The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 823: Shoot you on behalf of the people!
The sound of water flowing in the sewers of Paris and the crackling of burning torches intertwined into a chaotic symphony. Dabrovsky's leather boots stepped through the puddles, and every step caused a dull echo in the arched sewers. His eyes swept over the 100 Red Guards behind him - each of them wore a work uniform with a red collar patch, a blue hat with a red star, and a Lebel revolver on the belt around his waist.

"Faster! Faster!" Dabrowski's voice exploded in the sewer. "Prussian shells are already exploding in Vincennesburg, and our comrades are bleeding!"

Seventeen-year-old Jean Pompidou suddenly tripped and almost fell into the sewage. He held onto the wet wall and found that the person who tripped him was a corpse - wearing a Nationalist uniform and a black bullet hole on the back of his head.

"This is this"

"A deserter." Without even turning his head, Dombrowski said, "He was probably executed by the comrades guarding the sewer yesterday. Remember this scene, young man. In Paris, there are only two kinds of people—soldiers and corpses."

As the team turned a corner, they heard faint cries ahead. Three Nationalist soldiers huddled at the fork in the road, their uniforms stained with mud and blood.

"Sir! Please." One of them crawled over on his knees, "Our company is all gone, the Prussian artillery fire"

Dombrowski's revolver was pressed between his eyebrows.

"Name? Unit number?"

"Pierre Lefebvre, 47nd Company, 2th National Infantry Regiment."

"Very good, Lefebvre." Dombrowski's index finger was on the trigger. "Now you have two choices - pick up your gun and return to Vincennesburg, or stay here and rot forever."

Pierre pointed to his companions and said tremblingly: "But they are injured."

"The wounded will be transferred through the underground passage." Dombrowski's gun remained motionless. "But the coward..."

"No, no, I won't go back." The soldier named Pierre was obviously frightened by the Prussian artillery shells.

"I will shoot you on behalf of the people!" Dabrovsky announced the death sentence of the deserter Pierre without hesitation.

"boom!"

The gunshots exploded in the sewer, causing pain in Jean Pompidou's eardrums. Pierre's body fell into the sewage, and his blood dyed the turbid water red.

"Keep going!" Dabrovsky put away his revolver, "Raise our red flag and let the comrades in Vincenburg know that the Red Guards are coming!"

On the platform of Saint-Denis railway station, Rigo, wearing a patched black wool coat, stepped down from an armored train. In front of him stood all the officers of the 1st Division of the National Army, each of whose face was stained with traces of blackened artillery fire.

"Order No. 15 of the Supreme Revolutionary Committee." Rigo's voice was like an ice knife scraping across steel. "From now on, any retreat without permission will be considered treason."

Divisional commander Leclerc touched his gold-plated pocket watch, a gift from Napoleon I to his father. "Comrade Commissioner, my soldiers haven't slept for a day and a night."

"Then let them sleep in the trenches!" Rigo suddenly shouted, scaring several staff officers to step back, "Look behind you!"

He flung open the door of a carriage. Inside were more than thirty bodies, each with a big "X" painted on its forehead in red paint.

"These are the deserters I caught on my way from Paris this afternoon." Rigo's voice regained its terrifying calm. "Anyone want to join them?"

Marcel, the worker representative, suddenly stepped forward and said, "Comrade Rigo, the Prussian artillery fire is too fierce. Our First Division has suffered heavy losses and needs reinforcements."

"Tell him that the reinforcements are my Red Guards." Rigo took a stack of documents from the adjutant. "This is a newly issued execution order. The blank name column is waiting to be filled in."

A 150mm shell exploded outside the station, shattering the warehouse's windows. Rigaud remained motionless in the rain of broken glass, with only a little bit of gunpowder staining his red armband.

"The Prussian artillery shells are terrible?" he asked softly, and suddenly grabbed the collar of the commander of the First Division, Leclerc, "But my bullets are more accurate! From now on, each company will send two Red Guards to supervise the battle - if you take a step back, you will be shot on the spot!"

Marcel swallowed and said, "What if we still can't hold it?"

Rigaud let go of Leclerc, and his firm gaze swept across every uneasy face: "Then let Saint-Denis become the grave of the Prussians, and let us be the tombstones on the grave." He turned to all the officers, "Comrades, we can die, but our French motherland will become great again because of our sacrifice, and the French working people will have a happy future because of our sacrifice! There can be no sacrifice on the road to victory!
In addition, tell the comrades that according to the order of the National Army Headquarters, our First Division's mission is to hold Saint-Denis for a week, starting from two days ago! "In the underground bunker of Vincenbourg, Dombrowski stepped on the blood and inspected every firing hole. The artillery fire outside shook off the mud and plaster in the bunker, but what was more terrifying was the sobbing in the corner of the bunker.

