Vive la Calédonie libre

[Taranis]

Koumac​

Behind the bustling, rowdy markets, a few dozen men gathered conspiratorially in a spacious room. It was nearly evening; the sun was slowly fading away, but you could still hear the motorbikes speeding down the roads, the people haggling over this fruit or that necklace, and the police doing their daily charge into a mob of teenagers loitering around the town hall.

One of the men, Phillipe Fabre, glanced out of the window. A police patrol marched past. Fabre closed the curtains and turned to his conspirators.

There was a short silence. Then he spoke.

"Gentlemen," he said triumphantly, "The New Caledonian Independence Army has formed, to bring down French rule which has stopped us, the people of New Caledonia, from reaching our true potential!"

The men muttered their agreement.

"For too long we have been pushed back, granting trade concessions to Paris, forcing on our people a capitalist economy, and stopped from receiving too much aid from other countries, all in the name of French oppression!"

"But now, finally, here is our chance. In a few months the first French military forces will arrive in New Caledonia, including a new signals intelligence post, and a regiment of legionairres. As they land at the airport, we shall launch grenades, rockets and machine-gun fire at their aircraft. We shall show them, as they say, our true colours. Colours of blue, red and green- not la Tricoloure! Gentlemen, down with France! Long live New Caledonia!"

At once the men rose, cheering and ripping down the Tricolore hanging on the wall. Fabre picked up a pistol, fired a shot, shouted "Long live New Caledonia!" one more time, then led his would-be liberation army out of the market, drawing rifles and swords. In their excitement, they marched right past the local police station.

However, far from marching on the rebels, the police locked themselves in their station and called for reinforcements. A patrol boat of the National Police was sent, but by the time they arrived with half a dozen officers, the AINC had retreated out of the town into the forest. The incident was recorded and duly sent to Paris. Until new orders came, however, the AINC had managed to escape oppression- for the first, and perhaps not the last time.

---

​

 

[Taranis]

Paris
"Minister."

It was early morning in Paris. Brigitte Girardin, Minister for Overseas Affairs, was sitting in her office, thinking about the latest developments in plans for legionaires in Guadelope. For this reason she had Michèle Alliot-Marie, the Armed Forces Minister, waiting outside.

"Ah yes, Alexandre. Send in Michèle."

"Minister, if she could just wait outside, I have the Chief of the Defence Staff on his way."

Girardin looked at him quizzically.

"Surely Guadelope is not that important?" she said, then realised what she'd just said. If a journalist found out...

But Alexandre didn't notice. "Minister, there have been some news from New Caledonia. Er- a new independence movement. Here's the report."

Report NCF/041/0602

Report on New Caledonia
URGENT​

Classification: SECRET
A new independence mmovement has appeared in New Caledonia, according to the latest reports from the police in New Caledonia. At around 1900 local time, some people, around thirty in number, marched through the streets of Koumac, carrying rifles, pistols, machetes and swords. They shouted "Vive le Caledonie libre" and "A bas la France", among other chants.
The police in Koumac immediately implemented insurgency protocol; that is, notify the police headquarters on Noumea and lock themselves inside the police station. The police sent a patrol boat with six officers, but due to the short message which the police on Koumac had sent, they did not think it was important. It was only after a panic signal was sent that reinforcements were sent, but by that time the suspects had fled into the forests.
Intellignce now suggests that this group is the New Caledonia Independence Army. The group has socialist and pro-independence tendencies, and their support is strongest in the north of New Caledonia.
We believe that the deployment of legionaires and the establishment of a listening post, as planned for July, will stop the group from going any further. As such we recommend deploying more units as soon as possible.

As soon as Girardin finished reading the report, the doors flung open and the Chief of the Defence Staff, General Henri Bentégeat, marched in. Behind him came the Minister of the Armed Forces, Michèle Alliot-Marie.

"Minister," Bentégeat said, "I have just read the report. I'm afraid the military can't do anything until the Army has been recruited, so-"

"The police can." Nicolas Sarkozy, the Interior Minister, entered.

"Minister, a chartered Air France flight carrying 100 officers, 50 riot control officers and 50 RAID intervention officers will take off in six hours. We have the situation under control-"

"Tell that to your police in Koumac." General Bentégeat said stiffly. "Minister, the Foreign Legion will be deployed within a month. 5,000 soldiers, armed and with armoured vehicles. What we need is time, and we need to open channels with this movement, if only to buy time."

"We don't have time to sit and watch as the north of New Caledonia rises against us." Sarkozy said firmly. "Your men can take over when they're trained and ready. Until then, the police will be in charge."

Girardin glanced at the two competing factions- military and police- both trying to win glory for their branch by quelling a revolt against the French state. She sighed.

"We'll do both," she announced, standing up. "The police will take control for now, and I want an increased presence in Koumac, Noumea and other large cities. We'll try and talk to this Independence Army, and as soon as we can, we'll send in the army to crush them."

Sarkozy and Bentégeat both nodded. They were happy.

 

[Taranis]

Koumac
It was a new day, but the events of yesterday were all anyone could talk about. Rumours flew around faster than the government could quash them- the AINC had stormed an armoury, the government was preparing to evacuate loyal citizens to French Polynesia, martial law was about to be declared.

