Chapter 91

Chapter 91:

Commander Ricard of the Anti-Commando Brigade advanced swiftly along Quai François Mitterrand, moving in a V-formation ahead of several armored trucks. They turned right, arriving at the Porte des Arts, where tall iron gates barred the entrance. Ricard called, "Engineer." An agent stepped up to the old lock, deftly picking it before giving his commander a thumbs-up.

Ricard issued his orders: "Parallel advance. Fourth team, you're on rear guard. Third team, form a defensive line in front of the trucks. We're creating a hardpoint to draw in any infected from the inner courtyard and neutralize them."

Commander Ricard gestured to his teams as they split up, two squads advancing with tactical precision to either side of the massive entrance leading into the Cour Carrée of the Louvre. Their boots echoed on the cobblestone, silent yet synchronized as they positioned themselves by each of the two side entrances, securing both flanks. Meanwhile, the third team positioned themselves directly in front of the main gate, forming a defensive line. The team braced behind a makeshift barrier of vehicles and reinforced shields, weapons ready, eyes fixed on the entrance. Ricard stepped up to the front line, pulling a lure grenade from his vest, its casing dull but humming with quiet, contained power.

"Steady," Ricard commanded, voice low but calm. He arched back and tossed the grenade high, its arc carrying it deep into the Cour Carrée before it hit the ground with a metallic clink. A sudden pulse of noise and flashing lights ignited from the device, emitting a steady, mechanical screech that echoed off the walls and down the corridors, filling the historic courtyard with an eerie resonance. Within seconds, a chorus of guttural growls and savage snarls filled the air as infected poured from shadowed hallways, spilling into the open space. Their heads twitched erratically as they homed in on the source of the noise, eyes glazed but filled with predatory intent.

"Hold your fire," Ricard whispered, voice tense. His teams waited with bated breath, every gun trained on the courtyard, every heartbeat echoing in sync with the lure's pulse.

The infected swarmed into the open courtyard, dozens turning to hundreds as they packed in, snarling and clawing at each other in blind rage. Their rotting skin and twisted limbs moved in a wave of fury, lurching forward, driven by hunger and primal aggression. Ricard's eyes scanned the crowd, calculating the exact moment to unleash their barrage.

"Steady… steady…" His grip tightened on his rifle as the last stragglers stumbled into view, filling every inch of the Cour Carrée.

"Now! Fire at will!" Ricard's command cut through the air like a whip, and the teams erupted with a coordinated hail of gunfire. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkened courtyard as bullets tore into the mass of infected, felling them row by row. The precision of each team was unmatched; every shot was calculated, every volley focused, their rhythm unbreakable.

A storm of rounds tore through the horde, piercing skulls, ripping through limbs, and dropping bodies in swift succession. The infected fell in droves, collapsing over each other as they were cut down by the relentless fire. A few attempted to rush the barricades, but the third team's defensive line held strong, unleashing a brutal, unyielding firepower that pushed them back into the kill zone.

Occasionally, a straggler would break free from the frenzy and stumble toward one of the flanking teams. But they were met with swift, clinical takedowns—a single shot to the head, dropping them without a second's hesitation. Ricard moved up and down the line, his own weapon joining the barrage, his orders calm and precise as he coordinated the assault.

After minutes of relentless fire, the courtyard was choked with the unmoving bodies of the infected. The lure grenade's hum faded, its purpose fulfilled. Ricard signaled to his teams to cease fire, the echo of gunshots still ringing against the ancient stone walls as silence slowly reclaimed the space.

"Point secured," Ricard confirmed, voice steady as he looked over the now-still horde lying within the Cour Carrée.

Ricard lifted his radio, his voice calm and clear. "Lead-BAC to FIPN, Cour Carrée secured. Proceeding to secure the surrounding buildings before advancing."

A quick response crackled through his earpiece. "FIPN to Lead-BAC, proceed as planned. Also, if possible, deploy a team to the second floor of the École du Louvre with a line of sight on the Rivoli-Amiral de Coligny intersection to support the barricades. They've taken heavy damage from a horde and could use the assistance."

Ricard nodded to himself, then turned to his team. "Alright, we're not done yet. Third team, establish a position in the École du Louvre with clear sightlines on the Rivoli intersection. Provide overwatch and cover for the teams holding the barricades."

