Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 45: LOAD..AIM... SHOOOOT!!!
The barracks were full with movement as orders were shouted across the base.
Boots stomped against the dirt, metal clanked as weapons were adjusted.
Moreau had just stepped out of his room, still buttoning his uniform jacket when he spotted
Renaud leaning against a wooden post, arms crossed, watching the commotion.
Moreau frowned. "Renaud. What the fuck is going on?"
Renaud exhaled sharply through his nose, pushing off the post. "General's ordered a public execution. The traitors. All of them."
Moreau stopped in his tracks, eyes widening.
"All of them? Publicly?"
Renaud nodded. "Thirty minutes. Right in the central courtyard."
Moreau rubbed his temple, his mind spinning.
He knew the political climate in Paris.
This would not sit well with the Ministry of War, nor with the bureaucrats who wanted to sweep all of this filth under the rug.
And yet…
He couldn't help but admire the old general for it.
For all the cowardice in the ranks, for all the corruption and decay, there were still men like General Delon men who knew the truth and who carried out justice, consequences be damned.
Maybe the French Army hadn't degraded completely.
Maybe, somewhere beneath the layers of arrogance and bureaucracy, there were still those who understood what was right.
The next thirty minutes were chaotic.
Soldiers poured out from their barracks, forming ranks in the courtyard.
The word had spread like wildfire, and with it came an explosion of emotions.
Some men cheered, shouting praises for the General.
Others cursed the traitors loudly, swearing vengeance for their fallen comrades.
"Justice for the dead!" someone screamed.
"For France!" another voice roared.
"Death to the traitors!"
The energy was feverish, electric, dangerous.
The men wanted blood.
The chanting and shouting only ceased when the General stepped onto the raised platform at the front of the courtyard.
Behind him stood Colonel Perrin and Major Varenne.
The moment Delon raised his hand, silence fell.
He looked over the assembled men, his soldiers, his army.
Then, he spoke.
"I know that no matter what I do tonight, your anger will remain." His voice was deep, unshaken.
"I know you have suffered. That you have bled. That you have lost your comrades, your friends, your brothers. I know because I have felt it too."
He let his words hang in the cold night air, letting his man savour everything he is saying.
Then, he continued.
"A soldier does not fight because he hates what is in front of him. He fights because he loves what is behind him."
The men listened, their eyes locked onto him.
"We are more than just men with rifles. We are the shield that stands between our nation and those who would see it fall. And when the enemy stands before us, we do not hesitate. We do not falter."
His expression darkened, his voice cold and firm.
"But what happens when the enemy is within? When the knife in our backs is held by one of our own?"
A low murmur ran through the ranks, anger simmering beneath the surface.
"Traitors do not deserve mercy. Traitors do not deserve honor. They do not deserve to wear the uniform they have disgraced."
The men began to stir, their hands clenching into fists, their jaws tightening.
Delon raised his chin. "And tonight, they will get what they deserve."
The doors to the holding cells burst open.
The traitors were dragged into the courtyard, some barely able to stand, their faces swollen and bruised from interrogation.
Others were limp, their bodies shattered by torture, barely clinging to consciousness.
Some wept, begging for their lives.
Some stared defiantly at the soldiers, spitting curses even as they were forced to their knees.
Delon motioned to them.
"Look at them. Look well. This is what happens when you betray your brothers. This is what happens when you sell your soul. When you serve those who would see your country burn."
He used this opportunity as a warning to many beyond this base.
Because he knows his words will soon reach Paris maybe this is how he starts to clean the flith.
Then, he raised his hand.
Twenty soldiers stepped forward, rifles at the ready.
Major Varenne took his position behind them.
His voice rang through the courtyard like a death sentence.
"LOAD!"
The metallic clack of bolts being pulled back filled the night air.
The traitors began to sob.
To scream.
Some cursed.
Some prayed.
Delon's gaze remained cold.
"AIM!"
Moreau watched as the barrels of twenty rifles aligned with the broken bodies of the condemned men.
For a split second, everything was still.
Then
"SHOOOOT!"
Thunder.
Gunfire erupted, the sharp cracks echoing into the night.
The bullets ripped through flesh, tearing bodies apart, painting the ground red.
Some of the traitors dropped instantly, their skulls split open.
Others twitched violently, their bodies convulsing as lead tore through them.
The courtyard was silent for only a moment.
Then, the soldiers erupted into cheers.
Shouts of victory, of relief, of justice filled the air.
Some men spat on the mangled corpses, others lifted their fists in defiance.
Moreau didn't blink.
Renaud, standing beside him, exhaled heavily.
General Delon watched his men.
Then, he stepped forward again, his voice carrying over the chaos.
"This is why we fight. This is why we stand. A nation is not just its land, nor its cities. It is the men and women who defend it. It is the spirit that refuses to break."
As Delon spoke, Colonel Perrin pulled Major Varenne aside, his voice low.
"There will be consequences for this."
Varenne didn't flinch.
"Yes. There will be."
Perrin's eyes narrowed. "And the General? Do you think he'll be fine?"
For the first time that night, Varenne chuckled.
"Colonel, you don't understand. If he hadn't done this, maybe there would have been a problem in Paris. But now?"
He smirked.
"Even those cowards will avoid his edges. They know who he is. And they know exactly how dangerous he can be if pushed any further."
Perrin exhaled sharply.
Then, together, they turned back to the roaring soldiers.
The purge was over.
But the war?
The war had just begun.
