§ 2.3 The Fledgling Legion After the thunderous roar of "Resist Russia, Aid Ukraine, Defend Europe" subsided at the Meinau Stadium, Ma Youchang sighed to me: "What fine people! Enlistment enthusiasm is sky-high. We only took 800 in the first batch, and several thousand more went home with preliminary notices, waiting to be called up." I asked him: "Why not take them all at once? This war won't wait. What can 800 men do? Are they supposed to be Tian Heng's eight hundred warriors?" I spat twice. "We don't have enough money or instructors! Right now we're running on that donation of several hundred million dollars from the 'Super Committee,' but that's a sitting-duck fund—it won't last long, and that's not even counting the bottomless pit of procuring heavy equipment once we deploy to the front. The instructors are on special arrangement by the President, 'on loan' from the Foreign Legion, and there aren't many of those either." Youchang let out a sigh. "It's hard." "I hear the President is already preparing a special Ukraine aid bill. Soon there'll be money and manpower, right?" I said. "Let's hope so." Youchang's face was expressionless. As I was leaving, I couldn't help asking: "Brother Youchang, 2027 is just around the corner. After the President finishes his second term, the constitution won't let him run again. There are rumors that he plans to follow Putin's playbook—demote himself three ranks and become Prime Minister. Is there anything to that?" Ma Youchang stared at me for a long while before saying, "No comment." Then, as if to make up for it, he added: "I really don't know either." § 2.4 The Five-Billion-Euro Trap Back in Paris, besides Paris Saint-Germain football club and better Ligue 1 matches, the President's special Ukraine aid bill was being hammered out at a feverish pace. "I hear it's big. Very big," the beautiful TV anchor said, blinking. "How big can it be!" Professor Alain Bonneau appeared quite confident. "Ten billion." "That's what a ruling coalition MP told me." "Too much," National Rally (Rassemblement National) leader Marine Le Pen commented on another program, "Absolutely no chance of passing." She put it simply. A few days later, in the first week of September, the Prime Minister's office formally submitted to the National Assembly the 2025 Emergency Supplementary Budget Act for French Military Aid to Ukraine. The bill's figure "only" asked for 5 billion. This 5 billion would serve as seed funding for the European Volunteer Corps and the launch capital for a program called the "European Innovative Military-Industrial Production Initiative." "All the other countries are watching France. All of Europe is watching France. We must lead the way, and I trust European nations will follow in our footsteps." The President let this slip casually through unofficial channels. The bill also contained several other provisions, among which one seemingly insignificant administrative clause ultimately became the detonator for the political earthquake that followed. At first, the opposition conducted only limited obstruction in parliament. After all, with the unsettling sound of frontline collapse echoing in the background, nobody wanted to easily shoulder the blame of "vetoing investment in Ukraine—which is to say, in European security." That was until the socialist (Parti Socialiste) veteran Jean-Luc de Villiers offered his opinion on that inconspicuous "loan clause." § 2.5 The "Kaminski-de Villiers" Incident "Mr. Speaker, colleagues," he began, his voice steady, sounding as though he were delivering an academic lecture, "I ask you all to pay attention to Article 7, Paragraph 2 of this bill. It authorizes the President to 'loan' active-duty officers to form the volunteer corps, with loaned officers retaining their active-duty status." "On its face, this is a technical detail. In reality, it involves dangerous questions of classification under both domestic and international law." He paused, adjusting his glasses. "I must speak plainly: what we are discussing today is not some 'loan' paperwork, but an unprecedented blank check for war!" The chamber fell silent. De Villiers continued: "What the President wants is not to pull a few officers to build a force. He wants the unlimited, unrestricted power to wage war using the French military and its resources! And this clause would give the President that power. When the President deploys French active-duty officers to fight, under international law, it literally means France is at war! The President is attempting to drag France—and indeed the entire North Atlantic Treaty Organization—into an unpredictable war!" The moment de Villiers finished, an eager young voice rang out. It belonged to the rising star of the President's "Renaissance" party, Adrien Kaminski, known for his sharp rhetoric and aggressive style. "Then what do you suggest?!" Kaminski didn't even bother to stand, shouting directly at de Villiers, his face wearing undisguised contempt. "We must aid our European brothers! We must defend ourselves!" De Villiers was clearly provoked by this rudeness, but he maintained his last shred of composure: "In any case, French active-duty officers must not be deployed! And the legal relationship between the volunteer corps, the Super Committee, and the French Republic must