Chapter 9: Results
Before long, it was the tenth day after Joseph took over the police force.
Dust swirled on the open ground in front of the Saint-Antoine district police station. Over two hundred rookie police officers, dressed in sharp blue military uniforms and donning blue and white wide-brimmed hats, sweated profusely as they practiced, brandishing their oddly shaped weapons.
Joseph had acquired these uniforms from the army stationed in the suburbs of Paris, paying several thousand livres for them. Currently, police throughout France, and even Europe, dressed as they pleased; there was no concept of a uniform. The police of the Saint-Antoine district were decades ahead of their counterparts in terms of attire alone.
Regarding the officers' weaponry, Joseph hadn't opted for firearms, as without half a year of rigorous training, they were little more than glorified sticks.
He hadn't even extensively equipped the force with swords. Instead, he had carpenters craft over two hundred Y-shaped wooden staves, each about two meters long. Additionally, every two officers were assigned a shield. Though these items seemed crude, they were incredibly practical. This very setup was used by airport and station security in later eras, providing excellent riot control when combined with specific formations.
These officers, recruited from the lowest strata of Parisian society, greatly treasured their police identity. They trained for ten hours every day, and not a single one complained of fatigue.
Joseph observed the training ground with satisfaction. According to his plan, starting this very noon, this entirely new police force would begin overseeing public order in the Saint-Antoine district.
Of course, criminal cases would still fall to the sixty veteran officers of the original police force. As for those who had paid their way into the force, Joseph had largely assigned them to a logistics team, tasking them with odd jobs like cleaning and transport, and naturally, their salaries were in the lowest bracket.
Currently, the Saint-Antoine district police station comprised fifty detectives, 236 patrol officers, and 125 auxiliaries. This made it a truly elite and robust force across all of Paris.
Moreover, these individuals were truly capable of maintaining public order, utterly different from the old police who primarily engaged in extortion.
Especially in terms of a sense of responsibility, they were worth eight of the old officers combined.
Indeed, this was a modern police force in the truest sense of the word!
The sun shone brightly. After lunch, with a command from Joseph, nearly three hundred officers marched out of the police station in formation, shouting resounding slogans, officially taking over public order in the Saint-Antoine district.
They had, in fact, patrolled this district before, knowing exactly where trouble spots were, and could be considered experienced. Now, with official status and advanced management methods, their ability to control crime had multiplied.
Citizens had already received the news, but apart from glancing at the officers' imposing uniforms, they didn't pay much attention. 'What more could one expect from French police, after all?'
East side of the Saint-Antoine district, Rue Auray.
Crude shouts and roars echoed from a back alley.
Four or five burly men, dressed in black vests and felt hats, cornered a middle-aged man against a wall. Wooden clubs and iron axes swayed in their hands. "You dare to owe money to the Viper Gang? Are you tired of living?”
The middle-aged man cowered, shrinking into himself. "Gentlemen, I—I'll pay next week! For heaven's sake...”
“You've already skipped protection fees three times this year,” a red-haired man sneered, gesturing to his subordinates. “By the rules, you need a lesson.”
“No! Don't!”
Before the middle-aged man could finish speaking, one of the burly men in a felt hat swung his club down hard on the man's arm. A sickening crack of bone immediately followed, accompanied by a shriek that sounded inhuman.
The red-haired man ground his foot into the agonized, writhing man on the ground. "Remember, next week. If you dare to delay payment again, it'll be your other hand!”
As he spoke, four figures, clad in blue military uniforms and wide-brimmed hats, suddenly appeared at the alley's entrance. They looked towards the injured man groaning on the ground.
The red-haired man recognized two of them. He said casually, "Baptiste and Quirien? Heard you became police officers. Hmm, those uniforms suit you well.”
These two were indeed former members of the civilian Patrol Team, and were somewhat familiar faces to the Viper Gang.
The red-haired man brandished the knife in his hand. "I'm collecting debts here. Clear out, all of you.”
The officer named Quirien suddenly pulled out a whistle and blew it hard. Then, pointing at the men, he declared, "Assaulting someone in the street! I'm arresting you!”
He used to be a tanner. To ensure his family's safety, he had volunteered for the Patrol Team, patrolling the neighborhood from 6 PM to 11 PM daily. When encountering thugs like the Viper Gang, he usually avoided them.
But now, he was a genuine police officer. He earned a high salary of 35 livres a month. His wife and two children had white bread every day, and even meat every few days. This was a situation he had only ever dreamed of.
Now, he only wanted to do one thing: to put all his effort into maintaining public order in the district, safeguarding his family's happy life, and repaying the Crown Prince. Besides, more arrests meant better performance, and higher performance scores meant higher bonuses!
He and the other three officers simultaneously roared, "In the Crown Prince's name! Charge!”
The red-haired man scoffed contemptuously. Waving to his underlings, he ordered, "Teach these idiots a lesson!”
He was confident. 'Let alone the Patrol Team, even the police are all fierce in appearance but soft on the inside, cowards afraid of trouble. The moment they see a little blood, they'll cry and flee like women.'
However, this time, he was wrong.
Three of the officers unstrapped the two-meter-long Y-shaped wooden staves from their backs. They stepped forward in unison, using the staves to brace against the waists of two charging Viper Gang thugs.
The head of each stave was easily wider than an arm, wide enough to hit a target even with eyes closed. It was precisely the security artifact of later eras—the anti-riot waist stave.
Another officer, armed with a spear, seized the opportunity and thrust his spear into the foot of the gang member on the left.
With a wail, the man clutched his foot and rolled on the ground. The nearby Viper Gang thugs bared their teeth and glared, swinging their short swords furiously, but the wooden staves blocked them, preventing them from reaching the officers.
The red-haired man flew into a rage and charged forward, leading his men. Although he also had four people on his side, they were blocked by the anti-riot waist staves and couldn't get close to the officers for a long time. Instead, two more of his subordinates were ambushed by spears, getting stabbed in their calves.
The red-haired man felt utterly frustrated. His combat skills, honed over more than ten years of living by the sword, were completely useless against the officers' strange formation.
This was precisely the "Security Combat Method" Joseph had taught the police force. It was commonly used in later eras in stations and airports. Its characteristic was not to kill opponents, but merely to stall them, while also being very conducive to self-preservation.
More importantly, this fighting style was simple to learn; anyone could master it with just a week of practice.
The red-haired man gritted his teeth, unable to understand why these officers were so difficult to deal with today. Soon, he decided to give up. (He himself had narrowly avoided being stabbed.) He decisively waved his hand and yelled, "Retreat!”
However, at a police booth half a street away, the on-duty officers had already heard the whistle. They immediately dispatched four men to provide backup.
As they reached the narrow alley, they collided head-on with the retreating Viper Gang. The lead officer roared, "In the Crown Prince's name!” and three anti-riot waist staves instantly appeared before them.
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