The morning of January 9, Les Invalides.
This magnificent building was once the military sanctuary of France, its massive dome gleaming coldly under the winter sun.
After the war twenty years ago, the military’s status in French politics plummeted.
No one wanted to recall that disastrous defeat, and no one wanted to mention the soldiers who had died.
Weeds grew tall in the courtyard, and the statues were covered in dust.
But Furina knew that at this critical juncture where reform and crisis were intertwined, the military would be the decisive force.
Without the guarantee of the gun, any reform would be nothing more than a scrap of paper.
Gallieni was already waiting in the square.
Behind him were three thousand soldiers, neatly arranged in a phalanx.
Most of them were from common backgrounds, hailing from every corner of France: the mining areas of the north, the farmlands of the south, and the small towns of the east.
Their uniforms were worn out, their equipment crude, and some wore ill-fitting boots, yet they stood straight with determined gazes.
Furina stepped forward and saluted Gallieni.
The general returned the salute, then stepped aside, signaling for her to face the soldiers.
She did not speak immediately, but instead walked slowly along the edge of the phalanx.
She looked at those young faces, those rough hands, those worn-out boots.
She noticed that some soldiers’ hands were trembling slightly—not from the cold, but from nervousness, and because for the first time in twenty years, the military was being valued so highly by the president.
Then, she stood still in front of the phalanx and took off her coat, revealing a simple white shirt underneath.
This was Clemenceau’s suggestion: do not wear the ornate presidential attire, but dress like the soldiers’ sister, like one of them.
“Soldiers,”
She began, her voice not loud, but clearly reaching every ear, like the wind passing through a forest.
“I know what you are thinking.
You are thinking, who is this woman?
Why is she standing here?
Why should we risk our lives for her?”
A slight commotion stirred in the phalanx, and some exchanged glances.
“Twenty years ago,”
Furina continued, her voice becoming deep and magnetic.
“The Titans of the German Empire broke through the gates of Paris.
Those steel giants, three meters tall, pitch-black, with runes glowing red.
Your fathers, your brothers, took up arms to defend this city.
Most of them died.”
Her voice sounded as if it were coming from deep underground.
“Why did they die?
Was it because they were not brave enough?
Was it because they were not loyal enough?
Neither.
She paused.
“—were betrayed.”
“Betrayed by those politicians sitting in the palaces, who embezzled military funds; betrayed by those plutocrats who only thought about making money, who hoarded food; betrayed by those who didn’t care about this country at all, only their own wallets!
When the Titans entered the city, those big shots fled with their gold and treasures.
And your fathers, they used their flesh and blood to confront the steel giants, used their flesh and blood to cover the civilians’ retreat.
They died on the streets, died in the alleys, some even died without a burial place!”
Suppressed sobbing came from the phalanx.
A young soldier lowered his head, his shoulders trembling; an old veteran clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
“Twenty years later,” Furina’s voice became soft, yet still powerful, like warm water flowing over stone.
“The descendants of those people, those plutocrats, those oligarchs, those parasites, they have returned.
They threaten us with shutdowns, hold us hostage with hunger, and intimidate us with economic collapse.
They want us to submit, want us to give up, want us to hand over the hard-won fruits of reform we have just achieved!”
She walked along the phalanx, meeting every soldier’s gaze, seeing the anger in their eyes ignited.
“And in the south, those landowners, those vampires who have ridden on the backs of farmers for centuries, have organized armed forces and refused to hand over the land they have occupied.
They want to resist the law with force, want to maintain their privileges with violence!
They have even raised banners, wanting to restore the kingdom, to expel the Republic!”
She stopped, standing in the very center of the phalanx, and her voice rose sharply: “I ask you, do you agree to this?”
“No!” someone shouted, like a spark falling into a pan of oil.
“Do you agree to let those blood-sucking leeches continue to cling to France?”
“No!” more people shouted, their voices merging into a stream.
“Do you agree to let your fathers, your brothers, sacrifice in vain, to let their blood be shed for nothing?”
“No!” The voices of three thousand people merged into a torrent, making the glass of Les Invalides hum.
Furina stopped, standing in the very center of the phalanx.
She looked up at the fluttering Tricolor flag.
She did not show her cards.
She did not say “I need you to save my life,” nor did she say “Without you, we will collapse.”
On the contrary, she turned around to face everyone, her voice full of strength and confidence—that was the “bluffing” Clemenceau had taught her, but it was also her genuine belief.
“Soldiers, I have not come to ask you to risk your lives for me.
I have come to invite you.”
She extended her hand, as if inviting them to a grand ball.
“Invite you to participate in a great transformation.
For the France that your fathers defended with their blood; for the France we have promised to give everyone a better life; for the France that is no longer the private property of plutocrats, but belongs to all the people of France!”
She raised her right hand, her voice clear and firm: “I promise you that from now on, the military will receive the respect it deserves.
Everyone who serves the country will receive land and work after retiring!
You will no longer be abandoned, you will no longer be forgotten!”
“I promise you that from now on, the military will no longer be treated as a tool for politicians.
You will no longer be sent to suppress your own countrymen, no longer be used to protect the interests of those plunderers!
You will fight for justice, fight for the people of France, and fight for this great transformation!”
She lowered her hand, her voice becoming deep and earnest, yet still maintaining that composure of “we are in control”: “Now, I need you to step forward to protect this newborn Republic.
Protect the ordinary people who are currently under threat, protect the hard-won hope we have just achieved!”
There was a long silence in the phalanx.
The wind blew across the square, bringing the chill of winter.
Then, a young voice rang out, with trembling yet firm strength: “Madam President, please give the order!”
Immediately following, more voices rang out: “Please give the order!” “For France!” “For the people!”
The shouts of three thousand people shook the heavens and the earth, startling the pigeons on the rooftops in the distance.
Gallieni stepped forward and bowed deeply to Furina.
When he looked up, Furina noticed that the doubt in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a kind of admiration, even a kind of worship.
“Madam President, the Paris Garrison awaits your orders.”
Furina nodded, then lowered her voice so that only the two of them could hear: “General, those agents of the plutocrats in the military…”
“They have been contained,” Gallieni’s voice was equally low, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes.
“Over the past two days, I have used ’emergency combat readiness’ as a pretext to adjust commanders in over a dozen key positions.
Those officers with close ties to the plutocrats and landowners have been placed under house arrest or transferred to the border, away from the center of power.
I have three regiments of loyalists who are absolutely reliable.”
“Well done.”
“However,” Gallieni hesitated.
“Madam President, you must know that the military can only solve part of the problem.
If the economy truly collapses, if famine descends, even if the military is loyal, it cannot stop a popular uprising.
Soldiers are human too, and their families are starving.
If their mothers starve to death, if their children cry, I…
I do not know how long I can keep them under control.”
He was testing her, testing Furina’s cards.
Furina felt a shiver in her heart, but following Clemenceau’s teaching, she revealed a confident smile—a smile like the winter sun, warm but illusory: “General, please rest assured.
Within three days, you will see changes.
The factories will smoke again, the trains will run again, and the bakeries will emit the aroma of bread again.
We will not let famine happen, because we have ways to get those factories running again and the railways reopened.
And your task is to ensure that during this process, no one can use force to disrupt order, whether it is the plutocrats’ mercenaries or the landowners’ armed forces.”
Gallieni looked at her firm gaze, looked at the light in her heterochromatic eyes, and nodded: “I look forward to the arrival of that day.
For France, and for these children.” He pointed to the soldiers behind him.