Two dozen officers marched into Koumac, armed and ready. Some began to stand guard outside the town hall; others relieved the local police station. But six of them, in hired pickup trucks, drove into the market.

As soon as they entered, the market lost its rowdiness and turbulence. Everyone froze, staring at the officers. The patrol, uncertain, stepped forwards. The silence was defeaning- and blinding. The police weren't used to this. They were prepared to draw riot shields and push past the crowd, not walk through unscathed.

Then, suddenly, a few teenagers pushed through the crowd to the front.

"Hey, you!" one of them shouted, pointing at the lead officer. Captain Florian, alarmed, took a step back and drew his baton.

"Where's my father? You took him last night. Said he was in with the AINC. Well, you know what? He was the most loyal Frenchman you could find. Flew the Tricolore proudly. You've got the wrong man. And now he's gone, gone-"

Finally, Florian acted quickly. He gave sharp orders to his men- secure the market, surround the youths, call for reinforcements.

Unquestioningly, his men drew pistols and began pointing them at the youths.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. One man pushed through, shouting at the police vitriolically. Two officers grabbed him and tackled him to the ground. Another one fired a shot in the air, and ordered the crowd to disperse. Most did, and the people- mainly women- running the stalls hurried to close them. The teenagers, realising the gravity of the situation, ran out as fast as they could.

But before they reached the end of the market and into their truck, a police car appeared and screeched to a halt in front of them. Four officers jumped out, clutching rifles. One of the teenagers tried to plead with the officers, and reached to get his ID card from his pocket-

"Stop! Stop! Show me your hands, now!" one of the officers shouted, thinking that he was reaching for a knife. The teenager froze, but rummaged desperately for his ID card, hoping that he would be released if he showed it-

The police, still thinking he was getting a knife or some weapon, pushed him to the ground with their rifles. Finally he found his ID card and flashed it at them.

Seeing the white flash of his ID card, and mistaking it for a knife blade, one of the officers fired. Within seconds it had penetrated his ribcage, pierced his heart and lodged itself in his heart. He was dead almost instantly.

The other teenagers instinctively ran out if the market. The police, as was protocol, called for an ambulance- but at the same time called for the local coroner.

 

[Taranis]

Numea
Thierry Lataste, High Commissioner of the Republic in New Caledonia, was about to finish his term. Finally he could move on in his Civil Service career, due to move into the Ministry of the Interior. As such, he had immense experience in policing and security- which was now proving useful.

"I want that covered up," he barked to Captain Florian, as he explained what had happened. "No reports to anyone. Not even to Paris. Nothing. Understood?"

Florian nodded.

Outside, rumours had already reached the capital city about what had happened in Koumac. A crowd had formed outside the police station, led by the relatives of the teenagers.

Lataste sighed. "We should get moving. Send a convoy of police vehicles to Koumac. We'll relocate-"

Suddenly, a Molotov cocktail broke through the window, landing on Lataste's desk and igniting immediately. A fire burst out. Without hesitating, Florian grabbed Lataste and carried him out, as the papers and wooden desks turned into ash around them.

In the lobby of the police station, ten officers in riot gear marched out in rigid fashion. Within minutes, however, they had been pushed back by the now rapidly-growing crowd, armed with everything from rifles to machetes, knives to stones. The rowdy mob, boosted by the sight of the burning station, knocked down the doors and rushed in.

"Time to go," Lataste muttered, as he was led out through the back door. A fire truck arrived, with four firefighters with buckets of water. Lataste shook his head. The station would burn down, even with the crowd inside.

Maritime gendarmes, armed with FAMAS assault rifles, crouched down behind some unmarked, white police cars. Lataste was shoved into one of the cars, and sped out, while the police station crumbled down behind him.

The crowd was gone before they realised what they had been pushed into.

​

 

[Taranis]

Paris
An unmarked Peugeot 308 drove into the Ministry of the Interior. Two officers of the Republican Guard stepped forwards from their post guarding the entrance to the Ministry, and saluted.

Nicolas Sarkozy, the Interior Minister, got out, flanked by two officers of the Protection Service.

"Minister," one of the Republican Guards said, clicking his heels. "Your security has been increased. This way, please..."

Inside, instead of the usual receptionist ready to greet him, four more officers, FAMAS assault rifles drawn, stood guard. More were marching up and down the stairs, all with rifles and body armour.

Sarkozy turned to his usual protection officers. "Surely they're not that much of a threat?" he asked, alarmed. They were clearly the AINC.

His officers shrugged. "Better safe than sorry, Minister." one of them replied.

All five of them squeezed into the elevator taking them to the top floor of the Place Beauvau. As the doors closed, in a secure underground room underneath them, the news that the Minister had arrived was relayed to a squad of heavily armed CRS officers, who moved to secure his office. The Republican Security Companies were elite riot control officers, who now had a dual responsibility to guard important government buildings in Paris.

Inside Sarkozy's office, he met Michel Gaudin, the Director-General of the National Police.

"I've come from a meeting with the President." Sarkozy said immediately, before Gaudin could start the pleasantries. The Interior Minister sat down, and gestured for Gaudin to do the same.