Ricard continued, giving his orders with precision. "First team, split into two and secure the eastern buildings. Second and fourth teams, do the same for the western side. Fifth team, bring in the armored vehicles and position them in a circle around the fountain. Once that's done, dismount and take up positions on top of the vehicles. You'll be receiving any civilians we send your way."

The teams sprang into action, moving with practiced efficiency. Members of the first and second teams split up, disappearing into the doorways of the ancient halls flanking the courtyard, while the fifth team directed the armored vehicles to form a protective ring around the central fountain. Soon, the sound of boots and radio chatter filled the courtyard as the tactical formation took shape.

Ricard led his half of the first team cautiously into the eastern building, signaling for silence as they slipped into the dimly lit corridor. The architecture, grand and sprawling with arches and high ceilings, took on an eerie silence as they advanced, their tactical flashlights casting sharp beams across walls adorned with centuries-old art. Shadows lurked in corners, and each step echoed on the stone floors, raising tension among the group.

Ricard held up his fist, signaling a halt. He peered around the corner, catching sight of movement in the hallway ahead—a small cluster of zombies, slow and shambling, but blocking the path forward. He pointed two fingers toward the nearest officer, gesturing toward the undead. His teammate nodded, gripping his rifle tightly, then quietly took position on the left, aiming down his sights.

"On three," Ricard whispered, counting down with his fingers. "One… two… three."

The officer fired, sending a bullet through the skull of the first zombie. It dropped instantly, but the sound alerted the others, who began moving toward the team. Ricard quickly adjusted his stance, aiming precisely before squeezing the trigger. Another headshot. Two of his team members stepped forward, unleashing controlled bursts of fire, efficiently taking down the remaining zombies in the hallway.

They moved forward, checking each corner and doorway as they advanced, securing rooms along the way. They cleared a small library filled with overturned chairs and scattered books—no signs of life or movement, just an ominous silence. They progressed into what appeared to be a gallery, sunlight casting strange patterns across the floor through shattered windows. Glass crunched underfoot, and Ricard gestured for his team to keep their steps as light as possible.

Suddenly, the sound of shuffling footsteps echoed from a nearby doorway. Ricard gestured for two officers to take cover on either side, and with a nod, they moved in. The officer on the left took a quick look inside and silently held up four fingers, indicating a group of four zombies within.

Ricard mouthed, "Quiet takedown."

They moved in with precision, each team member targeting one zombie at a time. The officers on point stepped forward, swiftly putting down two zombies with shots, their bodies dropping without a sound. Ricard took aim at the last two as they turned toward the noise, and with two quick shots, cleared the room. His team silently exchanged nods, maintaining their focus and resolve.

The group moved deeper into the building, approaching a staircase leading up to the second floor. Ricard gestured for them to halt, listening closely. The groans of several zombies could be heard above, moving closer to the staircase. He pointed to two of his teammates, signaling for them to cover him from below. Then, with a deep breath, he ascended, each step calculated, rifle trained ahead.

As he neared the top, two zombies stumbled into view, drawn by the noise. Ricard took them down swiftly, and his team joined him on the landing, advancing forward. Room by room, they worked in careful unison, sweeping the floor and eliminating any threats with methodical precision.

Finally, they reached the Middle of the eastern wing, securing a small office that would serve as a temporary checkpoint. Ricard took a breath, scanning the area with satisfaction. 

After a few seconds, Ricard signaled for his team to press on, maintaining their quiet yet steady pace as they advanced deeper into the eastern wing. The air was thick with the smell of decay, and an uneasy silence hung over the building. They passed through narrow hallways lined with aged portraits and high arched windows, giving the once-grand architecture an eerie, haunted quality.

Suddenly, Ricard raised his fist, halting the group. A faint, rhythmic thudding echoed from further down the hall, accompanied by soft groans and shuffling footsteps. He motioned for the team to move forward slowly, keeping close to the walls to stay hidden. As they rounded the corner, the source of the noise became clear—a small horde of zombies, roughly ten of them, clawing and beating on a closed door at the end of the corridor. The rotting creatures leaned into their strikes, desperate to break through.

Ricard quickly signaled a formation, and his team members silently fanned out, taking up positions along the walls and aiming their rifles. With a deep breath, Ricard gave the signal. "Open fire, controlled bursts. Keep it tight."

