The Praetorians (14 page)

Villèle asked if this Si Lharba really was the head of Willaya
3
, whereas a report from Tunis claimed the opposite, and whether it was not the paratroops who had dressed him up in camouflage uniform.

Françoise Baguèras, of the French Algerian paper
La Dépêche
, insulted him in her Bab-el-Oued accent by calling
him by his real name—Villèle was ashamed of his origins and hated his family.

“Oh, Zammit, you old bastard, you know perfectly well the captain's speaking the truth. To hell with you and your lot!”

Françoise Baguèras was a hard-featured, almost masculine-looking woman, with her hair scraped back from her forehead. In her veins there flowed as many different kinds of blood as in those of Villèle, but, instead of infecting each other on contact, they had formed a sparkling, dynamic and generous mixture.

She defended her fellow-countrymen, the French Algerians, in front of foreigners with the intransigence and violence of a Passionaria. Yet she was fully aware of their faults, their defects and the many mistakes they had made. When she was with them she never stopped inveighing against them.

Swinging her bag or crushing out a cigarette with her heel, she would say:

“These nitwits, I can't leave them in the lurch now that they're in the soup, and yet they've done all they could to get landed where they are!”

Whenever he was in Algeria Malistair was her constant companion. In her company this impassive American journalist became as vehement as a Mediterranean. He had proposed to her repeatedly, but Françoise was not an animal to put in a cage. Resigned to her refusal, Malistair had followed her into isolated posts in the depths of Kabylia, into the little alleyways of Bab-el-Oued, into the houses of settlers on the coastal road of the Dahras, to activist meetings and even—for the young girl's generous nature opened all doors to her—into the homes of F.L.N. supporters.

He had ended up by being well informed on the Algerian situation. He was one of the few foreigners who had been in physical contact with this drama.

During Esclavier's press conference Malistair asked this question:

“Captain, don't you think that if this war lasts much longer, you paratroops and the
fellaghas
will begin to resemble each other, just as the French Algerians already resemble the Moslems? Each of the two races and two armies, instead of assuming
the other's good qualities, adopts its defects, which is always much easier.”

The French-Algerian journalists shouted in protest and rattled their chairs, and Esclavier took advantage of the confusion to slip out. Glatigny was waiting for him in a car.

He took him to dinner at the Sept Merveilles Restaurant, where they found Albert Bonvillain, Pellegrin and Captain Marindelle. During the battle of Algiers Marindelle had become a specialist in anti-terrorist activity; he had therefore been posted to General Massu's H.Q.

During this dinner Bonvillain asked Esclavier to try to persuade Raspéguy to join them. The colonel was popular in Algeria and in Paris. Everyone knew that his officers and his men would follow him even if they were not in full agreement with him.

The name of Charles de Gaulle and of the Minister of National Defence was bound to reassure Raspéguy, who had been in the F.F.L.
*
and who felt great respect for a certain form of law and order. But Esclavier, who did not care for this sort of mission, tried to get out of it:

“I know my Raspéguy,” he replied, “as suspicious as can be, with his great shepherd's feet firmly planted on the ground, proud of his career and success. He is firmly resolved not to jeopardize either by what he calls ‘damn-fool tricks.'

“It's not the first time they've tried to approach him. But when they do he assumes an air of candour bordering on stupidity, which quickly discourages his interlocutors.

“I'd rather you found someone else to talk to him. Why not Glatigny? Besides, before Raspéguy decides, he'll first have to see de Gaulle.”

“De Gaulle will be rather difficult, I think, but the Minister, that's not impossible.”

The vin rosé was nice and cool, and Pellegrin, who regarded himself as already in the plot since there was promise of something unforeseen and dangerous, had downed three bottles.

He was sitting next to Esclavier. All of a sudden he pointed
out two smartly dressed men at the next table who were listening closely:

“The two D.S.T.
*
agents who are shadowing us!”

He stood up, went over and leant his hands on their table:

“Eavesdropping, my dears?”

