The older officers disliked Bruno. Some loathed him. He was seen as a showboat. An officer that put his men in harm’s way without true cause. Bruno, of course, didn’t see it that way. He preferred to be the aggressor in a battle because he saw it as safer for himself and his men. Nothing strikes fear into a hunter like a charging lion. Bruno knew that winning a battle was rarely about destroying his enemy physically; it was about destroying their will to fight. He told his men to ‘get them running and keep them running. A fleeing enemy is a lousy shot.’
While many officers believed it was correct to fight the soldiers under their command until they had sustained acceptable losses and ceased to function as a unit befitting their size, Bruno’s men fought until they won their objective or could fight no more, usually because they ran out of ammunition.
Bruno was also known for refusing to obey orders that he thought stupid. He was often threatened with being court martialed. He didn’t care. He refused to sacrifice his men because of stupidity and was prepared to defend himself in front of the fellow officers that would judge him during a court martial proceeding. While his commanding officers detested his insubordination, they wished they had more commanders like him. Bruno and his men were always assigned the toughest missions and that was exactly what Bruno wanted.
Soldiers were always fearful when told they had been transferred to a unit under Bruno’s command. It meant that they would most likely bleed and possibly die. And yet his new recruits quickly grew to respect him and gave him their loyalty. It was hard not to follow a leader that was the first to jump out of an airplane and first to leap from a trench when facing enemy fire. Bruno made his men brave because he led by example and they believed they were being well led. If they were to be sacrificed, it would not be in vain, but for the glory of France. Bruno was what he wanted his men to be and they became him. The enemy feared Bruno and often put a bounty on his head. Bounties that so far had not been collected.
“Armor has always been a problem for paratroopers, mainly because we don’t have any,” said Bruno. “We travel light and that gives us speed and maneuverability. The only true weapon we possess is our aggression. Having a twelve ton tank wrapped around them makes the enemy overconfident. A well placed Molotov cocktail can turn a tank into a frying pan inside. A grenade through an open hatch can turn it into a blender. Patient aggression is the key to destroying armor. You must put yourself into a position in which you may effectively attack the beast and then wait for the best opportunity to kill it. But don’t wait too long and make sure your strike is sure. With armor you will rarely get a second opportunity.”
A young cadet entered through a doorway, saluted and handed Bruno a message. Bruno read it silently and responded, “Please inform the General I will be there as ordered.”
The cadet saluted again and left. Bruno turned back to his audience and said with a wry smile, “Detention.” Everyone laughed.
Brigitte, wearing a pencil skirt and matching jacket, entered the café and looked around. Coyle, seated at the back of the restaurant, watched her for moment. She was beautiful and he was proud to call her his own. He signaled her. She walked back, sat down and gave him a peck on the lips. She pulled out her handkerchief and wiped off the lipstick she had left on his lips, as she always did. “I ordered you a coffee,” said Coyle. “I know you don’t have much time.”
“I can always make time for you,” said Brigitte, her eyes continuing to survey the restaurant and its patrons, looking for potential threats. She paid especially close attention to the shopping bags sitting on the floor by the customers seated at tables in the center of the café. She wanted to look in each bag just to be sure the contents truly were what they represented – lingerie, shoes or a lovely blouse from a nearby boutique… and not a bomb. Coyle could see her eyes darting around the room. “Rough day?” said Coyle.
“No more than any other day,” said Brigitte. “Another bombing this morning. Five killed and fourteen wounded.”
“Any children this time?”
“A baby. Seven months old. She and her mother were killed. They don’t seem to care.”
“Who doesn’t care?”
“The terrorists and their bombs. They don’t care about gender or age as long as the victims are French or sympathetic to the French cause.”
The waitress brought their coffee and a plate of cookies that Coyle had ordered. Every clatter of the plates and cups seemed to set off a series of twitches in Brigitte’s facial muscles. Coyle could see that Brigitte was beyond nervous, like a cornered wildcat ready to jump out of her skin. “Are you okay, Brigitte?” he said.
“I am fine, Tom. I just have a lot on my mind.”
Coyle decided to change the subject in hopes Brigitte would relax. “The French Air Force has asked me to switch routes,” he said.
“Let me guess. They want you to fly troops to Algeria?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“I interviewed a woman that survived the bombing at café Mormont last week. She said her husband had been called up and was leaving this week for North Africa.”
“More fuel for the fire, I guess.”
“It seems the French Army is playing into the hands of the insurgents. The more troops we send the more the Algerians feel the occupation.”
“So, what’s the solution?”
“I am not sure there is one.”
“I suppose you could just let them go and give them their Independence.”
“You do not know the French, Tom. We are very stubborn, even beyond reason. Algeria is a matter of honor, especially after Vietnam. We cannot let them go and expect to maintain our standing in the international community.”
“The British let the Americans go and it didn’t seem to hurt them much. Now we are the best of friends. We even saved their asses from the Nazis.”
“This is different. France considers Algeria part of the municipality. It is France, just as much as Normandy or Savoy. And where does it stop? Who else will claim independence… Corsica? Roussillon? Alsace? Before long France would be a shadow of its former self. And would those new countries be any better off? How would they defend themselves?” How would they govern? With whom would they ally?”
