Chapter 26 - Chapter 26: The Riders’ Reckoning

The Dubois estate's grounds were shrouded in the gray haze of pre-dawn, the air heavy with the damp scent of dew-soaked grass and the faint, lingering tang of gunpowder from the factory. Julien stood outside the stables, the captured spies—Moreau's men, including the mustached enforcer—bound and under guard by loyal stablehands. The damning letter from Fournier, found in their satchel, lay safely in Julien's pocket, its words a noose for the Ministry official who'd orchestrated the sabotage. The Mark I rifles were secure, General Leclerc's contract within reach, but the distant rumble of hooves—riders approaching fast—set Julien's trench-honed instincts ablaze. Victor Moreau's patron, Fournier, was making a final play, and Julien's past life, with its blood-soaked memories of Antoine's death and France's ruin, screamed that this was no ordinary dawn. Antoine stood beside him, his pistol gripped tightly, his poet's charm buried under a warrior's resolve. Claire, her auburn hair tucked under a cap, held a wrench as a weapon, her hazel eyes fierce with the same fire that had drawn Julien in the garden. Élise, ever the fox, clutched her notepad, her sharp mind already plotting their next move. The tobacco scent—rich, like the enforcer's—still clung to the air, a reminder of the "patron's" reach. The letter confirmed Fournier's role, but these riders meant he wasn't waiting for Leclerc's meeting to strike. Julien's hand rested on his knife, his voice low and steady. "They're coming for the rifles—or us. Antoine, take the high ground by the factory roof. Claire, Élise, stay behind the crates, ready to signal the stablehands. We hold them here until Leclerc arrives." Antoine nodded, climbing a ladder to the factory's low roof, his silhouette sharp against the gray sky. Claire squeezed Julien's arm, her voice firm. "We're with you, Julien. Don't do anything stupid." Her touch lingered, a spark that steadied him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the approaching hoofbeats. Élise's eyes gleamed, her whisper urgent. "I saw five riders—armed, not Ministry uniforms. Hired men, probably Fournier's. They'll hit hard." Julien's mind raced, Patrick Arnaud's strategic clarity from 2025 merging with his soldier's instincts. "Then we hit harder," he said. "We've got the evidence—Fournier's letter, the spies. If we hold them off, Leclerc will bury him." The riders emerged from the mist, five men on horseback, their faces shadowed under wide­brimmed hats. The leader, a broad man with a scar across his cheek, carried a rifle, its barrel glinting. The tobacco scent hit Julien, rich and sharp, tying them to Fournier's enforcer. They dismounted, spreading out toward the factory, their movements practiced, predatory. Julien stepped forward, his knife hidden but ready, his voice carrying across the yard. "You're on private land, gentlemen. Turn back, or you'll answer to the gendarmes—and General Leclerc." The scarred leader laughed, his voice rough. "Leclerc's not here, boy. Hand over the rifles and the letter, or we burn this place down." He raised his rifle, the others drawing pistols, their intent clear. Julien's heart pounded, but his training took over. He dove behind a crate as the leader fired, the shot splintering wood. Antoine's pistol cracked from the roof, dropping one man with a clean hit to the shoulder. Claire swung her wrench, catching another in the knee as he charged, while Élise shouted, signaling the stablehands. They rushed from the stables, armed with pitchforks and cudgels, their loyalty to the Dubois family outweighing their fear. Julien tackled the scarred leader, his knife flashing as he pinned the man's arm, forcing the rifle to the ground. "Who's Fournier's master?" he growled, his past life's losses—Antoine's blood, France's fall—fueling his fury. "Talk, or you're done." The man spat, his eyes wild. "Fournier answers to no one. You're dead, Dubois." But his voice cracked, fear betraying him as Julien tightened his grip. The fight was chaos—shouts, gunfire, the clash of metal. Antoine's shots kept the riders pinned, while Claire and Élise fought with fierce precision, their courage a mirror of Julien's own. The stablehands overwhelmed the last two men, binding them as the scarred leader struggled under Julien's blade. As the dust settled, a new sound cut the air—hooves again, but steady, not frantic. General Leclerc rode in, flanked by gendarmes, his face thunderous. "Dubois!" he barked, dismounting. "What's this madness?" Julien stood, hauling the scarred man up, his voice steady. "Fournier's men, General. Sent to burn the factory and steal the rifles. We've got their letter—signed by Fournier, implicating him and Roche." He handed Leclerc the evidence, his heart racing but his resolve ironclad. Leclerc's eyes scanned the letter, his mustache twitching with fury. "This ends now," he said, turning to the gendarmes. "Arrest these men. Fournier's done—Roche too. Dubois, your contract's safe, and I'm doubling it. A thousand rifles, first delivery in six months." The crowd cheered, Antoine sliding down from the roof, his grin returning. Claire's hand found Julien's, her touch a quiet victory, while Élise's laugh rang out, her notepad already filling with new plans. But as the gendarmes hauled the riders away, Julien caught a final whiff of tobacco, faint but rich, drifting from the woods. Fournier was down, but the "patron's" shadow lingered, and Julien knew the war wasn't over.