The Fox of France-Chapter 508: The Gunslingers

Three individuals came together for a detailed discussion, all agreeing that assassination was indeed an intriguing and effective strategy. Minister Lucien suggested two potential targets, and the others felt the first should be attainable. Intelligence and counterintelligence in America at this time were virtually nonexistent.

American counterintelligence—if it existed—was solely managed by local police. How could police handle counterintelligence work? (Fouché: What are you saying? But for American police, being quick on the draw is enough, even if their brains are smaller than walnuts. Actually, having a cerebellum is sufficient.) Local police in America simply lacked such capability.

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On the other hand, the Ministry of Truth could easily stir up some real Southern fools to do the job, pinning the blame on them without any technical difficulty. However, the second target, framing the Ministry of Public Security under Napoleon, posed a real challenge but was worth detailed study.

"Why don't we gather all the files on similar operations conducted by the Ministry of Public Security over the years and study their tactics, then mimic their techniques?" suggested Viktor.

"That's unnecessary," Vifor responded, shaking his head, "We have been studying and learning their operational characteristics and absorbing their successful experiences. Of course, they have also been learning from us, so after all these years, our styles have become indistinguishable. So, Viktor, we can't smear them in terms of operational style."

"What about using new techniques that none of us have used before?" Viktor asked again.

"Ah, if there must be a difference in our styles, it's not completely nonexistent. The most significant and obvious difference is that if any new technical methods appear in such cases, it's likely us who innovated them because we have a much closer relationship with the Academy of Sciences than they do," Vifor replied.

"Does that mean it would be easier for the Ministry of Public Security to frame us than for us to frame them?" Lucien inquired.

"Theoretically, yes," Vifor answered, "But technically, they rarely surpass us."

"Once there is such a case, Fouché would rather show it off to Napoleon, to show him that although his Ministry of Public Security’s research institute receives limited funding, it’s still highly efficient," Vifor continued, "At least that’s how it used to be. Because ultimately, the issue between us boils down to budget concerns. Besides, there can never be conclusive evidence in such cases, so going to a brother to frame his sibling is not a wise choice."

Lucien remained silent, understanding Vifor’s reasoning. Fouché indeed wouldn’t do such a thing, but this fact only made Lucien more frustrated. His resources far exceeded those of Fouché, and Napoleon was his brother, yet he was unable to suppress Fouché, who was often trusted more by both his brother Napoleon and Joseph.

However, it was always worth trying to achieve the second target. Thus, the plan was quickly approved.

By this time, the war on the North American continent had ended. Soldiers returned to their hometowns, but some found that life seemed off-kilter. For instance, in a bar, a couple of unfortunate fellows were drinking and complaining.

"Hahaha, you got kicked out for that?" Tall Martin laughed until tears nearly came.

"What's so funny? I bet if someone reached for your neck in the middle of the night, in pitch darkness, what would your reaction be?" short James retorted irritably.

"So you punched your wife without looking, just a combo?"

"Ah!" James sighed, taking a sip of beer, "And you? What happened at home for you?"

"Ah, me? Nothing much, just accidentally grabbed my wife’s hair and slapped her twice during an intimate moment, and then…"

"And then you were kicked out? Hahaha…"

"No, but now my wife looks at me with fear. Sometimes, when I talk to her, she trembles as if I were a beast. It’s not just her; even when I’m with the children, she looks on with fear in her eyes. 𝘙ÂＮổᛒÊS

Later, I couldn't stand it and asked her what was wrong. At first, she wouldn't tell me, but after I pressed her, she revealed the truth.

You know, those Northerners, they say in the newspapers that we behave like beasts in Canada, killing and raping, committing all kinds of atrocities. They even suggest we might have become addicted to crime and can no longer live normal lives.

That night, I had… Damn it, I’ve survived death numerous times in the war, and I thought I’d be welcomed as a hero when I returned. But inadvertently, even my wife’s gaze turned into that of seeing a criminal…"

"It’s those damn Northerners!" James exclaimed, "They hindered us during the war and now talk like this. I read the newspapers; that Fafniel and that Grad, they attack us fiercely

, claiming we are inherently no better than the British."

This was somewhat unfair to Fafniel and Grad. In fact, neither had said Southerners were naturally bad. They merely stated that all people originated from God and inherently possessed a noble essence, including Southerners. But like humanity's ancestors, Adam and Eve, who were tempted by the devil and stained with sin, Americans, particularly some in the South, were too influenced by British culture. The harsh conditions of the battlefield highlighted these evil cultural influences, turning what could have been good husbands and fathers into devils on the battlefield. They were both victims and perpetrators. The psychological damage they suffered might never heal, and they might never live normal lives again.

