Churchill's Secret Agent

by Max Ciampoli

  “You’ll have about three weeks here before it’s time to leave. Ride the horses. Take Hughes with you if you want company on your rides. If you want to go to town, just ask him to take you in the carriage.” He reached into his pocket. “Here is some spending money. I’ll see you one of these evenings if I return early enough. Don’t hesitate to ask the cook to prepare whatever you feel like. Remember, you’re at home, mon petit,” he said with a smile. “I am so very proud of you!”

  At this point in time, writing down what happened so long ago, I feel what I was not conscious of in those days. I am so moved by his trust in me. This compassionate, loving, and brilliant man is so close to my heart today. Now that I’m older, I can appreciate all he did for me personally, not to mention what he did for the entire world.

  “I want to explain to you the importance of what you’ll be doing,” he continued. “I’ve already talked to President Roosevelt about this. We are planning a landing in North Africa, probably beginning with Morocco and Algeria. Since England is in a state of war with both of them because they are pro-Vichy, it will be useful to have you assigned to General Patton’s immediate staff to play the part of liaison between the Americans, the French, and later, the English. It is Patton who will be in charge of the landing.

  “It’s a very sensitive situation. We know that Algeria and Morocco will accept the American presence more readily than the English. I am sure that the intelligence we have received regarding the state of mind of these two countries is accurate. When they see Americans arriving, and not the English, we will have a better chance of avoiding needless opposition and slaughter. I know my countrymen will be firmly opposed to the Americans going in first, but this will save lives and make the conquest much easier.”

  Pausing, he knitted his hands across his waistcoat and then resumed: “After the landing, the second wave of soldiers may be English. I’ve already talked to General Patton. You will stay close to him. He speaks French very well, and I know you two will get along. I have great respect for him. If he encounters resistance from the pro-Vichy Algerians or Moroccans, now and again, just your presence in his command car wearing your French captain’s uniform will have a positive psychological and political effect on their troops.”

  “But monsieur, I’m a first lieutenant, not a captain.”

  “Don’t be concerned about that, mon petit. We’ll need to give you a temporary promotion for the sake of appearance.” I understood his motivation. He needed to add a gold bar to my uniform to impress people.

  “So, to promote the general public’s acceptance,” he continued, “the English army will stay in the background, in the beginning, as much as possible. This simple tactical move will provide a partial victory in itself.”

  “I understand,” I responded.

  “You’ll be transported to Gibraltar by plane. From there, you will board a submarine that will take you out to sea where you’ll join the Americans. If we English could put on American uniforms, were it acceptable to the Americans, we would be proud to do so; however, you know that Eisenhower doesn’t like the English much, so I don’t think that will ever happen,” he said with a wry smile.

  Then, thoughtfully, he added, “We’ll see how things play out. You’ll meet Patton at sea between Africa and America. You’ll be joining 24,500 men who are being transported by the Western Naval Task Force. The armada coming directly from the United States will consist of 102 vessels. Twenty-nine of these will be boats specifically dedicated to the landing. They will be carrying the troops. The rest of the ships will be carrying arms, ammunition, and supplies. Following will be 18,500 troops coming directly from Scotland and Northern Ireland under the command of Major General Lloyd R. Fredendall. They will be escorted by British naval forces under the command of Commodore Thompson Troubridge. They’ll be departing from the Clyde, Scotland.

  “President Roosevelt and I, among others, have grown discontented with the poor judgment and arrogance of General de Gaulle. We believe that General Mast, the associate of General Giraud, would be the best candidate to be at the head of French North Africa. I know you recall that our British secret service aided the partisans in freeing Giraud from prison, where he was being held for being anti-Nazi. Now we need to transfer him from the southern coast of France to the coast of Algeria. I’ve given this assignment to General Mark Clark. If all goes as I predict, the Americans will approach the coast of Morocco in less than four weeks, and you will be with them.

  “Roosevelt needs to convince certain American politicians to support the planned landing in North Africa, because whether they like it or not, there is no other choice if we want to win the war. The Americans want to invade the south of France first, but I am trying to convince them that the Germans are too strong in France to initiate an attack against them there at this time. What we must do is gather all our forces in North Africa. Then we will have the strength necessary to invade Sicily, then the rest of Italy, and finally France. Like this we can push the enemy back toward Germany while giving the Russians the opportunity to attack from the north.”

  He reflected a moment and took a puff from his cigar. “So, enjoy yourself, Marc, and rest these few weeks. Not a word to anyone, even here, about the mission because none of my staff knows anything about it. I have only conferred with President Roosevelt, General Patton, and you. I have already ordered two uniforms for you, a kepi, boots, short leggings, and new gloves. And don’t forget to wear your medals.”

  I got up to leave when Mr. Churchill said, “Oh, by the way, your godfather sends his best regards. I just talked to him a few days ago. Unfortunately, he’s suffering from a terrible bronchitis right now. To pick up his spirits, I told him about some of your accomplishments, and I could just feel him beaming over the phone. He told me that he went to see your mother in Nice and that she is in good health. If she knew what you were doing, she would be very proud of you. Your godfather certainly is.”