"I have five hundred officers ready to board Air France flights to Numea. All we need is your approval, Minister-"

At that moment, the telephone on the desk rang. The screen on it showed that it was from Thierry Lataste, High Commissioner in New Caledonia.

Sarkozy sighed. More bad news. He picked up the phone.

"Lataste? This better be good." No chance, he thought.

He was right. "The police station in Numea has burnt down... arson attack, we suspect-"

Sarkozy exploded. "WHAT? LATASTE, YOU TOLD ME YOU HAD EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL-"

"We did." Lataste interrupted, as calmly as possible. There was, however, a hint of uneasiness in his voice. "But these things happen-"

"How did this happen?" Sarkozy demanded. He motioned for Gaudin to leave the room. Slightly pertubed at the sight of his furious Minister, the Director-General of the National Police backed out as quickly as possible.

Lataste thought for a moment. This was the moment he had prepared for. He wasn't going to tell Sarkozy about what his men had done- shooting a teenager for no apparent reason. That stayed in Numea, and more importantly, inside the Numea Police Detachment. Only himself, Captain Florian and the officers who witnessed it knew. And he was going to keep it that way- even if it meant lying to his Minister, and by extension, to the French Government.

"An irregular attack, probably by someone supporting the AINC... Only a few people participated, Minister. It was very disorganised-"

"But deadly." Sarkozy interrupted again.

"Five officers died on the scene. Eight others are in hospital for various burns, scratches, and injuries from debris and glass. The station is small- only around twenty people were in it."

Sarkozy sighed, and looked out of the window. A police car, with sirens wailing, sped down the road outside. The Republican Guards, in ceremonial uniform, marched up and down the street adjacent to the Place Beauvau.

"We're sending in reinforcements, Lataste. We'll have them flown out shortly." he said finally, turning back to his desk.

In the back of the police car speeding to Koumac, Lataste breathed a sigh of relief. No questions asked about the rather dubious story. The police were sworn to secrecy, and any conflicting stories could be passed off as propaganda from the AINC- exaggerating their support.

"Thank you, Minister."

And with that, he hung up.

******
​

Outside, Gaudin was eavesdropping on his Minister when the door flung open and Nicolas Sarkozy gazed down at him. There was a silence.

"Minister... I-" Gaudin stammered, standing to attention.

"Send those reinforcements you have prepared," Sarkozy said quietly, as if nothing had happened. "Have them sent out... now."

Gaudin nodded vigorously, and rushed out, barking orders to his aides.

Within a few hours, the two aircraft had taken off, carrying a total of 300 personnel and flying halfway around the world.

 

[Taranis]

La Tontouta International Airport
Two Air France flights, carrying officers from the Republican Security Corps, Directorate of Public Security, Republican Guard and RAID intervention units, circled over the airport for the third time. There had been some mix-up with the scheduling, Captain Vernier had been told, but they would be cleared soon.

Finally, they were.

"Airfrans 1549, you are cleared to land on runway 1. Apologies for the delay."

On the ground, next to the airport and behind a flimsy barbed wire fence, four members of the AINC watched the sky patiently for any sign of the Air France flights. It had been easy to get one of the air traffic controllers to tell them when and where the flights would land, and after that all they had to do was get to the airport at the right time with the right weapons.

With a mortar, two RPGs and a few old AK-47s, they weren't prepared for a firefight with police- but they didn't need to prepare for one. Their plan was simple- destroy the aircraft as they land, then get into waiting pickup trucks and drive away before anyone realised what had happened.

"There! It's coming, it's coming!"

The men looked up as the plane began to descend onto the runway. They got to work, getting out the explosives and grabbing their rifles and RPGs.

As Airfrans 1549 landed on the runway and began its rollout- its run after landing- the mortar fired a 16kg shell at the plane. It flew through the air quickly and silently- with all the noise and dust from the plane, it would be impossible for anyone to see it, even if they were looking for it.

Within seconds, there was a great bang, then fire and smoke came billowing out of the plane. Dozens of officers were knocked out almost simultaneously, and others, trying to open the emergency doors, also succumbed to their fate before the pilot finally opened the doors. It was his last act before the cockpit, too, disintegrated into burnt metal and ash.

In the air traffic control tower, one of the controllers reached for the panic button- and was immediately shot by another controller, working for the AINC.

The second plane, which was preparing to make its landing, saw what was happening only as it began to descend. It quickly pulled up, and radioed, first to the ATC tower- which didn't respond- and then to the police station in Numea. However, the station, along with the radios, had been destroyed, and they had forgotten to inform the Interior Ministry of their new radio frequency.

With nobody responding, the plane had to make its way to the domestic airport, Nouméa Magenta Airport, with what fuel it had left.

******
​

Nouméa Magenta Airport
It was a quiet day at the airport. As the domestic airport, it only had a few flights a day, which meant that their controllers had little experience in managing emergencies. As such, they weren't prepared for the emergency that came loudly over the radio.

"Magenta ATC, Magenta ATC, this is Airfrans 1549. We are carrying 120 personnel from the National Police and we require an immediate emergency landing."

With no questions asked, the controllers directed the plane to their one runway, hoping that it was long enough. Meanwhile, they contacted the new police station at Koumac- they had received the news that the police were relocating there- and informed them of their situation. 30 police officers were sent to Magenta- and immediately relocated to La Tontouta when news of their situation reached the police.

