The Corsican Woman

by Madge Swindells

  Chapter 47

  It was dawn. The sky glowed red above the eastern mountain peaks, then golden streaks appeared. Sunbeams slid down the barren slopes, lending a rosy tint to granite rocks, penetrating the purple shadows of the valleys. Even at this hour of the morning it was hot and dry. The sirocco had blown without mercy for five days, bringing the heat and dryness of the African plains, baking the earth and shrivelling the maquis, until the whole island was filled with the pungent scent of toasted herbs, heady as incense.

  Robin was riding southward toward Corté. He had called a meeting for noon. The island’s political and resistance leaders would be there. He was expecting trouble.

  When he first caught sight of Corté, he braked, pushed back his goggles, and stared in amazement. ‘Unreal! Like an picture from a child’s fairy tale,’ he muttered. High among the island’s central granite peaks was a hollowed-out plain, like a gigantic amphitheatre, from the centre of which rose a weird rock formation hundreds of feet high. On it stood a medieval fortress, complete with high walls, massive fortified gates, turrets, and lookout posts, silhouetted against the sombre mountains. As he approached he discovered that the walls enclosed only little homes huddled together on the hillside. The fortress was a ruin.

  Robin was shown into the local school hall, where a number of Resistance leaders were already waiting. The air was thick with the stench of the pipe smoke and sweat. They had all ridden hard and fast to get there.

  Xavier Rocca scowled from a chair on the platform, next to a vacant seat, presumably for him. Robin recognized the three others with Rocca, all National Front men from various parts of the island. Antoine Romanetti was there, too. Fiercely independent, he had never really given his allegiance to any party. Robin had thought he would find a friend in Romanetti, and in a way he had. But Romanetti was a strangely introverted man who kept his feelings to himself. Yet he was trustworthy and dependable in a fight.

  Robin cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘At precisely this moment, the Italians are capitulating. Right now!’ He had to shout above the roars of approval and the stamping feet. ‘Right at this moment they are signing a peace treaty with the Allies.’ He could not get on with the meeting, and that annoyed him. Instead he had to shake hands all around the room and there was a good deal of back slapping before he could continue.

  ‘The peace treaty contains a clause which provides for the handing over to the Allies of Corsica, as well as Italian peninsula territory. This treaty is to be kept secret until 8 September. On that date the Italians will formally hand over key installations in Bastia and other coastal towns. Those of you here today who lead the National Front will be called upon to form some sort of temporary civic administration. Now is the time to decide who will take over, be it ever so briefly.’

  ‘Briefly!’ Rocca bellowed, leaping to his feet. ‘Explain that point more clearly to the hall.’

  ‘In my opinion,’ Robin said, ‘the Germans will immediately move to retake Bastia and anything else the Italians care to hand over to us. They may take punitive action against those in temporary control. I feel I should warn you of this.’

  ‘You called this meeting to warn us of danger?’ Xavier said with a roar of laughter.

  ‘And other things,’ Robin told him. He sighed inwardly. As usual, matters of vital importance were to be twisted to create ammunition for Rocca’s personal vendetta against him. ‘So what’s new?’ he muttered, and immediately felt better about it.

  Robin continued. ‘I bring you a direct message from the Allies, and specifically from General Giraud and the Free French in Algiers. The message is: “Cool it!” In other words, be patient. The battleground for the next year, at least, must be the Italian mainland. No troops can be spared to help Corsica.

  ‘Lately you’ve been raising hell with the Boche with your own private wars. To tell the truth, this has sparked off a number of rows in Algiers. This is a direct appeal from the general to you. Hold back your commitment against the. occupying forces. Otherwise…’

  A loud chorus of disapproval drowned his words.

  ‘Look! Hang on!’ He held up his hands. We’re all used to plain speaking. I’m giving it to you straight. Just like they gave it to me. The truth is the Allies have only meagre forces to assist you. They’d prefer to concentrate all their troops and weapons on a major thrust up through Italy. There’s ninety thousand Axis troops here in Corsica. We don’t need them on the mainland. Besides,’ he went on against catcalls, whistles, and shouts of disapproval, ‘the Free French can’t spare troops for Corsica if you run into trouble. So cool it. Okay? That’s the message I bring you today.’

