“Not possible?” said Brigitte.
“The complex is on lockdown. There have been several terrorist attacks.”
“That’s why I am here. There is a wild rumor that French forces have massacred twelve thousand Muslims in Philippeville. I just want to get the facts so I can dispel the rumors before things get out of hand.”
“I understand, Brigitte. But I cannot let you inside the compound without the general’s permission.”
“So, go get the general’s permission,” said Brigitte.
“It’s not that easy, Brigitte. The general is a busy man. Perhaps you could ask for an appointment through his office?”
“If anyone says appointment to me again, I swear I will claw their eyes out with my fingernails.”
“Is that a threat?” said the sergeant.
“She’s not threatening anyone, Sergeant. She is just venting her frustration.”
“Sounded like a threat to me,” said the sergeant.
“Tell the sergeant you were just venting, Brigitte.”
Brigitte stood her ground and remained silent. “Tell the sergeant you were just kidding or he will arrest you and throw you into the brig, Brigitte,” said Bruno. “I do not have the keys to the brig and it will take me some time to get you out. Perhaps a week or two.”
Brigitte still stood her ground.
“I understand there are cockroaches and the occasional rat in our brig,” said Bruno.
That broke Brigitte’s silence, “While I have faced much worse than cockroaches and rats, I will admit that I may have overreacted in my comments.”
“Not much of an apology,” said the sergeant.
“Let it go, Sergeant,” said Bruno.
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant.
Bruno stepped past the gate and pulled Brigitte to one side, out of earshot of the sergeant. “Brigitte, what in the hell are you doing? You can’t just barge in and ask questions about ongoing operations like you did in Vietnam. Things are different now.”
“Why should they be different? I am just trying to get at the truth, Bruno.”
“I am not so sure that is a wise idea,” said Bruno.
“What are you talking about? Of course it’s a good idea. I am a journalist. The people have a right to know what their military is doing.”
“Do they?”
Brigitte was taken aback by Bruno’s question. She considered the implications and said, “The rumors are true then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No. But your silence infers it is so.”
“You can suppose whatever you wish. As you have always done.”
“Just answer the damn question, Bruno. Did French troops kill twelve thousand Muslims?”
Bruno considered long and hard before answering. He knew Brigitte was like a dog with a bone when it came to researching a good story. “There was an action at Philippeville. I do not know the exact number of casualties. I left before…”
“You were there?”
“I wasn’t part of what happened in the city. I was part of the battle on the hillside overlooking the city. Then I was ordered to another place.”
“They didn’t want you to see what they were planning?”
“I don’t think they were planning anything. They were reacting. Things may have gotten out of hand. I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it happened, Brigitte. I swear it.”
“How could they do such a thing?”
“There are two sides to every story, Brigitte. The Muslims slaughtered pied-noir families including woman and children.”
“How do you know? You said you weren’t there.”
“I wasn’t. But one hears things.”
“Just more rumors?”
“I suppose. Yes.”
“That’s why I have to get in and interview the general, Bruno. He knows the truth.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“A general will only hear what he wants to hear.”
“He’s going to try and sweep twelve thousand Muslim deaths under the rug like bits of dust?”
“I don’t know what he is going do. He’s a general. I’m a colonel. I obey orders.”
“That is a sorry excuse, Bruno.”
“Yes. But it is the only one I have. I am sorry, Brigitte.”
“I will not let this stand. Not until the truth comes out… all of it,” said Brigitte.
“I wish you luck. I really do. But I must go now,” said Bruno moving off and leaving Brigitte in front of the gate.
THIRTEEN
Bruno stood on an airfield and spoke to the eleven hundred men in his new regiment. He was wearing his jumpsuit as were the soldiers standing before him. There was a large stack of bricks to one side of the columns of men and a burlap sack at the end of each line. “You know who I am and what is expected. You are now a member of Bigeard’s Regiment. You soon will be the elite of the elite. I will not fail in my duty and neither will you. We will not wait for our enemy to attack. We will take the battle to them. If you die, you will die with honor. When the enemy hears our helicopters and sees our parachutes they will fear you. Some will run. Most will fight. It is no matter to us. We will own the battlefield. We will complete our mission. The one promise I will make to you is that I will never ask you to anything that I will not do myself,” said Bruno and turned to his executive officer, Major Bour. “Major, issue the day’s ration.”
Major Bour ordered the regiment’s Sergeant-Major to carry out Bruno’s command. The Sergeant-Major barked out orders to soldiers as the end of each line. They picked up the burlap sacks and passed them down each line of troops. Each soldier pulled out a raw onion and passed the sack down the line. “What is this?” asked a young soldier.
“Breakfast,” said a veteran.
“But our wine ration?”
“Ain’t no such thing in this Regiment. Colonel says it slows the stamina. And believe me… you’re gonna need your stamina.”
The passing of sacks continued until every soldier in the regiment held an onion, including Bruno. “Bon appetite,” Bruno said and he took a large bite out of his onion.