The second plane landed with no incident, but stranded 30 miles away from their intended destination- and, more importantly, without a leader. The most senior officer on the second plane was Lieutenant Dumont, leading the Republican Guard detachment. More experienced in drill than policing, he could only wait for orders from Paris, relayed through the ATC tower.

******​

Paris
Sarkozy had only been asleep for a few hours when the official phone rang. Confused, he picked the phone up.

"Yes?"

It was Gaudin, who seemed awake as ever. How efficient- and concerning. "Minister, one of the planes carrying police bound for Numea was shot down and destroyed entirely while landing. No casualties- at least, none at the moment."

Sarkozy jumped out of bed. He thought better of shouting at Gaudin in the middle of the night, though, and so remained calm. Inside, however, he was fuming.

"The AINC racaille will pay for this," he muttered. "I'm going to the office now. Get me a report by the time I get there."

"Minister, I can send a motorcase within half an hour-"

"No." Sarkozy was tired of all the extra security. He now had an officer inside his own house, eating, sleeping and talking with his family, as if he was living there! He could drive half an hour by himself.

In the chaos and confusion at the Place Beauvau, Gaudin had no time to argue. He shrugged, and said that he would prepare a report soon.

So, as soon as his protection officer had woken up, they got into the unmarked Peugeot 308 provided to them, and with his officer in the driver's seat, sped off into the night.

It was just past midnight, and the roads were nearly deserted. The roads were dimly lit in the suburbs of Paris, and the shortcut to central Paris was through an old, dilapidated part of the city. Still, with all the security (forgetting that the security was in his office), nothing could go wrong.

While driving down a narrow, one-way street, a refuse truck in front of them began to reverse. While waiting for the truck to finish whatever it was doing, a man walked up to the car and knocked on the windows. Sarkozy didn't even look at him. Probably someone trying to vent their feelings at a politician. His protection officer was looking the other way, probably daydreaming- or half asleep.

The man knocked on the windows again, this time more urgently. Finally, Sarkozy looked. To his horror, it was a man clutching a contraption with wires out of it. He recognised it as a bomb. He shouted to his protection officer, who realised what was happening and tried to reverse out of the street. But another car was blocking their route behind them.

At that perfect moment, the truck in front of them stopped, and everything seemed to freeze for a split second.

Then the bomb detonated.

There was a deafening roar that shattered the tranquility of the night. Windows shattered, and the car was knocked down, sending fragments of metal and glass through the air. The explosion rippled through the area, as nearby buildings collapsed and the fire began to spread.

******
​

Place Beauvau
An hour later, Gaudin still hadn't heard from his Minister. He was trying to get hold of the Paris Prefect- but he too, apparently, was looking for him.

Finally, the phone rang. It was from him.

"There was an explosion about an hour ago, in the northern suburbs of Paris. A piece of debris we recovered from it is a part from a black Peugeot 308, and another is the ID card of... well, someone in the National Police. We've done a check on every police unmarked Peugeot in the region, and we've found only two are unresponsive. One has a faulty transmitter and reported in to a police station. The other... is the vehicle of the Minister of the Interior."

 

[Taranis]

Koumac
"You are brought here on charges-"

"False! Whatever this court is, it's rigged-"

Lataste sighed. They had been in the court for twenty minutes now, and all this man had to say was that the charges were false. Which, Lataste thought, they were, but in the eyes of the Republic these proceedings were all legal.

The man before him was one of the teenagers who had tried to run away from police a few days ago. That was how short the crisis had lasted- less than a week ago, Lataste was preparing to move on to bigger and greater things; now he was fighting an insurrection against the Republic with less than a thousand police officers.

"Since you must insist on interrupting proceedings, I'll give you the charge sheet and you can read it!" he snapped, gesturing for the secretary to hand the paper over. The defendant had refused to give his name, his address- anything to identify him. The court had managed to not name him, or refer to him, so far.

Charge Sheet

Special Court of New Caledonia​

The defendant is charged with the following:

1. (1) charge of acts of violence liable to endanger the institutions of the Republic;
2. (1) charge of acts of violence against a police officer;
3. (1) charge of participating in an insurrectional movement by personally carrying a weapon.

Charge 1 carries a sentence of up to thirty years' imprisonment. Charge 2 carries a sentence of up to twenty years' imprisonment. Charge 3 carries a sentence of up to fifteen years' imprisonment. The maximum sentence for the defendant is therefore sixty-five years.

Formalities over, the real trial could begin.
"Do you have anything to say in your defence?" Lataste demanded.

The teenager, resigned and knowing his fate, shrugged. "Only that this court is illegal and-"

"It was made by an ordinance of the Council of Ministers in Paris." Captain Florian interrupted. "And, as you know, it was made in special circumstances. When an insurgency attempts to overthrow the Republic..." The implication was clear. The teenager must have been working with the AINC.

Lataste turned to the teenager's lawyer, a small, wiry man wearing a suit in the blazing heat. "Anything to add?"

