The Praetorians

by Jean Larteguy

  He brought with him two veterans of the 4th Republic, Jacquinot and Max Lejeune, and also a few officers who had been dropped into France, including Captain Marindelle.

  At the airport some comrades of the parachute division drew Marindelle aside.

  “Well, do you think Big Charles is going to proclaim integration?”

  “It will be difficult.”

  “He mustn’t forget, however, that that’s the reason we helped him to come back.”

  “You’d better tell him then.”

  In the afternoon, just as he was about to step out on to the balcony of the Forum in front of a huge delirious crowd, General de Gaulle looked for his two Ministers behind him, but they were not there.

  The general called for Massu; he always called for the people he knew, for he had difficulty in recognizing new faces. In a dry voice he reproached him for having imprisoned his Ministers.

  But it was on his own that he appeared on the balcony and, with hands upraised, began his speech:

  “I have understood you!”

  Mingling with the crowd, Françoise Baguèras wept beside Pasfeuro, who was deeply moved, and Villèle, who was longing to be deeply moved. Standing just behind, Malistair flung his arms round them:

  “Froggies, you have your king!”

  “De Gaulle has learnt nothing and understood nothing,” said Captain Marindelle in a dull voice. “But where have Glatigny, Esclavier and Boisfeuras got to?”

  “They have fallen out of favour,” said Bonvillain pompously.

  “They made a bog of things,” said Orsini, hanging his head.

  * * * *

  “Well, Boisfeuras,” Raspéguy exclaimed, “here we are, at the end of July, and we’re still rotting away in Z. No one comes to see us any more, as though we were in quarantine. De Gaulle’s been in command in Paris for two months, the army has been given full military and civil powers. The prefects everywhere have been replaced by colonels, although more often than not they know nothing about administration. Even Pellegrin, who’s really quite fond of us, is furious with us. Esclavier is still holed out in Arzeu and I can’t manage to get him back. Glatigny is camping out with some camels at the foot of the Hoggar. Mahmoudi has moved from Germany to Switzerland with his sister, and from there to Tunis. All this is a lot of stuff and nonsense.

  “The fellaghas, who were on the hop in the early days, are now back in strength, while all those fine colonels at the Government General are busy pinching offices, typewriters and typists from one another.

  “Mind you, they were only civilians disguised as soldiers; if they’ve become civil servants it’s because they had always been so!”

  Boisfeuras shrugged his shoulders dejectedly:

  “Sir . . .”

  “I haven’t finished yet. I’ve been utterly fed up for some time and I’ve got to get it off my chest. We’re here to win the war, and what are we doing? Just talking. The Public Safety Committees aren’t worth a damn, because those who ought to be on them aren’t. By accepting full power, by grabbing every available post, the army can’t possibly lose this war, because this time it will have no one with whom to share the responsibility.

  “At all those sessions in the Forum we undertook not to give up, didn’t we? And that undertaking is twofold, it was made to the Moslems as well as to the French Algerians. Did we take an oath on the 13th of May, yes or no? I wasn’t at the Forum myself, of course, but you were there in my place.

  “De Gaulle doesn’t want your integration, and anyway, I don’t think he can stand the sight of us. Yet you go and throw his Ministers into jug!

  “He’s got a great opinion of himself, that fellow. He wants to be brought back to power all on his own. That’s his business, as it’s our business to win the war by fighting in the way the fells are fighting us.

  “Now listen, Boisfeuras, and think this over:

  “A willaya commander gets the same pay as his men, marches on foot like them, doesn’t carry whisky or cans of beer about in his kit, and the only women he has are the ones he occasionally tumbles in a thicket.

  “We’re up to our necks in this business. Impossible to draw back now, the thing’s done. Do you know what we too ought to do? We ought to agree to not being paid so long as we haven’t won, and to accept the same pay as the rank and file. Those who have a wife and kids, the State will undertake to feed them, at the free-soup kitchens if necessary, so that everyone in France should understand that it’s not for money, nor for promotion, nor for decorations, that we’re waging this bloody war. And our wives—I mean your wives, since I haven’t got one—would understand it, for they too must be fed up with always having to sleep with losers.

  “That’s all I have to say, Boisfeuras. What’s it you wanted to see me about?”

  “I want the command of a company, sir.”

  “You don’t want to be intelligence officer any more?”

  “No.”

  “Number Four Company is free. Mijoulin’s going on leave. You can have it. You may have a little difficulty knocking it back into shape, but I know I can trust you to do it!”

  10

  THE ZAOUIA OF SHEIK SIDI AHMOU

  During the night of August 17th the Adrar Camel Corps company, which was on patrol in the region of Erg Chech, massacred its two officers and four European N.C.O.s, then disappeared with its arms and camels. It consisted of Chaombas who came from the Metelli district, and a few Moors belonging to the warrior R’Guibat tribe.

  The air force went into action as soon as the news came through; they picked out the mutineers among some dunes and destroyed them together with their camels. In support of their claim the pilots submitted photographs which they had taken during the engagement. One of these showed three camels actually falling over, hit by machine-gun bullets, and the men in full flight towards a dune which was exploding in front of them under rocket-fire.

