What Massu was offering may be his last opportunity to fight the enemies of France. He did not want to miss his chance to serve his country one last time on the battlefield. He knew what was being asked of him and that it went against his personal morals. Perhaps he could find a compromise and keep his hands clean. The only way to find out was to accept Massu’s offer and let them observe him. He wasn’t sure how he would react but a chance at a combat command was worth the risk.
Trinquier invited Bruno to join him for a drink in the garden after the meeting with Massu. Trinquier was like many officers and did not like Bruno but respected his ability as a fighter. It was well known that Bruno won the battles he fought. Trinquier knew he needed a bulldog to command his paratroopers. “Your friend, Coyle, do you think he will fly for us?” said Trinquier.
“I don’t know. In Vietnam he only flew cargo and occasionally troops for the Air Force. He once was a great fighter pilot but he has become a pacifist,” said Bruno.
“And yet, from what I hear, he fought at Dien Bien Phu.”
“Yes. For a woman.”
“The journalist, Brigitte Friang?”
“Yes.”
“She must be one hell of a woman.”
“She is.”
“So, you will ask him?”
“Me?”
“He is your friend.”
Bruno considered for a long moment. Was this part of their test to see if he was fit for command? “All right. I will ask him but I cannot guarantee his answer.”
“Ask nicely,” said Trinquier with a smile.
Massu stared out his office window and watched Bruno and Trinquier talk. Aussaresses was still with him and said, “I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust anyone. That’s why you are so good at your job.”
“Why he is so important?”
“He is a hero.”
“Yes. And he will draw attention. Attention that we don’t want.”
“Now. No. But when all this is over and bombs are no longer killing Parisians during their morning coffee and the politicians have conveniently forgotten how they asked us to restore peace at all costs, the public will demand answers. There will be inquires as to what we have done and how we did it. The generals and politicians will demand a sacrifice. And who better to offer them than a hero?” said Massu.
TEN
It was the middle of the night when Si Larbi woke his Mujahideen fighters in the mountains above Philippeville. Fires were stoked and a big breakfast was cooked and eaten. It would be a long day and they would need their strength. He was patient to a point and then hurried his men along. They would need to reach the city before sunrise to avoid being seen by the pied-noir militia outposts.
Up to this point in the conflict the mujahideen had not concentrated their forces and stayed away from the cities that were well protected by the French Army and the pied-noir militias. He was surprised that FLN leaders had granted his request to attack Philippeville.
There was a large community of pied-noir in the suburbs of Philippeville and the ethnic tension was unusually intense, even for Algeria. Many of the Muslims had lost family members during the Setif Massacre ten years before. The entire region was a powder keg waiting to explode and the FLN was ready and willing to light the match. The pied-noir settlements would be an easy target for him and his men once they had killed the militiamen in the outlying outposts.
Like most settler communities the pied-noir of Philippeville did not rely on the French Army or police to protect them. They had learned from experience that the French were slow to react and French laws often got in the way of justice. Instead, the pied-noir of Philippeville had recruited their own militias and armed them using community funds. The militia trained like the army and many of its members were veterans from the armed forces of their native countries or the French Foreign Legion.
It was still dark when the column of five hundred mujahideen reached the bottom of the mountain. Si Larbi let them rest for a few minutes then ordered them to their fighting positions.
They spread out into a skirmish line and sent sappers out in front to take out the militia outposts. The fighters that had been fighting guerilla type actions for the last year were excited. They had never been part of a fighting force this large and it gave them confidence.
In addition to the mujahideen, there were over two thousand fellagha – former farmers that had turned to violence when the French government took away their farms and gave them to the pied-noir. The fellagha would attack the French garrison inside Philippeville and keep the four hundred soldiers that garrisoned the fort busy while the mujahideen attacked the pied-noir settlements.
FLN commandos were hidden in cellars around the city and would attack the government buildings, the police station and any police patrols in the operational area. Once the battle started, prayers would need to be postponed until after their victory but they were sure that Allah would understand and continue protect them.
Si Larbi was anxious to get on with the attack but he knew he needed to be patient. There was a lot at stake. The eyes of men that would one day rule an independent Algeria where on him. This was his chance to impress them and ensure his future in the new government.
Tringuier had placed his brigade of paratroopers between the militia outposts and the city. He did not want to tip his hand to the unsuspecting mujahideen commander. The French were well dug in with the troops’ foxholes at the base of a slope and supported by machine guns and recoilless rifles elevated on the top of the slope so that they could shoot over their troops’ heads. Claymore mines were laid out in groups of three in front of the foxholes. It was a well-laid trap. The attack on the outposts would give the French troops fair warning that the enemy was near. There would be no surprise attack as the mujahideen had planned.
