by Gee, Colin
The younger man could not bring himself to say anything; not so the Corporal.
“Honneur et Fidélité, mon Colonel,” and in a lower, conspiratorial voice added, “Et merci. Merci bien.”
Knocke nodded and headed off in hot pursuit of the new arrival, leaving behind him two men who would tell their comrades of what had come to pass, and thus increase the legend.
Soon to be Général de Corps D’Armée Albert Roland Molyneux was visiting himself upon the unfortunate Lavalle and Bittrich, haranguing them for anything from the colour of the wallpaper to the paperclip found on the carpet.
Eventually, Molyneux moved to the recent matter, ordering that Lavalle place the sentries on a charge for their impertinence.
Knocke and his comrades arrived at that moment, and discovered that Lavalle too could hold his ground.
“I regret you have been inconvenienced, mon Général, but the men were acting under my express instructions, so I am unable to do as you request.”
“Then I will find someone who will! What sort of unit are you running, Lavalle?”
“The sort that obeys the orders of its commander, mon Général, and so I submit that I must also be arrested if my men are detained, as it was I that issued their orders.”
The frontline officers in the room had all met the man’s type before, and all dreaded being under the control of one so obviously useless and dangerously incompetent.
“Well. This time I will let it go. But, understand this!”
Molyneux turned around, scoping every man in turn.
“I will now be giving the orders around here.”
Stout hearts sank all around the room, as the possibility became the reality.
“I, Acting Général de Corps D’Armée Albert Roland Molyneux, am here to take command of the Legion Corps with immediate effect. I require a briefing from you and your unit commanders, with full details on all strengths and logistical stocks.”
Calling on all the arrogance of a member of France’s ruling class, bred into him within his mother’s womb, through to the tolerance of his bullying all the way from Aspirant to the rank of Général, he added, “I will take coffee in my suite now and return here in thirty minutes precisely. Be ready or I will replace you with more capable officers.”
Molyneux turned and strode out, satisfied that he had curbed the Legion officers for the moment, and determined to show them exactly who was boss, starting in thirty minutes.
Another officer arrived in the silence that held sway in the main staff room, the remaining presence of some of Molyneux’s officers preventing the outburst that most needed to clear their minds.
Unpeturbed, the American General strode up to Lavalle and saluted.
“General Lavalle?”
“Yes, I am Lavalle, Général. How may I help?”
“John L. Pierce, 16th Armored Group, Sir.”
The smartly turned out officer produced a sealed letter and passed it over with little ceremony.
“Coffee, Général Pierce?”
“That would be most welcome, Sir.”
A cup appeared in front of Pierce, smaller in size than his normal brew. His disappointment lasted until he realised that the hot liquid was of the finest quality.
The staff had started to pull together all information needed for the briefing.
Lavalle handed the envelope and contents to Bittrich.
“Well, Général Pierce, it seems you have arrived at an opportune moment. The Corps has just received a new General and I am no longer in command.”
Pierce had known about the change, part of which was brought on by his presence within the unit, and the need for a more senior rank.
He also knew a little of the new man, and did not like what he knew.
Molyneux had pestered De Gaulle constantly, his previous commands having been of lowly nature and experiencing little combat. De Gaulle saw the opportunity to rid himself of the annoyance and sent the man to De Lattre, with orders that the Commander of First Army could not ignore.
Pierce was a fair man, so decided to stay nothing of his inside knowledge, in order to give Molyneux every chance.
“As you will see, that may be our fault, General Lavalle.”
“Never mind, it is of no import Général. Now, where is your command?”
Moving to a map already surrounded by Lavalle’s staff, Pierce traced a route before stopping the other side of the Rhine.
“My lead elements were at Soufflenheim forty minutes ago. The rest of my unit is either debussing at Hagenau or en route to Hagenau from Landau, where we reconstituted.”
“Reconstituted?”
“We were hit very hard in the opening days, General. My unit was still quite green, and we lost more than our innocence when the Russians attacked.”
“And now, General Pierce?”
“Now?”
A look swept quickly across Pierce’s face, carrying pain, hurt and anger in equal measure. It was quickly replaced with resolve.
“Now, we’re light on everything, but my boys are itching for a scrap, General Lavalle. It's payback time for us, and from what I hear, this is just the right unit to go in harm’s way with.”
Lavalle accepted the compliment on behalf of his legionnaires.
“Apologies, I am at error. Let us meet those who do the soldiering in this Corps.”
Introductions were made between the Legion unit commanders and the Americans, Pierce himself beckoning forward his previously hesitant seniors.
As the handshakes fell away, Bittrich informed Lavalle that the briefing was ready.
To a man, the ensemble checked either the wall clock or their watches, the fact that fourteen minutes had passed indicative of the way that the Legion Corps did its business.
“Excellent work, Willi! That leaves time for soldiers talk and more coffee.”
Which talk and coffee occupied the intervening period before Général Molyneux descended the stairs and all was formality once more.
Bittrich’s briefing, he insisted on doing it himself, was masterly, leaving no loophole for criticism, even from a man trying desperately hard to find one.
None the less, Molyneux managed to trash a lot of the staff work by producing the new order of battle, one of his aides taping it to the wall of the operations room.
