Brave Genius

by Sean B. Carroll

  CHAPTER 15

  NORMANDY

  The history of warfare knows no other like undertaking from the point of view of its scale, its vast conception, and its masterly execution … History will record this deed as an achievement of the highest order.

  —JOSEPH STALIN, June 11, 1944,

  telegraph to Winston Churchill

  THE INVASION TOOK THE GERMANS ALMOST COMPLETELY BY SURPRISE.

  German intelligence had learned the meaning of some of the BBC coded messages, and sent out an alert the night of June 5. However, there had been false alarms in the past, and commanders were wary that the intercepted messages could be a diversion. While one of the two main armies in the west was put on alert, neither Rommel nor the 7th Army, which included all units responsible for the landing zones, were alerted.

  Rommel did not think an invasion was imminent; he was not even in France at the time. He was expecting the landings to come on a high tide at dawn, so that landing craft would have the shortest possible stretch of beach to cross at first light. He had consulted moon and tide tables on June 1 and concluded that such conditions would not occur until after June 20. On June 3, he had conferred with Gen. Gerd von Runstedt at the latter’s headquarters outside Paris; Runstedt also agreed that there was no sign of invasion. On June 4, Rommel left his own headquarters at La Roche-Guyon, about 40 miles west of Paris and 120 miles from the Normandy beaches, for a long drive to Germany to visit his home in Herrlingen and to celebrate his wife’s birthday on the sixth. Afterward, he hoped to go to meet with Hitler in person at Berchtesgarden to request additional reinforcements.

  The Germans had failed entirely to notice the massive invasion force as it was assembled over the previous days on the south coast of England. There had been no air reconnaissance for the first five days of June, and both air and sea patrols scheduled for the night of June 5–6 were canceled on account of the poor weather and visibility. The weather was in fact so poor—overcast and stormy—that on June 4, Eisenhower had postponed the operation by twenty-four hours, from June 5 to June 6. The invasion fleet was not detected until the lead ships were already in place offshore just after three a.m., and the defenders had no inkling of the scale of the attack until first light revealed a vast armada of 6 battleships, 20 cruisers, 68 destroyers, more than 1,800 landing craft, and another 900 supporting vessels approaching the coast.

  The amassed firepower was unleashed on German shore fortifications shortly after five thirty a.m., just before the landing craft were to approach the Normandy beaches.

  The initial wave of the assault was launched by five divisions that would land on five beaches, respectively—Utah and Omaha in the American sector, Gold and Sword in the British sector, and Juno in the Canadian sector. The first landings began at six thirty a.m.

  THE BBC INTERRUPTED its regular broadcast at nine thirty a.m. to deliver the first official communiqué that the invasion was under way. The first announcement in French followed at ten a.m.: “Under the command of General Eisenhower, the Allied naval forces, supported by powerful air forces, began the landing of the Allied armies this morning on the North coast of France.”

  Noufflard thought, “Now comes the time of revenge, the time to show the world what you have prepared for and what you are able to do.”

  She went to a map store in central Paris to try to find a map of the Cherbourg area. There were hundreds of people asking for exactly the same thing. She bought one of the last copies to put on her bedroom wall, so that she could track the locations of the Allies.

  She met Monod and two other staff officers near the Sorbonne. It was a fair day in Paris, so they decided to sit briefly on the terrace of a café to absorb the moment. For the first time in four years, there was excitement on Parisians’ faces. And it was satisfying for once to look at the Germans, feeling that their days were numbered.

  CAMUS ALSO HEARD the news that morning. He and Maria Casarès had been with Sartre and de Beauvoir at an all-night fiesta hosted by the actor/director Charles Dullin in his very nicely appointed Right Bank apartment in the ninth arrondissement. Camus bicycled home through the excited streets with Maria riding on his handlebars.