  A week later a little group of geophysicians, who were prospecting at the foot of the Tilraghent dunes, was attacked and wiped out to a man. An aircraft discovered the burnt-out trucks and gave the alarm. A mobile column found the bodies of the two engineers, their four foremen and their ten assistants horribly mutilated. The four guards, nomads from the Adrar des Iforas, had disappeared, as well as all the explosives which the geophysicians had been using.

  The photographs taken by the pilots were then studied under a magnifying glass, and it was discovered that they had annihilated not the rebel company but a caravan, which at the same time every year made its way down to Gao. No one had thought of reporting their presence there. The head of the caravan had first gone, as usual, to the little sacred city of Tiradent and called at the zaouia of Sheik Sidi Ahmou, who, for three thousand francs, had given him his blessing for the journey.

  Lieutenant-Colonel Mauve, an old Sahara hand, who had known the last rezzous in Mauretania, declared that this was a typical djich and that all that was needed was to keep watch on the water points where the camel men were bound to come to replenish their supplies.

  A mounted Sahara Legion company rode deep into the desert and invested all the wells, leaving at each of them a dozen men who immediately built themselves some sandbag fortifications, set up their heavy and light machine-guns, and waited, feeling very hot and thirsty. No one turned up.

  Six days later, two hundred kilometres to the north, near the chain of the M’Zil oases, a camp of oil men and their drill were attacked an hour before dawn.

  The entire night shift engaged on boring was massacred, the drill and its tanks of diesel oil set on fire. The other oil men, who were asleep in their camp five hundred yards off, had time to snatch up their arms and were able to hold out until the arrival of a rescue column.

  The air force set out in pursuit of the djich, machine-gunned some dunes and some camels, and published a somewhat pitiful bulletin in which they declared that the mutineers
had been partly wiped out and that there remained only a few scattered groups which would shortly be destroyed.

  The General Geophysical Company and the big oil companies forthwith ordered all their teams to withdraw to Tindouf and Timimoun, if necessary abandoning their equipment.

  Their directors delivered a communal protest to the Commander-in-Chief in Algiers and told him in no uncertain terms that the oil men were paid to discover oil and not to be killed by rebels. If the matter was not settled with the promptest dispatch they would suspend their operations in the eastern sector of the Sahara. The chairmen in Paris protested in their turn to the Ministry of the Sahara.

  A confidential letter (with a circulation of three thousand) got wind of the affair. Disturbing rumours began to circulate in the Bourse. An American company, which had applied for permission to prospect, and round which there had been launched a big publicity campaign, threatened to withdraw their application.

  The Présidence du Conseil gave Algiers orders to clear the matter up as soon as possible.

  Lieutenant-Colonel Mauve, who had been summoned to the Commander-in-Chief’s H.Q., had to admit that he couldn’t make head or tail of this djich, which moved from place to place among the dunes with the speed of an express train. General Mercelat, who was in command of the Saharan air force, had to admit in his turn that his pilots had more often than not mistaken their quarry for shadows. He took this opportunity to complain about the lack of equipment and once again applied for the command of the Army Helicopter Force. Mauve was transferred back to France, but the general stayed on in his post as he had influential connections.

  The hide of a mere lieutenant-colonel was not enough to appease the oil men.

  Colonel Puysanges was made personally responsible for liaison with the oil companies. Did he not have the Press in his sector and was not his main task precisely to prevent the journalists from getting information about certain tricky matters—for instance, what was going on in the eastern Sahara?

  The colonel then suggested to the Commander-in-Chief that the operations against this elusive rebel company, which was endowed with the power of ubiquity, should be entrusted to Raspéguy and his regiment.

  This solution afforded Puysanges a certain number of advantages. The oil men, who were being given the best parachute unit to protect them, commanded by the most celebrated French colonel, would stop bleating and complaining. Besides, there was something extremely fishy about this Adrar business, and the mutiny of the Camel Corps company might well be part of a vast plan for a revolt in the Sahara all the way along the confines of Morocco and Mauretania.

  Colonel Raspéguy, who knew nothing about desert warfare, would come to grief and his legend would die a natural death among the dunes and hammadas. The regiment could then be reorganized and officered with fresh personnel.

  In one of his articles the journalist Villèle had referred in barely veiled terms to a certain regiment which for the last few months had been thinking more of creating political commissars and shock troops than of fighting.

  Raspéguy’s photograph on the front page, with the caption “What part did he play?,” created a sensation, even in the Head of State’s immediate circle. The Government would be likewise not displeased to see the 10th Regiment returning to its first love: war—but under another commanding officer.

  Raspéguy, on being summoned to Algiers, was greeted by Puysanges, who, with his customary smoothness, apologized because the Commander-in-Chief was too busy with his new civil and military functions to receive him. He handed Raspéguy the order signed by Salan and countersigned by Hellion.

  “The 10th Colonial Parachute Regiment is to move by the quickest possible means to the M’Zil Valley and Ilghérem district. The C.O. will contact the zone authorities and the air force command and, with their collaboration, forthwith embark on the necessary raking operations to bring about the destruction of the mutineer elements of the Adrar Camel Corps company.