  That provoked a reaction in me. My poor mother. France would be free one day, but would my mother ever be free of my tyrannical father?

  Without my knowing it, Churchill had changed the design of my uniform and the color as well. When the uniforms arrived, they were blue like the French Alpine Ski Troop but a much deeper hue, and they had a modernized jacket, the new waist-length “Eisenhower” style. He included a number of medals along with the extra stripe.

  During my extended stay at the estate, I rode horses almost every day, sometimes with Hughes and sometimes alone. Hughes looked to be about thirty years old, tall, very slender, and quite fit. His father was English and his mother, Italian. They had also worked for Mr. Churchill. Most of Churchill’s employees had been with him a very long time. Every day, I would get up early and ride, rain or shine, and it was raining much of the time. Sometimes I went out for as long as six or eight hours. When Hughes came with me, he carried knapsacks with lunch and snacks inside. We always had our raincoats with us.

  I was tireless, and Hughes never complained. Often he would suggest, “Why don’t we stop for a beer and a chat with the boys?” I wouldn’t protest when he wanted to stop at the pubs, even though I would have preferred to keep on riding. I knew how much he loved the camaraderie.

  He was a very pleasant fellow, and we got along well. He showed me the beautiful countryside surrounding the estate. It was magnificent, interspersed with rolling hills and lush meadows. “Let’s let them have their head,” he would say when we reached a spot that inspired him. Then we would ride at a full gallop, up and down the hills. There was hardly anything I liked better in the world than being on a horse’s back in the countryside.

  After an entire day’s ride, we would get back home. Hughes would take care of the horses and go to bed exhausted. Famished, I would go into the kitchen. The cook would always be waiting up no matter the time.

  “Do you have any veal liver?” I would often ask. She would either nod or offer some other wonderful choices. “Will you prepare the liver extra rare with saut�
�ed onions, three duck eggs, and a whole baguette with butter?”

  She was a wonderful cook, and her preparation of veal liver was superb. She soaked it first in cream. It just melted in your mouth. She was a really nice woman and understood a little French. She often prepared meals in the French style but also made wonderful English muttonchops, slicing away the bone, tying three together, and wrapping them in bacon. Mr. Churchill appreciated her fine cuisine.

  While she was preparing dinner, I would usually go to my room to shower and change clothes. After the meal, I would often go into the library to read. There was a wonderful collection of French books. I needed only three or four hours of sleep a night, so I had a lot of time on my hands.

  During these weeks, I rarely saw Mr. Churchill. Most of the time, he stayed in London. One night, after the great triumph by Montgomery and the Eighth Army at El Alamein, he came home elated by the victory, though his joy was tempered by the loss of life. It always was. His exuberance, however, continued throughout dinner as he focused on our next step toward ultimately winning the war. That goal was his obsession. When at the estate, he was usually working in his study or sleeping. He would frequently take catnaps, just a few minutes at a time. He worked tirelessly and, like me, required very little sleep.

  One morning, he summoned me to his office and greeted me warmly. “Get your gear packed. This afternoon, there will be a car to take you to the airfield. May God protect you, mon petit.”

  I spent the morning walking around the property and visiting with the horses. After lunch, I put on my uniform and packed the other two. I was ready to go. I went to wait in the library, my favorite room. There was a knock on the door. A “little gray mouse” came in and took my luggage. I went to the secretary’s office. “Good-bye, madame,” I said. “Take good care of him.”

  The large twin-engine military plane had a machine gun mounted at the rear. “I have no envelope for you this time,” I said to the pilot. “You must know where we’re going.”

  “I do indeed,” he replied. I had flown with him before.

  The crew consisted of the pilot, copilot, navigator, radioman, and gunner, a larger crew than was normal for my flights, but it was also a larger airplane. I speculated silently to myself that they were perhaps expecting some trouble.

  “Here, put on this parachute,” the copilot told me. Each of us was given a parachute to put on. There were no incidents, however, and we landed safely in Gibraltar.

  After landing, someone came to take my bags and hurried me to a waiting car. I was taken to the submarine base where I boarded the British ship that would take me to join General Patton in the Atlantic, well below the Canary Islands, which were, at that time, occupied by the Germans.

  We left after dark and traveled through the Straits of Gibraltar to the Atlantic Ocean, heading southward. I held on to the thought that it wouldn’t be long before I was let out of this metal capsule, heartening for someone who hates to be confined.

  In the early morning, we came upon the impressive armada that would constitute the invading force of North Africa. The horizon was filled with boats of all sizes traveling in our direction. The closer they got, the more monumental they appeared.

  It was the eighth of November, 1942. Standing on the bridge with the commanding officer, I commented, “This is the most awe-inspiring sight I have ever seen.” Shortly afterward, four men in a torpedo boat drew close to the submarine. Members of the crew handed them my luggage, and I climbed down the ladder. They took me to a large warship where I was taken directly to meet General George S. Patton.

  What an impressive man! He had an air of self-assurance and carried himself like a gentleman. I introduced myself. He graciously welcomed me. “Did you enjoy your trip in that sardine can?” he asked, chuckling.

  “I avoided going inside,” I answered. “I stayed on the bridge as much as I could. I hate those submarines.”