The lawyer shook his head. "We only ask that my client is given due care and attention, owing to his youth-"

"All prisoners are given the care and attention that they need. And deserve." Lataste said abruptly. "We will move onto sentencing, if no objections are raised..." Silence. "No objections." He cleared his throat. "I, Thierry Lataste, High Commissioner of the Republic in New Caledonia, by the Ordinance of the Council of Ministers, do hereby sentence the defendant to sixty-five years in prison-"

At this, the teenager rose out of his seat. While officers tackled him to the ground, he screamed, "No! No, please, oh God no!"

Lataste raised his voice. "To sixty-five years in prison, without parole, and with no appeal!" He reached for the gavel, and then-

Outside, there were screams and shouts, and the unmistakable ring of gunfire echoed through the chamber. Lataste hesitated, only for a moment, and then whispered something to Florian.

In those few seconds, however, twenty armed insurgents had jumped out of pickup trucks, shot the two guards standing outside, and were now running through the narrow corridors of the police station into the courtroom. The few officers guarding the door to the courtroom barely had time to register what was happening when they found themselves dead.

Lataste himself only realised what had happened when the insurgents burst into the chamber itself, wielding machine guns and rifles. One of the officers, clutching a FAMAS assault rifle, raised it and took aim- and was dead. He hadn't noticed the machine gun on the first floor, on the balcony above the courtroom.

Lataste, instinctively, raised his hands. In horror he watched as La Tricolore was replaced by the blue, red and green flag of an independent New Caledonia. And he watched as the insurgents quietly untied the defendant and led him out. One of the rebels grabbed the charge sheet and, staring directly at Lataste, ripped it in half. As they left, the sheet of paper dropped silently and gracefully to the ground.

As soon as they had left and slammed the door behind them, Lataste quickly turned to his faithful Captain Florian, slightly shaken but still alive- which was better than some of the other officers in the room.

After a while, Lataste spoke. It was not the booming, dominating voice of the High Commissioner- but a broken, timid one.

"Get whatever officers are still remaining," he said quietly, "And send them here. We'll rearm and move to recapture the defendant."

Florian turned, shocked. "You're not saying we should go after them?"

Lataste nodded.

"But you saw what they can do. They drove into the middle of Koumac, shot up at least twenty officers, and then walked out with a prisoner-"

"We're not going after them with twenty officers." Lataste said grimly. "We're going after them with two hundred."

 

[Taranis]

Suburbs of Koumac
It was a day after the AINC had made their daring raid on Koumac, and they were now back at their camp in the forests around the inland town of Bonde, some 12 miles northeast of Koumac. It was a sprawling but primitive compound, made up of wood huts, tents and trenches, defended by a mixture of wooden stakes and barbed wire. It is useful that most of the wooden structures had been a part of the town- and that the people there supported the AINC cause.

In the main building- originally the house of the mayor- Phillipe Fabre, the leader of the AINC, sat behind a 'desk'- a wooden bench. He was contemplating a note he had received just hours earlier, hastily written and without any postage, return address or anything to identify the sender. It seemed it had been thrown over the stakes and into the camp, which wasn't that hard to identify- it did have the distinctive blue, red and green flag fluttering above it. What was stopping the police from moving in was its remoteness and their thin resources, stretched thinner by the recent raid.

The Letter

To the leader of the Army for the Independence of New Caledonia,

I am an officer in the National Police based in Numea. I have heard about your cause through official channels... and I believe that it is a noble one. While a Frenchman, I believe that my help could prove useful to furthering your aims.

In order to prove my support for you, I have attached numerous documents on the police and security forces here. I also have ten thousand francs from the budget of the National Police.

I am willing to meet you in a place of your choosing to discuss this further. I have certain items which may be of interest to you.

He knew that the National Police were capable of laying traps like this. But the weapons would be useful, and the money had already gone to buying more. And Fabre could bring an armed escort with him... if anything, he only had something to gain from this.
The only way to contact this officer, as instructed on the back of the letter, would be a dead drop- placing their reply at the side of a road; which, conveniently, was near their camp. Even if the police got hold of it, it would be worthless. So, slowly, Fabre reached for a pen and some paper, and started writing.

The Reply

To whom it may concern,
You can meet me behind the market in Koumac. Ask for La Flèche. They'll direct you to me.
Come alone.

With the reply written, he gave it to his deputy, Frédéric, and gave him the instructions for dropping it in the right location. He also called in the elite Guard unit of the AINC, made up of former or current police officers supporting their cause. They would escort him and guard him as they met the mysterious stranger.

******
​

Koumac
Koumac had become a more dangerous place after the deaths of half the station. Reinforcements were being prepared, but until then, around ten thousand people would be policed by less than twenty officers.

The police was being stretched even more by the orders of the new Interior Minister, François Baroin, who wanted more community-focused policing to avoid the tyranny and brutality of other colonial wars France had been involved in. The police would be sent on regular patrols of highways, roads and villages deep in the forests. That meant that on a normal day there would be less than ten officers in Koumac.

Meanwhile, Lataste, gazing out of the window, saw Florian leave the station and walk away, slowly fading into the distance.

******
​

Three white pickup trucks drove into Koumac, with militants sitting idly on them, guns slung over their shoulders. Normally, there would be an officer at the only road into the town; but le Capitaine had ordered for there to be extra security at the station- another Special Court session had been scheduled for the day.