  ON THE SHORES of the storm-churned English Channel, however, a fierce battle was raging. Men were dying by the thousands, and the question of which forces would carry the day was still very much in doubt. The losses on Omaha Beach were so great, and the ground gained was so meager, that Gen. Omar Bradley almost ordered a withdrawal that morning.

  As news of the landings broke, Allied leaders balanced optimism with caution.

  President Roosevelt held a press conference that drew more than 180 reporters. He said:

  The whole country is tremendously thrilled … but …

  The war isn’t over by any means. This operation isn’t over. You don’t just land on a beach and walk through—if you land successfully without breaking your leg—walk through to Berlin. And the quicker this country understands it, the better.

  Prime Minister Churchill strode into the House of Commons at noon London time. After a lengthy report on the Allies’ capture of Rome, which had taken place two days earlier, he addressed the ongoing invasion:

  So far the Commanders who are engaged report that everything is proceeding according to plan. And what a plan! This vast operation is undoubtedly the most complicated and difficult that has ever taken place … The battle that has now begun will grow constantly in scale and in intensity for many weeks to come, and I shall not attempt to speculate upon its course … The enemy will now probably endeavour to concentrate on this area, and in that event heavy fighting will soon begin and will continue without end, as we can push troops in and he can bring other troops up. It is, therefore, a most serious time that we enter upon.

  De Gaulle and Pétain resumed their battle over France’s airwaves. The marshal addressed the country that afternoon, repeating familiar, predictable notes:

  The German and Anglo-Saxon armies are fighting on our soil. France becomes a battlefield.

  Officials, public servants, railway workers, laborers, remain at your posts to maintain the life of the nation and to accomplish the tasks required of you.

  Frenchmen, do not aggravate our misfortunes by acts that could risk tragic reprisals. It would be innocent French people who would suffer the consequences.

  Do not listen to those who seek to exploit our distress, and would lead the country to disaster.

  France will only be saved by observing the strictest discipline.

  Obey the orders of the government, that everyone face their duty.

  The circumstances of the battle may lead the German Army to make special arrangements in areas of combat. Accept this necessity; this is a recommendation that I make in the interest of your safety.

  I charge you, the French people, to think above all of the mortal danger that our country would face if this solemn warning was not heard.

  Laval compounded Pétain’s warning by declaring that disobedience of the government’s instructions was “a crime against the country.” He stated that because France had signed the armistice, she was bound to honor its terms. “We are not at war,” he declared, adding, “You must not take part in combat.”

  De Gaulle had been offered the opportunity to speak over the BBC on D-Day morning, right after a message from Eisenhower was read, but he refused because he objected to having an American give instructions to the French people. After some interventions by the British, he was finally persuaded and broadcast his message at 5:30 p.m.

  “The supreme battle has begun!” he declared, before offering his own instructions to the French people: “The actions that we take behind enemy lines ought to be closely coordinated with those taken at the front by the Allied and French armies … That is to say that the actions of Resistance forces ought to be sustained and to expand right up to the moment of the rout of the Germans.”

  Eisenhower had composed a statement in advance in case the invasion failed. He did not h
ave to use it. While the Allies suffered a very large number of casualties—at least 4,400 killed and 5,000 wounded on D-Day—the casualties were not as great as was feared by military planners. By the time offloading paused around ten p.m. the night of June 6, 155,000 troops had made it ashore and the Allies controlled about eighty square miles along the coast.

  BEHIND ENEMY LINES

  The Resistance had indeed done its job: in the first day, action teams made more than 950 of the planned 1,050 rail cuts. By the day after D-Day, for example, twenty-six trunk rail lines were not usable, including lines that connected towns in the landing areas: Avranches–Saint-Lò, Saint-Lò–Cherbourg, and Caen–Saint-Lò. Designed to prevent the movement of enemy divisions toward the battle zone, and thus to buy time for the Allies to build up and begin to break out of their beachheads, the rail cuts and roadblocks thwarted the movement of eight enemy divisions toward Normandy. The feared Reich SS Panzer division, whose 450-mile movement into Normandy would normally have required just three days, took more than two weeks thanks to the sabotage of rail lines and flatcars, and harassment by the maquis and Allied air forces. In the meantime, the Allies landed many more combat divisions in Normandy.

