Everyone, except Molyneux, understood that the words had been directed mainly at Maillard.
De Walle decided on a different tack.
“Perhaps, Capitaine Maillard, it would be appropriate for you to remain in here, purely as an observer? Retaining your firearm as befits your rank. Similarly, I think Commandant De Valois will remain in comparable state.”
The reaction was slight but noticeable, and the wily intelligence officer knew he had his man.
“Général Molyneux, I would suggest that we all refrain from unhelpful threats and orders… and that… for the moment… you remain purely in an observer’s role… whilst we make the greatest possible efforts to ascertain the present circumstances.”
Restricted by the recently increased pressure on his windpipe, Molyneux wisely decided to give solely a curt nod.
Turning to the assembled Legion officers, his eyes took in Knocke’s bloody lips and grey face.
“I trust that is satisfactory to you all.”
His eye gave the slightest of winks.
Bittrich moved forward carefully, picking up the disorganized sheaf of intelligence photos.
He brought the men of Normandie back to business.
“Perfect… now let’s move on with the war, gentlemen.”
A wave of relaxation and relief swept through the command tent, the last sign of which was the sudden absence of the pistol at Molyneux’s throat.
The martinet General turned to De Valois and, staring at the female officer as evilly as he could manage, spat a threat with his most venomous voice.
“Regardless of what happens here, you will pay for that. I will have my day with you, Commandant.”
Anne-Marie leant closer, and her tone gave greater weight to her words than Molyneux ever thought possible, and he felt the sudden return of fear.
“I’ll be ready, mon Général… I won’t be stood open and vulnerable so you can just strike me down with a rifle butt or your cane… I’ll be prepared… so… when it comes to it… we’ll see who will have their day with whom.”
The beautiful face contained the eyes of the Grim Reaper.
De Walle coughed.
“Commandant De Valois, stand down if you please.”
She held Molyneux’s gaze for three seconds longer, then relaxed her posture, slowly removing the weapon that had reappeared at his throat and bringing it down to her side.
The Frenchman rubbed his neck, the presence of the muzzle, even though absent, still seemingly apparent and urgent on his flesh.
Uncharacteristically, although perhaps not surprisingly, Molyneux moved to the table in silence, ready to observe the planning in progress.
Bittrich nodded to him and set about the task of regaining the initiative.
The atmosphere had gradually calmed down, although occasionally it would rise to a little peak, most often with an outburst from Molyneux, mainly objecting to part of the military plan. His contribution ended each time with a simple gesture or cough from De Valois. No more was required.
However, the plan was finished and the unit commanders arrived to receive their brief, all having been tactfully intercepted outside by De Walle’s men and apprised of the unusual circumstances they would find inside.
The briefing commenced, with Bittrich laying down the overview.
His words were cut short by a kerfuffle at the entrance, and, like the Red Sea opening to Moses and the children of Canaan, the officers moved aside to let De Lattre enter, accompanied by two very agricultural looking NCOs.
The salutes were numerous and impressive, all of which were returned with a single simple gesture as the commander of French First Army took centre stage.
Molyneux went to speak, but a hand stopped him on the intake of breath.
“Wait please, Général Molyneux. You will have your opportunity later.”
“Général, I must insist! I…”
“Later.”
“I must insist!”
De Lattre paused and looked at the red-faced officer and immediately decided to change his plans.
“Very well then. We’ll get this out of the way immediately.”
De Lattre held out his hand and one of his staff officers swiftly slid an official document into it.
“This is your transfer to the Foreign Ministry in Paris, effective immediately. You will go straight there, and report to the Minister who, at my suggestion, will assign you to the Ambassador’s diplomatic staff in Senegal, in the role of special military advisor. I envy you this opportunity to serve France.
Molyneux took the orders like a man in a trance, read them, and still didn’t manage a word by way of reply.
“Now, Molyneux, we have work to do here. We wouldn’t want to keep you from your important assignment, so if you don’t mind, we’ll move on. Bonne chance.”
Turning to the nearest man, De Lattre continued, ignoring the barely concealed grins on a number of Legion faces.
“Capitaine, you will remove yourself from this command post and wait outside. Consider yourself under my direct orders until further notice. Am I clear?”
“Yes, mon Général!”
Maillard saluted and left immediately, following in the trail of the disgraced Molyneux, not knowing what his future might bring.
Finally, De Lattre turned to Anne-Marie De Valois, his face softening in an instant.
“You may also leave, Commandant De Valois. I will wish to hear your version of these sorry events once I have finished here.”
He turned away to the table, the sounds of the departing disgraced Molyneux and party fading as he concentrated on the maps and notes before him.
“You are unwell, Général Knocke?
He had spotted the man nursing a clearly tender stomach.
“No, thank you, Sir, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Knocke brought himself more erect, controlling his reaction to the growing pain in his stomach.
“Honestly, Herr General, I’m fine. The plan…”
De Lattre shrugged as only a Frenchman can shrug.
“Mes amis, I regret… this plan… it will not come to pass. I bring news of change.”
Over the next thirty minutes, the new plan was discussed and the Legion’s attack was modified.
The Legion artillery had been raining down for twenty minutes, sending death and destruction all over the Soviet front and rear line positions.
The leading echelons of Group Normandie had already enjoyed a spectacular display by medium bombers and ground attack aircraft.
Smoke, fire, and explosions from the air raid melded with the additional destruction wrought by the Legionnaire’s guns.
At 1525 precisely, mortars commenced throwing smoke shells downrange, bathing the area in front of the Soviet line in chemical smoke.
The recently arrived US 161st Chemical Smoke Generator Company started churning out large volumes of concealing smoke, which was carried in the right direction by the gentle and cooperative breeze.
Late to the field, Knocke had ordered one of his infantry companies to help with setting up the generators.
The African-Americans and the Legionnaires were wary of each other at first, but had soon found how to work together.
The M2 generators had been readied in record time, in purpose-built positions, complete with spare oil stocks, as the black Americans and ex-SS troopers worked and sweated side by side.
Many a legionnaire had pockets stuffed with Luckys or Chesterfields, and in return, the 161st soldiers had secreted bottles of cognac or calvados. The Legion artillery switched from HE and fragmentation to add their own smoky contribution to the mix.