be further clarified!" "Fuck your law!" Kaminski leapt to his feet, pointing his finger at de Villiers. The entire chamber plunged into dead silence, then erupted in uproar. The Speaker hammered his gavel frantically. Kaminski paid no attention, his voice drowning out all the noise: "This is fucking politics! Do you even know what politics is? Russian shells landed in Poland—wasn't that a declaration of war against NATO? Did anyone fight? Stop performing your fucking cowardice and dressing it up as some grand strategic foresight! Right now Russians are slaughtering Europeans, our European brothers are shedding blood on the front lines, and you're blocking their aid over a goddamn 'loan' procedure?" De Villiers' face turned the color of liver. He had spent his entire life upholding the Republic's dignity and procedure, and now a junior member was dismissing all his principles as "cowardice" in the crudest possible language. He finally lost control. "You're fucking vulgar!" He pointed at Kaminski, trembling with rage. "This is the National Assembly! Do you think this is your living room? Is it because you're such a fucking idiot that your parents screamed and swore at home?!" Kaminski froze for a second, then, like an enraged pufferfish inflated to bursting, unleashed a torrent of abuse: "Fuck your mother." The nearly seventy-year-old Assemblyman de Villiers charged across the aisle like an enraged bull and seized Kaminski by the necktie. Kaminski struck back with a punch. These two representatives of the Republic's electorate grappled on the chamber's carpet like street thugs. The Speaker's despairing gavel, the screams of other members, and the frenzied flash of cameras from the press gallery together composed the most magnificent accompaniment to this farce. "My mom and dad died when I was fifteen!" Kaminski said with tears in his eyes during an interview that evening. § 2.5 Article 49, Paragraph 3 of the Constitution After the "Kaminski-de Villiers" clash, the parliamentary opposition swiftly united. They conveyed their position to the President in no uncertain terms: revise or withdraw. "As the President himself says, we French are no pushovers," a member of La France Insoumise (Unbowed France) told the press, "especially those of us from Unbowed France." Parliament recessed for a day or two of deliberation. The President's side, however, was eerily silent. Finally, word leaked through unofficial channels: the clause truly could not be amended—building the volunteer corps required it. But the President pledged that any deployment of the volunteer corps would be submitted in advance for the National Assembly's approval. The opposition refused to budge an inch. Late at night, a rumor drifted from the Élysée Palace: when an intern brought him a Coca-Cola, the President angrily hurled it to the ground, then suddenly stood and declared to the intern: "Europe must strengthen strategic autonomy, refuse to become America's vassal!" After one uneasy night, on September 6, a Friday, the National Assembly was greeted not by the partisan negotiations that the media and members had expected from the President, but by an official communiqué delivered by Prime Minister Élisabeth Borne. She mounted the rostrum and, in a tone devoid of any emotion—the voice of a bureaucrat reading a document—announced that the government would invoke Article 49, Paragraph 3 of the Constitution, assuming responsibility for the bill's passage. This meant that unless parliament could pass a motion of no confidence within 24 hours—thereby dismissing the government and forcing the President to form a new one—the bill would take effect without a vote. "Thank you, duly noted," she said, and turned to leave. The members looked at each other in disbelief, then erupted in a massive roar. "Again?!" one member bellowed at the cameras. "Do you think we don't have balls?" National Rally leader Le Pen cast him a cold glance and said: "Sir, courage has nothing to do with those." With that, she led her party caucus and swept out of the chamber. § 2.6 The Motion of No Confidence Under the constitution, the opposition had 24 hours to submit a motion of no confidence. By noon the next day, September 7, a Saturday, a motion co-signed by all opposition caucuses was formally submitted. The ruling coalition conducted some procedural delays. Finally, in the last moment before the 24-hour deadline, parliament entered the voting procedure. The air in the chamber seemed to solidify. All eyes were fixed on the central tally board. As voting began, the yes and no figures rose in alternation, each jump pulling at everyone's nerves. The result: the motion of no confidence passed by 291 votes to 288—a margin of just 3. A brief, almost instinctive cheer erupted from the opposition benches, but it quickly died down. The chamber sank into an eerie silence. National Rally leader Le Pen and Unbowed France leader Mélenchon both stared blankly at the tally board, their faces showing not joy of victory but a trace of disbelief—as if this outcome had not been in their plans. When media reporters reviewed the voting, they quickly spotted the issue: several ruling coalition members had failed to show up to vote. "Had a bit of a family emergency. Sorry, so sorry," they told reporters over the phone.