Novel Full Chapter 690: The New Order
Chapter 690: The New Order
When the Russians arrived at the front, they found the German Third and Eighth Armies converging within artillery distance of Paris.
Setting up their heavy guns, the German units moved quietly among the trenches and fortifications dug around them.
Surface-to-air missile platforms intertwined with flak guns, forming an impenetrable barrier of air defense.
Assuming the French Republic even had a single squadron of Spitfires left in its inventory, after fighting against an invasion on all fronts, they would be blown out of the sky the moment they approached the area.
The Russian general entered the section of the line where Heinrich stood in his field attire.
Dressed no differently than a common soldier, Heinrich smoked a cigarette as his
blumentarn uniform blended seamlessly with the camouflage netting strung above their heads.
The Russian general, however, did not mirror him.
He wore a uniform from another era, half dress, half field, a greatcoat concealing most of his medals, yet still boasting epaulettes laced with gold and silver piping.
To anyone in the vicinity, it was painfully obvious what his rank was.
When Heinrich saw this, he rolled his eyes, especially as the general puffed his chest and began posturing.
“Who is in charge here? God dammit, how the hell is anyone supposed to know who to speak to when you’re all wearing the same fucking uniform?”
Heinrich stepped forward, stamping out his cigarette beneath his boot, rifle slung across his chest.
His eyes locked with the general’s.
“That’s the point,” he said coolly.
“We don’t want the enemy identifying staff officers and targeting them for assassination. You, though? I bet their scouts saw you a mile away. Which means they’re probably talking amongst themselves right now about how the fuck they’re going to blow up this little command pitch of ours.”
The Russian general was stunned into silence, perhaps grasping for a retort that might save him some face.
But Heinrich didn’t give him the chance.
“Poor manners aside,” he continued,
“we’re happy you’re here. We were just about to begin preparations for the siege of Paris. A telegram’s already been sent to de Gaulle, holed up in Versailles, formally requesting his surrender. He’s acting much like his predecessors did in 1916, refusing to yield no matter what, and preparing the entire city’s population to resist.”
The Russian general’s mouth fell open.
“You can’t be serious… He knows how that ended in 1916, right? Our armies have far more destructive capabilities than we did then. And he expects a different outcome?”
Heinrich exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting over the general’s shoulder toward the horizon, past the rain, the mud, and the smoke rising from distant artillery.
“A wounded animal, when cornered, seldom acts rationally,” he said.
“De Gaulle has chosen to die on his cross of victimhood… and intends to take the city with him.”
A moment passed.
“We’re awaiting orders from Berlin,” Heinrich added. “The Kaiser and the Reichsmarschall have plans for France beyond this war. Leveling the city might be… counterproductive.”
The Russian general said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
Only much to think about.
—
Bruno stood in the command center within Berlin. Flanked by Generals, Admirals, Adjutants, and the Kaiser himself.
He had wisely predicted de Gaulle would act this way. Desiring to hold onto his power no matter what.
After all, part of Germany’s demands was that he surrender himself to German custody for trial and judgement over the unprovoked killing of the Reich’s soldiers at the border.
A demand which started this war.
And though Bruno would be happy to wipe Paris off the map, he knew the effect of doing so would alienate his allies in the house of Orleans.
No, there was only one solution to this problem, to get the people of France to turn against their master.
He was quick to look over at the Kaiser, a gaze that seemed ancient, primeval, like it had lived far too long in this world, far longer than his own face suggested.
His voice carried the weight of history.
“I believe its time we contact the true King of France…. It is time that Henri de Orleans inspires the people to save themselves.”
Kaiser Wilhelm II sighed in relief, half expecting Bruno to turn Paris into a pile of ash.
And after recovering himself he was quick to give the order.
“You heard the Reichsmarschall! What are you all just standing there for?”
Immediately adjuntants snapped to attention, doing their best to get on the phone, and relay the orders they had been given.
Speeches needed to be drafted, revised, and perfected.
The Media needed to be made alert, and of course the House of Orleans needed to be made aware of the role they were now expected to play.
A long silence followed.
One not of doubt, but of realization.
A solemn silence filled the war room.
Bruno did not see Henri as a pawn.
He saw him as a King-in-waiting, the rightful heir to a France long denied her crown.
The Republic was never built to last.
It had no roots, no soul. Only slogans and saboteurs.
For years now, he had supported Henri quietly, ensuring the Orléans line remained presentable to the French people.
Allowing their media appearances, preserving their estates, and keeping Henri’s daughter safely courted by his own bloodline.
Now, that investment was ready to yield the future.
“The French do not need to be conquered,” Bruno said calmly. “They need to be reminded.”
Of who they were. Of what they once had.
Of what still lived, quietly, in the House of Orléans.
Of a France that could rise again, if it only had the courage to kneel first.
And in doing so, Bruno would create the chains that would bind France to Germany for eternity.
He would not take Paris by fire.
He would take it by memory.
And when the tricolor was lowered, when Henri took his crown, the world would not see a conquest, but a coronation long overdue.