Café Wars

by David Lee Corley

  The soldiers defending the garrison walls quickly ran out of targets as the rebels sought cover down the alleys and disappeared into the surrounding buildings. The violence of the French counter-attack caused the farmers and their leader to reconsider. Why attack a well-protected garrison when there were plenty of easier targets throughout the city? The fellagha knew where the pied-noir communities were located and that those not in the militia would be defending their homes and shops. The rabble turned and marched away from the garrison to the outskirts of the city.

  The commander of the garrison was baffled when the enemy broke off the attack. This was not part of the French plan. He radioed Trinquier and gave him an update on the enemy’s movement.

  The battle on the hillside raged between Trinquier’s paratroopers and the mujahideen. The French had struck a powerful blow in their surprise counterattack but Si Larbi and his mujahideen were determined to break French lines and attack the city below.

  Bruno watched from the hilltop above as the French paratroopers he had jumped with readied their defensive positions. He could see that the mujahideen were digging in and fighting just as fiercely as the battalion of paratroopers below them. He hated the idea of just sitting and waiting for the mujahideen to retreat. He crawled his way over to the paratrooper commander and said, “Captain, your platoons are well deployed, yes?”

  “Yes. We should be able to fight anything they can throw at us when they retreat,” said the captain.

  “And you still have a squad in reserve?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Excellent. Why don’t you let me take your reserve squad around the back of the hill and attack the mujahideen in the right flank? If your men can roll them up, the mujahideen will have no choice but to retreat into your firing positions just as you planned.”

  “But they are my reserves,” said the captain.

  “And they still will be. They will just be deployed in a different area of the battlefield. First sign of trouble they will break off contact and rejoin your lines.”

  “And what happens if the mujahideen overrun our position?”

  “Once they break off contact with the para battalion below I doubt they will be in any condition to break through your lines. You said yourself you should be able to fend off anything they throw at you.”

  “Well, yes… that is true,” said the captain unsure. What Bruno was suggesting was unorthodox and not part of the plan agreed to by his commander Colonel Trinquier. But Bruno was a commander the captain had studied in officer training, a hero among the paratroopers. He was known to be aggressive and win his battles. The captain wanted to win this battle desperately and Bruno could see that.

  “Perhaps a better question is what happens if the mujahideen escaped without every falling into your trap? Would it not be better for your reserve to drive them to you?” said Bruno.

  “I agree. You will lead them?”

  “I will advise your squad leader.”

  “Very well. You may proceed, Colonel,” said the captain.

  “As you say, Captain,” said Bruno as he began to move off to advise the sergeant in charge of the reserves. “Oh, one more thing… you might want to radio Colonel Trinquier and let him know we are coming. It would be a shame for your men to get caught in the crossfire.”

  “Wait. What?” said the captain. It was too late Bruno was gone and so were his reserves.

  The mass of fellagha moved through the streets of Philippeville like a virus spreading through a human body. Everyone knew which buildings and storefronts were Muslim and which were French and pied-noir. Many in the mob secretly shopped at the French and pied-noir establishments because they had a wider selection and the quality of their products were usually better that the Muslim businesses. Most of the storefronts were buttoned up tight with iron folding gates across their doors and windows. When the mob came across a non-Muslim storefront they simply pried the gates from their anchors in the walls with their picks and spades. Looting was commonplace as were Molotov cocktails. The French and pied-noir businesses burned, sending black smoke into the sky. Business owners and employees were pulled from their cars and bicycles as they arrived to open their shops and offices. The French civilians and pied-noir were beaten and shot. A few Muslim business owners and employees were caught in the madness and killed before they could convince the mob of their loyalty.

  The real bloodletting started when the mob reached the residential neighborhoods of the pied-noir. Front doors on homes were kicked in and the families inside were dragged into the streets. Apartment buildings were set on fire and the occupants were attacked as they fled the burning buildings. Those that resisted were immediately shot and killed. Those that chose not to fight fared far worse. Families barracked themselves inside their homes only to be burned alive by the torches and fire bombs of Muslims.

  Women and children were not spared. All of the horrors of the world were unleashed on the pied-noir communities that morning. Over one hundred years of Algerian occupation and injustice boiled into a rage that could not be stopped. Decapitation was considered kind. Rape and disfigurement less so. Muslim farmers, miners and factory workers turned into monsters like wild beasts driven into a frenzy by bloodlust.

  Trinquier was disappointed when he received the report that the fellagha had broken off their attack on the garrison after only light casualties. He had hoped for more. He was also concerned about where they would go next. From his vantage point on the hill he could see fires starting to spread on the outskirts of the city. He knew that this was where the pied-noir communities were located but it was too far away to determine their exact location. The battle on the hillside was fierce but his paratroops were well-dug in and were in no risk of being overrun by the mujahideen. He sent his recon platoon down the hill to investigate.