French reconnaissance units were the first to spot the mujahideen as they approached the pied-noir outposts. The recon unit commander radioed Trinquier to report his observations and give him a rough estimate of size of the mujahideen forces that his men were about to face. It was more than he had expected but he knew his men were well prepared and had the element of surprise on their side. Trinquier was not overly concerned. He told the radio operator to send out the go signal to all French forces.
It was dark as Bruno and Coyle waited on a military airfield beside Coyle’s C-119. The two platoons of paratroopers and their commander were already inside and seated so the plane could take off the moment it received the radio message that would trigger the operation.
Bruno had convinced Coyle to fly for Massu by promising him that he would not be required to drop any napalm drums as he had at Dien Bien Phu. He told Coyle of the need to drop the two platoons behind the enemy lines once the battle had begun in order to cut off the enemy’s escape. Only a C-119 was big enough to transport the required number of men in one load and Coyle’s C-119 was the only one available in Algeria at the moment. Coyle was wary but had agreed, just this once. “I would like to ask you something but I do not want to offend you,” said Bruno.
“Go ahead. I have a pretty thick skin,” said Coyle.
“Why no combat? You were once a fighter pilot and I know you can handle yourself in a battle,” said Bruno. “Do you not wish to serve your country?”
“Well, first… this ain’t my country and this ain’t my war. Second, I’ve seen enough violence to last a lifetime. I figure I’ve paid my dues and I’m due a break. Third, if America ever enters a war again I’ll have to see how I feel at the time and if I’m really needed. There’s usually lots of young fools willing to risk their lives for the glory of fighting for their country. I know. I was one of them. I just don’t find it so glorious anymore.”
“I see,” said Bruno.
“Do ya? Or do you see me as a coward?”
“I know you are not a coward, Coyle. You proved that at Dien Bien Phu. I believe you just need the proper motivation to fight.”
“I guess.”
“Brigitte is the proper motivation.”
“That she is.”
The cockpit side window slid open. Coyle’s engineer popped his head out and said something in French. “That’s it. We are go,” said Bruno.
Coyle and Bruno climbed through the side door and the crew chief buttoned up the aircraft by closing the back doors. The two engines were fired up and the plane taxied to the runway. The engines roared to full power and the twin-tailed aircraft took off into the dark sky.
The pied-noir in the outposts above the city were well trained and knew the mujahideen were coming that morning. They also knew that they would be the first attacked and most likely would not see the sunrise. It didn’t matter. They were protecting their families and were willing to sacrifice their lives for their cause. They kept quiet and stayed low watching the hillside above. They could see movement but dared not open fire which would surely give away their position. Instead they would wait until they were attacked and kill as many of the Muslim fighters as possible before being overrun.
The battle for Philippeville started in the darkness of early morning. Si Larbi ordered his men forward. The mujahideen crawled through the grass as far as they dared, then tossed grenades into the pied-noir outposts. The explosions were a signal for those in the city to begin their attack. Most of the pied-noir in the outposts died before ever getting a shot off. Those that survived the grenade attacks were overwhelmed by mujahideen rifle and machine gun fire in less than a minute. The settlers had done their duty and died bravely for their community.
Si Larbi was pleased that few of his men had died or been wounded in the attacks on the outposts. The surprise of the attack now gone, Si Larbi ordered the rest of his mujahideen to rise up and move down the hill toward the city. He and his men were unaware of the French positions below and fell straight into the paratroopers’ ambush.
The well-disciplined paratroopers waited until the mujahideen were just a few yards in front of their positions before setting off the claymore mines. Six hundred ball bearings were launched from each of the mines in the mujahideen’s direction using shaped charges in the way that Napoleon’s cannons used nails and bits of broken bottles to mow down his enemies. The effect was the same and two dozen mujahideen were ripped to pieces in an instant.
Si Larbi was lucky and was not injured. He yelled to his men to get down. The mujahideen hit the ground and lay as flat as possible as the French opened fire with their machine guns. Si Larbi ordered his men to hold their ground and return fire. Hearing their commander’s voice, the mujahideen recovered from their initial shock and returned fire.
Inside the cockpit of the C-119 Bruno stood beside the paratrooper commander, a captain, and looked out the window at the battle below. The positions were clear with the French between the mujahideen and the lights of the city. The lines traded tracer bullets as the battle raged. Coyle pointed to where he thought would make a good landing zone for the paratroopers. The captain nodded in agreement. Coyle banked the aircraft toward the landing zone. The captain left the cockpit to ready his men for the jump. “Watch your top knot, Bruno,” said Coyle.
“You have never explained what that means,” said Bruno.
“Yeah, I know. Drives ya crazy, don’t it,” said Coyle with a smile.
“Americans,” said Bruno turning to leave.
“French,” said Coyle watching him exit the cockpit. Once the paratroopers had jumped Coyle would return to the airbase, pick up the rest of the captain’s company, and return to the battlefield.