  The hall was pandemonium. Rocca waited until they had calmed down, and then he stood up and yelled, ‘You might have saved yourself the time and trouble. Is that it?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘Okay, so we’ve heard what the Allies say. And we’ve heard what our so-called commander, Captain Moore, wants us to do.’ He stepped forward, and Robin felt himself being thrust to one side. ‘Our reply to the Allies must be… ’ He paused significantly and suddenly roared: ‘They can go and stuff themselves, and so can you, Captain Moore!’

  Rocca had their full agreement, judging by the applause. It was five minutes before anyone could hear themselves speak.

  Those in command should do a little more research before they try pushing people around, Robin decided, but he kept his thoughts to himself. By this time Rocca was deeply into his rhetoric, but Robin hardly listened. He’d heard it all before. ‘We’d all give our lives gladly for France, but our honour? Well, that’s a matter between ourselves and God.’ For once Robin agreed with him. Since the Corsicans were bent on fighting, as he’d known they would be, then they would have to start planning now. There wasn’t much time left. He’d get back on the radio, report which way their inclinations lay, and beg for more men and equipment. In Robin's opinion the Germans would try to take the entire island. It was a strategic base, and they wouldn’t want the Resistance firing into their backs.

  For once Rocca’s eloquence was matching his own thoughts, although he would never admit it.

  ‘I say to you now, to hell with the Allies’ plans. Must we sit around and wait to be given what’s rightfully ours? No! We must move together and expel every last one of the enemy forces illegally occupying Corsica. So far we’ve had it easy,’ he went on. ‘They never penetrated the interior, so they never got their hands on our food, or our women. Our homes and farms have not been destroyed. We must make sure they never are.’

  By now the school hall was rocking with whistles, shouts, and rifles thumping on the floor. When at last there was a relative calm, Rocca shouted: ‘Perhaps Captain Moore would care to leave. He’s obviously not on our side.’

  The Corsicans were quick to turn. Robin felt deeply disappointed as he listened to his former companions shouting insults at him.

  Romanetti stood up and elbowed Rocca aside. For a moment Robin thought that they might come to blows, but the shepherd stood his ground and insisted on speaking.

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ he yelled. ‘Time we don’t have. It’s pointless to blame Captain Moore. He’s carrying out his orders the best he can. Come on, Robin. It was a good try, but we’re going to fight. You must have expected that. Are you with us or against us?’

  ‘I’m with you,’ Robin said.

  There was a mild cheer, but Romanetti persisted. ‘Will the Allies assist us when they hear our decision?’

  ‘A direct appeal to General Charles de Gaulle might swing a few tricks our way. I’ll do my darnedest.’

  ‘In your own opinion, Captain Moore, what will the Germans do now?’

  ‘We’ve all heard more than enough from Captain Moore,’ Rocca interrupted.

  It was Rocca’s turn to be shouted down.

  ‘Captain Moore, what are our chances without Allied help?’

  ‘Depends how many reinforcements the Boche send,over from Sardi
nia. My personal view is that the Germans will bring in their Ninetieth Panzer Division, comprising thirty thousand crack troops and a massive amount of equipment, which is now based in Sardinia, and try to take the interior. It stands to reason.’

  Suddenly he was speaking to an attentive audience. ‘Corsica will become increasingly important as a Mediterranean airbase, especially as the Germans lose territory on the mainland. They already control the coastal towns and roads, and they won’t want us stabbing them in the back when this island becomes a vital supply depot. They’ll try to push inland into the mountains in order to annihilate all resistance and secure their supplies of foodstuffs.

  ‘If I’m right, there will be no possibility of matching them in the coastal plains. Our strength will be in the mountains, where the Germans’ superior numbers and equipment won’t count for much.

  if we were properly organized, we could defend the central areas long enough for the Boche to decide that this island isn’t worth the effort. Then they’ll pull right out and shift their forces to the Italian mainland.’