  “As do I, as do I,” he responded. “Give me the wide open spaces on Mother Earth any day. And how is Mr. Churchill doing these days?”

  Patton’s French was excellent. Without waiting for a response, he continued, “We talked a few weeks ago about our strategy in North Africa. That is when he told me that he was sending you to be my liaison officer to interact with the French. He is very proud of all that you have accomplished, you know. When the French, Algerians, and Moroccans see us together, they will realize that we are all on the same side. He is confident that this tactic will diminish the amount of resistance we encounter.

  “My orderly, Meeks, will put your bags away. We will land on the coast of Morocco in a few hours. If you need anything, just ask for it. For now, come with me to take a look at the battle plans. My officers are waiting for us.”

  There were about ten men surrounding the large table covered with a map of North Africa. One of the officers spoke French and translated what General Patton was explaining to the others.

  “Today, November 8, 1942, I solemnly promise you that within one week, we will be victorious in North Africa. Our first objective is here at Cape Fedala, not far from Casablanca. I have chosen this spot because there is plenty of open terrain where we can deploy our troops and also because there will be little or no resistance to our deployment.” He pointed to the map and explained further. “We will take positions to the south, as well, at Mehdia and Safi.” He explained the entire plan to his staff and then dismissed them. He was confident the plan would be successful.

  As we approached the coast of Morocco, the Atlantic was calm. While the landing was taking place, General Patton was talking to his commanding officers. Knowing that I didn’t understand English, one of the American officers who spoke French was kind enough to explain what Patton was saying. His words were approximately, “Never in the history of the Romans or the Greeks did it truly matter the day or time of day when a battle took place. What was of ultimate importance was the first five minutes of battle. If we land close to Fedala, I promise that within a week we will be victorious.” In actuality, the Americans were victorious within two days.

  The landing took place behind a screen of smoke produced by smoke bombs dragged along by antisubmarine torpedo boats that traveled about thirty-five to forty knots, considered very fast in those days. The smoke hid the ships’ approach. Despite this, three destroyers were sunk because the French military in charge of the cannons defending the coast of Morocco had not been convinced that they should not fire. There were also some mines along the coast that caused some damage to the armada, but, all things considered, the landing went extremely well.

  The officers in charge were well trained and precise in their maneuvers. As Mr. Churchill and General Patton had predicted, opposition was minimal. Patton confided in me that Eisenhower had directed him to land on the beaches of Casablanca. After doing his own research, he found that the area was too well defended, so he chose to ignore the directive and devise his own plan. He was usually in disagreement with Eisenhower.

  Our ship followed some of the smaller landing boats. Ours carried larger equipment, such as jeeps and tanks. I got in the command car with General Patton along with several other men. The car could hold nine people. He and I stood behind the driver. Everything was eerily quiet where we landed. There were no fortifications whatever. The locals were offering oranges for sale. Patton told the driver to stop.

  “Ask the woman for a couple of dozen oranges,” he said, as he handed me the money to give her. I asked the price in French, and she understood. He turned toward her and said in Arabic, “Go with God.” I could see the awe on her smiling face. His stature made an impression on people.

  On the horizon, I beheld a remarkable sight: three graceful gazelles, quietly grazing. As I was appreciating the extraordinary beauty of the scene, Patton broke my reverie by saying, “I hear you appreciate fine cuisine. You must taste a camel-meat stroganoff. Unforgettable!”

  Patton told the driver to go into the village and had him stop in front of a small boutique. “We’ll g
o inside and find a robe for you to wear this evening while I have your uniforms cleaned and pressed. Your uniform must be impeccable for tomorrow. I have mine cleaned and pressed every day. You’ll need to accustom yourself to this. It will be a daily routine. We must set the standard for others.”

  We entered the boutique. General Patton addressed the owner in Arabic. “We are looking for a robe. What is your name, sir?”

  “Said al-Hilaly,” he replied. Smiling, the owner approached me and, taking the collar of my uniform between his fingers, said in French, “Ah, monsieur, this is excellent wool.” He went to the back of the store and returned. “Now, touch the material of this robe,” he said, as he proudly showed us the handsome piece of merchandise. “The material is of the highest quality, and it is only one hundred seventy dirham.”

  Patton replied in Arabic, “Very good, but really too expensive.” Then he made a counteroffer: “One hundred ten.”

  “No,” al-Hilaly retorted. “One hundred fifty.”

  Patton replied in French, “One hundred forty, take it or leave it.”

  The owner shrugged and nodded. Patton turned to me and said, “Accept it as a gift from me.” He paid the man, thanked him, and we left.

  The following day, General Patton suggested, “Let’s take a walk around the city. I’ve noticed that our soldiers are negligent about their uniforms. I must teach them a lesson.” We got in the car, and he told the driver to take us to a popular area for soldiers.

  “Stop right here,” he ordered. The driver immediately pulled over and stopped. The city was calm. The residents were going about their daily business. After a few moments, Patton got out of the car and approached three American soldiers who were walking in our direction. They saluted. Patton said, “Stop! Come to attention. Do you know who I am? I am General Patton. Button your shirts properly and straighten your ties accordingly.”