The door to the toilet opened. It was Coyle’s turn and he chose not to answer Trinquier’s question. “I guess that’s me,” said Coyle.
“Nice talking with you, Monsieur Coyle,” said Trinquier.
“Just Coyle if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Coyle.”
Algeria had become a main theatre of battle during World War II after the Germans invaded. Operation Torch featured both U.S. and British landings on the shores of the Mediterranean. To stop the retaking of previously captured territory, the German’s had planted thousands of mines, some heavy enough to take out a tank. It was those heavy mines that Saadi sought when he entered a clearly marked minefield that had been left behind by the Germans.
The field had previously been a road leading to the forests in the mountains between the ocean and the Sahara desert. The road had long been abandoned as too dangerous when several locals had been killed on it. Saadi knew that the heavy mines would be deep so that only a tank weighing ten tons or more would trip the firing mechanism. It wasn’t those mines that worried him. It was the vehicle and anti-personnel mines that made him apprehensive. They were shallow and a man’s weight could set them off. Even after ten years of rain and rust, many were still active. The Germans believed in quality and it showed in the manufacturing of mines.
Saadi and the few men that he brought with him did not have a mine detector. Instead, they used long stiff wires to probe beneath the packed clay that made up the road. It was a painstaking process that was often interrupted by French patrol aircraft flying overhead. When one of the men found something hard below the surface, Saadi would order his men to back away to a safe distance and he would move in to uncover and defuse the mine, then scavenge the precious high explosives inside the mechanism.
After several days, Saadi was still alive and he had what he needed to carry out his mission. The explosives were packed and sealed in metal drums, then lowered into the storage tank on the back of a septic truck. Even knowing the storage tank was an ideal place to smuggle weapons and supplies, the French soldiers at the roadblocks would avoid inspecting the septic trucks. The Algerians only used their precious fleet of stolen septic trucks for the most important contraband.
Saadi sat at a table in a windowless room behind his bakery. The door was closed and he was alone. Before him were the makings of several bombs and the tins of tea biscuits in which he would hide them. The tea biscuits were the perfect size for an anti-personnel device plus the metal container turned to shrapnel when it exploded.
The high explosives in the German mines had not lost any of their potency. At least that was the theory but Saadi didn’t totally trust the explosives. They had been exposed to the extreme heat during the summer months and the bitter cold Algerian nights. He had a limited supply of French high explosive material that one of his insurgents had recovered from a bomb at an airfield during the arming of one of the French fighter bombers. Emptied of its explosives the bomb had fallen harmlessly during a practice flight out in the Sahara desert and the French thought it a dud.
Saadi knew he could count on the French explosives and decided to use one part French with three parts German explosives in each device he was preparing.
He had considered using a mechanical timing detonator in the package. It would be easier to set the timer on the device before the explosive package was handed to the person delivering it, but mechanical devices sometimes failed if they were jostled around too much. Instead he had elected to use a British pencil detonator. The British pencil detonator was one of the most reliable methods ever created to discharge a bomb. The chemical pencil would need to be crimped with a pair of pliers once the bomb was in place. He would need to carefully instruct the person planting the bomb on the correct procedure and on the timing of the explosion for maximum effect.
Crimping the pencil would break the glass vial of acetone inside which in turn would begin eating away at the tiny wall of material between the liquid and the small amount of explosives on the other end of the pencil. The thickness of the wall determined the amount of time before the chemical reaction occurred that exploded the device. When the acetone came into contact with the explosive material the pencil would explode. The small explosion would set off the high explosive material, creating a much larger explosion. It was a very simple device and its simplicity made it reliable.
Saadi would only prepare enough packages for one week’s worth of underground warfare. He had eleven tea tins sitting on the table. It was going to be a long night.
His girls had been well trained on where to place the deadly packages. In the center of the target was best so the effect of the blast radius could be maximized. Never behind a wall or anything too solid.
During the last assassination attempt at the highly secure Wolf’s Lair bunker, Hitler had been saved because the explosive package had been placed behind an oak table leg which deflected the majority of the blast away from him. Saadi had learned from others’ mistake and had handed down his knowledge to his three sirens.
Everything up to that point had been preparation and training. Tomorrow would be the start of the war for Algerian Independence. In the beginning, the FLN had five hundred men at arms. The French Army in Algeria numbered over fifty three thousand.
SEVEN
November 1, 1954 was All Saints Day – a catholic festival honoring the lives and deaths of all the saints. It was also the day the FLN had decided to begin the Algerian War for Independence. The day would be renamed and remembered as Toussaint Rouge or Red All Saints Day in France and Algeria.
It was just past midnight when nineteen year old Francois Laurent was leaving the Cassaigne police station in the city of Oran. His friend had been in a bicycle accident and charged with assault. By the time Francois arrived to pay the required bail, his friend had been released, because the charges had been dropped. It was all for nothing and Francois had to work early in the morning. Fortunately his home was only a few blocks away.