  ALGIERS, 12TH SEPTEMBER.”

  Raspéguy carefully read through the order, then put it down on Puysanges’s desk and in his grating voice enquired:

  “How long is it since this Camel Corps company mutinied?”

  Puysanges opened a file:

  “Quite recently . . . August 17th.”

  “But that’s over a month ago!”

  Raspéguy was on his guard. He screwed up his eyes and scrutinized Puysanges, who, in his embarrassment, went on thumbing through the file.

  “Look, my dear Raspéguy, you keep complaining of having nothing to do at Z, of rotting away there. I’m offering you a splendid opportunity at the other end of the Sahara—a mere round-up, it’s true, of a small group of rebels who’ve already been put through it by the air force—and you look at me as though I was setting a trap for you.”

  Raspéguy moved up to the table on which he leant with his elbows spread out.

  “You don’t send a parachute regiment four hundred kilometres into the desert—and the best-trained regiment in the division, what’s more, the best qualified for any sort of mission—just to put an end to a gang of riff-raff wandering about for anyone to pick them up. So what’s the game?”

  Feeling slightly unnerved, Puysanges handed Raspéguy the file:

  “Have a look through this. There are some maps inside, and some aerial photographs. Let me know what equipment and men you’ll need.”

  “First of all I want Glatigny and Esclavier back.”

  “As far as Esclavier’s concerned, all right. He’s had enough time in Arzeu to ponder on the drawbacks there can be for a captain to meddle too much in . . . shall we say . . . politics.

  “Glatigny’s out of the question. Four days ago he was appointed to the military cabinet of the Head of State, and he’s gone back to Paris.”

  Raspéguy gave a whistle of admiration through his teeth:

  “Well, at least we’ll have someone back there to understand us and if necessary lend us support. I must ring him up and congratulate him. He’s landed me in the shit slightly, old Glatigny, but since he’s got out of it himself . . .”

  Puysanges began to show impatience and, in the slightly hasty tone of a man burdened with work, suggested:

  “Come back and see me this afternoon with a list of your requirements.”

  Raspéguy waved his finger:

  “No, tomorrow evening. This sort of file needs some studying. . . . I must also call at the Sahara troops’ H.Q. How many chaps have they got in this sector?”

  “Seven or eight thousand, I should think.”

  “And they still need reinforcements to deal with a hundred or so poor wretches armed with muskets and mounted on camels? This all smells very fishy, Puysanges, and since you’ve been wanting for some time to land me and my officers in the shit . . .”

  “What’s that you say?”

  Raspéguy leant forward towards the colonel, until their faces were almost touching:

  “Because you’ve had enough of being in your own skin and would very much like to be in mine!”

  “You’re off your head, my dear fellow.”

  “Aren’t you leaving next week to go on a parachute course at Pau?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “After that you’ll apply for a command in the paratroops, won’t you? What a fine tool the 10th Regiment will be once it’s rid of its few men of action! What a tool for dabbling in politics, very dirty politics, the only kind you know. . . .”

  Raspéguy put his cap back on his head, saluted, thrusting out his chest on which he wore none of his decorations, and marched out swinging his shoulders.

  Puysanges had risen to his feet, for he was junior in rank to Raspéguy by exactly three months, and he felt that in the army it was always best to respect certain traditions.

  Four hours later, with the help of Marindelle, Raspéguy had gone
through the whole file. The diagrams, the maps, the photographs, lay spread over the table of the captain who had resumed his function of divisional intelligence officer.

  “What do you make of it?” asked Raspéguy. “The whole place is infected, isn’t it? From the M’Zil oasis to the hammadas of Tindouf and the Dra it’s seething with fellaghas, it’s full of O.P.A.”

  He swept his hand over the map:

  “The Camel Corps did their job, then went off and rejoined some chaps who were waiting for them. That’s the only possible explanation.

  “We shan’t have a hundred or a hundred and fifty to deal with but maybe a thousand, who come from southern Morocco, Mauretania, Rio de Oro, a whole politico-military organization brought to perfection. We’ll have to fight the battle of Algiers all over again in the desert. It’s the same problem always and everywhere.”

  “The A.L.N. want to show the world that they control the Sahara. Furthermore, sir, you’ll also have to deal with the Government, the Oil Prospecting Bureau whose boss is at the same time Minister of the Armed Forces, the O.C.R.S.* and the Ministry of the Sahara. If you don’t succeed the day after your arrival Algiers will say that it’s your fault.”

  “But I can’t refuse. After all, it’s an order from the Commander-in-Chief, and the bride, although somewhat poxy, isn’t as bad as all that.”

  “Ask for means that they’re unable to provide.”

  “I’m tempted by this job, Marindelle. The regiment needs to get out in the open for a bit, to find a little breathing-space again. Its blood has been poisoned these last few months. Raspéguy isn’t losing his nerve, but since he’s not such a fool as he looks, he’s going to take his precautions. Get a piece of paper and write this down:

  “‘From O.C. 10th Colonial Parachute Regiment.

  “‘Adrar Operations

  “‘Equipment requested:

  20 heavy helicopters, Sikorski or Banana