To Lyger 0: For the record, Hitler didn't actually die in the last chapter; Operation Valkyrie was the failed assassination attempt by the Abwehr that ended in disaster when the conspirators were arrested and executed within days.
"I wish we knew more about this Tricolore character," Nath mused, leafing through one of the journals. "All we really have to go on is these couple mentions. Was he just… in Paris the whole time? How did he go from deciding to resist the Germans to turning the Cross of Lorraine into a polearm?"
"How did you become a superhero?" asked Ziggy, raising an eyebrow at him.
Nath shrugged. "I was asked. Marinette and Adrien were looking for more miraculous holders, and they asked me."
Orikko laughed. "But why would they ask you? Why would you say 'yes'?"
"Because I wanted to help them. They helped so many; I wanted to return the favor."
Ziggy grinned. "Why shouldn't it have been the same for Tricolore?"
Paris, August 19, 1944
"Men of Paris!" Standing atop their newly-constructed barricade, Tricolore spun his Cross around and drove the metal bottom tip into the metal and stone at his feet, staring down the German guards in front of the city hall building to his left down the street. They may have lost last time. They may have attacked prematurely. They may have lost friends in the battle. But they had not been defeated – they would not give up! This war was going to end, and the Nazis were going to be driven from the face of the earth. Even now, the Nazis' forces were in full retreat all across France. Those in Paris were little more than a shadow of the Nazis' former strength. The Allies were drawing closer to Paris by the day, with the Free French forces in their vanguard – the "FFI" armband he had added to his uniform for today was just one indicator of their impending arrival. France was back!
The barricade had appeared overnight, erected in utmost secret while the German garrison had been occupied with planning their retreat. A handful of German soldiers had approached them while patrolling the city; a single muffled pistol had been enough to dispatch them before they could return and raise the alarm. French patriots – members of all the French Resistance groups – had flocked to the site, some carrying with them fresh weapons from the Allies. Now, with the light of the sunrise just breaking over the buildings and shining down on the scene, the barricade stretched across the street, blocking the German garrison at the city hall in place, manned by no less than a hundred soldiers. The Nazis could retreat from Paris. But they could not remain.
Tricolore glanced up to the sky, scanning quickly for unwelcome guests. The entire time he had been waging his guerilla war against the German, he had been hearing rumors of der Ritter and Vampir, of the Nazis' Übersoldaten who had destroyed so many other Resistance cells. But now they were gone. The rumors of Vampir had started to fade. Der Ritter and his other… companions had fled back to Germany to regroup. All that left were the soldiers of the German garrison – undermanned and unprepared. In front of the barricade, a dozen or so military vehicles remained parked around the Paris City Hall, with a cadre of German soldiers attending them, milling around without any aim. Five or six had stopped on the steps of city hall, staring at the barricade in shock. But Tricolore could already see that the initial confusion of the barricade's overnight appearance was beginning to fade; suddenly the soldiers moved with greater purpose. He grinned, his eyes flashing, and looked down at the hundred or so fighters assembled behind the barricade. "Men of Paris, fight! Fight for your families! Fight for your country! Vive la France!"
"Vive la France!" Around Tricolore, dozens of the newly-christened French Forces of the Interior soldiers poked their heads over the barricade, raised their rifles, and unleashed a withering volley into the scarcely-prepared German defenders milling around their vehicles. Four of the Germans fell from the opening salvo, before the others could react to find cover in and behind their trucks and tanks.
"Keep them pinned down!" ordered Marcel, the Free French liaison who had joined them for the battle. Leaning over the barricade, he took careful aim and fired at a soldier in the uniform of an officer, hitting him in the head just before he could duck inside a Panzer.
Gunshots rang out from the top floor of the city hall. Two FFI soldiers fell behind the barricade, to be replaced by another three soldiers. From his position inside an apartment building halfway down the block behind them, Georges opened fire on the German snipers, beginning a furious duel between the two sides, even as the battle raged on the ground between them. Facing down the Germans in front of the city hall, Tricolore let his eyes drift the slightest bit toward the alleyway opposite the building, where his first aborted attempt had begun. Another volley of fire struck the disorganized Germans, even as they dove for cover and began to return fire.
Jumping back behind the barricade, Tricolore dropped lower just before the German volley struck the wood-and-metal construction, embedding and deflecting in all directions. A machine gun mounted on one of the German jeeps opened up, spraying the top of the barricade, and sending the Free French diving for cover. Tricolore nodded to Marcel, who pulled the pin on one of the few grenades they had managed to smuggle into the city and hurled it in the direction of the Germans. The grenade exploded with a pop, and Marcel immediately popped his head over the barricade and waited half a second before letting loose two quick shots. Tricolore poked his head up to see the machine gunner slumped over his gun as one of the other German soldiers tried to pull him away. Glancing toward the alleyway, he lifted his Cross high in the air.
The German soldiers were just starting to roll their trucks forward, toward the barricade, when a cacophony of gunshots rang out from their flank. Slipping out of the alleyway, Tuskegee leveled his machine gun and fired into the soldiers, downing several before they realized he was there. As the Germans started turning in his direction, another dozen Free French soldiers emerged from the alley and joined him. One rolled a grenade under the closest truck, a large transport with a covered bed, blowing out its undercarriage, lifting its back wheels off the ground, and pitching one of the men out the back. Tuskegee dropped to one knee, taking aim at the tires of the other vehicles in front of city hall, keeping up a continuous stream of fire.
