France had passed emergency defense measures to protect the nation’s borders in the event of a major offensive, which they knew was only a matter of time before it began. The most heinous of which was full scale conscription.
Every man of proper age capable of being sent into the army to defend the borders was drafted to do so. Meanwhile, “volunteer” battalions consisting of teenage boys old enough to bear arms but not old enough to join the army were gathered, along with the elderly still youthful enough to do the same.
The pejorative term “voluntold” would be a more accurate description of these militias. Either way, France was doing its best to organize, train, and supply everyone who could possibly be mustered in its defense to do so.
In theory, this could be an effective deterrent, albeit a last ditch effort to preserve the republic. But the reality was far more grim. By now, the 8th Army was the spearhead of the German Army, and the 2nd Army had undergone re-organization into a similar combined arms unit. These two forces would storm past any defenses France could muster with damn near impunity, and mow over human wave tactics with ease.
At the same time, these conscripts would neither have the training, experience or sheer strength of will to hold the line under such a brutal onslaught. Defeat was certain there was no doubt of this. How long could such tactics could stall this reality? And to what greater degree of casualties would they incur? Nobody knew.
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But to do so would surely cause the death of the Republic in the end. As the families of those who had been sent to their deaths for no just reason would demand the blood of the elected officials and unelected bureaucrats who had dispatched them to such a gruesome end.
However, the reality was that either way the Third French Republic was doomed to fall in this war. And there was nothing at this point they could do to stop it. Even if surrender was an option, the damage done to the people’s trust in their current form of government was too much to be redeemed.
So rather than accept this reality, the French leadership tried to put all their hopes in a mass mobilization, one which would only make their end that much more miserable when the time for the gallows came to find them.
Currently, there were young French boys dressed in civilian clothing being taught how to handle rifles within the borders of the city of Paris. The youngest of them were perhaps 12, while the oldest of them was around 16.
Considering their circumstances, they were equipped with much older rifles from preceding generations. Which was less than ideal for their smaller statures as the calibers used in those weapons were more ideal for hunting the largest game in Europe and North America rather than humans.
*bang* a line of shots were fired in succession, not unison, while the boys laid on the ground in a prone position, not even wearing steel helmets as they tried their best to hit the targets spread out a few dozen meters in front of them.
Unlike in places like the United States where it was common for young boys to learn marksmanship skills in pursuit of hunting, especially in more rural areas of the country. Such traditions were far less common in European countries, especially the likes of France.
Because of this, these boys who had limited access to supplies, and even fewer resources to training had performances which one might expect of their circumstances. The bullets landed wildly across their targets.
With one boy managing to hit a bullseye. If not for the fact that it was on someone else’s target. An act that was so obvious it received verbal condemnation from the French soldier trying his best to instruct this group of child soldiers.
“My god, we have an expert marksman here! Congratulations you have just killed a German soldier, in the year 1815! You absolute little shit! Do you think the enemy will be lining up with their muskets to fire at you? This isn’t the Battle of Waterloo you dunce! Now reload and try again!”
The boy was young, perhaps 12 or thirteen, but he had been enduring the harsh tone of the instructor for days now, and was well accustomed to it. He pulled back the bolt of his Fusil Gras mle 1874. Which while extracting the spent cartridge did not outright eject it.
Instead, the boy was forced to tilt the rifle, so that gravity forced the cartridge to fall before putting another of the mammoth sized cartridges into the chamber. Where he slammed the bolt forward before pulling the trigger once more.
The shot once more missed, causing the instructor to facepalm before dismissing the boys for the day entirely out of hopelessness.
“Nevermind! That is all the ammunition you are allotted for the day. Go continue your marching practice!”
The boys quickly unloaded their weapons and made sure they were properly cleared before popping up and saluting the instructor. After doing so, they ran off to visit their next instructor who would help them on their marching.
As for the instructor, he continued to look off into the distance where they had run off to, pulling a packet of cigarettes out from his coat and lighting one aflame. Where he took a long and heavy drag before expelling the smoke from his lungs entirely.
Having done this, and only after he did so, did he finally reveal his thoughts on the current situation of the Third French Republic and those within it.
“It looks like Paris is going to drown in blood before this is all said and done… The Republic is over… Long live whoever’s reign comes next…”
After saying this, the instructor walked off. Having seen this, and done everything he could to try to make sure the boys could at least defend themselves, even with their limited resources, he had decided he would not remain to watch the slaughter. And instead fled the country, deserting his post in the middle of the night at the most opportune moment.
This was a sentiment that many French soldiers, especially those who had been around throughout the conflict and survived this long had begun to share and a criminal act they also chose to engage in.
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