Bahorel was the first.
After Javert was tied inside the cafe, Enjolras told them to be quiet. They could hear the sound of marching feet. It grew louder as it approached and Bahorel sensed nervousness in his friends. Of course he was nervous, but his nervousness was covered with excitement. He was always up for a fight, no matter how bleak, and he had faith in Enjolras and the cause and he was certain that the people would rise.
Enjolras grabbed a gun and walked towards the barricade. Bahorel followed suit and picked up a rifle for the pile of weapons.
"Bahorel, Feuilly, Gavroche, and Courfeyrac, go to the far left!" Enjolras ordered. "Joly, Bossuet, Jehan, go to the right! Combeferre, stand near the middle with me!"
Bahorel took place on the left and grinned at Courfeyrac.
"In a few days, we will see France changed, my friend!" He said gleefully and put a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder. Courfeyrac laughed and grinned back.
"I have no doubt of it!" The Center replied.
The footsteps grew and grew and Bahorel could make out faint shapes in the darkness. A voice at the other end of the street called, "WHO'S THERE?"
"French Revolution!" Was Enjolras' passionate reply. The next voice was silenced by the crack of guns and the hammering of metal balls hitting wood. Bahorel felt the impact to his right and looked at Enjolras. He wanted to shoot back, but they hadn't received the order yet.
"They are tempting us, don't give in." Enjolras cried as if he could read Bahorel's thoughts.
The shots rang out a second time and shook the barricade.
Bahorel was growing anxious. TheNational Guard started to close in on them.
"Enjolras!" Bahorel hissed.
"Patients, Bahorel, not yet."
"You just want to be the first to sink a bullet into one of their heads!" Courfeyrac teased.
Bahorel looked at Feuilly and offered him a smile. Feuilly smiled back and then turned to face the barricade again. The men were were closer now and Bahorel waited for Enjolras' order.
"Fire!" Enjolras finally shouted. Bahorel was happy to obey. He fired his gun at a shadowed figure and watched the figure fall to the ground. The National guard kept coming like a plague. They ascended the barricade and shot. Bahorel shot back and killed another, but he felt pain in his arm and dropped his gun from the pain. A me,bed of the National Guard was aiming his gun at Feuilly. Bahorel ran jumped up the barricade towards his Poland-loving friend and punched the National Guard in the face, succeeding in knocking him over.
Feuilly looked gratefully at him and Bahorel patted him on the back.
"Nobody hurts our fan-maker without paying of it." he grinned. As he finished his sentence, a shot rang out and a burning pain pierced his chest. He looked at Feuilly and tried to turn to see the National Guard who had done this, but as he turned his head, he fell.