Of course, at the head of the Corps and in bold letters was Molyneux’s name and rank.
Beneath that there were now three commands, A and B discarded, now named formally as ‘Normandie’, ‘Lorraine’, and ‘Aquitaine’.
Each senior officer was naturally drawn to his own particular section.
Knocke noted that ‘Camerone’ was now partnered by ‘Alma’ and the newly-arrived 16th Armored. And that Lavalle and Bittrich were at the head of Command Group ‘Normandie.’
Demarais’ command group, ‘Lorraine’, was headed up by a General Leroy-Bessette, the name a faint memory for no known reason of he could recall. ‘Amilakvari’ had been renamed as ‘Sevastopol’, but was still his running mate.
‘Aquitaine’ was presently unformed, awaiting the new units from Sassy before taking the field proper.
Some in the room started to notice a difference in atmosphere and became aware of another powerful presence.
Général d’Armée de Lattre de Tassigny stood silently, reading the body language in the room like a book and immediately understanding that Molyneux’s arrival had not gone well.
“Attention!”
Salutes were thrown everywhere as total silence descended.
“Gentlemen, good afternoon.”
De Lattre strode forward and offered his hand to the senior man, checking his surprised reaction when it seemed that instead of a hand in return, someone had slapped a wet fish into his palm.
“Général Molyneux.”
“Général De Lattre.”
Ever the politician, he prevented himself from recoiling, although he did clandestinely wipe it as he turned to Lavalle, catching sight of Pi
erce, and observed protocol for fear of upsetting the American.
“General Pierce, good to see you again.”
“And you too, Sir.”
Salute and handshake followed, both respectful, and the Frenchman noted the difference as his hand was held firmly.
De Lattre smiled and moved on.
“Général Lavalle.”
His hand was again rewarded with a firm grip, the wet fish now a fading memory.
“Congratulations on ‘Camerone’s’ recent achievement.”
“Thank you Sir. May...”
The senior man interrupted before Lavalle could continue.
“Your sentries are formidable, Lavalle.”
More than one man in the room cringed in anticipation. Only one man looked on in triumph at what he expected was to come.
“They wouldn’t let me in without seeing my papers! Excellent fellows, stood their ground. Promote them both immediately.”
More than one in the room shared the same thought.
‘Does he know?’
Ever the politician, De Lattre’s face continued to hide his prior knowledge.
The triumphant look departed Molyneux’s face as quickly as it had appeared.
“Now, my apologies for not properly informing you of the change of command. Apparently, one of my Major’s made an error in signal routing and then lied to cover it up. He is on his way here for you to use as you see fit, should you have room for another 2nd Lieutenant around here?”
It was posed as a question but De Lattre was sending the demoted man to serve in the unit he had wronged, and that was that.
“Before I am introduced to your officers, I notice that the order of battle is incorrect.”
He strode to the wall and took a moment to take it in, absorbing the grandiose lettering of Molyneux’s name, reading much into it that was wholly accurate.
‘I must watch this man closely.’
Holding out his hand in expectation, one of his Captaine’s pushed a grease pencil into it.
De Lattre went to work, turning to look at Lavalle and then crossing out the rank of ‘Normandie’s’ commander.
“We can do better than that. Général de Division Lavalle it is.”
Bittrich was next.
“For you, you are confirmed as the Corps’ senior Général de Brigade. Your contribution has been invaluable. Thank you, General.”
De Lattre then found the last man he sought, nodding at him in recognition.
‘How long ago did we meet Colonel?’
“And finally we have Général de Brigade Knocke.”
He completed his alterations and proffered the pencil to the Capitaine, who magically reappeared in place.
“Général Guillaume has done nothing but sing your praises ever since you got his Algerians out of Stuttgart.”
Knocke, ever modest, shrugged slightly.
“My men did all the work, and my report on the conduct of certain individuals has been sent forward. Many men did their duty and more that day, Sir.”
“I understand.”
Nodding at the German Colonel, ‘Général now of course’, he stopped himself from engaging Knocke in conversation and, once again businesslike, De Lattre turned to Molyneux and called him to attention.
“General, you are now confirmed as Général de Corps D’Armée, and commander of the Legion Corps D’Assault.”
The Army Commander waited whilst one of his staff appeared on cue, removing Molyneux’s three-star epaulettes, before stepping forward and placing the new four-star versions in place.
De Lattre formally announced, all the time remembering how De Gaulle had forced the issue.
“You have been entrusted with a splendid fighting machine. Use it wisely General.”
He stepped forward, grasping the officer to him for a touch of each cheek, by way of congratulation.
No-one heard the whispered comment.
“Break it and I will break you, Molyneux.”
De Lattre stepped back and exchanged formal salutes, all the time his eyes boring into Molyneux’s, wanting to see some recognition of his concerns, as well as seeking some answers to his questions, but finding nothing of note within.
His mind was suddenly made up and he initiated his plan.
“I am leaving a number of my officers to assist you. Colonel Benoit Plummer will be your Chief of Staff.”