"Let's send 'em packing back to Kraut Land!" bellowed Tuskegee as his gun ran out of ammunition. Tossing it aside, he pulled a rifle over his shoulder and charged into the group of soldiers, the other Free French close behind him.
Tricolore smirked, glancing down the line of soldiers with him as the fire from the barricade shifted to avoid hitting Tuskegee's group. Tricolore planted his hand atop the barricade. "There's our opening!" Swinging over, he slammed the bottom of his Cross into the pavement in a single smooth motion and held the top forward. "Vive la France!"
With a roar, the Free French soldiers swarmed over their barricade, charging headlong down the street into the disorganized German soldiers. Reflected sunlight flashed in the shadow of the building just in front of the barricade, drawing Tricolore's attention. Turning to look back in that direction, he scanned the rooftops for the source of the light. Finding the boy, he watched intently for a long few seconds, his stomach plummeting.
German reinforcements – an entire convoy, behind them.
Tricolore's mouth set in a thin line, and he glanced up at the figure crouching on the rooftop directly above the barricade. With a nod, the blue-and-gold figure leaped off his perch. Golden light emanated all around him, encasing him in a bright aura, and he streaked across the sky away from the city hall. At that moment, a dozen German trucks, led by three Panzers, turned onto the street and began rolling toward them. Drawing one hand back, Davidstern unleashed a pulse of energy straight into the lead tank, which tipped forward and flipped onto its back, the tracks still turning uselessly. Behind it, two of the trucks erupted into flames; one swerved in a vain attempt to avoid Davidstern's attack, only to crash into the rear of the tank in front of it. The tank stopped, slowly turning its turret in Davidstern's direction. With a shriek, an enormous blue-tinged rooster leapt off the rooftop just behind the convoy, landing on the last truck and smashing its rear end into the road surface. Immediately behind it, a blue-clad figure jumped down from the same roof and threw a fan at the truck's wheels. Under attack from both directions, the convoy ground to a standstill. German soldiers swarmed out of their vehicles, most firing wildly up into the air at Davidstern. Almost as an afterthought, Davidstern swung his short sword in a downward slash, sending a gout of energy through the mass of troops. A shimmering golden shield appeared around him as they fired; the bullets bounced away harmlessly in all directions.
They were winning!
Tricolore snatched his Cross out of the ground and charged down the street, just as the leading group of Free French soldiers crashed into the Germans' hastily-formed defensive line. A handful of German soldiers were just exiting city hall, looking up and down the street in confusion, starting to draw their rifles. Leaping over the wall and onto the steps of city hall, Tricolore swung the Cross's sharpened blades over his head and brought the polearm down in a wide sweep through two of the German soldiers. One fell to the ground without a sound; the other managed to avoid the worst of the strike and grabbed onto the shaft of the Cross, trying to hold Tricolore back. Pulling the soldier toward him with the Cross, Tricolore unbalanced him and slammed him down to the sidewalk, placed his foot on the man's chest, and wrenched the Cross blade out of his neck.
The tension in Tricolore's chest eased slightly as Davidstern and his companion held the German reinforcements at bay. Free French and German soldiers continued to fight in front of Tricolore, though the number of combatants seemed to decrease every time he looked. He could see several bodies on the road between the barricade and city hall, but as he watched the Germans began to withdraw – a single car at first, followed by another. A grenade burst in the middle of the crowd; screams filled the air. A bullet struck the wall right next to Tricolore, just before the German culprit let out a shriek of pain and fell from city hall's top floor to land beside the stairs. Tricolore glanced back toward Georges' sniper nest and held up a thumb. A Free French soldier slammed the butt of his rifle into a German's face, knocking him to the ground.
The ground rumbled beneath Tricolore's feet. The single German Panzer stationed in front of city hall rolled forward, through the tangled mess of vehicles and people, raising its main turret and aiming over the barricade at Davidstern. Sensing the danger, Davidstern sent a streak of energy back at it, just as the tank fired with a thunderous boom, straight at Davidstern's chest. His eyes widening, Davidstern spun around just in time to duck out of its way, allowing the round to carry past him, sailing over the German convoy into the distance. Within moments, the tank fired again. Raising his short sword, Davidstern slashed through the projectile, sending the two halves whistling through the air in opposite directions into the buildings to either side of him. Before the tank could fire a third time, however, Tuskegee threw his rifle down, picked up the German private in front of him, and bowled him into the soldiers behind him, barreling through them and throwing himself at the tank. Jumping onto the chassis, he reached up and grabbed the barrel with both hands, tugging on it so hard his muscles bulged. Wincing against the pain, he strained against the cannon, gritting his teeth and letting out a noise between a grunt and a snarl. The barrel creaked. Slowly, ponderously, the metal seemed to shift under his grip, bending to the left. The cannon fired again, and the barrel burst apart, at the same moment that Tuskegee jumped off of the tank and rolled close to the treads. Debris scattered in all directions in to the surrounding buildings, over the heads of the Free French soldiers around it, and the tank's hatch came open, the crew jumping out to flee. The first one down ran straight into Tuskegee, who smacked him down into the ground hard. The others meekly held up their hands.
Looking up and down the street, Tricolore nodded, breathing heavily. "Now the city will be ours."
Peeling away from the group of fighters in front of the building, Agent Coccinelle nodded to him firmly. "That is the hope," she agreed. She pursed her lips. "I only hope that the regular army arrives while there is still a city left to liberate."