He was unchaining his bicycle from the light pole when three men from across the street emerged from the shadows holding submachines guns. They opened fire racking the police station and shattering all the windows with a fusillade of bullets. Francois was caught between the gunmen and the building. He was hit six times and fell dead on the sidewalk. He was the first civilian casualty of the Algerian War. There would be more… many more.
Jean Vaujour, Prefect of the Algerian police, alerted the French district military commander of the incident and the death of the young man. Vaujour correctly predicted it was the beginning of a countrywide insurrection. His warning was ignored. He was informed that the soldiers stationed in Algeria would stay in their barracks and on their bases until the trouble had passed. The French government did not want to panic the public by using the military when they felt the local police could handle the few rebels in each of the districts. Vaujour had two thousand three hundred police officers under his command to control ten million Algerians. The rebel attacks were just beginning.
It was a cloudless morning in Algiers – the capital of Algeria and its largest city. The streets were filled with shoppers and Europeans on holiday enjoying the crisp Mediterranean air. Christmas was approaching and some of the shoppers were growing anxious to find just the right gift for their loved ones.
Saadi handed a shopping bag from a local tea shop to Nihad, one of his three sirens. He handed her a pair of pliers which she slid into her purse. He could see that she was nervous. He smiled to reassure her. It helped. She smiled back. He said a prayer and kissed her on the top of the head as a father would do. She turned and walked down the street.
Saadi watched her from a safe distance. He was discreet, only giving an occasional glance in her direction as he sat on the front stairs of an apartment building peeling and eating an orange.
Nihad walked into a plaza and sat down in a sidewalk café.
Saadi was displeased with the table that she had chosen at the edge of the serving are
a. He would need to instruct Nihad and the two other girls better when her mission was over and she was debriefed. He decided not to scold her. Nihad was young and impressionable. He knew that his opinion meant a great deal to her. He would be gentle in his rebuke. He would tell her that it was her first time and he had expected her to be a little nervous. She would do better the next time and pay more attention to the details she had been taught about where to place the bomb. This was all assuming that she did not blow herself up in the minutes that followed. Saadi said a prayer and hoped for the best.
A waiter came over to the table and Nihad ordered a tea with milk and sugar as the Europeans preferred. When the waiter left, Nihad picked up the shopping bag and placed it in her lap. She opened her purse and pulled out the pliers. She reached into the shopping bag and opened the lid on the tea biscuit box inside. She crimped the British pencil detonator as Saadi had instructed her and placed the lid back on the box. She put the pliers back in her purse and set the shopping bag back on the ground next to the table.
When the waiter brought her tea, she asked him where the toilet was located. He pointed to the back of the restaurant. She got up with her purse in hand and left the bag under the table.
She walked into the restaurant and toward the back where the toilet was located. She walked past the toilet and out the back door into an alley behind the restaurant.
One minute later the bombed exploded killing a European woman seated next to the girl’s table and the waiter serving her a pastry and coffee. Twelve more civilians were injured from flying shrapnel. All the windows in the immediate area were shattered from the overpressure of the explosion.
Saadi was pleasantly surprised by the power of the blast. The German explosives were still very potent and the British pencil detonator had worked as he had imagined it would… flawlessly.
The bomb attack was successful and would make the front page of every major newspaper across Europe and even in the United States. Bombs were always headline grabbers and struck fear in the minds of civilians. There was no way to predict when a bomb would go off, or where. They were very effective terror weapons.
Hadj Saddok, a prominent leader in the M’Chouneche township outside of Algiers, escorted Guy Monnerot and his wife on a tour through the gorges of Taghit Nath Bou Slimane. The Monnerots were French and Saddok was considered a friend of France, believing the status quo between France and Algeria should be maintained with the addition of French citizenship for Algerians. It was for this reason the three were singled out by the FLN. The leaders of the FLN needed to make it clear to the Algerian Muslims that a person was either for the revolution or against it. There was no middle ground that one could straddle and stay safe.
The bus they were riding in with the other members of the tour group traveled through a tunnel and into the scenic gorge. Si Larbi stood in the middle of the road and flagged the bus to a stop. Armed with rifles and submachineguns six mujahideen under Si Larbi’s command surrounded the bus and demanded that the occupants disembark and line up on the side of the road. The driver and the tour members obeyed and exited the bus. Holding three photographs, Si Larbi walked down the line of passengers and identified Saddok and the Monnerots. Si Larbi ordered the other passengers to re-board the bus. They obeyed. He then requested that Saddok and the Monnerots to walk with him back into the tunnel that the bus had traveled through. They complied.
When they entered the tunnel, Si Larbi told them that they were free to leave on foot but should not return. As they moved farther into the tunnel, Si Larbi stepped around the corner of the outer tunnel wall and tossed a live grenade at their feet. The explosion seriously wounded all three of them. Si Larbi walked back into the tunnel and riddled their bodies with his submachinegun.
To everyone’s surprise Mrs. Monnerot survived the ambush and was transported to a nearby hospital. While this upset Si Larbi, the other FLN leaders saw this a benefit. She would tell her story over and over again to the press and in this case bad press was good press for the FLN. They had made their point – choose or become a target of the mujahideen.
The Egyptian government had allowed the FLN to set up their overseas shop in Cairo to gather supplies and collect funds for the revolution.