This wasn’t entirely unreasonable. In fact, to be effective in deception, one must not be completely irrational. From this perspective, Comrade Trump single-handedly destroyed the Lighthouse Country's years of efforts in propaganda (deception), worthy of the flag in his heart.

But the Southerners wouldn’t perform a careful reading comprehension like a small-town quizzer. So, Fafniel and Grad's words were simply interpreted by them as implying Southerners and British were inherently bad people.

"Those two damn Northerners." Martin set down his drink and cursed.

"I heard the club has reopened; let's go distract ourselves," James suggested.

"Alright, there's nowhere else to go anyway."

The club they referred to was a nearby shooting club. Before the war, a group of young men would gather there to practice shooting, exchanging various hunting techniques from turkey to Native American scalps. When the war began, most club members, except for a few who were too old, joined the fight. The club naturally ceased operations but now, at least in North America, the war was over, and it was normal for the club to reopen.

The two paid their tab, mounted their horses, and headed toward the shooting club.

The club, for easy shooting, was located at the edge of a forest outside the small town. They rode through the town and, after a while, heard the crackling sound of gunfire in the distance.

"It looks like it really has reopened."

Thinking this, they spurred their horses into a trot, and soon, "Yorkson Shooting Club" appeared before them.

The club had a two-story building, with a bar upstairs and a storeroom downstairs. The two dismounted at the club's entrance, and a black slave working there took their horses away.

They were very familiar with the place and headed straight for the shooting range.

The shooting range was an open space below the small building. About a hundred meters ahead was a thirty-meter-high earthen mound. Placing the shooting range here, facing the mound, effectively prevented bullets from straying elsewhere. Before the war, the town's young people often gathered here, drinking upstairs in the bar while betting on the shooters below.

However, today there were fewer people than before the war. After all, war is not hunting, and the British are not Native Americans; they are not so easily bullied. So many of the young revelers from those times were missing. Yet, the gunshots at the shooting range were still dense.

The two circled the building to the shooting range.

They immediately noticed there were quite a few people on the range, almost all who had survived the battlefield were here. But no one was holding beers and betting, and the targets seemed different from usual, switching from normal ringed chest targets to two caricatured portraits.

Just then, a shooter finished his bullets, packed up his rifle, and greeted them: "Martin, James, you guys came too?"

"Just looking around, seeing if we could meet some old friends," James said. "Who are on those targets?"

"Who else but those two damn Northerners!" another person aiming replied without looking up.

"What's the use of doing this? Do you believe in Native American witchcraft? Do you really think that hanging a painting there and shooting at it can kill those two guys?" Martin suddenly blurted out.

This statement made the shooters stop. The area quieted down for a moment, only the rustling sound of the portraits tacked to the targets was heard in the wind.

After a while, someone unwillingly said, "What else can we do, those guys are Americans, they have freedom of speech. After all, they are not unprotected Native Americans."

Hearing this weak response, Martin chuckled.

"You know, back when North America was still a British colony, the Boston Tea Party and Lexington's resistance were also against the law. If everything were done according to the law, would there even be an America?"

"Martin, the laws back then were evil laws made by the British, but now our laws are made by us Americans. We can't go against our own laws."

"Who said we are going against our own laws? Our laws don't allow such blatant treasonous acts. If it were really according to the law,

those two should have been arrested and sentenced long ago. It’s just that the courts in the North won’t uphold the nation!" Martin hadn’t even finished speaking when someone else interrupted.

Then everyone joined in, debating whether the two had committed treason. But as with most debates, the purpose wasn't to reach a correct judgment but to find something that resonated with their emotions. Thus, most people felt that these two should have been shot for treason long ago. Some even more radically suggested: "Isn’t lynching an excellent American tradition? What’s all this fuss about following the law? Just do it! Besides, shoot those two guys in the North, then come back to Georgia, wouldn’t that solve everything? Would those Northerners really come to Georgia to arrest someone?"

Indeed, in this era, there really was no such thing as cross-state arrests. The United States at this time had no national police system; police forces were state-based. Massachusetts police couldn’t possibly come to Georgia to make an arrest. Theoretically, Massachusetts police could lock down a suspect, request an arrest warrant from a Massachusetts court, and then ask Massachusetts to send this warrant to Georgia for the local police to assist. However, Georgia was under no obligation to cooperate, especially since the governor would undoubtedly offend voters by doing so. Thus, such a request for cooperation would most likely be tossed directly into the trash in most cases.

"But running to the North would cost quite a bit. If I weren't broke, I’d have gone and shot them myself," Martin concluded.