As it was early morning and people were starting to begin their day, there were a lot of people walking on foot through the streets, often carrying large bags. It was a pain trying to weave in and out of people, and even more so since they had to avoid the police station, but eventually they reached the market.

Fabre jumped out of the lead truck, followed by his men. Scanning the large crowd of people, his mind leapt back to that first day when the AINC was formed in the same market. He walked down the path which he and his men had tred, brandishing weapons as they charged into a new life and a new cause.

He was about to start walking to his usual office behind one of the stalls, when he noticed a man at that stall, looking back at him, holding a cigarette. Maybe it was the posture, dignified and strong, inviting confidence and respect. Maybe it was the polished suit, out of place in the crowd of T-shirts and sandals. Or maybe it was simply because he expected him to be there. But something about him suggested that this was the man Fabre was looking for.

He gestured for his men to enter his office and secure it. Then, he approached the officer.

"Who are you?" Fabre demanded.

The officer didn't reply- not immediately. He took a puff of his cigarrete, then threw it to the ground and then stamped on it. Then he looked at Fabre.

"I am the officer you are looking for," he replied.

"I know that," Fabre said, irritated. "What's your name?"

Again, the officer didn't reply immediately. Instead, he reached into his suit and took out an identification card. He showed it to Fabre.

Identification Card

Police Nationale
Nom: Jean Estienne FLORIAN
Nationalité: Français
Date de Naissance: 8 juin 1965
Grade: Capitaine de police (CNE)
Poste: Nouvelle-Calédonie
​

Fabre scanned it briefly. Then he looked back at the officer.

"Captain Florian," he said, "Maybe we should discuss this further... in my office?"

Florian smiled. "That would be lovely."

 

[Taranis]

Koumac Airport
It was early morning, and the first rays of sunlight were peeking through the clouds and onto the tarmac below. The air was fresh and bitterly cold, and the leaves and bushes waved peacefully and rustled through the metal gates. It was a normal day for the creatures living in the forest.

For the officers of the RAID intervention unit of the National Police, however, it was a special day for them. This would be their first operation, as France had not seen a need for police special forces in the past. Now, however, with the military unable to react, they would be the first armed units to engage and attack the AINC.

They had been woken up hours earlier and told to meet for a briefing in half an hour. The scramble to leave was because of the delicacy of the situation; Lataste wanted total secrecy, knowing the discreet support the AINC enjoyed in the civilian population.

After breakfast- double rations and hot wine- they met their officer, Lieutenant Dumont, who, as the senior surviving officer after the La Tontouta attack, would lead the attack.

"Our instructions have only just come in two hours ago," he began. "This is a top secret mission until after it has been executed- and even then we are sworn to secrecy until further orders. No written notes of this exists.

"As you will know, the AINC raided Koumac and took a prisoner, a defendant standing trial for insurrecton against the Republic, back to their base. We do not know what he is doing there, but the High Commissioner and Captain Florian have made it clear that he is to be recaptured.

"The operation will only focus on our target. Of course we will shoot to kill any other AINC militants, but our target must be captured at all costs. Once we have him, we get out, and we get out fast. We don't know how many people are at their camp, but we won't wait to find out."

After this, Dumont paused for a few moments to let the gravity of the situation sink in. This was going to be dangerous, with high stakes and, in most minds, a low chance of success. He quickly continued.

"As we expect a lot of resistance, we will have a diversion in a convoy of vehicles carrying 'weapons'. They will take the RPN1 from Koumac, heading north. The AINC will no doubt send some of their men to intercept it, which will buy us some time. The convoy will, in fact, be carrying dozens of armed officers.

"Meanwhile, all fifty of us RAID officers will set out in unmarked vehicles on the RPN1 heading north, then the RPN7 heading northeast. It will take around half an hour to reach the camp. We'll stop less than a mile away from the camp, and msot of us will continue on foot.

"Thirty of us will form the main assault group, led by myself. We'll be breaching the camp and finding the target. Another ten will provide diversionary and cover fire from the woods. The remaining ten or so will wait with our vehicles and guard them. Any questions?"

Briefing Maps

Route of main RAID assault group

Route of the diversionary convoy​

Dumont scanned the crowd of officers. They gave nothing away, but he could sense a mixture of fear, determination and uncertainty as they packed up and prepared to leave.

******​

Koumac
About an hour later, in Koumac, a large convoy of trucks, cars and motorbikes- some marked as police vehicles, some not- had assembled near the southern entrance to the city, now guarded by police and barbed wire. A small crowd of people had also formed, looking curiously over the shoulders of riot control officers, clad in body armour, giving nothing away.

One of them looked to the person next to him, also trying to get a good view.

"What's going on? Is it the AINC?"

The other man shrugged. "Doesn't seem like it. Probably just a police patrol."

A man behind them leaned forwards and said quietly, "It's a convoy of heavy weapons- mortars, RPGs, ad so on- being transported to Poum, on the other side of the island."

A fourth man looked surprised. "How can you tell? Surely it'd be top secret?"

The well-informed man, who was in fact an agent of the National Police, said even more quietly, "I have good contacts in the police- they're relaible business partners." He clearly was unwilling to say anymore, and so the crowd didn't ask any more.