  Robin couldn’t match Rocca’s rhetoric, but he had sound common sense on his side. At first they could not agree on a plan of action. Rocca wanted an all-out attack on the German garrisons. Robin wanted to hold back most of their manpower for defence. The infighting between the two of them became bitter and personal. Finally it was agreed that a two-pronged plan — attack and defend — would be best. But their main strength was to be held in reserve to back Robin’s strategy. Rocca left the meeting in a bitter temper.

  At dawn the next morning, Robin sent in his report:

  All over Corsica, every man of fighting age is mobilized and moving toward the coastal areas. Badly equipped, poorly trained, they are throwing down their lives in a spontaneous national revolt. There's no possibility of holding them back or deterring them from their determination to liberate their homeland. We need men, arms, explosives, and equipment.

  The following morning General Charles de Gaulle broadcast to the world about Corsica’s bravery: ‘In the towns and villages of Corsica, the French people are again to be seen as they really are — courageous, united, and determined to achieve their freedom. I await with joy the liberation of Corsica.’

  Chapter 48

  Bastia, 4 September 1943

  At the same time as Robin was reporting to the Free French, Major Ernst Krag received an urgent communique from headquarters. He sat reading it with distaste. After several minutes of gloomy foreboding, he called in Lieutenant Bleicher.

  ‘At ease, Lieutenant.’ Krag sighed, stood up, and peered out at the city. ‘I’ve received orders directly from Berlin. The situation is becoming… well, confusing, to say the least.’

  Bleicher nodded. He regarded Krag coldly. As a man, Krag disgusted him. He was a bully and a coward, as bullies always were. Bleicher considered Krag unfit for his position. He did his best to obey the major’s orders, but Krag was always taking the easy way out. Bleicher, however, was zealously anxious to do his best for Germany. He was a soldier and only wanted to fight. With any luck he would be fighting on the mainland soon.

  ‘Our orders are absurd,’ Krag went on.

  Bleicher assumed a rigid stance, his eyes expressionless.

  ‘Nevertheless, we shall do our best to carry them out. Listen while I fill you in on the details. It might be the last occasion I shall have time.’

  Bleicher leaned forward, trying to read the gist of the message from the report lying on the desk.

  ‘Yesterday our former allies, the Italians, unexpectedly signed a peace treaty with the British and American forces. We had gathered that they might crumple, but hardly with this speed.’ He took out a handkerchief and mopped his face.

  It was a hot day, but not that hot, Bleicher considered.

  ‘So, we fight on alone, Lieutenant. At this moment, the peace treaty is supposed to be secret. It will be announced to the world on the eighth. German forces are moving in on Rome. All of Italy will fall under German occupation. At the end of the day, the Italians might wish they had stayed with the fight.

  ‘As for Corsica… ’ He sighed again. ‘Within an hour of the peace treaty being signed, the Italians intend to hand over key Corsica buildings and civil administration to leaders of the National Front. I know for a fact that these arrangements have already been made — clandestinely, of course…

  ‘Look at them out there. Strutting up and down in their showy uniforms. Soon they’ll start scurrying home as fast as their ships will carry them. This is the fourth ship to arrive in Bastia this morning, ostensibly with supplies.

  ‘We are to take Bastia at once. Reoccupy the key installations as soon as our former allies hand them to the Corsicans. That won’t be difficult. However,’ — He glowered at Bleicher — ‘our orders go further than that. We must occupy the entire Corsican island, even the obscure mountain villages. Corsica is to replace Sicily in strategic importance. It’s to become a staging post to the mainland, and it’s vital that we are fully in control here. All resistance is to be firmly squashed.’

  Krag’s eyes blinked rapidly, without a trace of their former zeal. ‘I’ll tell you this, Lieutenant,’ he said, indicating the report on the desk. ‘Our superior numbers and equipment won’t be of much use to us in those mountains.’

