlotte leaned against the railing, her profile appearing soft and clear in the distant lamplight. "Mom is very happy, and so is Dad. They've been worried about you, afraid you'd get stuck in a rut. Now that they see you have a formal identity and direction, they're all relieved."

"I know." Loran also leaned against the railing, gazing into the darkness in the distance. "They want me to be safe."

"We all hope so." Charlotte turned to look at him earnestly, "but I also know that you chose to wear this outfit not for safety."

Loran remained silent.

"That day outside the library, you left in a hurry, refusing to say anything." Charlotte's voice was soft, but every word was clear. "I know you wanted to protect me, to push me away and face the things you could see but we couldn't see on your own."

"Charlotte, I..."

Loran wanted to say that it was actually for safety reasons, that he had no choice, and that he was just an ordinary person, but he stopped, captivated by Charlotte's beautiful eyes.

"Let me finish," Charlotte interrupted him, taking a small step forward to close the distance between them. She tilted her head back, her emerald eyes shining brightly in the night.

"Lorraine, I am not a flower you need to protect in a glass dome. I read history, I think, I see the anxieties that aren't written in the newspapers, and I hear the murmurs beneath the city's calm breathing. I know something is happening, or something is about to happen. And you, you choose to walk into the storm to find out, even to try to change it."

Her voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from a powerful emotion. "I may not understand those complex tactics and maps, I may not be of much help to your staff. But, Loran..."

She took a deep breath, as if using all her strength, and said, word by word:

"If this is a battle you have to fight, then I'm willing to be your first soldier."

Lorraine suddenly understood why he had bought the food and wine, and why he had come here in his new uniform. He didn't just want to share good news; deep down, he was seeking confirmation, approval from the people he cherished most, for the path he had chosen.

Charlotte gave him a response that far exceeded his expectations.

He didn't speak, but simply reached out and gently grasped Charlotte's slightly cold hand. Her hand twitched slightly in his palm, then firmly returned his grip.

The two stood quietly on the balcony, hand in hand, gazing down at the vast, sleeping city below.

"My work will be tedious, and possibly marginal," Loran finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse. "I probably can't change anything."

“That’s not important.” Charlotte shook her head, her chestnut curls fluttering in the night breeze. “What’s important is that you’re there, that you’re trying. And I will be here, with my eyes and ears, to see and hear. Perhaps what I see and hear will one day be of some use to you.” She paused, her voice softer yet more resolute. “And wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I will know that my ‘Commander’ is working for the right thing. That’s enough.”

Lorraine felt a tightness in his throat. He gripped Charlotte's hand even tighter.

"Charlotte," he whispered, "I can't promise safety, or even a future. I can only promise that I will do my best, stay clear-headed, and do what I believe is right. For you, and for all those like us who just want a peaceful life."

That's enough.

Charlotte repeated, a gentle and radiant smile blooming on her face, brighter than any light.

"My 'Second Lieutenant' sir."

......

Colonel Derain's office was simpler than Loren had imagined.

The oak desk was almost bare except for a few documents awaiting approval, a brass lamp, and a black telephone. The only decoration on the wall was a faded map of France, with the Verdun region faintly circled in red pencil.

The colonel himself was sitting behind his desk, reading something, when he heard Lorraine knocking and reporting, and then he looked up.

"Come in, Lieutenant. Close the door behind you."