January 10th, 1935, Ministry of Defense, Paris.
The day began before the sun had fully risen.
The halls of the Ministry of Defense were dim and quiet when Moreau arrived, uniform pressed, case in hand.
He found General Beauchamp already at the long table in the briefing room, flipping through a thick folder of committee notes.
"Sit," Beauchamp said, not looking up. "They moved the session up by an hour."
Moreau took a seat and opened his own notes.
Moments later, the door opened again, and Commandant de Gaulle stepped inside, carrying a notebook tucked beneath his arm.
"Gentlemen," he said, nodding.
"Coffee's awful today," Beauchamp muttered. "Try to ignore it. We've got thirty minutes to coordinate before we walk into a room filled with people who think you're both lunatics."
Moreau gave a tight smile. "Better a lunatic than a ghost."
Beauchamp tossed him a page of projected costs. "Don't make jokes in there. Numbers first. Doctrine second."