“I never suggested it would be easy. But people have a right to self-determination.”
“Really? Did you tell that to General Lee and his confederates?”
“You got a point.”
“It’s not some game, Tom. It’s the survival of my country we are talking about,” said Brigitte looking more agitated, her eyes continuing their search for a threat, her face looking more and more like a trapped animal.
“Believe me I understand,” said Coyle. “Americans want France to survive and to be strong. They are our oldest ally. I am just not so sure hanging on to a Muslim country bent on Independence is the best way to ensure that survival.”
“Not everyone in Algeria believes in Islam. There are hundreds of thousands of pied-noir that were promised they could settle and raise their families in peace. They trusted France would keep her word and protect them. What happens to them if France just walks away? How long would they last against ten million Algerians that have sworn vengeance against them?”
“Like I said, not an easy solution. Now, please, drink your coffee and relax for a few minutes. You’re working too hard.”
“I don’t want to relax. You seem to feel I am yours to command. I assure you I am not,” said Brigitte getting up and exiting the restaurant in a huff. Coyle considered running after her but thought better of it. She was an independent woman. That was one of the things he loved about her, even though she snipped at him now and then. Over the past year of living together in Paris he had begun to understand her and her needs. Right now she just needed space and chasing after her wouldn’t help matters.
NINE
The mess hall at the Air Force base outside of Paris was packed with soldiers returning from Indochina and those on their way to Algeria. B
runo entered the hall and looked around until he spotted Coyle sitting at a table eating his breakfast with his crew, now missing its navigator. Bruno approached and said, “Coyle, do you have a minute?”
Coyle was surprised to see Bruno and said, “Sure. Pull up a bench. It’s Thursday. Aren’t you teaching at the institute.”
“Yes. Of course. But I am on… how do you say… a field trip,” said Bruno sitting across from Coyle.
“Where are you headed?”
“Algiers. If you have room.”
“Oh. Sure. Cargo hold is full up, but they booted my navigator off my crew so you can have his seat in the cockpit.”
“You lost your navigator?”
“Yeah. Apparently we are not allowed to get lost over the Mediterranean according to Air Force regulations. No navigator is required.”
“So you can fly without one… a navigator?”
“Yeah. It ain’t that far. Ya just gotta keep heading south once you hit water. You can use a compass, right?”
Bruno smiled and said, “Yes. The use of a compass is part of my skill set.”
“Great. You’re my navigator for this trip. So why the field trip to Algiers?”
“I am not sure. But when I am called by a general I go.”
“Probably a good strategy. Hey, I met another para commander on his way back from Indochina. Colonel Roger Trinquier. Do you know him?”
Bruno’s expression darkened on hearing Trinquier’s name. “Ah yes. He was commander of the Maquis in Laos and the Vietnamese highlands.”
“Maquis?”
“Guerilla units mostly from the highland tribes. Good fighters. They fought behind the lines and harassed the enemy.”
“Why weren’t they at Dien Bien Phu?”
“The Viet Minh hunted them down. Many were killed and their villages burned. They never made it to the garrison.”
“We could have used them.”
“Yes. But they served their purpose. They provided invaluable intel on Viet Minh troop movements and kept the Viet Minh from invading Laos after Dien Bien Phu fell. However their methods were… questionable.”
“Questionable?”
“Yes. You must remember the hill tribes hated the Viet Minh and they did not believe in taking prisoners unless it was to extract information. They were very effective.”
“You mean they used torture?”
“Yes. That is what I mean. Colonel Trinquier learned a great deal from his time with the Maquis. He was their commander, but also their student.”
French Army headquarters in Algiers was located next to the Kasbah – an ancient walled citadel that included the city’s main medina. Built on the side of a hill overlooking the city, the Kasbah was the heart of learning and religion. The citadel had originally contained over one hundred mosques, thirty-two mausoleums and twelve Zawiyas – religious schools and monasteries. Over the years of occupation, the French had destroy the majority of the religious buildings or converted them to Christian churches and military barracks.
The Kasbah had become a symbol of French oppression. The leaders of the FLN had taken up residency in the hundreds of abandoned buildings and hid among the thousands of Muslim homes within the citadel’s walls. They could rely on support from the neighborhood and were given plenty of warning whenever a French patrol came near.
The French Army headquarters was a fortified compound with high walls, well-guarded gates and an abundance of machine guns placed strategically around the compound and surrounded by sandbags. The general’s living quarters were built from a former Zawiya with its large courtyard where students would gather for prayer and drink from the center fountain. There were manicured gardens where the general and his staff could enjoy tea and relax while off duty. There was a large barracks for the troops that guarded the compound and patrolled the area immediately around it.
Bruno waited in the reception area outside the general’s office until he was called inside by the secretary. It was an impressive office with twenty foot walls and two electric ceiling fans that kept the room cool during the repressive summers. General Jacques Massu sat in an easy chair enjoying his afternoon tea with Colonel Trinquier and Major Paul Aussaresses seated on a couch. They all stood to return Bruno’s salute and shake his hand as Massu introduced them, “Thank you for coming, Colonel Bigeard. I trust your flight was not too bumpy?”
