Padoux

Iron In The Soul, p.192
They were on a square platform at the top of the church tower. It had a roof supported on four pillars, one at each corner. Between the pillars ran a stone parapet about three foot high. All about them was sky. The moon cast the shadow of one of the pillars in the floor. 'Everything all right here?' asked the lieutenant.
'All correct, sir.'
Three men stood facing him. All of them were tall and thin. All of them had rifles. Mathieu and Pinette felt shy and kept well behind him 'Do we hang on here, sir? asked one of the Chasseurs.
'Yes,' sad the lieutenant, adding: 'I've got Closson and four of his chaps in the Mairie: the rest will be with me in the school. Dreyer will be responsible for keeping contact.'
'What are our orders, sir?'
'Open fire at discretion: you can use every scrap of ammo.'

 Iron In The Soul, p.179
Pinette shrugged his shoulders. 'I want to look at the school: the rifles are in the classroom'
The door was open: they went in. Soldiers were sleeping on the tiled floor of the entry. Pinette took his torch from his pocket. A little circle of light showed in the wall.
'In there.'
Rifles were lying about in piles. Pinette took one of them, looking it over by the light of his torch, put it down and took another which he examined with care.

 Iron In The Soul, p.225
He made his way up to the parapet and stood there firing. This was revenge on a big scale. Each one of his shots avenged some ancient scruple. One for Lola who I dared not rob; one for Marcelle whom I ought to have left in the lurch; one for Odette whom I didn't want to kiss. This for the books I never dared to write, this for the journeys I never made, this for everybody in general whom I wanted to hate and tried to understand. He fired, and the tables of the Law crashed about him - Thou Shalt Love Thy Neighbour As Thyself - bang! in that bugger's face - Thou Shalt Not Kill - bang! at that scarecrow opposite. He was firing on his fellow men, on Virtue, on the whole world. Liberty is Terror. The Mairie was ablaze, his head was ablaze. Bullets were whining about him as free as the air. The world is going up in smoke, and me with it. He fired : he looked at his watch : fourteen minutes and thirty seconds. Nothing more to ask of Fate now except one half minute. Just time enough to fire on that smart officer, at all the Beauty of the Earth, at the street, at the flowers, at the gardens, ay everything he had loved. Beauty dived downwards like some obscene bird. But Mathieu went on firing. He fired.
He was cleansed. He was all-powerful. He was free.
Fifteen minutes.

 *images used with permission