His men followed his example. “Once you have finished your breakfast we will begin what I like to call the Grand twenty-five. You will each load twenty-five kilos of bricks into your rucksacks. With your rucksack on your back you will do twenty-five pull ups, twenty-five squats and then we will go on a twenty-five kilometer forced march. When not fighting, we train. You will be the fittest soldiers in the French army. And when we fight you will not tire. You will learn to love battle because it is the only time when you will not be exercising,” said Bruno.
Bruno finished his onion and walked to the brick stack. He loaded his rucksack with bricks and slung it over his shoulders. His men followed his example. All of the officers under his command joined in the forced march. Bruno had one guiding principle for the commanders in his regiment – You lead by example or you do not lead. “Follow me,” said Bruno as he set off at a brisk pace.
His men followed. Most puked up their onion before the first ten kilometers. Bruno smiled. He was known for a brutal sense of humor and joked freely with both the officers and the enlisted men under his command. He did not penalize his men for struggling as long as they didn’t quit. Over time they would become strong and confident like him and they would love him for it. They would become Bruno’s men.
Brigitte entered the reception area of the French interior minister’s office and approached Mitterrand’s secretary. The secretary recognized her from previous visits and considered warning Mitterrand but Brigitte was too quick. “How may I help you, Mademoiselle Friang?” said the secretary.
“I’d like to see Minister Mitterrand,” said Brigitte.
“Of course,” said the secretary opening up the scheduling book.
“You needn’t play your game. I don’t have an appointment,” said Brigitte.
“I see. Unfortunately the minis
ter is fulling booked this entire week. Perhaps I could schedule you in for next week? Say Thursday after lunch?”
“Please inform the minister I am here. I am sure he can make time to answer a few questions.”
“May I ask what it regards?”
“You may not.”
“I see,” said the secretary. “If you would like to have a seat?”
“Thank you,” said Brigitte and she sat in a chair that had a good view of the door to the minister’s office. The secretary called Mitterrand on the phone and spoke in a hushed voice. He nodded several times and hung up the phone. “The minister suggests you make an appointment.”
“Please inform the minister that I will camp out in front of his house if he does not grant me an interview.”
“I am sure that will not be necessary. If you will just—”
“He knows I’m not bluffing.”
“I am sure you are not. But I assure you he has a full schedule and—”
“Never mind. I’ll tell him,” said Brigitte jumping up from her seat and marching toward the office door.
The secretary jumped in front of the door to stop her. “You cannot enter without being announced.”
“So… announce me.”
“Will you promise to wait here?”
“Yes… for one minute.”
“Fine,” said the secretary as he returned to his desk and called Mitterrand. Mitterrand did not answer. “Merde.”
“Time’s up,” said Brigitte as she opened the door and marched inside. The secretary followed her.
Mitterrand was sitting at his desk reading the newspaper when Brigitte entered. “Busy?” said Brigitte.
“Brigitte, why are you in my office?” said Mitterrand.
“I’m sorry, Minister,” said the secretary. “She insisted.”
“Yes, yes. One of her tantrums. I am very aware of Brigitte’s tactics,” said Mitterrand. “Brigitte, do you know I could have you shot?”
“Philippeville,” said Brigitte.
Mitterrand considered for a moment and motioned for his secretary to leave. The secretary exited closing the office door behind him. “I can’t talk about it, Brigitte. It’s a military matter.”
“Bullshit. You are the military.”
“You flatter me but no I am not. And even if I were, I would not be at liberty to talk about an ongoing operation.”
“Ongoing operation? They already slaughtered twelve thousand civilians. How far did you plan on letting them go?”
“That is an exaggeration.”
“So you do know something about it?”
“I have read a few preliminary reports. Yes. But I will not comment to you or anyone else in the press about the events in Philippeville until I have a full understanding of what happened.”
“François, we have known each other a long time. How could something like this happen?”
“Off the record?”
“All right. Off the record.”
“I don’t know. I was as shocked as you were when I heard.”
“Is it twelve thousand?”
“I doubt it, but it is significant by what I have been told.”
“Jesus. If the Algerians ever lacked a reason to demand Independence they’ve got one now.”
“Yes. I believe we have just woken the desert lion.”
“The U.N. will hate France.”
“Tell them to get in line.”
“You know I cannot stop until I find the truth… on the record,” said Brigitte moving back toward the door.
“I would expect nothing less,” said Mitterrand. “You are one of the few that keep us somewhat honest.”
“Somewhat?”
Mitterrand shrugged.
“You will let me know once you have finished your investigation?”
“Of course,” said Mitterrand. “I am pretty sure I have your number someplace.”
Brigitte laughed and left his office.
Brigitte sat in Damien’s office. “I have tried every minister and general I know. Nobody is willing to talk about it,” said Brigitte. “I’ve got to go to Philippeville, Damien.”
“I don’t think that would be very wise at this point,” said Damien. “I am not sure the French Army could protect you, given the current state of affairs.”