From the back of the crowd stepped a bemedalled officer wearing the insignia of the Regiment de Marche du Tchad, a regiment now lying dead across southern Bavaria, once part of the destroyed 2nd French Armoured Division.
The man bore the pain of his loss stoically, and welcomed the chance to serve with such a fine formation as the Legion Corps.
He also had a number of other assets that would serve the Legion well in the months to come.
He was extremely competent, highly experienced, and, probably more importantly, had the ear of De Lattre. They had been friends since birth, having both enjoyed their childhoods in the sleepy French commune of Mouilleron-en-Pareds.
Finally, his credentials were impeccable, his full name being Benoit Hugues Kelly Clemenceau-Plummer, the grandson of Georges Clemenceau, ex-Prime Minister of France and Conqueror of Germany in the 14-18 War.
De Lattre was introduced to all the officers present and engaged in small talk, enjoying a sample of the Legion’s coffee. His own staff mixed in with those of the Legion Corps, officers from the First Army keen to hear about the recent victory.
When he took his leave, he was confident that the Legion Corps had the very best of leadership, with the exception of the man foisted on him from above. He also knew that Molyneux would be under close scrutiny every waking minute, and that the man watching him had a very special power that would be used wisely, if it proved necessary.
As the entourage left in De Lattre’s wake, Kowalski caught the eye of his prize spy.
Nothing was said, but much passed between them in that millisecond, Kowalski breaking the contact and moving swiftly to ensure his place in the cavalcade. Lavalle caught a glimpse of the man as he left, seeking out Knocke, and finding that the German had seen him too.
A ‘Deux’ minder, immaculately turned out in the uniform of an officer of the Algerian Spahis, casually followed Kowalski outside, where another agent gunned the motor of the military Citroen, ready to take the ‘Polish’ Major back to Army Headquarters.
Knocke and Lavalle stood together in the window of the operations room, studying the agent’s departure, unable to recognise who was watching him, but knowing that the watcher was there none the less.
Their train of thought was interrupted by a polite cough, the noise emanating from the throat of the door guard Corporal intent on attracting Knocke’s attention.
“Sir, an officer gave me this to give to you, he forgot to do so when in here.”
The man offered up an envelope marked for his consumption, and decorated with ‘eyes only’ markings, some of whose ‘O’s’ were solid rather than hollow, an indicator of the sender and the nature of its content.
“Thank you. Your name and that of your fellow please, Caporal?”
“Caporal Jacquet, Sir, and he is Private Humbert. 3rd Compagnie, 7th Regiment du Marche, Tannenberg, Sir.”
Knocke silently sought Lavalle’s permission to continue, and it was given with a satisfied smile.
“I shall make sure your commander gets my full report, together with that of General Lavalle’s here, endorsing your promotion to Sergent and that of Humbert’s to Caporal, effective immediately, courtesy of General De Lattre. Congratulations, Sergent Jacquet. Dismissed.”
Slightly confused at the heavyweight names that had just taken an interest in his well-being, Jacquet threw up a swift salute before retreating speedily, conscious that an officer’s goodwill could evaporate as quickly as it distilled.
The smiles disappeared from both officers’ faces, the envelope suddenly weighing heavy in Knocke’s hand.
“My office
?”
The question remained unanswered, both men moving quickly to the privacy of Lavalle’s first floor suite.
Opening the door, they found Molyneux ensconced, already relieved of his tunic, enjoying a glass of claret with a splendid lunch, laid out on the exquisite marble-topped table.
Lavalle noticed two junior officers placing familiar items in a trunk.
“I expect you to give me the courtesy of knocking before you enter my room, Lavalle.”
“Apologies, My General. I had not realised that I was no longer the resident. I shall remove my items immediately.”
“Excellent. Now, please leave me in peace.”
The two juniors threw a last handful of items on top of the pile, and the two senior men stooped to pick up the trunk.
A small sound from Molyneux indicated his obvious disgust that they should perform such manual labours themselves, the disdain clear on his face as they took their leave.
RSM Vernais strode around the corner and stopped in his tracks, both amused and perturbed by the surreal vision of two of his leaders dragging a large trunk with various possessions poking out from under the half-closed lid.
Keeping his thoughts to himself, he beckoned his men forward and, in his eyes, the officers were replaced by more suitable porters.
“Where to, Sirs?”
“I think it will have to be your private den, Major Vernais.”
For a moment Vernais considered a bluster, but he already knew that, in Lavalle, he had an officer who knew more than he had a right to. Apparently including the fact that he and his cronies had set aside a bedroom for their own use as a private drinking parlour, amongst other things.
“As you wish, Sir.”
“Room one-one-four please, Legionnaires,” the simple words meaning so much to Lavalle as he saw the reaction on his senior Warrant Officer’s face.
Smiling, he confided in Vernais.
“Just until I can get permanently settled somewhere else, Vernais. Then you can have your den back.”
Turning to follow the trunk, Lavalle had second thoughts.
“Major Vernais, will you please locate Commandant de Montgomerie, and ask him to join us in one-one-four immediately please.”
Acknowledging, Vernais went in hunt of the intelligence officer, all the time part of his brain working out where he could find an alternative venue with similar comforts to the recently requisitioned room.