The hallway filled with the echo of gunfire as his team unleashed a coordinated volley. Bullet after bullet struck the undead in their heads and torsos, sending them collapsing one by one. The zombies at the front crumpled first, but the noise alerted the others, who turned from the door, their dead eyes locking onto the officers. But the team held their line, dispatching the remaining zombies with precise, efficient shots.

Within moments, the hallway was silent again, the last of the undead now lying motionless on the floor. Ricard moved forward, stepping carefully over the bodies as he approached the door that had been under siege. He knocked softly, not wanting to alarm whoever might be inside.

"It's the police. You're safe now," he called out, trying to keep his voice steady and calm.

For a tense moment, there was no response, just the faint sounds of shuffling and whispering on the other side. Then, slowly, the door creaked open, revealing a group of people huddled together in a dimly lit room. Ricard's eyes widened as he took in the sight. A dozen young teenagers, probably middle schoolers, were crouched in the corner, their faces pale and tear-streaked, clinging to one another in terror. In front of them, four adults stood protectively, makeshift weapons in hand—a broomstick, a chair leg, even a heavy book.

Ricard instinctively raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, his team staying close behind him. "We're here to help. I'm Commander Ricard, Anti Commando Brigade. Are any of you injured?"

One of the adults, a middle-aged woman with dark circles under her eyes, took a hesitant step forward, holding her broomstick defensively. "We… we almost thought you were them," she stammered, her voice wavering. "We thought…we thought we were finished when those things started trying to get in."

Ricard nodded reassuringly. "You're safe now. We've cleared the surrounding hallways, and there's a secure point set up in the Cour Carrée. We can take you there."

One of the teenagers looked up, wide-eyed. "Are there… more of those things out there?"

Ricard exchanged a glance with his team before replying, "Yes, but we're dealing with them. Our goal is to get all of you to safety. Just stay close to us, and you'll be fine."

He turned to his team. "All right, we need to keep our formation tight. Two officers up front, one in the middle, and two in the rear to cover our retreat. Let's move quickly."

The adults gathered the students, shepherding them as best as they could. The improvised weapons they'd clung to were now lowered, though their grips remained tight, as if they couldn't quite believe they were safe. Ricard led the way, keeping his eyes sharp and his rifle ready. The group moved slowly down the hallway, the silence thickened by the weight of tension.

The team's path took them back through the previously cleared areas, and though the group encountered no resistance, every creak and shadow seemed to make the teens jump. They moved past the gallery and descended a staircase, eventually reaching the eastern side of the Cour Carrée. Ricard signaled for them to halt, turning to check that everyone was accounted for.

As they reached the secure perimeter, Ricard addressed the civilians, his voice gentle. "Stay close to the vehicles in the center, and my team will make sure you're safe. We'll have more reinforcements here soon, and you'll be evacuated."

The same adult woman from before stepped forward, her face a mix of relief and exhaustion. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. One of the students, her eyes still wide with fear, reached out and touched Ricard's arm. "Thank you, sir… for saving us."

Ricard gave her a reassuring nod, the weight of the responsibility settling over him but tempered by the knowledge that, for now, they had done their duty. He watched as the group huddled near the vehicles, knowing there was still more work ahead. Turning back to his team, he took a breath, ready to push onward.

Then he took his radio and said, "All teams, situation report."

"Team 1-B to Lead-BAC, we've secured the second floor. Found four civilians."

"Team 2 to Lead-BAC, no civilians found. Exterminated a group of around fifty zombies. No losses taken."

"Team 3 to Lead-BAC, we've just arrived on-site. The barricade was completely overrun by a wave of zombies, and they were engaged in close combat. We provided support and regained control of the situation."

"Team 4 to Lead-BAC, we've secured the entire area and are escorting several civilians to Team 5."

Ricard nodded in acknowledgment and said, "Lead-BAC to FIPN, we have secured our zone. Civilian transfers are clear on our end."

Then he received a response: "FIPN to Lead-BAC, a special team will arrive on-site by helicopter. You will be under their command the moment they land."

Ricard was a bit surprised and asked, "FIPN, what's the name of this group?"

He received a sharp reply: "That's classified. Any attempt to gather information on them will result in a court-martial for treason and endangering national security. Hold your position until their arrival. Over."

Ricard's eyes widened as he turned to his second-in-command, who gave a nod in acknowledgment.

---

Meanwhile, above Paris, a formation of helicopters advanced toward the Louvre Museum. Inside one of them, National Gendastrerie Squad Leader Michel Diarra stood with his squad. He watched the chaotic landscape that Paris had become, with green gas clouds visible from above.

