It had been years since the French Republic collapsed and entered a state of poverty, anarchy and war. But today, for better or worse, France breathed again. The Gallian Militia had finally seized the last holdout of the nation's largest province.
Corpses of revolutionaries lie dead in the streets in the countryside as Paris stood in the distance, more ravaged and weary than prideful and jubilant. But to the people who had endured, who had lived through the pain and suffering, like the French soldiers wearing their old uniforms now stained with mud, blood, and oil beyond recognition. They didn't truly celebrate in recognition of this victory.
Rather, they smoked cigarettes and cracked open wine as they lanted the cost of it. Whether it was the two brutal and bloody years of the Great War, or the following two years of civil war and anarchy.
Paris had been liberated, and the countryside outside its gates was in a similar state. anwhile, militias across the country had done the sa. France was beginning to see so form of order rebuilt from the ashes of the Third Republic.
But while these loosely connected militias had wiped out what remained of the French reds, there was a new problem to face.
Various "strongn" like Charles de Gaulle had risen to prominence among these differing groups, none specifically bound by any particular ideology or obligation, simply a desire to restore order to the lawless and chaotic French holand.
So were sneering imperialist types, others were hardcore liberals with a patriotic sense of duty, while there were those who felt the military, or what remained of it should be in charge of the nation and its people.
The French Monarchy had failed under the Bourbons, and what remained of the Royal Bloodline had long since fled the country. Either during the Reign of Terror, or whatever the hell this madness that befell the Republic after it had collapsed under the weight of its own hubris.
As for Marxism, and all of its derivatives? Simply gaze upon the ashes of Paris and the million dead souls within it, and your answer for whether or not it was a suitable ideology lies with them.
The violence it began with Marxist revolutionaries taking advantage of a collapsing state, one that was already in a state of Crisis from the Great War, and it had transcended into sothing so brutal, even Bruno wept when he learned of what had happened to Versailles.
Figuratively speaking of course, but it was a propaganda piece that was painted by a particularly pro-German French "newspaper" showing the "Wolf of Prussia" having a single tear of blood drop down his cheeks as he and his n withdrew from Paris as part of the treaty's stipulations.
There were a large number of French Veterans who were once treated well by the Germans as prisoners of war had condemned the notions of Revanchism for the bloody fate of the Republic, and the senseless slaughter it brought on. But they were forced to flee the country long ago.
And it was a sentint de Gaulle had thought nothing but of as he watched the nation bleed before him ti and ti again. The truth was, the Germans had treated him well during his ti as Prisoner of War, that and his n as well.
Gaulle knew these Anti-Revanchists weren't wrong in their understanding of who had caused the war, and who rightfully held the blad. But unfortunately, the fla of hatred was easier to keep alive than the fragility of empathy.
And France needed an enemy if it was going to rise from its current barren state. Soone to pin all the sins of their forr politicians on. Soone to unite the other warlords and strongn like himself behind, as the antithesis of France, the devil incarnate.
Luckily, or rather unfortunately, there was one man who could easily fulfill the role without any actual distortion of the truth, or propaganda being needed to convince the people he was at fault. And it was the sa man who was crying tears of blood as he witnessed Paris burn while turning away from it in the tattered propaganda leaflet in de Gaulle's hands.
The French stood in long silence, as he gazed upon the image, and in the end he said a silent prayer, not of malice, but for forgiveness, from the Lord God Almighty, because he knew what he was about to do to unify France, and make it a nation worthy of fear, and respect once more, would surely damn him to hell.
"Forgive Lord, for I am about to sin… This man tried to save us… and now I must make him appear like he is the living avatar of your most rebellious son… It is wrong… and I know it is… But it is necessary nonetheless…"
After saying this, de Gaulle let the leaflet fall from his hands, watching in cold stoicism as the winds picked it up before it could hit the ground, and sent it flying well in the other direction of where Paris lay.
Towards the distant landscape, lands that were still inhabited by brigands, and rebels, lands where the stormy skies above spoke of how dangerous they were, and how their re existence in their current state threatened to bring upon the wrath of the heavens to Paris and its surrounding regions which had finally after years of bloodshed learned so peace.
A soldier walked up to de Gaulle. He was an officer by now, at least among the militian. His accent betrayed foreign blood—likely Arican. Few among the legion stood by France after the Republic fell, and most like this man stayed not for the Nation itself, but de Gaulle.
"Where to next, boss?"
De Gaulle finished what remained of his cigarette before stomping out its embers, where he then turned around and looked the soldier in the face, a man whose face was as disheveled and unshaven as one might expect from a man in his position.
He did not imdiately speak and instead walked past the officer, before finally speaking his thoughts aloud.
"Where else but Normandy? The coast must be secured, and the ports within it, or else those other bastards will win in the end… And god forbid anyone other than the Gallian militia seizes the vacant throne those old fools left behind!"
Not another word was spoken. The French soldiers simply ensured rations, and supplies were in proper transit, before marching off towards Normandy, a new day, a new battlefield, a new chance to spill blood…
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