“Probably not but I’ve run out of ideas.”
“We got a report that a French soldier was arrested for rape and murder of a teenage Corsican girl while on leave in Oran. He is being held at the Blida Military Prison just outside of Algiers awaiting court martial.”
“I don’t have time to work on another story, Damien.”
“No. I didn’t think you would. The prisoner was with the 10th Para Division under General Massu. He may have been at Philippeville,” said Damien writing down the soldier’s name on a slip of paper and handing it to Brigitte.
“Damien, you are a godsend,” said Brigitte, collecting her things and moving toward the door.
“Would you mind telling that to my wife?” said Damien. “She thinks I’m a heathen because I don’t go to church.”
“I tell you what. I’ll marry you if this works out,” said Brigitte exiting his office.
“Oh good. Polygamy. Just what I needed to make my life more simple,” said Damien to nobody in particular.
Coyle stood in front of a H-21 Shawnee helicopter surveying its long narrow body and tandem rotors. Coyle grunted as Bruno emerged from the helicopter’s side door having completed his initial inspection.
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Your boxcar can still carry three times as many troops,” said Bruno. “And it’s considerably faster than the helicopter.”
“…and it needs an airfield. You can land this puppy anywhere. I know the future when I see it,” said Coyle.
“Well, you could always learn to fly one.”
“No thank you. I’m a fixed wing man and I plan on staying that way.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Bruno slapping Coyle on the back. “Ride that pony into the sunset.”
“It’s a horse, Bruno. Ya ride a horse into the sunset. Not a pony.”
“Oh? I thought they were the same thing.”
“Ya thought wrong. How many of these things they give, ya?”
“Twelve of the Shawnee troop carriers and four Sikorsky gunships. We can drop two companies right on top of the enemy.”
“And you still want me fly with you?”
“You are good luck. Besides, I would miss your American sense of humor.”
“And you would see less of Brigitte.”
“I don’t think she wants to see much of me.”
“Still in the dog house?”
Bruno looked puzzled. “What is ‘dog house’?”
“Means you’re up shit creek without a paddle.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“It’s not.”
“She does not say anything about me?”
“I am smart enough not to ask. I am sure she will get over it eventually.”
“You Americans never cease to amaze me. You always believe things will work out.”
“Yeah. It keeps us moving forward. When is the first mission?”
“We wait for Major Aussaresses to tell where we can find the enemy.”
“And how is he gonna do that?”
“I don’t dare ask.”
Coyle looked at Bruno with concern.
“And you shouldn’t ask either, Coyle,” said Bruno. “Sometimes life is better not knowing.”
“That don’t make it right, Bruno.”
“No. It doesn’t. But it is the truth, my friend,” said Bruno, and he walked away.
It was a windowless room with a concrete floor. There was a drain grid in the middle that was used to wash away the blood, piss and vomit. Aussaresses stood back and watched as a French corporal attached electrodes to the genitals of the mujahideen soldier that had been captured during the attack on Philippeville. The genitals were one of
the most sensitive areas on the human body and responded well to electrical current.
The electrodes’ wires were attached to a regulator which in turn was attached to a hand-cranked generator. Aussaresses was well aware that he could have used a car battery or the electricity from a wall socket but he liked the drama of the hand-cranked generator. The victim knew what came next once the handle started turning and the whirling sound only enhanced the feeling of terror. A knob on the regulator determined the amount of shock produced. Aussaresses had no desire to physically harm the mujahideen and ensured that his men were careful not to overstimulated the nerve endings beyond what they could endure. Torture was a time consuming process and patience was required.
This particular mujahideen was of interest because he was from the village of Ain Sefra in the Naama Provence. Ain Sefra was considered the gateway to the Sahara and a key strategic point. The French garrison in Ain Sefra had suffered multiple rebel raids and had lost a large cache of weapons a few months back. It was believed that the mujahideen were recruiting young Berber men to their cause as the caravans passed through the area on their way to the Sahara.
Aussaresses wanted the location of the mujahideen camp in the surrounding mountains. He would spend as much time as necessary to break the mujahideen prisoner and extract the information he desired. Aussaresses was a patient man. It was his patience that made him so unnerving.
Aussaresses was an officer and did not need to get his hands dirty. He had trained his men properly in the techniques he had learned in the French Army’s anti-insurgency academy and in Indochina. He had studied the Viet Minh’s interrogation methods by interviewing French soldiers that had been captured and later escaped or had been released at the end of the war. The Viet Minh were very effective at extracting information from prisoners in the first seventy-two hours when the information was fresh and most useful.
Aussaresses had an analytical mind. He had learned to compartmentalize the emotions he felt and the information he was gathering. Many of the men he spoke with had their spirits crushed and would never be the same again. They were no longer the warriors they had been trained to be. They had become docile. They had become shadows of their former selves. He found that interesting and made note of it in his extensive logs.
Café Wars Page 15