He overturned the table, with the plates and glasses still on it, then, in a lordly manner, turned to the manager:

“Put these gentlemen's bill on my account.”

But since he had lost all he possessed at roulette that afternoon it was Bonvillain who had to stump up, with a wry smile on his face. He was furious at having to pay the bill, and still more so at the scene Pellegrin had just provoked.

One morning a top-secret signal came into the operational command post of the regiment from General Hellion, G.O.C. Eastern Algeria, on whom the
10
th Regiment depended. It ordered Captain Boisfeuras to report forthwith to Algiers, then to Paris, to put himself at the disposal of the legal authorities as a result of the inquest opened on the death of Lucien Ben Mohadi. General Hellion was a paratrooper; at one time he had commanded the division.

A parachute regiment lives on its own and has few communications with the rest of the world. There is as much tittle-tattle in a unit of this kind as in any convent or college.

The system introduced by Raspéguy obliged the officers to live with their N.C.O.s; there were therefore no secrets within the unit. Everyone knew, for instance, about the affair the colonel had had with a little Spanish girl from Bab-el-Oued or that Major Glatigny had had with an Arab girl. The men belonged to their officers, who in their turn were owned by them. Knowing their leaders' war records, their qualities and defects, they also knew if they were married, if they had any children, if they got on well with their wives, if they were rich or poor, if their fathers were generals, diplomats or cobblers.

This gang of bohemians, who lived on a few cases of rations, in holes in the ground or in tattered tents, and slogged across
country in down-at-heel boots, were proud of their colonel's handsome mug and of the fact that he was known as the leading paratrooper in France. They would say with pride that Major Jacques de Glatigny was descended from a constable of the king, that Esclavier was a Companion of the Liberation and son of the famous professor, and Boisfeuras a quite exceptional character.

Boisfeuras was part of their “show” and he it was perhaps who held first place in their minds. The captain was not easily approachable, he was even disagreeable and never tried to be popular, but when he strode by in silence, followed by his Nung, the little paratroopers who had not known Indo-China dreamt of fabulous and gory adventures.

Boisfeuras was reputed to be the owner of banks and plantations, they said he was born in Peking, that he had boarded junks, fought in three or four different armies, been tortured by the Japanese, been parachuted into Communist China by the Americans; voices sank to a whisper when they referred to the way he had conducted the battle of Algiers.

He had become the prototype of the soldier of fortune, and all of them wished to be like him.

The regiment was then back at base in Z. The text of the general's signal was known an hour later in all the companies—more rapidly than usual owing to the fact that it was “secret and confidential.”

Groups began forming everywhere round warrant officers, who in their turn went off to find their platoon commanders or their captains.

Colour-Sergeant Buffier, whose opinion carried great weight, for he was an officer of the Légion d'Honneur and had repeatedly refused to be commissioned, declared:

“If they want Captain Boisfeuras let them come here and get him.”

And he had tapped his Colt with the flat of his hand.

Colonel Raspéguy went off at once to see the general at Sétif; Esclavier went with him, while Glatigny hastened to Algiers to try to get more information.

As a major, and later as a lieutenant-colonel, Hellion had
been a great man, even though he stood no higher than a sack of potatoes. He was highly strung, agile and grumpy, and spoke through his nose, snorting all the time. Landing on a mined beach in Provence had cost him an arm and he waddled like a duck, so peppered with shrapnel were his legs. But, on being promoted to general, he had put on weight. The death of his son in Indo-China had not improved matters. He now longed for a quiet life and dreamt of being made an ambassador.

He was fond of Raspéguy—which was rare among the top brass—and Esclavier had been one of his son's friends. He invited them to lunch.

Just by watching him unfold his napkin, Esclavier realized he was no longer the same man. General Hellion watched the arrival of the hors-d'œuvre with the veiled greed of a fat old ecclesiastic.

They had to wait till the dessert to bring up the subject of Boisfeuras.