  AS CONVENTIONAL ARMIES battled in Normandy, the Resistance prepared for the next phases of the campaign, including the eventual liberation of Paris. Noufflard and Monod had more operations work to do than ever before, with an even greater sense of urgency and purpose. Precautions were paramount in every facet of their work. One of Noufflard’s first tasks was to find a safer base of operations. Too many people had been seen going in and out of her rue de Varenne house over the previous months to invest the next, critical phase of operations there. Instead, she found a painter’s studio in Montparnasse and furnished it like an artist’s loft so that she would have a cover story in case anyone looked inside or wondered why Monod was there. She even made several charcoal portraits of Monod and left them lying about the studio. She met Monod there every afternoon and many evenings; almost no one in the organization knew the location.

  Monod’s responsibilities on the FFI national staff entailed planning and coordinating actions in different zones—a challenging task as situations changed rapidly and communications with different regions were difficult. Noufflard and Monod set up a large map of France, on which the status of all of the railroad and canal networks was kept up to date, with the location of rail cuts and blown locks marked by colored pushpins. Blocking rail transport remained a priority. On July 14, Monod issued an order to all regions advocating an almost undetectable technique for crippling trains on the main lines:

  SUBJECT: SABOTAGE OF RAIL LINES

  The hoses connecting train air ducts are becoming more and more scarce and because of this their destruction can create delays and disturbances in rail traffic.

  In order to prevent detection of the site of the sabotage (train station or rail yard) where the sabotage of equipment has been executed, a simple means is to perforate the hoses with an awl. It is very rare when the brake is tested at the moment of departure that the sabotage is noticeable. It is only after a certain distance of about four to six kilometers that the hose bursts. At this time the train is on the main route, where it stops traffic.

  Transmit immediately the necessary orders to the interested teams in order to systematically organize this sabotage.

  Report back the results immediately.

  … MALIVERT

  Other high-priority targets were munitions depots, gasoline- and oil-storage facilities, and factories involved in the production of war materiel. Those installations that could not be attacked by sabotage were candidates for air raids. Monod set up an intelligence channel involving a “Monsieur de Saligny,” whom Noufflard would meet to pass on information about important targets. De Saligny then passed it on to the British Intelligence Service, who then shared it with Allied air commanders. One day while visiting her aunt just outside Paris, Noufflard had the satisfaction of witnessing the bombing and burning of some mills that Monod had recently pointed out to M. de Saligny.

  An order from “Malivert” (Jacques Monod) urging and instructing a specific kind of sabotage of trains so as to block movements on rail lines, July 14, 1944. (Courtesy of Geneviève Noufflard)

  In addition to sabotage and intelligence-gathering, Monod’s Troisième Bureau was also tasked with organizing a secret radio network so that they could communicate with different regions. Travel across France had become more difficult, and it was always dangerous for Resistance members to meet in person. Setting up a network, however, was also difficult and risky. Equipment was very scarce and outdated, and the Germans had effective ways of detecting clandestine radios. Monod used his previous, albeit truncated, communications training to organize the network. He recruited radio technicians and scientists and established codes, and Noufflard put together an instruction manual for radio operators. Placing their transmitter was another challenge, because it had to be in a high place and entailed a great deal of risk on the part of whoever was also in the building. A well-connected woman offered several rooms in her home on the avenue Victor Hugo. For security, the transmitter-room door was rigged with a grenade whose safety pin would be pulled if opened by an unwitting visitor, such as a Gestapo agent. When Monod told Odette of the device, she was worried that her sometimes absentminded husband might accidentally blow himself up.