“It was fine, General. Thank you for asking,” said Bruno as he sat down per Massu’s invitation. Bruno was unsure why he had been called by Massu. French generals were not in the habit of interviewing Colonels for potential command or staff positions. Besides, he had only been at his present position at the institute for less than a year. He believed it was possible that the general wanted his advice on an upcoming para operation but when he saw Trinquier he knew that would be redundant. Trinquier was a well-qualified para commander with over a decade of combat experience like himself. Bruno knew he was not here to offer his opinion. Bruno was miffed.
“I believe you know my chief of staff - Colonel Trinquier?” said Massu.
“Yes. We fought together in the highlands of North Vietnam and in Laos,” said Bruno.
“Good to see you made it out, Bruno,” said Trinquier. “I heard it was quite difficult after the garrison fell.”
“Yes, well… I survived. Many didn’t,” said Bruno. “Your ears must be burning, Roger. I was just talking about you with a friend.”
“With whom might that be?”
“The pilot that flew me down. An American. Tom Coyle.”
“Yes, I remember. He was with you at Dien Bien Phu,” said Trinquier. “An American pilot of a C-119. Interesting…”
“Why is that interesting?” said Bruno.
“A boxcar can drop two platoons behind enemy lines at the same time. That makes it interesting.”
“I am sure you two will have a lot to talk about later at dinner. I am not sure you if you know Major Paul Aussaresses, my head of intelligence,” said Massu.
“I have heard of the Major, but I don’t believe we have ever met,” said Bruno.
“I imagine you are curious why I called you here. So I will get right to it,” said Massu. “I am sure you are familiar with the current situation with the Algerians and the FLN.”
“I am.”
“We have reason to believe that there will be a major mujahideen attack on Philippeville in the coming days. We thought you might like to come along as an observer.”
“As an observer?”
“Yes,” said Massu and chose his next words carefully. “Bruno, this war is like no other that France has fought before. It is a terrorist action through and through. The atrocities that the FLN are committing to the pied-noir and even their own people are horrendous. They go far beyond even what we saw in Indochina.”
“I have heard the stories,” said Bruno.
“They have no regard for morality or common conventions. They are truly fighting a war of terror and it is only growing worse.”
“And you want me to… observe this?”
“No, to be honest. We want to observe you.”
“I do not understand.”
“I am sure you have figured out that we are in need of strong commanders with combat experience. We all know you are more than qualified. What we don’t know is how far you are willing to go to achieve victory.”
“I would give my life for my country.”
“As would we. But this war may require more than that… it may require your very soul. Our objective is to completely wipe out the FLN. To hunt them down like the animals that they are. We will give no quarter and we ask for none in return.”
“The main problem is finding the bastards,” said Trinquier. “They hide among and are protected by the Muslim communities. Like the Viet Minh they can attack our troops one minute and vanish the next. The Muslims feel it is their religious duty to help and hide them. They threaten to kill anyone who cooperates with our forces or the pied-noir. Money will not loosen th
eir tongues, so we must use other means.”
“I see,” said Bruno. “How did you find out about the planned attack?”
“My counter-insurgence team has setup a network of informants within the population,” said Aussaresses. “Some were agents for the FLN that we were able to turn. One of those agents works at the local semolina mill.”
“Semolina?” said Bruno.
“It’s the flour used to make the Algerian flatbread. It’s a staple and eaten at almost every meal,” said Trinquier.
Aussaresses continued, “About a week ago, one of my informants noticed that the mill’s warehouse was empty. We checked with the local bakeries and found that they too were low on their semolina supply. So, where was all the semolina going if not to the bakeries?”
“We questioned the mill owner and found out he had sold a large quantity of semolina to a mujahideen quartermaster.”
“He just told you that?”
“He did when we put a noose around his twelve year old daughter’s neck and threaten to hang her.”
“My God,” said Bruno.
“The girl is fine. The threat was enough to obtain the information we needed,” said Aussaresses.
“Information that will save hundreds of lives, Bruno,” said Massu.
Trinquier continued, “We now know that the mujahideen have a large contingent camped in the mountains just above Philippeville. The semolina is being used to feed them. We also know they intend to attack the pied-noir community in Philippeville the day after tomorrow. We will be ready for them.”
“We thought it prudent that you view our tactics first hand before committing to lead a unit under my command. We may not want the world or even France to know what we are required to do, but I will be damned if I will deceive my commanders,” said Massu. “If you decide to join us, it will be with open eyes.”
“And if not?”
“Then you will keep your mouth shut about what you see. Is that clear?” said Massu.
“Yes, sir,” said Bruno.
Bruno desperately wanted to command a combat unit again. Teaching at the institute was important but there was no comparison against the thrill of actual combat. Bruno was a warrior at heart and a born leader. He believed his training and experience were being wasted. He was a lieutenant colonel and after his next promotion he would not be allowed to fight with his combat unit. He would command at a distance like Massu. A desk jockey. The thought sickened him. Time was running out.
Café Wars Page 10