  The French recon platoon moved down the hillside toward the city. They too could see the fires burning in the buildings, stores and houses. What they were not prepared for was what they saw as they moved closer – dismembered body parts and rivers of blood in the streets. As much as they wanted to enter the city and stop the violence it was not the mission of the recon to fight unless to defend itself. The unit commander’s voice trembled slightly as he radioed Trinquier and reported the massacre.

  Trinquier was busy winning the battle between the mujahideen and his paratroopers when he received the recon commander’s report. At first he thought the recon commander was exaggerating but he heard the truth when the veteran commander’s voice cracked. This was a man that knew violence and whatever he had just seen had shaken him. He ordered the commander to monitor the situation but not interfere. The French paratroopers would fight one battle at a time.

  Trinquier was not anxious to report the massacre to Massu and decided to wait until he saw the evidence for himself. Besides, Massu would take the news much better once the battle on the hillside had concluded and he could give the general an accurate count of dead and captured mujahideen. Trinquier and his men were on the verge of a great victory but all that would be lost if the recon commander’s report was true. His mission had been to protect the pied-noir and French citizens. He had failed. The massacre would make the headlines, not his victory against the rebel forces. Trinquier was a man of purpose and not one to dwell on his failures. He was mad as hell and his mood darkened.

  The para captain above the mujahideen lines was the next to radio in. Trinquier became unglued when the para captain informed him that Bruno was leading one of his squads in an attack against the mujahideen right flank. He berated the captain for not obeying the orders he had been given and following the plan they had agreed upon.

  Bruno led the squad of paratroopers around the backside of the hill and moved up on the flank of the mujahideen line. It was a fairly standard maneuver to roll up an entrenched flank where the enemy could only concentrate a small amount of its firepower. Bruno’s forces on the other hand could spread out and attack with everything he had. This allowed a
smaller force to attack a much larger one with a high probability of success. The key was to get the enemy to break and run before they could regroup and put up a viable defense on their flank under attack. Bruno knew that the momentum and ferocity of the attack was the best way to break the mujahideen units which would realize that they were being attacked from two sides. Nothing demoralized a soldier more than seeing his comrades running for the hills and leaving him behind.

  Bruno suggested that the sergeant move his squad up until they were within grenade-throwing distance. The grenades could be followed by a brief charge using their submachineguns. The sergeant was a veteran of World War II and Indochina. He knew what Bruno wanted and agreed.

  The paratroopers moved as close as they dared without being spotted by the mujahideen firing at the French below. They spread out into two parallel lines of eight men each and lay flat, waiting for the signal to attack. Bruno, the sergeant and three other paratroopers tossed grenades into the mujahideen lines.

  The exploding grenades killed four mujahideen and wounded three others. Bruno was the first to leap to his feet and open fire with his submachinegun. He was joined by the sergeant and the squad of paratroopers. Bruno was in the center like the tip of an arrow and charged forward toward the side of the mujahideen line. He was not alone, the paratroopers on both sides of him kept pace while firing their weapons. Bruno yelled a battle cry and was joined by those that followed. It struck fear into the Mujahideen as Bruno had hoped.

  The mujahideen in the firing line had three choices: they could continue to fire against the larger paratrooper force below them on the hillside, turn and fire on the paratroopers charging from the side and overrunning their lines or… flee. Most chose the latter and those that didn’t were soon dead.

  Si Larbi saw his lines falling apart as several of his men ran past him and down the hillside. He ordered the men to stop but it was too late. Fear had struck his men and it would be a complete rout if he didn’t do something first. He ordered his men to retreat down the side of the hill away from Bruno’s paratroopers. An orderly retreat would allow him and his men to put up a credible defense as they backed away from the enemy. It would save dozens if not hundreds of lives.

  The mujahideen line rolled back on itself and the men that were fleeing again took up firing positions and rejoined the fight. The mujahideen resistance became stronger and held off the attacking French paratroopers. Si Larbi considered counterattacking. He realized that his men’s morale was shaky at best and if the French pressed them they could break once again. He decided to continue the retreat. The mujahideen forces leapfrogged backwards and retreated across the hillside toward their opposite flank.

  The fighting slowed as the mujahideen disappeared and the French ran out of targets. The French para captain above would never have his chance at cutting off the mujahideen retreat.

  Si Larbi and a large portion of the mujahideen escaped to fight another day.

  Bruno could not see what was down the opposite side of the hill and as much as he and his men wanted to continue the pursuit it was not prudent. Never turn a victory into an enemy ambush, he thought. The French broke off the attack.

  After a brief celebration and a patrol of the area to ensure the mujahideen were indeed gone, the individual paratrooper units combined into a battalion and moved down the hillside toward the city.

  Bruno and Trinquier were leading. Trinquier said nothing about Bruno’s imposition on his command. Bruno had won another battle but Trinquier would receive the credit for the victory on the hillside. It was his command after all.

  The mujahideen had dispersed and were hiding in the Muslim sections of the city when the French forces arrived.

