Victory at Verdun had made Emil Dufort a legend.
But in France, legends were dangerous things.
The Decree
Three days after the Sanglier's victory against the A7V units, Emil received a letter hand-delivered by two gendarmes.
Stamped in red wax. Signed by the Minister of Armaments.
"By decree of national interest, all designs, facilities, and assets of Leclerc Works are to be requisitioned by the French Republic under Article 14 of the Wartime Production Act. You are to remain in advisory capacity. Effective immediately."
Henriette stared at the letter. Then at Emil.
"They're taking it."
"No," Emil replied quietly, "they're stealing it."
Vera folded her arms. "They waited until you proved the Sanglier works in open combat. Now they want it without you."
Bruno threw a wrench across the floor. "I'll burn the factory down before I build tanks for politicians."
The Ministry Meeting
Emil met with the Ministry of Armaments two days later in a grey-walled conference room that smelled like cigars and cold ink.
Eight officials sat across from him.
"Your patriotism is not in question," one said.
"Then why take my life's work?"
"Because France needs scale. And only centralized oversight ensures output."
"You don't want output. You want control."
"Mr. Dufort—your factory cannot meet demands. Paris requires 30 Sangliers a month by winter. That requires national integration."
Emil leaned forward.
"You think the Sanglier is just steel and bolts. It isn't. It's trust. Between engineer and crew. Between man and purpose. You take that away, you build a corpse."
"And yet... the government owns the metal."
He stood slowly.
"Then you'll have to fight me for the fire."
Back in Normandy
That night, Emil returned to Leclerc Works under moonlight.
He gathered his team—Henriette, Bruno, Vera, Camille, Antoine, the machinists, the welders, the smelters. Over 200 strong. Many of them veterans of the field.
He stood atop a crate.
"They want to take this place. The machines. The knowledge. And they'll do it with paperwork, not guns. I won't stop anyone who wants to walk away. But if you stay—this becomes more than a factory."
He paused.
"It becomes a rebellion."
Not a single man or woman left.
Defiance in Steel
The next morning, they locked the gates.
Henriette froze company accounts and transferred the factory under a new name: Forge Nationale Libre. Vera erased the Sanglier schematics from the Paris archives and replaced them with decoys.
Bruno and Pascal began work on the next prototype: the Mk IV—longer range, crew stabilizers, side sponsons.
Camille worked with Vera to train a new generation of Sanglier drivers using war footage and test drills.
In the mess hall, Antoine passed around blueprints.
"If they take our walls, we fight from the trenches."
A Knock from Abroad
Then came an unexpected visitor.
James Caldwell, a diplomat from the British Ministry of War, dressed in a charcoal coat and carrying a suitcase of cash.
He met Emil in the forge itself.
"I'm not here officially," he said.
"Then why are you here at all?" Emil asked, hammering steel.
"Because Whitehall believes you'll be nationalized. And they'd rather not see that brilliance buried under bureaucracy."
He opened the suitcase. Gold sovereigns. Letters of credit. Contracts.
"Build for Britain. Ship us Sangliers. Help us hold the line at Ypres and Passchendaele."
"And in return?"
"We protect your independence. And your legacy."
The British Gamble
That night, Henriette, Vera, and Emil debated.
"If we take their money, we're no longer neutral," Vera warned. "Germany will consider it an act of war."
"So will Paris," Henriette added. "We'll be enemies of the state."
Emil said nothing for a long time.
Then:
"They want our machines because they fear we'll outgrow them."
He looked up.
"So let's outgrow them."
He signed the papers.
Declaration of Purpose
The next morning, Emil wrote a letter—published in four major papers, domestic and foreign.
"Leclerc Works does not exist to serve kings or parliaments. It exists to serve the soldier, the man in the trench, the woman in the forge, the child who dreams of coming home. Let the politicians build statues. We will build peace, in steel and sweat and sacrifice."
—Emil Dufort, 18 July 1914
The public reaction was electric.
Workers rallied to him. Letters poured in. Veterans sent donations. International factories wrote offers of partnership.
In Paris, the Ministry prepared charges of sedition.
But in London, a new word emerged:
"Sanglier Pact"—an alliance of innovation beyond borders.
A Fire Kindled
As the chapter closed, the Sanglier Mk IV neared completion.
Larger. Faster. Smarter. Designed to survive the evolving battlefield and counter the A7V on even terms.
Vera and Camille tested it day and night.
Bruno added a rotating turret design—revolutionary.
And Emil?
He stood in the blueprint room alone, staring at a hand-drawn map. Not of France. But of Europe.
Lines, factories, ports.
Plans for a network of allied production. Independent. Interlinked. Visionary.
He picked up a pen.
And wrote one word at the top of the map.
"Union."