Colonel Raspéguy, who had been irritated by the slow service, spoke brusquely and showed little tact:

“Sir, there's no question of Boisfeuras being hauled before the courts for an order which I gave him and which he merely carried out. Neither my soldiers, nor my officers, nor I myself, would be able to tolerate that.”

The general, who was sipping his brandy, choked and his blotchy face went purple.

“Raspéguy, I've received an order signed by the Minister of National Defence which is addressed to Captain Boisfeuras and enjoins him to return to Paris as soon as possible. He is suspected of having wiped out Ben Mohadi, the deputy's brother. He will be interrogated by an examining magistrate and if there's anything against him, which I don't believe, he'll be brought to trial. I demand that this order be carried out forthwith. As soon as you get back to your unit you will inform me of the captain's movement order. Tomorrow he'll take the Air France plane from Maison Blanche. Bloody hell, Raspéguy, if I let him leave, and if the Minister has signed that order, it means your Boisfeuras is in no danger whatsoever! And now I don't want to hear another word about this business.”

Hellion was as stubborn as a mule; Esclavier dragged the colonel off before he could say anything he might later have regretted.

Raspéguy refused, however, to shake hands with the general, who muttered:

“As difficult as ever. . . .”

Then Hellion went off to have his siesta.

In the car which drove them back Raspéguy declared that he would accompany Boisfeuras to Paris and would report with him before the examining magistrate.

“There's something about this business I don't understand,” he said. “You and Glatigny assured me that this time we had a Minister who was on our side and was interested in us paratroops. And here's the bastard hauling one of my officers up before an examining magistrate for an act committed in wartime on orders from his superiors!”

Esclavier did not understand either. Glatigny still less, and that was why he had gone to Algiers.

 * * * * 

All the officers of the
10
th Regiment were waiting for the colonel's return. But already the news had reached the two other regiments who had come to support them in the operations at Z. They, too, had sent some officers to get further information.

A few hours later the two parachute divisions had heard all about it.

This phrase was being repeated everywhere, accompanied by a tap of the hand on the speaker's revolver holster:

“If they want Boisfeuras let them come and get him.”

A united front had been formed round the captain's name and it was certainly the first time that the paratroopers were all in agreement. They all felt that Algeria was about to be lost, that their sacrifices had been in vain. It was all for nothing that their comrades had been killed and that they themselves had soiled their hands.

Haunted again by the end of Indo-China, they imagined themselves disembarking once more at Marseilles, vanquished, and booed by the crowds.

And this time they would be not only vanquished but also guilty! The question of torture would be flung in their faces, and, for having obeyed their civilian and military superiors, they would be hauled into court.

They kept saying to one another:

“The
fellaghas
who've planted bombs and slit women's and children's throats will be called to give evidence against us. Christ Almighty, Yacef Saadi may perhaps give Colonel Godard the benefit of the doubt!”

All at once they were choked with the despair they had known after Dien-Bien-Phu and their anger on the day after the battle of Algiers.

At six o'clock in the evening signals began to pour in from all the regiments and the rear bases of Algiers and Constantine, followed shortly afterwards by a telephone call from Major de Glatigny:

“Boisfeuras is only the first of a long list on which the names of about a hundred paratroop officers are written down. This list has been drawn up by a senior officer in the Judge Advocate General's department who's in close touch with the progressivist circles in Paris.”

Once the machine was set in motion, it was therefore going to involve other officers after Boisfeuras.

Glatigny asserted that they had exploited the signature of the Minister, who had signed one paper among so many others without reading it. Ever since the resignation of the Gaillard cabinet he had been content to settle all outstanding business in a couple of hours.

“He might at least do his job properly,” muttered Raspéguy, who all the same felt somewhat reassured. “That's what he's paid for.”

A little later Marindelle in his turn telephoned from the antenna of the Ministry of National Defence, where Glatigny and Bonvillain had joined him. The plan of action he proposed could result only in a mutiny or a
coup d' état.