December 15, 1849.
After the heavy snow season passed, the temperature in Paris, which has a temperate mariti climate, saw a slight drop. The temperature difference of 4 to 8 degrees Celsius between day and night made every Parisian feel the noticeable chill, and under the continuous invasion of cold, more and more people began to light fireplaces to keep warm.
Night fell, and the chill was even more intense. Under the sweeping winter wind, Paris felt as cold as if it had fallen into an ice cellar. Exhaling a breath seed like it could instantly turn into frost.
Tonight in Paris, there were no stars, no moon. The kerosene lamps hanging on the streets weren’t even lit. The entire city seed to be shrouded in a cold, deep black curtain.
Yet, in this cold night curtain, a force of nearly eight thousand troops stationed near the Temple Suburb was gathering.
"All units, organize your marching equipnt, each person carry 30 rounds of ammunition to assemble! I’ll repeat it once more..."
The sergeants in charge of preparations before departure tirelessly explained the precautions to the company mbers, occasionally kicking distracted soldiers with their spurred boots, cursing at them to speed up. The soldiers hit by the spurred boots forced a smile harder than crying from the pain.
Of course, the soldiers kicked by the spurs were mostly new recruits who had joined the army less than two years ago. anwhile, seasoned soldiers who had been in the army for 5 or 6 years were indulging in banter with the company commander and quietly cursing the unsatisfactory officers.
As for the complaints from these seasoned soldiers, the company commander pretended not to hear them. He knew too well the characters of his hopeless n. Their skills at both fighting and causing trouble were directly proportional. Being too strict would only cause him to lose the support of the soldiers. He helplessly complained to the seasoned soldiers, "How the hell do I know what the higher-ups want to do? Anyway, the order from above is to assemble quickly! You, you, and you!" The company commander sternly scolded several dawdling seasoned soldiers, "Get your asses moving! I don’t want to lose face in front of the battalion commander!"
"Yes!" The seasoned soldiers certainly understood what a military order as firm as a mountain ant.
In peaceti, slacking off would only be turned a blind eye by the superiors. Once in a state of war, slacking off would only lead to death.
Under the company commander’s urging, the entire company of soldiers spent about 10 minutes organizing their marching equipnt to assemble.
Soldiers from four regints assembled based on companies in an open space outside the Temple Suburb.
Under the attention of the soldiers from the four regints, Brigadier General of the Second Brigade of the First Division of Paris and newly appointed Deputy Commander of the Paris Guard, Brigadier General Conrobel, and his brigade chief of staff (who enjoyed the benefits of the Military Secretariat’s Staff Departnt, Conrobel set up a brigade chief of staff in the Second Brigade, but the chief of staff did not hold a specific military rank and served as a deputy.) appeared together in front of all the soldiers.
At the sa ti, battle missions were also handed out in the form of notes to the eight battalion commanders under the two regints.
Each battalion commander showed surprised expressions upon receiving the missions and the Ministry of War’s stamp. They had already heard about the battle between the President and those damned vermin.
They didn’t expect the President to summon them for pest extermination so quickly.
It seems there will be a large extra inco today.
"Your mission is very simple!"
Looking at this dense group of soldiers, Conrobel said in a calm tone, "Eliminate all the pests in Paris and return a clean Paris to the President!"
"Yes!" The battalion commanders could hardly contain their excitent, and Brigadier General Conrobel’s words had already implied that they could ticulously drain every penny from those vermin hidden in the darkness.
"Long live Bonaparte, long live the Empire!"
For the generous President, the battalion commanders naturally held him in infinite admiration.
Is anyone more caring for the army than the President?
Besides the President, they recognized no one!
"This mission is codenad Extermination; your task is to crush all the vermin on the list! Do you hear ?"
Brigadier General Conrobel raised his voice, almost shouting.
"Heard it!" Under the leadership of the battalion commanders, the entire army also let out a deafening shout.
"March!"
With Brigadier General Conrobel’s order, this unit of more than 8,000 people began to move toward the city center.
...
As the army entered Paris for extermination, Jas Rothschild, who was virtually confined to his courtyard by Jero Bonaparte, beca unusually irritable after his confinent.
All signs point to the fact that that damned Jero Bonaparte is nothing but a rogue who doesn’t abide by financial market rules. With forced market closures and financial controls, his successive administrative directives wreaked havoc on all the operations of the Rothschild Bank.
