Chapter 41: The Last Gate
The wind over the Seine was cold and biting, slicing through coats and scarves as though to remind all present that this land—this capital—still belonged to a dying republic. But it was only a matter of time.
From a command platform erected atop a reinforced rail junction just outside Fontainebleau, Regent Lancelot looked northward toward Paris. Beyond the wooded horizon, behind layers of farms and crumbling outer villages, the final prize awaited. Alicia stood beside him, gloved hands steady despite the chill, her notebook folded against her chest. General Montiel, stern and sleepless, reviewed troop movements with a pocket compass and pencil-drawn maps.
"We’ve completed the encirclement," Montiel reported. "East bank to west, from Évry to Meaux. No rail leaves Paris. No carts. No couriers. Nothing but river barges, and even those are under watch."
"And inside?" Lancelot asked.
"Our agents report confusion. Rations low. Soldiers digging trenches within the arrondissements. Conscripts mostly. Few veterans remain."
Alicia added, "Balloon scouts have mapped three inner barricades. But no unified command structure. The National Guard refuses to cooperate with the military, and the President hasn’t spoken publicly in two days."
Lancelot stared northward, eyes narrowing beneath his cap. "Then the city is ours already. They just don’t know it yet."
Below them, columns of Aragonese soldiers moved like clockwork—rails steaming, freight cars arriving every hour with supplies, telegraph cables being extended street by street toward the capital’s outskirts. Mobile hospitals, civilian administration teams, and postal services followed close behind.
At the forward observation point near Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, a balloon crew began to rise. Attached by cable and flanked by six guards, the basket carried a special payload: a brass loudspeaker assembly wired to the ground via long coils of copper.
It was the voice of the new order.
At 1300 hours, the broadcast began.