  He pulled himself together with an obvious effort. ‘Well, Bleicher, you must inform Captain Knopfmann that I’m calling a staff meeting at eleven hundred hours. Taking Bastia is his responsibility. He has a thousand men. More than adequate. We must plan how to overrun Corsica with the least possible losses.

  ‘Meantime, as you know, the remains of the Ninetieth Panzer Division, comprising thirty thousand troops stationed in Sardinia, are moving here to assist us to wipe out rebel resistance.

  ‘Even then it won’t be easy. We must expect that the Allies will also send troops in by some means or other. We must guard the coasts. Make sure they can’t get a foothold on Corsican soil.’ The lieutenant was dismissed.

  Major Krag picked up the communiqud and stared at it. Like Robin Moore, he was wishing that his superiors had a better understanding of the Corsican nature. ‘Destroy all persons who are actively engaged in hostile acts against the Third Reich,’ he read for the tenth time that morning. ‘My God,’ he murmured. ‘We’ll have to kill every man, woman, and child on the island.’

  Chapter 49

  It was two weeks after the Corté meeting. Robin was writing his nightly report. By now he had filled several box files with concise accounts of the day-to-day Resistance in Corsica. He had not been able to send them to headquarters, so they were being stored at Romanetti’s chalet. Today he was running out of paper, but he reckoned there wouldn’t be many more to write. If all went well.

  17 September 1943

  Operation Vesuve began two days ago. It was spearheaded by a hundred members of the Bataillon de Choc, under General Gambiez from Algiers, who were put ashore by submarine without casualties. For some nights, Free French forces have been landing on Corsican shores. They now number about 6,500 men on the island. In addition, we have been sent a small force of four hundred American Marines. Local Resistance numbers ten thousand poorly armed and trained men.

  The Battle of Corsica began on 9 September when the National Front took over key installations from the Italians. Within hours the Germans moved in and retook Bastia. Shortly afterward they brought in thirty thousand troops, their Ninetieth Panzer Division from Sardinia.

  Corsican Resistance has mounted a series of delaying actions, in order to hold strategic towns and villages in the interior, such as Zonza, Quenza, and Levie. They hope to hold out for several days. They have blown up bridges and roads behind their positions.

  German troops have advanced from all sides into the interior. They are suffering continual harassment from the various guerrilla groups.

  He stopped and thought for a while. It was not often that he added a personal note. Robin was a soldier, not a writer, but he wanted to ex
press his feelings of admiration and sadness. He wrote: This account gives no indication of the tremendous heroism shown by almost every villager, young and old, who are fighting with anything and everything that comes to hand, from pitchforks to rockfalls. They hope to be able to hold out until the Germans give up.

  He concluded: The Corsicans will never retreat. It sounded melodramatic, but he knew it was true. He put down his pen and sighed. The Maquisards would die there if necessary, before they gave up an inch of road to the invaders. He hoped he would acquit himself as well as the Corsicans.

  His responsibility was to organize the defense of the strategic road from Bastia into the interior, via Casamozzle and Ponte Leccia, to Cortl, the island's historic capital. If this route should fall into German hands, they would control the central railway, which was the nerve centre of the island.

  Robin had spent days studying this tortuous road, carved in diagonal lines from almost vertical cliff faces among the granite mountain ranges. The scenery was spectacular. Slopes of bare rock were interspersed with lush chestnut or pine forests and rich Mediterranean jungles. It was ideal for guerrilla warfare.

  Robin was short on manpower. He had twenty-four US Marines, all engineers; three hundred Corsicans, including Leca's and Castelli's communist groups; a hundred Free French fighters; and the Taitan team, numbering twenty-five men. That was all, against a fully mobilized and technically advanced German division.

  No, not all, he decided. He had the Corsican terrain, and that would count for a great deal, if it were used wisely.

  He had determined that his main assault would be from the steep rocky slopes of Mount Castellare, and their last stand would be one kilometre before Ponte Nuovo. The Germans must never reach the crossroads and the valley at Ponte Leccia.