Jas Rothschild realized that this fellow absolutely had no intention of contending with him in the financial market. His strategy was entirely "you fight your way, I fight mine"!
Although Jas Rothschild found this strategy sowhat exasperating, he had to admit it was extrely effective.
As the "Financial Emperor" of Paris, in his confrontation with Jero Bonaparte, Jas Rothschild increasingly realized how difficult it was to leverage financial ans to sway a stable national regi.
Especially with a highly centralized regi like that of France, all the Parisian administrative personnel devoted themselves to serving Jero Bonaparte as if attending to their master.
Those officials who were usually on good terms with Jas Rothschild hurriedly distanced themselves from him upon hearing that he was being targeted by the president, with many deeply involved officials being transferred overnight by Jero Bonaparte.
The judicial personnel frequently conducted investigations into their estates, under the pretense of addressing procedural issues in the "Rothschild tax investigations".
Not to ntion those folks over at the Bank of France. Though seemingly in the sa camp, they proved no less harsh than those damned judicial personnel.
Stocks of the Northern Railway Company, under Rothschild, had been plumting for days. An erging force of unknown origin was frantically acquiring the stocks Jas Rothschild was selling off, and contrary to his expectations, the entire exchange was not deteriorating but instead several railway companies were taking advantage of Rothschild’s "bankruptcy" to go public. Jas Rothschild sensed that these railway companies were very likely backed by this arising power.
During this period of de facto house arrest, this was about all the information Jas Rothschild could obtain.
In this battle against the president, Jas Rothschild estimated losses of no less than over 20 million francs, possibly sacrificing two years’ profit for the company.
At this thought, Jas Rothschild couldn’t help but feel regret.
Had he known it would co to this, he might as well have agreed to the president’s terms.
Currently, Jas Rothschild was no longer concerned about winning or losing, but rather how to end the war with the president gracefully.
He had to make the president understand that the Rothschild Clan, even in defeat, was defeated by the entire administrative power of France.
Only in doing so could he ensure the Rothschild Clan’s transcendent status in the French financial hierarchy.
Now, Jas Rothschild no longer pinned hope on standing against the entire French administrative power alone, instead hoping branches in Vienna, Frankfurt, and even London could lend a helping hand.
Of course, this didn’t imply Jas Rothschild was inactive. He had been secretly liaising with so Republican faction conspirators and gang mbers.
These Republican faction conspirators were largely purged from the army after Minister Reniao took office. Harboring aversion towards Minister Reniao and General Saint Arno, they ford a small group under the guise of a gang, preparing to conduct assassinations to restore peace in France.
After Jero Bonaparte had a falling out with Jas Rothschild, they secretly "approached" Jas Rothschild, both sides hitting it off imdiately with Jas Rothschild funding them while they were responsible for the assassination, aiming to remove the French "tyrant" Jero Bonaparte.
However, Jas Rothschild didn’t believe they possessed the capability to eliminate Jero Bonaparte; he only needed Paris to be in a state of fear and uncertainty.
Even though it was already 2 AM on the second day, Jas Rothschild was not resting, anxiously waiting by the window for the servant’s news.
The door to the room was knocked from outside, prompting Jas Rothschild to quickly turn around and say, "Co in!"
A servant hurriedly rushed in and notified Jas Rothschild, "Sir, sothing terrible has happened!"
A sense of foreboding surged into Jas Rothschild’s mind, a terrifying suspicion making his hands and feet cold.
Could it be... could it really be! They actually dared to do this!
Jas Rothschild, with a trembling voice, inquired of the servant, "What has happened! Speak!"
"Just now... just now, as I followed your orders to go to the Orleans Gang, I heard intense gunfire coming from there!" The servant, panting heavily, replied with a quivering voice, "Sir, you know it! I once served a tour in Algeria; no one knows that gunfire better than I do!"
"What is it! Speak quickly!" Although Jas Rothschild already had an idea of what the servant was about to say, he still hoped to hear words differing from his speculation.
"Troops... troops have entered the city! Such dense gunfire could only co from such military firepower!" The servant shattered Jas Rothschild’s last glimr of optimistic hope.
"I knew it! I knew it! That guy wouldn’t fight us fairly! He’s showing off to !"
Jas Rothschild wore a bitter smile.
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