Jordan Martin pointed out the lamentable state of the street of Puteaux and the dark faces of the inhabitants with eyes filled with anger and reproach.

"You were conspicuously absent, Madam Gendarme, when we needed you most," he began, fixing Karima with a stern gaze. "You seem to forget why you had judicial power until now. We pay taxes, in exchange for which you protect us by enforcing the law throughout the national territory. That was the deal!"

Karima trembled with anger. It was true, but to hear him tell it, they had done nothing and simply watched society collapse. Worse than a lie, it was an insult to all those who had shed their blood!

Ignoring what Karima and her comrades were going through as he spat on them and their sacrifice, he continued:

"However, you are not capable of enforcing the law, so we are taking away your monopoly on justice! We are taking away this right to do it ourselves! If you are not happy, prove that you can handle the situation and we will gladly stand by your side. After all, it is not pleasant for us to have to patrol the streets day and night to prevent bad citizens from committing crimes and offenses. As for the refugees, since that's how you call them, they don't have the right to circulate either. Those are your words. Yet they are here, passing through our area and causing chaos by behaving like bandits! Not all of them, of course, but enough to compel us to seize goods from them that are necessary for the survival of our community. Many of us have suffered because of these people. So it is only fair that they contribute to rectifying this injustice."

Jordan then pointed to the two bodies that Karima had taken down upon her arrival. The young woman realized that it was no longer anger in his eyes, but hatred.

"As for these two men, they were sentenced to death for several murders, including that of a child, following a trial. Together, we judged and condemned these individuals. If you want to condemn us for that, arrest us! Arrest all of us! But know that we consider ourselves within our rights. Therefore, expect resistance!"

Damn! He speaks well, the bastard!

After speaking so much, the man in the leather jacket calmed down and adopted a conciliatory tone.

"Madam Gendarme, I understand your situation, but understand ours. The justice system in our country no longer works. Tell me honestly, what would you have done in our place? What would you have done with them knowing what they did? Knowing that they would have been released for lack of space and that their crime would go unpunished. Eventually, they would have committed more crimes, more rapes, more murders!"

Death! Of course, if I had been in their place, I would have done the same thing! But I'm a gendarme! I can't tell them that and let them do as they please! But at the same time, I can't arrest them all! What to do?!

"Sir," she replied, still thinking, "I understand your anger and distress, but this is not how you will help us restore peace and order. If civilians start dispensing justice, and I'm not saying what you're doing is justice, then everyone will be tempted to do the same. In that case, the gendarmerie and law enforcement in general will not be able to resolve the situation. We need you, who obviously love peace and justice, to help us regain control of the streets."

"And so? What do you propose as a solution? I hope you're not going to tell me that you can handle the crisis on your own, we've seen what that leads to. A plane crashed not far from here on the first day, and it's still there! We prevented, without you, a good hundred looting incidents in this neighborhood alone since the blackout, and we organized, by our own means, an aid center for the neighborhood residents! Can you say the same?"

"Um, no, that's true. At least not in this neighborhood. We are focused on maintaining order near the Rathelot gendarmerie barracks in Nanterre. We have also organized a food bank and a military hospital, but we also have a military tribunal to enforce martial law, which has been in effect for about ten days now. Give up this kind of... practice, and let us handle it, please."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The man, surprised, turned to his militiamen and thought for a moment.

"Your barracks, it's far from here, isn't it? How would you proceed when we catch a criminal? Do we deliver them to you?"

"There is a military base located closer to here. There must be a military tribunal there too. It would be simpler."

"You mean the fortress of Mont-Valérien, right?"

"Yes! Your militia can remain mobilized, because it is true that we cannot be everywhere, but it must no longer dispense justice itself! I add that to give you legitimacy in the eyes of my superiors, each member must be registered as a volunteer in one of our bases."

"Like those guys accompanying you there?"

"Not all of them are volunteers. Some are police officers, others gendarmes. But those people you see with an armband are indeed volunteers. They can act on the ground, but they are under the authority of a gendarme or another experienced military officer. As a major, I can recruit volunteers, up to fifty individuals."

"And if I don't want to depend on anyone?"

"Then you will be breaking the law, although that probably doesn't bother you much, I suppose. I am simply offering you a solution to avoid any problems with us."

The young woman adopted a serious expression as she spoke these words to make it clear to these people that she was not to be trifled with and to imply to these militiamen that if they persisted in this course, they would end up before a military tribunal. Before that, there would inevitably be a confrontation with the gendarmerie, which could only lead to bloodshed.

Jordan stared intensely at the gendarme as if trying to read her mind before sighing.

"Humpf. We'll see. We'll have to discuss it. In the meantime, you can pick up those we arrested for looting. They're in the café with the green facade behind you."

"Ah, um, very well. One last thing..."

"What?"

The militia leader seemed impatient.

"Stop extorting everyone who crosses this bridge. I insist. These are desperate people fleeing Paris and abandoning everything they have to find a little peace and security. By taking what little they have, you worsen their situation, which can lead them to commit offenses, or worse. Be understanding and help them as much as possible."

"We can't help everyone, especially when we're having trouble helping ourselves! grumbled Jordan, crossing his arms."

"..."

"Ah, well, okay! Don't look at me like that. But at the slightest misstep, we'll send them to you! There's no way they'll stay with us!"

"Understood."

"Good."

Karima extended a gloved hand to the man, who shook it with a bit of force without the young woman reacting. She was used to being tested like this.

While the Bords-de-Seine militia cleared the bridge, Karima's men went to retrieve the prisoners, all of whom looked hungry and exhausted. It was clear that they had been given the bare minimum in addition to being beaten.

She was unaware, however, that among these people there were no rapists and no murderers. The reason was simple: the militia and the inhabitants despised them from the bottom of their hearts. For these people, these monsters, there was no mercy. They had been castrated with a blade heated to white, which inevitably led to their death. Because it was out of the question to keep their corpses, it had been decided to throw them into the Seine. Since the beginning of this crisis, more than thirty people had been executed at this single point.

While her initial mission was to restore order to Puteaux, Karima suddenly found herself in charge of about fifteen prisoners, ten men and five women. Her mission could be considered successful, so she agreed to accompany these people to the fortress of Mont-Valérien, tasked with maintaining order in the neighboring communes of Suresnes, Rueil-Malmaison, Garches, and Saint-Cloud, far from her original duties.

It was a polygonal fort dating back to the mid-nineteenth century, at a time when France changed governments practically every fifteen years. In this time of instability and uncertainty, following the collapse of the empire built by Napoleon Bonaparte, the Bourbon kings had returned to power for fifteen years. Then they were chased from power in favor of Louis-Philippe d'Orléans, who remained in power for only eighteen years. He was in turn ousted from power in favor of the republicans. It was precisely in this last change of government that this fort was built when no one knew exactly who would be in charge of the state ten, fifteen, or twenty years later. Perhaps a new emperor, perhaps kings again, perhaps still the Republic, perhaps something else? It was finally the Empire under Napoleon III, again for a short duration.