  The French paratroopers were shocked as they entered the city and saw the gore from the massacre. Veterans of World War II and Indochina became visibly sick, especially when they saw the torn and disfigured bodies of women that had been raped and the severed limbs of little children. The Muslim mob had killed one hundred and twenty French citizens and pied-noir in the most brutal manner imaginable.

  Bruno wanted to turn away but knew that his composure in the face of such violence would give confidence to the men around him, something they desperately needed at that moment. They followed his example and stayed alert as they moved through the streets. The French medics moved to help any civilians still alive. There were not many.

  Trinquier ordered his radioman to put in a call to headquarters and request a conversation with General Massu. It took less than a minute before Massu was on the line. Trinquier reported the victory on the hillside with over fifty-six dead and twelve captured mujahideen. Massu congratulated him. “There was an unfortunate development,” said Trinquier over the radio, “The fellagha mob that we thought would focus their attack on the garrison broke off their attack after only a few casualties. They turned around and attacked the pied-noir communities on the edge of the city. I am afraid there are quite a few casualties. Over.”

  “Don’t dilly-dally, man. How many casualties?” said Massu breaking radio protocol.

  “Extensive, sir. It will take time to count the limbs,” said Trinquier not wanting to reveal the entirety of the massacre over the radio where others might be listening.

  “I see,” said Massu.

  There was a long silence. Trinquier waited. “We cannot let this stand, Roger,” said Massu. “It will embolden them.”

  “I understand, sir. I assure you, my men and I will do what is required,” said Trinquier.

  “Very well. See that you do. Out,” said Massu and the signal went dead.

  Trinquier handed the headset back to the radioman.

  ELEVEN

  The mountains of Algeria were peppered with valuable minerals. Mines generated a large portion of the tax revenue that the French needed to rebuild after the Nazi occupation that had destroyed many of their cities and much of their public infrastructure during World War II.

  The El-Halia Sulfur mine east of Philippeville was owned by a family of Spanish settlers that had come to Algeria at the turn of the century. It was a small concern but it provided a healthy income and dozens of jobs for the surrounding communities both pied-noir and Muslim. It was a tunnel mine which was rare for Sulfur mines in Northern Africa. Open pit mines were safer and allowed for the use of heavy machinery to extract the mineral. However in this mine the vein of Sulfur ore was deep in a mountain side and required multiple shafts to harvest. It had to be mined by hand, and that meant jobs. There was, of course, ethnic tension between the two communities but they had learned to get along by simply staying out of each other’s business and keeping to themselves.

  The mine compound was surrounded by a barbed wire fence and only had one guarded entrance that was used both by the employees and the trucks that carried the Sulfur to a processing plant near the city of Constantine. Three armed guards patrolled the compound, and there was a stash of weapons that were kept under lock and key that could be used by the employees if the mine was every attacked by rebels or thieves seeking its weekly payroll. Many years had passed since anyone had been bold enough to attempt to break the security, and the miners carried on their day to day work without concern of outside intervention.

  It was the yellow dust that really concerned them. It stung their lungs and assaulted their sense of smell. Rotten eggs and pig shit were the most common descriptions. One never really grew used to it, they would say. Being Sulfur and used in most munitions, the mineral was also quite flammable, especially in dust form. The miners went to great length to prevent open flames and sparks in the mine. Electric lights had been used since their invention and that greatly reduced accidents. Air was pumped deep into the mine where the miners worked. Vent shafts were cut into the rock to allow the yellow dust to be pumped out and prevent dangerous build-ups that could blind the miners and choke them to death.

  The FLN sapper that visited the mine that day had penetrated the barbed wire fence the night before and stayed hidden from the m
orning patrol. Saadi had instructed him personally on how to enter the compound and where to go. The sapper waited until the miners arrived for the day shift. Unlike the night shift which was made up of mostly Muslim workers, the day shift was staffed with pied-noir miners. Both shifts preferred to be ethnically divided when they worked. It prevented arguments between the miners.

  When the sapper was sure the last of the Muslim miners had left the compound, he crawled to one of the ventilation shafts and detached the metal hood leading to the air pump. He pulled out a Molotov cocktail from the canvas bag he had brought with him. He used the American lighter that Saadi had given him to light the end of the gasoline soaked rag and dropped the bottle down the shaft. Then he jumped up and ran for the perimeter fence.

  A guard spotted him as he ran and opened fire with his submachinegun. The sapper was hit three times and fell into the barbed wire fence where he died just as the Molotov cocktail hit the bottom of the air shaft. The bottle broke and the burning rag ignited the gasoline just as Saadi said it would. A ball of flame ignited the yellow dust. It wasn’t an explosion that killed the miners inside but rather a wall of flame that incinerated any in its path and sucked up all the available oxygen suffocating anyone lucky enough to avoid the fire. The destruction was complete and killed eighteen pied-noir miners.

  The affect that the FLN had hoped for was not the death of the miners, although it did make the headlines of the Algerian newspapers, but the dividing of the community. The pied-noir blamed the Muslims just as the FLN had planned and exacted their revenge in a raid that killed four Muslim families, including children.