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Goesnou, Department of Finistère, Brittany Region, French Republic, 10 May, 9:35 hrs +2 GMT
When their fellow Gendarme heard the nickname they gave the pair in the Army they mocked their two officers for days. Fabrice came to France as a child from the Ivory Coast and his partner, Roland was from Brest. They met in the Parachute Regiment and were inseparable ever since. The mob marching down the street hurled worse epithets than “Milk-Chocolate” at them. Slurs about their heritage, their loyalty to France and their sexual orientation, with increasing descriptions of them in different sexual acts with emphasis on the submission of the white police officer to violent acts by his black partner all strung out in that peculiar Gallic way of staking curses in run-on sentences.
One hundred skin head hooligans versus a pair of police with handguns.
Backup? Not likely, most of the Germanderie was deployed along the front or on the routes leading to it.
The two had seen combat throughout the world, from brief firefights to hour long sieges. Faced religious fanatics whose treatment of prisoners started with shoving hot nails under your fingernails and ended with decapitation via dull scimitar on the internet.
They exchanged a look.
They walked calmly to the mob, pressed their gun barrels to the forehead of the lead thug.
Roland stared at the man right behind him and asked the man right behind him, “Do you think you are going to survive this?”
The Neanderthal frowned for a moment, then a dim ray of light shined inside his cavernous cranium. His eyes grew wide. He realized that at this range the bullets would pass right through the man in front of him. He backed away, the others followed suit. A minute later the street was empty except for the police and the leader who stood there with his legs clinched, less he soil himself.
“You are under arrest for disturbing the peace, inciting a riot and disrupting a public thoroughfare in a time of war,” said Fabrice.