******​

Bonde
The information rapidly spread, however, and very quickly one of the AINC's informants had sent the information to the AINC camp. Since Fabre, the founder and leader of the AINC, was meeting with a supportive police officer, Frédéric Hector, his second-in-command, was in charge.

Frédéric was poring over a map of the island when Bruno, a fiercely brave militant, entered.

"You asked for me, Frédéric?"

Hector nodded. Without looking up, he pointed at the RPN1.

"A convoy of heavy weapons is heading north. Intelligence suggests they're lightly protected by some uniformed officers- they shouldn't be hard to eliminate." He looked up at Bruno, his eyes gleaming.

Bruno frowned, then realised what he was getting at. "You want us to ambush it."

"We have those crates of weapons- rifles, grenades, and even a mortar. Take them out on our trucks and intercept it at a location of your choosing."

"Frédéric," Bruno said slowly, "You know that... if it fails... the chief-"

"Fabre will be pleased when we succeed." Frédéric cut him off. He wanted no more discussion on the subject.

Bruno shrugged. "It's your call."

Within half an hour, he had assembled around a hundred of the best militants, and most of the heavy equipment. They would take the RPN7 south, and probably have to drive through dense forests to catch up with the convoy.

As they were leaving, at around the same time, fifty RAID operatives began the short drive on the same road, heading north.

 

[Taranis]

Koumac
In the AINC's hideout, behind a stall in the market of Koumac, Captain Florian and the AINC commander, Fabre, sat down on opposite sides of a table. Fabre still slightly distrusted this officer, supposedly a supporter of the AINC cause, but he had agreed to meet with him anyway. Not only because the AINC had received weapons and supplies from this officer, and not only because Fabre was well guarded with a dozen soldiers, but also because Florian had hinted that he may have some more items which were useful to the AINC. Fabre was interested in seeing what those were.

"So tell me, Captain Florian," Fabre began, as one of his guards served tea to them both, "What items do you have for us?"

Florian reached under his coat and took out a small package.

"This package contains a special laptop constructed for French civil servants. This one has clearance for all documents made in New Caledonia, most documents of the Ministry of Overseas Affairs, and various other documents. It is password-activated; the password is on the package."

Fabre took the package slowly, as if it was the Holy Grail. On top of it was a note stuck to the package; it was a string of letters and numbers. He looked up at Florian.

"How do you remember the password?" he asked curiously.

He shrugged. "Habit." he said simply.

Fabre slowly and carefully unwrapped the package. In it was a smooth, shiny grey laptop with the French diplomatic emblem engraved into it, and under it, the words RÉPUBLIQUE FRANÇAISE.

But he didn't use it yet. Placing it aside, he looked quizzically at Florian.

"Why?"

Florian seemed surprised. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing this? What do you get out of this?"

Florian sat back in his chair. After a few moments, he sighed.

"I joined the National Police... twelve years ago. I was first posted in Paris- as a probationary lieutenant. I was one of only five recruits to become an officer in the Paris Prefecture in my year. It was the best post I could have been given.

"After a year, however, my commander, Thierry Lataste, became a civil servant and joined the government here, in New Caledonia. He suggested I come with him- I would be promoted to Captain, as there were a few vacancies in the senior ranks of the police there. Of course I agreed- it was a guaranteed promotion in a quiet zone.

"It turned out it was too quiet. I enjoyed it for the first few years, but as more and more officers left, and the budget for New Caledonia was cut, soon I was only one of two officers on the island- the other was the division commander. I repeatedly asked for a transfer, but Lataste insisted that I was the best man for the job, and Paris denied my requests.

"After Lataste became High Commissioner, it seemed like I would get the job as division commander. But Lataste was a greedy, corrupt fool, and the division commander bribed his way into staying. It wasn't Lataste's fault; it was the fault of a civil servant in Paris. At this time I realised how illogical it was for someone in Paris to decide the fate of someone thousands of miles away. Someone hadn't even been here and had decided who should lead it- not just its police, but the entire island!

"Lataste, however, was stupid enough not to notice my... indiscretions. I built up a network of contacts, and waited for the time when someone would rebel against France. I wasn't going to do it myself- I had a comfortable job, after all- but I made sure those who published leaflets condemning the Republic were given light sentences. Paris failed to notice.

"Finally, a few months ago, I found out that Lataste would be moved into the Ministry of the Interior, and that the division commander would get the job as High Commissioner. I didn't want to become division commander- I asked Lataste if he could secure me a better place, and he did. He promised me a move into the Paris Prefecture- my dream! It seemed likely that, with my contacts, I would quickly become Prefect of Paris.

"Then the rebellion began- and of course I began my move out of here, before I would be recalled to deal with it. I support you, of course, but I wasn't going to go against Paris when I was about to be promoted by them. But Lataste was ordered to remain, which he did, although he was seething about it. I asked him if I still would be promoted, and he promised me that he would secure me it.

"But he had other plans. The bloody division commander again bribed his way into getting it, and this time Lataste himself got the bribe. Now, I'm going to be stuck here until the rebellion is over, probably longer. And I don't blame you- I blame Paris."

After this lengthy story, intertwined with sips of water, banging the table and colourful expressions- both facial and verbal- Florian looked at his watch.

