Chapter 510: Fighting Fire with Fire
The tall tax officer, jolted awake by the gunfire, sat up abruptly. As his vision cleared, he saw his colleague holding a pistol and two attackers lying motionless in pools of blood.
Forgetting the pain in his head, he exclaimed, "Chaumette, you… you killed them?!"
"Yes," Chaumette replied, still dazed from having just taken his first lives. He instinctively began reloading his pistol with gunpowder. "We were attacked. We had the right to shoot…"
The tall officer, still shaken, stammered, "But… they're dead?"
Suddenly, Chaumette stood, jamming the gunpowder down the barrel with force. His expression turned fervent as he shouted, "Have you forgotten what the Inspector said in his speech?"
The tall officer froze, his uncertainty melting away as determination flickered in his eyes.
"We are selfless and fearless tax officers! We must not bow to any threat!" Chaumette raised his pistol, repeating Robespierre's rallying cry:
"As long as we stand for justice and the law, we must take up arms and strike back against criminals. They should tremble at the mere mention of our name!"
"You're right!" the tall officer nodded resolutely. "They need to know who they're dealing with!"
After his audience with the Prince, Robespierre had immediately embarked on a tour of major cities, delivering speeches to tax bureau staff and issuing a stern directive: Do not fear. Teach anyone who dares challenge us a harsh lesson!
Hearing the commotion, curious onlookers gathered. But upon seeing the grim-faced officers and the bloodied corpses, they quickly averted their eyes and hurried away.
Orléans.
A group of a dozen men with menacing expressions had gathered outside the tax bureau. Some carried buckets of excrement, which they gleefully hurled at the building's walls. Others hurled fiery projectiles—oil-soaked cloth-wrapped stones—that shattered windows and threatened to ignite the interior.
These hooligans had been showing up daily, growing bolder with each visit.
When no familiar warnings like "Your actions are criminal" or "Leave immediately" came from the building, the mob assumed the tax bureau staff had been cowed. Their confidence grew as they shouted insults:
"We warned you scum plenty of times! Since you're still here, we'll make you pay!"
"Adam Bornart, Pierre, Kervez—I know where you live! Get out of Orléans if you want to live!"
"You pigs still haven't resigned? Tired of living, are you?"
Suddenly, ten tax officers in black uniforms emerged from the side door in formation, jogging into position 30 paces from the mob. Without a word, they unslung their Charleville muskets.
The mob faltered. A few tried to maintain their bravado:
"What are you doing? We're just protesting!"
"You can't scare us!"
But their taunts were cut short by the tax director Le Maire's command:
"Prepare—"
"Aim—"
Some of the mob panicked, preparing to flee. Others gambled that the officers were bluffing and retaliated by hurling more fireballs.
"Fire!"
Le Maire's sharp order rang out, and ten muskets erupted in unison. Flames and smoke spewed forth, and three men collapsed, blood spurting from their wounds.
The rest of the mob screamed in terror:
"They're trying to kill us!"
"Run!"
Le Maire raised his saber and bellowed, "Arrest these repeat offenders who have attacked the tax bureau! Any who resist or flee—shoot them on sight!"
"Yes, sir!" the officers replied in unison, advancing in formation. Drawing their pistols, they shouted, "On the ground! Don't run!"
Gunfire erupted again. Two more men were hit and collapsed, while two others were shot in the arms, their screams echoing down the street.
Without hesitation, the officers reloaded and fired their second pistols, ensuring no one dared flee. Those who remained dropped to the ground, trembling with fear as they stared at the fresh corpses nearby.
Meanwhile:
In Bourges, the understaffed tax bureau used bombs to deal with a mob.In Châlons, Assistant Tax Director Manèsse pursued attackers to their hideout, killing three and arresting one.In Picardy, the tax bureau requested artillery from the military. Though it arrived too late, the threat alone caused the mob to surrender.
After Robespierre's nationwide campaign of speeches, attackers targeting tax bureaus faced brutal retaliation. Their earlier arrogance evaporated, replaced by fear and retreat.
This wasn't because the tax officers were particularly skilled; most had undergone only a few months of military training.
Their success was largely due to Robespierre's impassioned rhetoric. His Jacobin-leaning tax officers were fired up with zeal for justice and the law. Combined with superior weaponry—more advanced than regular infantry—they easily overpowered the mobs.
Paris.
Bororay, a powerful member of the Tax Farmers' Association, listened to his butler's report, sweat pouring down his face.
In the past ten days, 37 of his hired thugs had been killed, and over 70 arrested.
Bororay's family had started as smugglers before transitioning to moneylending and tax farming. His network of loyal, fearless enforcers gave him confidence in his ability to intimidate tax officers.
He never imagined that these hardened men—who didn't even fear customs officers—would be crushed like this by mere tax officers.
What Bororay didn't know was that, historically, Robespierre and his Jacobin followers would eventually eradicate tax farmers and smugglers like him entirely.
Regret gnawed at him. Those enforcers had been the family's handpicked "elite," brave, ruthless, and unwaveringly loyal. Their loss was a devastating blow.
The financial toll was equally severe. These men were integral to the family's smuggling operations, which would now face a prolonged disruption.
Worse still, the tax bureaus' morale and reputation had soared after their decisive actions. It was as if Bororay's attacks had inadvertently strengthened the government's cohesion and unity.
The butler glanced at his master's expression and cautiously said, "Sir, we'll need 620,000 francs to cover compensation for the fallen and imprisoned. Shall we proceed as usual?"
"Follow the standard protocol," Bororay snapped, waving dismissively. He then asked, "And what about Anrol and Ruzard? Are their arrangements in place?"
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