“Go on, Walt.”
“There will be teething problems for sure, but I think we need to put aside our prejudices.”
‘Prejudices? Am I? Did I?’
“Sir, we are either allies with the Germans, or we are not, and the way I see it, our actions thus far have not borne out our faith and trust.”
‘Our actions have not borne out our faith and trust?’
Eisenhower felt angry and prepared to remonstrate before deflating swiftly, suddenly understanding that he had avoided using the German forces for anything specific, the committal of one of their infantry divisions in Denmark being at the behest of McCreery, rather than himself; the use of the Legion was because the French had done it themselves, not because he had made the running.
Even agreeing to move them up into the Ruhr…
‘Goddamnit!’
“So, what do you suggest, Walt?”
His lack of denial being all the confession Bedell-Smith needed.
“Sir, these ‘Legion’ troops have shown that the German is still up for a brawl, and more units of the new Republican Army are forming as we speak. Get Guderian involved, and find out his views. Use his skills, his experience, until we get a handle on the new enemy.”
“I hear you, Walter. But we are nowhere near ready to go over to attacking, even in a limited sense. We tried it with the 12th Armored, the Polish and Patton’s boys, and each time we had our backside handed to us. We cannot yet successfully hit back.”
Bedell-Smith raised his eyebrows and, in any other man, Eisenhower might have detected a mocking tone as his CoS indicated the report lying between them.
“I thought we just did, Sir?”
Two salutes, immaculately prescribed, commenced proceedings.
“Good to see you, Ernst, and very well done today.”
The two shook hands and moved to the folding map table, its rickety structure sufficient to provide a platform for a review of the situation map.
A drink was pressed into Lavalle’s hand and he appreciated its cut, the dust and grime of the drive lying heavy upon him.
Knocke finished his brief, leaving out nothing that his senior might need to know.
Lavalle took another deep draught of the coffee, enhanced with something that had been liberated from a local hostelry.
“That’s damn good!”
Knocke smiled. Finishing his brew and waving off a refill, he spoke softly.
“The Algerians don’t look beaten.”
He waved the empty mug towards the main road, down which a steady stream of vehicles and men moved towards safety.
Lavalle automatically looked at the same sight, delaying his response with another visit to the coffee mix.
“On my way up here I saw some who seemed to have little fight but, on the whole, I think you’re right.”
Lavalle then drained his drink.
“I did say they were tough soldiers.”
Both men surrendered to a second attempt to refill, the insistent legionnaire taking it personally that his special coffee and Ansbach Brandy brew had been rejected.
“So, on the assumption that you didn’t know we had special coffee, what brings the Corps Commander to the front, I wonder?”
The two shared a smile, a genuine one between two men who had become firm friends.
“Firstly, I brought with me a replacement for Lange. Legion Officer, extremely experienced and well-thought of, according to the reports he got from the Colloque Biarritz.”
Ignoring the good-humoured grin on his commander’s face, Knocke’s mind, as sharp as a razor, processed that the symposium had only had two legion officers, and one of them had not completed the week due to a recurring malaria problem.
“St Clair?”
“Ah yes, the very same, St.Clair. I won’t embarrass you with reciting your course report. He’s over getting acquainted with his unit as we speak, just in case things start up.”
Lavalle stretched, easing his back after hours sat in the jeep.
“So. Will they start tonight, Ernst?”
“My guess is harassing artillery fire will start once the sun goes down and we lose air. I really don’t see them pulling anything major, but most of the unit will be on alert all night, just in case.”
Knocke didn’t need to add any more, his brief having covered the fact that he had withdrawn some units to safer positions to get rest and to recuperate.
“I must get back tonight, so I won’t stay. However, one last thing.”
Knocke, having moved slightly forward to bid Lavalle goodbye, checked himself immediately.
Slipping something out of his breast pocket, Lavalle pressed a folded envelope into Knocke’s hand.
“Have a look at this, Ernst. It’s an outline of the new order of battle for the Corps. Both you and ‘Tannenberg’ to be increased to divisional strength.”
Ernst sought silent permission to open the envelope now, immediately signalled by Lavalle.
The Frenchman continued talking as the German read.
“I have suggested that 5th RdM stays with you and is absorbed into ‘Camerone’. I assume you are satisfied with that?”
Knocke nodded as he consumed the written word.
“There will be a formalising of the structure so that command groups will be permanent, not be temporary as we have now.”
His tone almost apologetic, Lavalle continued.
“To be frank, this was on the table a few days ago, but there was a feeling that we were running before we could walk.”
The letter was refolded, put back into the envelope, and offered back to Lavalle.
“Keep it please, and let me know what you think when you have time to digest it fully.”
Knocke placed it on the table and weighted it down with his empty mug.
“Anyway, your fight today has shown them that the Legion Corps can do the job, and the Generals are keen to give us our head.”
“Can we sustain ourselves, Sir? Men? Equipment?”
“Since we left Sassy, a further seven thousand men have arrived, and there are more to come.”
Knocke pressed again.
“And equipment, Sir?”
“More serviceable equipment has been discovered, and I am led to believe that there are plans to recommence vehicle production in the Ruhr, and some other places.”
Something about the reply intruiged Knocke, but now was not the time.
Lavalle checked his watch and extended his hand once more.
“I must go, Ernst. Let me know your thoughts tomorrow. I should be back up here in the evening. Until then.”
The hands parted and transitioned into precise salutes, marking an end to proceedings.
The waiting soldier saw his opportunity.
“Another coffee, Standartenfuhrer?”
“If I have another one of those you will have to pour me into my tank, Hässelbach!”
The man turned, grinning madly.
“And Hässelbach, if I have to tell you again that it’s Colonel, you will be greasing the wheels ten times a day!”
The coffee manufacturer laughed as he disappeared to sample the rest of his wares.
The wrath was play, and those in earshot understood that it was just a small exercise in the art of leadership from one capable of great displays.
The meal had been created by a master chef, once noted as a rising star in Paris, before the jackboot descended on his country and truned him into a soldier.
Now he served in French Military Intelligence but, with an eye to less violent times, he liked to keep his hand in.