It was a little before four o’clock in the afternoon when FLN representatives broadcast from the Voice of the Arabs radio station in Cairo. They aired a proclamation throughout the Middle East, “Algeria is returning to the fight for the freedom of Islam. We are calling on Muslims in Algeria to join in our national struggle for the restoration of the Algerian state – sovereign, democratic and social – within the framework of the principles of Islam.”
There were more FLN attacks around the country. In total seven civilians were killed and scores wounded on the opening day of hostilities. It wasn’t seen as just another escalation of violence. This was something far more serious. The attacks would continue in the weeks and months ahead. Each day more and more people would die or be seriously injured.
The FLN was making it clear that they meant business. This was not lost on the members of the MNA who saw the FLN as taking real action to free Algeria while their own leaders continued to pursue diplomatic solutions with the French. Many followers abandoned Messali Hadj and the MNA after the initial attacks and joined the FLN.
A Citroën touring car drove behind two police motorcycles through the streets of Paris.
Brigitte rode in the back seat with Mitterrand. “Eight dead and over fifty wounded in over a dozen separate attacks. The FLN has made a strong statement, wouldn’t you say?” said Brigitte.
“I assure you, Mademoiselle Friang, these attacks in Algeria are nothing more than a handful of street thugs. They will be dealt with like all criminals… swiftly and with a firm French hand,” said Mitterrand.
“Not all the attacks have been in Algeria, Monsieur Mitterrand. Two weeks ago I myself was witness to an assassination of an MNA representative in a café on the Champs-Élysées.”
“Mademoiselle, you exaggerate. There is no evidence that the attack was anything more than a common robbery that turned violent.”
“Except that no words were spoken and the victim’s wallet was not taken.”
“These things happen even in our lovely city. I assure you, there is no connection between the robbery in Paris and the events in Algeria.”
“And if a connection is found?”
“Then we shall jump off that bridge when we arrive. Until then it is just conjecture.”
“If the FLN brings their fight for Independence to the mainland, how will you respond? Will you negotiate a truce with their leaders?”
“I will not agree to negotiate with the enemies of the homeland. The only negotiation is war!” said Mitterrand. “As a precautionary measure, the president has agreed to call up sixty thousand reservists.”
“To be sent to Algeria?”
“Yes. They will join our existing armed forces already in place.”
“Reservists are young and inexperienced. Is it wise to mix them in with a civilian population?”
“As I said, it is purely a precautionary measure.”
“You mean a show of force to the Algerians?”
“They will see it as they will see it. Algeria is an integral part of France and has been for over one hundred years. There are hundreds of thousands of pied-noir and French citizens living there. We are not going to let it go. It is not Indochina. The Algerians must know this. And if they do not, we are prepared to remind them.”
The driver slowed as traffic increased. “What is the hold up?” said Mitterrand.
“There seems to some sort of fire at a café up ahead,” said the driver.
“Inform our escort to use their sirens. I am already late for my meeting.”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
The driver signaled the two police officers on motorcycles to clear the way. They hit their sirens and traffic moved to the side of the road allowing the Citroën to pass. In the distance a colu
mn of black smoke rose from a café.
As the convoy approached the column of smoke, Brigitte and Mitterrand could see a dozen dead and badly wounded patrons laying on the sidewalk in front of the burning café. Windows in all the surrounding buildings had been blown out. “Conjecture?” said Brigitte.
“It could have been a gas explosion. You don’t know, Mademoiselle Friang,” said Mitterrand.
“No, Minister. You don’t know. I have eyes,” said Brigitte. “Let me out, driver.”
The car pulled over. “What about the interview?” said Mitterrand surprised that she would just leave.
Brigitte did not dignify Mitterrand’s question with a response as she jumped out of the car and trotted to the crime scene.
Nearby, Saadi stood next to Ludmila dressed as a French lady out for an afternoon of shopping in the boutiques that lined the boulevard. They had watched as her handiwork unfolded. The bomb has been perfectly placed in the center of the café for maximum effect. Saadi was pleased with his pupil, but was careful not to overpraise her. He did not want her to become overconfident and make a mistake or make the other two girls jealous. Ludmila was, however, his favorite siren and she could see it in his eyes. She had performed exactly as he had taught her, and she knew it.
Ludmila had always wondered about her heritage when she looked in the mirror. Her face had never looked completely Algerian. A large portion of Algeria’s population was made up of the pied-noir from Germany, Italy, Spain and other European countries. It was well known that many Algerian woman had been raped by the foreign colonists. It was not so well known that some Algerian woman had carried on secret affairs with the colonists. She wondered about her mother and her marriage to her father who had been killed during the Nazi invasion of Algeria during World War II. Her mother and father were married very close to the time Ludmila was born. She never counted the number of months between her parent’s marriage and her birth. She was afraid of the answer. Ludmila was Muslim. She loved her country and her God. To her it was the love that one carried in one’s heart that mattered. The murmurings of her neighbors and relatives would stop once she had completed her mission and proved herself loyal to Islam.
Café Wars Page 8