"Bring them all here!" Dombrowski snapped.

The Red Guards dragged in seven shivering soldiers. Their uniforms were still intact, but their crotches were soaked.

"Comrade Military Commissar!" a freckled soldier cried, "We really can't stand it! Prussian artillery fire."

Donbrovsky raised his hand and fired a shot, the bullet hitting the soldier's feet: "Can't stand it? Look at this!" He pulled over an old soldier whose legs were blown off. This old soldier was a North African Berber, "Comrade Aziz, how many people are left in your platoon?"

"Report to the Commissioner!" The old soldier struggled to salute, "There are 32 people in the platoon, and 12 are still alive, still holding Fort No. 12!"

Dombrowski turned to the seven deserters and said, "Did you hear that? The man with a broken leg is still fighting, and you healthy losers are trying to escape?" He suddenly overturned the wooden box in anger, revealing a pile of Enfield rifles underneath. "Take the guns! Now! Immediately! Return to your posts!"

A deserter suddenly knelt down and said: "Please, I have some at home."

"I will shoot you on behalf of the people!"

"boom!"

Smoke was coming out of the muzzle of Dombrowski's gun. "You are no longer in your family." He looked at the remaining six people grimly. "Does anyone else want to negotiate?"

The six men tumbled and grabbed their rifles and rushed out. Dabrowski turned to Jean Pompidou and said, "Write down their names. If they dare to desert again, you know what to do."

The atmosphere in Steinmetz's headquarters was so solemn that it could squeeze water out of it. The old general's pipe had long been extinguished, but he still mechanically bit the amber cigarette holder.

"General, the 17th Regiment requests to withdraw for rest." The staff officer's voice became smaller and smaller.

"Rest?" Steinmetz suddenly laughed, making the staff officer's hair stand on end. "We've been fighting for five days! Our three elite regiments have been attacking in turns, but we haven't even touched the outer wall of Vincennesburg!" He smashed the teacup. "What are Parisians? Are they made of iron?"

The adjutant carefully handed over the telescope: "Look for yourself."

In the camera, a tattered red flag was still flying on the ruins of Vincennes Castle. Under the flagpole, dozens of ragged Parisians were using bayonets, shovels and even their teeth to stab the Prussian soldiers who rushed up one by one and down the city wall that had long since turned into a pile of rubble.

The most horrifying thing is that every time a defender fell, a new figure would immediately emerge from the ruins to take his place. They were like an undead army, and could never be killed.

The old general gritted his teeth and said: "Fortunately, the French troops in Sedan and Metz are not even one-tenth as brave as them, otherwise we would definitely not be able to reach Paris."

The staff officer handed over the latest battle report: "General, do you want to continue the bombardment? We have ammunition."

Steinmetz looked out the window at the darkening sky: "Cease fire." He rubbed his temple tiredly, "Let the boys take a breath. Tomorrow, tomorrow I will use the 210mm mortar to blow Vincenburg into powder!"

But he knew that his 210mm mortar could not blow Vincennesburg into powder. In fact, when the ancient walls of Vincennesburg were blown down, the damaging effect of his picric acid shells and nitroglycerin shells became very limited. Those bunkers covered by ruins, whether it was a hole, a sewer or a basement, had been tested by artillery fire, and the rubble covering them was like a thick layer of armor, and the power of the shell explosion was absorbed by the rubble.
When the first rays of sunlight pierced through the smoke of gunpowder at dawn the next day, Dombrowski stood at the highest point of the ruins of Vincenburg, with piles of shells, rubble and corpses at his feet. His left arm was in a bandage, but the revolver in his right hand was still pointed steadily forward.

"Count the heads!"

"Report to the comrade!" Jean Pompidou's voice was already hoarse, "There are 67 Red Guards left, and the 2nd Division of the National Army. There are probably more than 3000 people."

Dombrowski looked towards Saint-Denis, where the artillery fire was still intense. "What about Comrade Rigaud?"

"Just received news that the Saint-Denis train station is still in our hands. Comrade Rigaud said," Jean Pompidou suddenly choked up, "there are less than 1 people left in the 2000st Division of the National Army."

Dombrovsky nodded and turned to the survivors: "Comrades, today is the 6th day! The hundreds of thousands of troops of Napoleon III and Joseph Franz were defeated in less than a day under the Prussian artillery, machine guns and bayonets. We and the 1st Division, with a total of less than 6 people, held out against an enemy that was ten times larger than us and persisted for a full days! What does this show? This shows that Prussia is not invincible at all. As long as we are determined and brave enough, we will be able to defeat them. And as long as we can defeat the Prussian army, then there will be no enemy in all of Europe or even the world that can defeat Red France!"

(End of this chapter)