Michel inspected the newly designed occult-threat-countering equipment developed by R&D with assistance from a Foundation agent.

One of his recruits remarked, "Nice gear."

Suddenly, another operator added, "But what the hell is the Foundation doing? They have equipment like this, but they don't even step in. Bunch of useless idiots."

Before he could say more, a veteran operator cut him off sharply: "Shut up, kid. Those guys are the real deal. They've sacrificed everything to protect us, even saved my life twice—once in the Black Forest battle in Germany, and again during the demonic invasion in Brittany. I won't let you badmouth them. You, a fresh recruit, who haven't even seen the shadow of an anomaly."

Then he added, "Say one more word against them in front of me, and I swear I'll beat the crap out of you."

The recruit stammered, "My—my apologies, sir."

Michel, clearly in no mood, barked at them both, "Shut up." He then picked up his radio and asked, "ETA to target?"

The response came back, "Two minutes."

He exhaled and addressed the squad. "Listen up. According to intel from our Foundation friends, the gas is originating from the Paris catacombs and sewers. Unfortunately, we'll have to stay on the ground due to unsecured airspace."

An operator raised a question, "Squad Leader, what do you mean by unsecured airspace? Like, zombies can fly now?"

Michel slapped his face in frustration. "No. A first team tried to deploy directly, but they came under rocket and missile fire, forcing them to pull back."

The operator asked, "Do we have exact intel on enemy positions and numbers?"

Michel replied, "Negative. All we know is they're armed and dangerous. The Foundation has decided to hold back for now because, to them, the real threat hasn't shown up yet."

The operator looked puzzled. "The real threat?"

Michel shrugged it off. "That's classified for your rank. All we need to know is that we're here to prove our worth and show we can protect our country too. Our orders are to establish a defensive perimeter, evacuate civilians, and ensure that no hostile forces reach them. That's why we have a full mix out here—emergency deployments from the police, gendarmerie, and army, along with our Gendastrerie and the Foundation. From what I understand, the Foundation is preparing a full deployment with the military to secure the capital."

Suddenly, the pilot's voice came through the comms: "30 seconds!"

Michel commanded, "Everyone, secure your masks and gas hoods, and double-check your air tanks. We're only disclosing that we're a GIGN task unit—no other affiliations." The team quickly went over their gear, each member inspecting their equipment.

The helicopter descended, and as they felt the skids touch down, the pilot's voice rang out: "GO, GO, GO!"

Michel slid the door open, stepping out swiftly, followed closely by his team. Scanning the immediate area, he spotted a soldier bearing a command insignia and approached him directly.

"Brigade Anticommando?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm their commander, Ricard" Ricard replied.

Michel nodded. "Lead me to a secure area so we can discuss strategy."

Ricard said, "This way," and led him into a mobile command truck.

He signaled for the staff inside to leave, then closed the door behind them. Once they were alone, Ricard turned to Michel and asked, "Sir?" 

Michel said, "Alright. As you know, we've been struck hard by a massive terrorist attack that's hit the entire capital, turning hundreds of thousands into something resembling zombies. My unit has orders to secure the Louvre, which will serve as a forward base and landing zone for the counterattack. We have intel that these terrorists have deployed armed forces in the area and will do whatever they can to disrupt our operations."

Ricard replied, "They're absolutely insane. We have to stop them as soon as possible!"

Michel responded, "I agree with you, Mr. Ricard. Your unit will advance along multiple streets toward the Palais Garnier, where we believe a group of terrorists has dug in."

Ricard asked, "Recon mission? In this chaos?"

Michel replied, "Yes."

Ricard said, "When do we move out?"

Michel asked him, "What time is it?"

Ricard checked his watch and answered, "11:23."

Michel said, "By 11:25, I don't want to see you and your unit here at the Louvre."

Ricard responded, "Understood," and rushed outside.

Michel followed shortly after. He inspected the Cour Carrée, now filled with civilians and operators. Then, he climbed into the building, heading up to the rooftop. There, he spotted a GIP sniper, who gave him a brief nod before returning his focus to his targets.

Michel sat beside him, pulled out a pair of binoculars, and scanned the scene. He observed smoke plumes rising into the air, filling the sky. Lowering his binoculars, he let out a sigh, gazing upward, and muttered, "I swear I'll get my revenge on those bastards."