  Other important precautions concerned the disposition of documents. There was a large drawer in the Montparnasse loft in which Noufflard kept piles of papers—intelligence reports, diagrams of potential targets, action summaries, radio transmissions, and so forth—that Monod needed to review or that had to be distributed. These compromising papers had to be destroyed, which was a great inconvenience because the studio had no fireplace or stove. Instead, at the end of every day’s work, Noufflard and Monod both stuffed their pockets with papers and went into the bathrooms at each end of the long corridor outside the studio. They then tore the documents into tiny fragments and, because the plumbing did not work well, flushed them down the toilet in small batches. Noufflard worried each night that the long, tedious ritual would arouse their neighbors’ suspicions, or at least make them think that she and Monod had very odd bathroom habits.

  Noufflard’s and Monod’s security measures were duly warranted. The Germans and the French were arresting more than 100 people a week and executing about 150 a month in Paris alone over the first part of 1944, and the Gestapo’s and the Milice’s campaigns against the Resistance continued unabated after the Normandy landings. One incident of anti-Resistance vengeance claimed one of Camus’s dearest friends only a week after D-Day. Poet René Leynaud, whom Camus had befriended during his stay in Le Panelier, had been caught by the Milice in Lyon on May 16 with compromising documents. Leynaud tried to flee but was shot in the legs and wound up in Fort Montluc Prison. On June 13, as the Germans prepared for their eventual evacuation of the city, they selected nineteen prominent prisoners, including Leynaud, took them away to Villeneuve, and shot them in the woods. When Camus later learned of Leynaud’s murder, he declared it an “irreparable loss,” a “dreadful death” that would affect him more deeply than anyone else’s during the war.

  FOUR DAYS LATER in Lyon, the Gestapo and the Milice caught up with Combat’s printer, André Bollier, for the third time. After his arrest in March, Bollier had also been sent to Fort Montluc, where he was tortured repeatedly. He divulged nothing, managed to escape on May 2, and resumed his work.

  After the invasion, he decided to leave Lyon to join the fighting. But before doing so, he convened a meeting on Saturday, June 17, to prepare the printing of the June issue of Combat, the layout for which had arrived from Paris the day before. As his four-person team was working at the printer’s, the building was surrounded by the Milice, who opened fire. Bollier fired back with his revolver, and then he and the illustrator made a dash for the street. A volley felled them. Both were severely wounded. Bollier could not endure another round of to
rture. He said, “My God, forgive me,” and he turned his revolver on himself.

  There would be no June issue of Combat.

  Despite yet another loss of an important cog in the organization, the Combat staff was determined to continue. In fact, Bernard, Camus, and their colleagues in the Combat movement were anticipating the public debut of the newspaper once Paris was liberated. It was expected that all of the collaborationist newspapers would be forced to close. In going public, Combat aimed to have a major voice in postwar France. In early July, Bernard, writer Albert Olivier, journalist Marcel Gimont (alias “Paute”), and Camus met to begin planning the first public issue in Camus’s one-room studio that he had leased from the writer André Gide. Located at 1 bis rue Vaneau, it was, coincidentally, just a few steps from the courtyard of Noufflard’s home.

  Camus’s role in the new Combat, however, was almost preempted. He was walking with Maria Casarès near the Réaumur-Sebastopol Métro station when they were caught in one of the frequent police controls that materialized without warning in the city. French and German police blocked the road at both ends and started searching the men and asking the women for their identity cards. Camus was carrying a layout page with Combat’s logo on it. He first put it in his jacket pocket, then slipped it to Maria.

  She saw Camus with his hands in the air and thought that he was going to be arrested. But the police did not find the layout, and they were both released. Camus quickly disposed of the layout and decided to move from his studio into an apartment belonging to an Algerian friend.

  Camus and Marcel Gimont did manage to put together and publish an issue of Combat in July, the first after D-Day. Camus was no doubt thinking of men like Bollier and Leynaud when he wrote an editorial entitled “You Will Be Judged by Your Actions.” After condemning Pétain and Laval for their “treason,” Camus wrote: