Father of France

Chapter 213 Major Coman
Koman's figure was hidden behind the searchlight, so Joseph Lasetta couldn't see him clearly, but he could clearly hear the flippancy in Koman's voice—a confidence that indicated he had everything under control.

The man with a mouth that was thirty-seven degrees Celsius uttered words that were absolutely zero degrees Celsius, and Joseph Lasseter felt as if the interrogation room was built in an ice cellar.

The leader of the independence movement was completely disoriented, unable to think clearly after being struck by Koeman's words.

He couldn't see Koeman, but he could see Joseph Lasetta's expression clearly. He said that most countries had a searchlight setup like that, it was really useful.

Now, the riot leader, who had been uncooperative just moments before, was suddenly much more hunched over, as if he had lost all his energy. Koman glanced at him listlessly and asked, "What? Speechless?"

“You are shameless! How could you do this?” Joseph Lasetta slumped back in his chair, so weak that he would have collapsed to the floor if it weren’t for the backrest.

"The French generally don't try to profit by dividing different ethnic groups, but the British do it all the time. However, it seems that doing it occasionally has been quite effective."

As soon as Coman finished speaking, several jurors burst into cryptic laughter from behind the shadows cast by the searchlights.

This laughter was more devastating to Joseph Lasetta than any torture he had ever endured since learning from Koman that the Bantu people on the East Coast had been massacred, and that it was his own people who had done it.

While he was still in prison, he maintained his fighting spirit.

Koeman wasn't about to let him off the hook, and retorted in a deep, unfathomable tone, "Mr. Lasetta, your national will has already paid the price. Thousands upon thousands of Malagasys have lost their lives because of your 'ideals.' Look out the window—if this room has windows—order is being restored. What has your resistance brought besides destruction?"

These words were like a poisoned dagger, attempting to pierce the deepest wounds in Joseph Lasetta's heart. The casualty figures, the villages reduced to scorched earth, were his sleepless nightmares.

“It brought…” Joseph Lasetta’s voice was low and hoarse, but then it stopped abruptly. What did it bring?
"Haha!" A hearty laugh came again from behind the searchlight. Koman's malicious words were like a curse, tormenting Joseph Lasetta's mind. "If I release you now, can you get the South Islanders to return the land? Can you get the Bantu survivors on the East Coast to forget their hatred? You can't do either."

"Perhaps your comrade-in-arms, Jacques Labemangella? If he were still alive, he could help you explain. Unfortunately, he just died of illness, and you have no witnesses. You can deny it, but no one can testify for you, and what will others think?"

“They’ll think you’re lying,” Bokassa replied, though in truth, Bokassa wasn’t qualified to speak in such a setting.

However, as a tyrant-maker, Koeman granted this future supreme ruler of the French Central Africa the right to speak.

“Well said,” Coman praised Bokassa, then said casually, “So, Mr. Joseph Lasetta, do you want to be a national hero of the Austronesians, or continue to oppose us French? The choice is yours. Remember, one must rely on oneself…”

The recorder's pen scratched across the paper as he jotted down the sentence. A brief silence fell over the interrogation room, broken only by the faint hum of the searchlight, which was overheating from full power.

The intense light continued to shine on Joseph Lasetta, but he seemed to have grown accustomed to the heat, or rather, he no longer cared.

His role has been permanently changed, from an independent leader resisting colonizers to a lone conspirator orchestrating ethnic cleansing.

The witnesses have already been dealt with by Bokassa on Koeman's orders, so even if Joseph Lasetta tries to defend himself later, no one will believe him.

After a long while, Joseph Lasetta seemed to regain his senses, his words filled with bitterness, "I plead guilty..."

"Recorder, note that Mr. Joseph Lasetta denies any involvement in the ethnic violence, but admits that his actions were exploited by a mob and caused irreparable consequences. Considering his good attitude in admitting guilt, and after unanimous assessment by the interrogation team, although it was not intentional on his part, it resulted in extremely tragic consequences."

Koeman stood up, dusted himself off, and said in a low voice that seemed to strike Joseph Lasetta’s fragile heart, “The statement record, along with Mr. Joseph Lasetta himself, will be sent to Paris to await trial.”

In a short period of time, Joseph Lasetta, one of the masterminds of this riot—or rather, the only surviving mastermind—has confessed to his crimes and can now proceed to the next step of the process.

"Find Mr. Joseph Lasetta a better place to stay so he can be in good spirits while waiting for the court hearing," Coman instructed, turning back as he walked to the door.

Of the two surviving leaders of the Madagascar uprising, one has died of natural causes, and the other has lost his will. As for whether he will become a puppet of Paris in the future, it's too early to think about such distant things.

Koeman returned to the Gendarmerie headquarters and immediately collapsed. Martin, on the other hand, was quite relaxed and was also preparing to head home, as escorting Joseph Lasetta back to Paris was certainly within his duties.

"Are you planning to go back to Saigon? With the Vietnamese National Army?" Martin asked, resting his head on his hand. "Although this crackdown wasn't very intense, the Vietnamese have gained some combat experience and won't panic in future battles. You've achieved your goal."

"Not necessarily. Civil wars can't be governed by ordinary war precedents. Rather than relying on proxies, we ultimately need to build a strong army ourselves," Koeman replied absentmindedly.

“Yes, you said that to build a powerful army, you need a great and cohesive society. Otherwise, it won't succeed.” Martin nodded. “Does the United States have that potential?”

"Americans are intellectual successors to Britain, and American society today has the potential, but they might not necessarily do it," Corman said with a sneer. "Such a powerful nation, with its navy and air force at its core? I don't think this country can be relied upon." Post-war America did indeed have the potential to build a powerful army, being the world's only superpower, and it also had no shortage of cohesion from the world war.

But the United States never thought that way, and immediately on the Korean Peninsula, it shattered its confidence in its powerful army.

The Vietnam War was even worse; the United States’ cohesive and powerful society collapsed, and even the conscription system was forced to be modified.

It can be said that after the Vietnam War, even if the United States had the idea of ​​building a powerful army, it no longer had the foundation to do so.

In the 21st century, almost all countries in Europe and America lack the foundation to build a strong army. The family, an important part of the country, no longer exists, so how can they have the will to step forward and fight on land?
Almost all NATO countries have followed the US military development strategy toward building up their naval and air forces, or even just their air forces, as air power is a standard path for small countries to become powerful.

If a country moves towards becoming an air force power, then that country doesn't need to worry too much. Even if it appears powerful, the people of that country don't have a true great power mentality.

Once the air superiority of a powerful air force is surpassed, that country's entire war system will collapse. In the 21st century, the United States is not really centered on the sea and air; it is almost entirely centered on the air force.

Based on Koeman's assessment of the United States, if war were to break out immediately, there would still be a chance due to existing resources. Otherwise, given the productivity of this major Eastern power, it wouldn't even need to mass-produce sixth-generation fighters within two years; its fifth-generation fighters alone could catch up with the United States' existing stock.

Then the United States would have no chance at all. If the United States' strongest air force is destroyed, the country is finished.

“A strong nation needs a strong army as its foundation,” Coman muttered, stretching. “Moreover, France is in Europe, and it can’t function without a strong army.”

With the riots quelled and the masterminds about to be sent to Paris for trial, the process of rewarding those who had contributed must begin immediately. Soldiers are not mindless machines that only know how to execute orders; if they go through wind and rain and don't even receive some benefits, it will greatly damage their morale.

Since the French Ministry of Defense could not travel across the African continent, it delegated the authority to reward the three armed forces to Paul Audi, the Governor-General of Madagascar, to demonstrate the solemnity and glory of the victory.

Dressed in impeccably white dress uniforms, their chests adorned with medals, Paul Audi stood before a carefully selected group of French officers on a platform covered in deep red velvet. Their boots were gleaming, their faces groomed; Corman and Martin were among them.

However, their feelings were completely different. Both of them had been promoted, but Koeman's rank was still higher than Martin's. Koeman's smile was very sincere, while Martin's smile carried a hint of helplessness.

"What kind of expression is that? Do you know how much I've contributed to this country? Hmm!" Koman immediately became displeased. He had left behind the gentle embrace of Ava Gardner and come to an island that was practically on the edge of the world.

“No one is saying you didn’t make a sacrifice; the governor is about to speak.” Martin hinted to Corman to be mindful of the occasion, such a solemn and sacred ceremony.

"Fighters!" Governor Paul Audi's voice, delivered through the loudspeaker, began with an undeniable certainty, "At a time when the Republic faced a severe test, you defended the glory and unity of France with unparalleled courage, unwavering loyalty, and outstanding command! Madagascar has been restored to order and peace, and this is inseparable from the sacrifices and dedication of each and every one of you!"

The bloody riots that led to the return of hundreds of thousands to Mother Earth were simplified into a noble mission to maintain order, but so what? Those present were all French soldiers.

It can be said that every French soldier here fits the description of having their red hats stained with the blood of Madagascarans.

Then, Governor Paul Audi began reading the list of promotions. Each name was accompanied by a round of polite applause. "Major Durand, for his exceptional decisiveness in commanding the Central Heights clearing operation, is promoted to lieutenant colonel..."

The conferment ceremony reached its climax with the playing of "La Marseillaise." The officers stood tall, singing the familiar melody, while Governor Paul Audi shook hands with each of the promoted officers, a satisfied smile on his face.

Their sacrifices and struggles were an indispensable part of this victory, and the glory at this moment shines mainly on the shoulders of the French officers.

"Captain Koman, under your leadership, the military police have successfully completed their mission of quickly restoring order..."

Koeman stepped forward and bowed slightly, allowing Governor Paul Audi to replace his old shoulder boards with the new ones bearing the insignia of his rank. A camera flash illuminated the moment.

One name after another was read aloud by Governor Paul Audi, and the new military ranks became the footnote to the suppression of the riot and the successful conclusion of the military operation.

Although Madagascar paid the price of hundreds of thousands of lives for this riot, Koeman was still moved to tears when he saw the shoulder insignia of a major, feeling that the trip was worthwhile.

“This is indeed a crucial step in our military career.” Martin put away his previous resentful expression and, seeing Koman’s reaction, immediately comforted him in a low voice. Advancing to the rank of colonel was indeed very important, “but think about it, you’re only twenty years old. You don’t need to be this excited about just one promotion.”

"It's too difficult." Koman sighed. If it's this hard to get to the rank of major, where will the hundreds of thousands of unlucky guys come from to pave the way for his promotion?

(End of this chapter)