In the hold, the crew chief opened the side door on the back of the aircraft. The paratroopers hooked up their static lines on their captain’s orders. Bruno slipped on his parachute. It was unusual for Bruno to carry any type of weapon into combat. He believed that a commander’s duty was to lead his men, not fight the enemy directly. But today he had been invited to observe not command. He attached a submachinegun on to the parachute’s harness above the backup chute. Today I will fight if given the chance, he thought. I may never be given the opportunity again.
The jump light turned green and the captain signaled his men. They jumped out the doorway and the captain followed. Bruno was the last to jump. He didn’t like the feeling of following as he stepped through the open doorway. He was always the first to jump from the lead aircraft even when he commanded an entire battalion. He would talk to the captain later and explain his reasoning for jumping first but at the moment he was falling into a combat zone and needed to focus.
The paratroopers landed on the backside of the hill above the city. The mujahideen were too busy fighting the paratroopers already engaged to notice the two platoons disappear behind the top of the hill.
Bruno released his submachinegun and detached his parachute. He listened as the captain gave orders to his platoon commanders to deploy their men at the top of the hill overlooking the mujahideen positions. He was here to observe not to advise. Still he could not stand idly by as French troops risked their lives for the country when he knew they were being badly led. He waited until the captain was finished and the platoon commanders had left before he approached. “Why the top of the hill?” said Bruno.
“We will maintain the highest fighting position no matter how the battle unfolds. Plus the sun will be at our backs and blind the mujahideen,” said the captain.
“Yes, but the bright morning sky will silhouette your men and make them easy targets. Why not deploy a few yards down the hill? You will still keep the advantage of the sun and the higher fighting position when the mujahideen retreat.”
“And if we are attacked from behind?”
“Fight the enemy you see not the one you imagine.”
The captain considered Bruno’s advice. He knew his reputation and didn’t doubt the wisdom of his words. He did not want his men to see him as unsure or incompetent and yet he did not want to endanger them any more than was necessary to achieve their mission. He swallowed his pride and nodded agreement to Bruno. The captain went off to update his platoon leaders on the new fighting positions.
Bruno thought highly of the captain. When confronted with the error, he had made the right decision to protect his men above any personal desires or needs. A good officer must learn from his mistakes and correct them when possible.
The grenade explosions on the hillside and the battle that followed were clearly visible from the city. The FLN commandos emerged from their hiding places. They were armed with submachineguns, grenades and Molotov cocktails. Their objective was not to destroy the French authorities within the city but rather to occupy them with fire bombings so they could not respond to the mujahideen and fellagha attacks. They gathered in a designated alley near the police station.
They moved as a unit to the front of the building. Three of the commandos lit and hurled Molotov cocktails at the barred windows. Two of the bottles of gasoline smashed against the iron bars and set the front of the building on fire. When police officers ran out to investigate, two commandos with submachineguns opened fired killing three police officers and driving the others back into the burning building.
One bottle made it inside and shattered on the tile floor in the commander’s office. The police commander was engulfed in flames. He ran for the door but was overwhelmed before he could get it open. He fell to the floor and died.
The gunfight between the commandos and the police officers firing through the station’s windows and doorway only lasted five minutes. The commandos had other targets that they needed to strike and broke off the attack. The police station was burning inside and out. The fire and tending to their wounded would keep the police tied up well into the morning. They would be of little use to the city’s residents.
The leader of the fellagha had heard the explosions from the grenades on the hillside above the city. His men were gathered under the overhead tarps of the market nearest to the French garrison. They were not heavily armed like the mujahideen. What they lacked in munitions they made up for in numbers. Over two tho
usand men armed with axes, picks and spades were under his command. A few even had pistols and rifles left over from the Nazi occupation when they fought on the side of the French and British.
His men were not well trained and lacked discipline, but they were determined to drive the French and the pied-noir from Algeria and reclaim the farms they had lost. He hoped this was enough to keep his men fighting when the French opened fire with their machine guns and recoilless rifles. He ordered his men forward toward the garrison. Many carried ladders and ropes with grappling hooks that could be used to scale the steep walls.
He knew that the mujahideen would join them in their battle to take the French fort once they disposed of the pied-noir militias. His mission was to keep the French forces occupied and to take the garrison if possible. He was a veteran of World War II and had fought in the Foreign Legion against the fascists. He was getting older and had become a leader in his community. He wanted to prove himself to the FLN leadership in hopes of gaining a position in the new government once independence had been achieved. He would sacrifice his friends and neighbors and maybe even himself for the cause.
The four hundred French soldiers guarding the fort were waiting for the rebels. Their commander did not wait until the crowd reached the garrison’s walls and gave the order to fire at will. The soldiers in the garrison complied. They killed six fellagha and wounded fifteen in the opening volley from their machine guns.
Café Wars Page 11
