Chapter 216: “What has happened tonight is not a coup. It is not ambition. It is restoration.”

Words : 1309 Updated : Sep 25th, 2025

Chapter 216: “What has happened tonight is not a coup. It is not ambition. It is restoration.”At precisely 03:00, the orders arrived not by telephone or telegram, but by couriers, sweat-covered who rode through the night on motorbikes, horses, and battered trucks. They handed out sealed envelopes, hand-marked with wax and ciphers. Inside was only one word. "Now." Within ten minutes, troops began moving. The columns started just outside Versailles, Saint-Denis, and Charenton-le-Pont. Armored cars came to life. Men stood from their field tents and donned their coats in silence. Rifles were checked. Ammunition belts clipped. No bugles. No shouts. By 03:20, all across France, soldiers boarded trains freight cars stripped and loaded with field guns, horses, bicycles, and rations. Across Paris’s southern perimeter, more than 100,000 troops were in motion walking through the countryside, swallowing the roads under the guise of night. Paris, as always, was sleepless but unaware. In a brothel near Gare de l’Est, music still played. On the Left Bank, a printer worked through the night, lining up the next day’s headlines. Somewhere in Montmartre, lovers slept, oblivious. But just before 04:00, everything changed. Power cut from the 1st, 7th, and 8th arrondissements. Substations sabotaged by men in Gendarmerie uniforms who weren’t Gendarmerie. Within minutes, electric trams stopped dead on their tracks. Streetlamps flickered and died. Radios became silent. Even the bells of Notre-Dame remained strangely quiet in the dark. The takeover had begun. Inside the Élysée Palace, the President was already awake. He stood before the fire in his study, reading the last report from Rivet. He didn’t speak as the aide entered, breathless. "Sir troops are entering Paris from three directions. Unmarked uniforms. Heavy vehicles. Some of them are carrying the old campaign flags." "I know," the President said, without turning. "What do we do?" "We wait." "Sir?" The President finally turned. "Moreau will make the announcement soon. Let it happen." The aide hesitated. "You understand what this means?" "I do," the President replied. "Better Moreau than what we’ve had. It ends here." He turned back toward the window. "Let history hate me if it means France survives." At 04:05, two companies of troops rolled across the Bois de Boulogne, horses in front, armored lorries behind. They moved past cafés and bakeries. A few Parisians stepped outside, wrapped in nightclothes, and froze. A baker whispered, "That’s the 5th Colonial Division..." He hadn’t seen their colors in years. Then, further east, gunshots cracked. The first resistance came at Pont Neuf. A loyalist Gendarmerie unit had barricaded the bridge after receiving a scrambled warning from Orléans. At 04:15, a convoy attempted to cross. The standoff lasted twenty-eight seconds. Someone fired. A captain fell forward, blood spraying across the bonnet of a car. The returning volley from Moreau’s troops tore through the sandbags. Bolt-action rifles clattered. Two grenades were lobbed, one missing, the other exploding under a horse. When it was over, eight defenders were dead, and the Seine ran red beneath the stone arches. At 04:25, inside the Hôtel Matignon, the Prime Minister was losing control. "Get me the Army Chief any of them!" "Lines are down, sir." "Then signal the radio station, tell them to issue..." Sёarᴄh the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "They’re not responding either." "No. This isn’t possible. We would’ve heard something..." "There’s no hearing it," said the general. "Only surviving it." "Then go to the Palace! Where is the President?!" The Chief of Staff, pale and sweaty, said nothing. Someone whispered: "I think he’s part of it." The Prime Minister turned white. "The bastard..." At Montparnasse, the ORTF relay station was held by two dozen technicians and six armed guards. They’d been warned by a half-sent telegram. But at 04:30, a squadron dressed in police gear stormed the building. One technician managed to hit the silent alarm. Another fired a pistol, hitting a soldier in the leg. The response was brutal. Three men were killed. The transmitter room was taken in under four minutes. The broadcast was cut, and replaced with a blank signal. Paris was silent. Civilians began flooding the streets. From Marais to Montmartre, people poured out, clutching coats and children. Some whispered rumors. Others shouted them. "Communists!" "The Germans are here!" "No....it’s the Army!" Clashes broke out in Saint-Denis, where a crowd blocked an infantry column and hurled bottles. In response, troops fixed bayonets and charged. At least ten civilians were wounded. One elderly man was trampled. By 04:45, barricades had formed on Rue de Rennes. Not revolutionaries. Just frightened shopkeepers and union men. By 05:00, they were cleared with batons and rifle butts. Inside the Ministry of the Interior, the shouting never stopped. "Deploy the police!" "They’re defecting!" "Then get the fire brigades to.." The windows shattered. Soldiers entered in black coats and mud-caked boots. The Minister of Justice stood up and roared, "This is treason!" He was shot before he could reach the hallway. By 05:15, the Place de la Concorde was fully occupied. Horses stamped on the cobblestones. Men from Moreau’s core unit the original veterans from the eastern front took up positions around the Assembly, rifles loaded, safeties off. Moreau himself arrived shortly after. He stepped out of a covered lorry, brushed the dust from his greatcoat, and walked straight up the steps of the Palais Bourbon. A single staffer tried to flee through a back door. A rifle butt caught him in the ribs. Delon was already inside, briefing commanders with maps spread across a former gallery room. "They’ve secured Gare de Lyon, Gare du Nord is halfway clear," he said. "Resistance is heavier on the Rue Lafayette, but it’s breaking." "Casualties?" "A few dozen. Some civilians, some men. It’s war." Moreau didn’t flinch. "Take the Prefecture," he said. "Without force?" "Only if you can." At 05:30, in the heart of Paris, loudspeakers began to crackle. Not radios. Loudspeakers wired from the street lamps, from commandeered cars, from the rooftop of the ORTF building. Then, his voice. "Citizens of France. I speak to you not as a offcier, but as a son of this land." The city held its breath. "As of this morning, the government has been dissolved. What has happened tonight is not a coup. It is not ambition. It is restoration." Men in bars froze. Women at train stations clutched their coats. Boys stopped playing on staircases. "The Republic has been sabotaged by the corrupt, the elite, the cowardly. But France is not theirs to betray." He paused. "In the coming hours, we ask for calm. For patience. And for resolve. France has not fallen. France is waking up." "And to those who resist we do not seek your blood. But we will not tolerate your sabotage. Choose wisely." Delon stood at the ORTF relay, listening. Beside him, Beauchamp muttered, "He’s already won." By 06:00, Paris had been taken. At least fifty dead. Three hundred wounded. Thousands detained. Train stations closed. Telegraph lines under guard. Every major building held by soldiers bearing no party insignia. All ministries had been secured. Parliament was locked. Banks frozen. Bridges sealed. More than 120 political leaders were under armed detention. At 06:10, Moreau stood outside the Ministry of the Interior and looked out at the smoking rooftops. "Is the Prime Minister alive?" he asked. "Yes," came the answer. "Send word. He is to remain untouched until trial." Beauchamp arrived with the latest report. "Police resistance at the Prefecture is down. We expect surrender within the hour." Moreau paused. Then. "Send for the President." Delon stepped beside him, gloves still bloody. "You think they’ll call it treason?" Moreau shook his head. "They’ll call it history." Then turned away. "Phase One complete," he said. "Begin Phase Two."

Chapter 216: “What has happened tonight is not a coup. It is not ambition. It is restoration.”

Comments (0)