"I must be going," he announced, standing up, "Lataste will need me soon. Another rigged trial to attend."

And before Fabre could say anything, he walked out.

******​

3 miles southwest of Bonde
The convoy of vehicles, carrying fifty RAID officers, was driving peacefully on the RPN7, a well-kept road; apart from the occasional fallen tree, or a few tricky turns through the mountains, their journey had been uneventful so far.

In the lead truck, Lieutenant Dumont checked his map for the tenth time. They were around two miles away from where they should stop, and then, to maintain secrecy, they would continue on foot. He wasn't expecting anything to go wrong here- he was preparing for what could befall them later on.

"Sir," his driver, Larousse, said, "I've been thinking, and I've realised... the diversion is on the RPN1, right?"

"Yes, heading north." Dumont confirmed, his mind still focused on the gunfight ahead.

"Well... if we want the AINC to intercept it, what's the quickest route from their camp to the RPN1?"

Dumont thought for a moment, then looked at his map.

"The RPN7-"

He turned to Larousse, his mouth open. His driver looked at his sympathetically, as if to say, It's alright, it's not your fault. But Dumont had bigger things to worry about now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a large convoy of trucks heading towards them, slowly and menacingly. He realised what a mistake he had made- and immediately tried to reverse it.

"Turn back! Turn back!"

But it was too late- the trucks screeched to a halt a few hundred feet away from them, and the militants began to jump out, firing their machine guns wildly but rapidly.

Under heavy machine gunfire, Dumont jumped out of his truck, calling for his men to do the same and take up positions. Their trucks were maneuveured to form a wall, behind which the officers fired as quickly as they could.

"Call for reinforcements!" Dumont shouted to his radio operator. "And get the diversionary convoy here- we need them!"

"Lieutenant! They have a mortar!" came a shout over the gunfire. Without trying to find out where it had come from, Dumont called for a heavy machine gun. Larousse grabbed one out of the back of his truck and positioned it carefully, aiming directly for the mortar.

Moments later, a shell whirled through the air, plummeting down and landing on a truck. The impact was met by a fiery explosion, and screams of pain as men and debris were thrown through the air. At the same time, Larousse fired his machine gun, hitting the mortar.

Before he could celebrate, or reload, six insurgents trained their guns on him. He ducked; the bullets ricoheted off a truck.

Meanwhile, the radio operator shouted over the gunfire that reinforcements were twenty minutes away. Dumont groaned; his men weren't going to be able to hold their position for that long. He watched as one of his men dropped down, blood flying six feet into the air before resting all over the ground. He watched as another mortar shell dropped on a truck.

Within minutes his unit had only less than twenty men left. Dumont estimated that they had killed around thirty men; but there were still dozens left, continuing their heavy fire. He considered his options; and decided that he had to surrender. He turned to Larousse, who was firing furiously, even as the machine gun got hotter and hotter.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Dumont called to his men. Within seconds the forest was filled with a ringing silence.

Dumont hesitated for a moment- but only a moment. He stood up, hands raised. Larousse dropped his machine gun, his hands still sweating, and did the same. One by one, then two by two, the men all surrendered to the AINC.

Bruno, leading the AINC militants there, stood forwards, pistol in hand. Smirking, he jumped on top of a destroyed truck, surveying his prisoners. He turned back to his men, smirking.

"Get them into a line," he ordered, "And march them back to Bonde. Send a message to Koumac that they are now hostages. Tell them to send a negotiator, or they will die."

 

[Taranis]

AINC Camp
A motorbike halted in front of a checkpoint leading into the AINC Camp. There were five guards, heavily armed with standard-issue bolt action rifles and a heavy machine gun. Their commander, a large man with a cigar, eyed the driver carefully.

"I bring a reply to your letter," the driver said slowly, reaching for the letter. The guards instinctively raised their rifles, and immediately lowered them as the driver took out an envelope.

One of the guards reached out and took it. It was addressed to The leadership of the AINC. Without saying a word, he gestured for the driver to head back where he came from, and then walked into the camp.

Fabre, the AINC leader, who had returned from his meeting with Captain Florian, sat in his house- originally the village chief's house- poring over a map of New Caledonia. The radio was crackling out some news about humanitarian aid being sent by Thailand. He had plans to intercept it...

"Commander," a voice at the door said, interrupting his chain of thought. Fabre turned, and saw a soldier with a letter in his hand.

"Ah," Fabre said, smiling, "The reply from Paris."

He took the letter and opened it.

Letter

A negotiation team is being prepared now, from a third party. We ask that the sick and wounded be released as soon as possible, or we will inform the world that you are holding wounded officers with no medical care. The other prisoners will be negotiated on as soon as possible.

Please reply with your approval for negotiations.

Smirking, Fabre took out an old, but functioning typewriter, apparently a gift to the village chief from the French Government. He typed a reply with one word- Yes- and handed it back to the soldier.

"Hand this to the Government through the usual channel." Fabre ordered. The usual channel was a twice-weekly motorbike driver who headed back and forth carrying letters from the AINC to the Government, and vice versa.

With that sorted, he turned back to his map table, and continued thinking where he could intercept the humanitarian supplies.