“So they are doing what needs to be done for the Allied cause, and quite right too Thomas.”
“I understand that General, but it is being done at a pace which is unusual for our allies plus…”
“Plus?”
“Plus it is being done against a back drop of total compliance with every request we have made and every order we have issued. With one exception only.”
“I take it this is the bit that isn’t in your report Colonel Hood?”
Eisenhower adopted a more formal tone, fencing with his trusted staff officer, indulging him as he enjoyed the moment.
“Yes Sir. As you know we are all presently re-arming the German ex-POW’s with captured weapons stockpiled since the capitulation in Africa. Even the Brits, who are not known for their swiftness, have started to ship captured weapons from Rommel’s Army to the continent, through Gibraltar, some of which are intended for the Spanish but much is marked for German Formations that are to be formed in Southern France. Despite a tentative start, they are fully onboard with the arming of German soldiers now.”
A new cigarette lit, Eisenhower was still none the wiser on where Hood was going.
“So out with it Thomas.”
“Our French Allies have not handed over one single bullet from the stocks they control. One of the first duties their FFI units took over as they returned to France was to relieve allied forces guarding enemy stores and munitions dumps.”
Eisenhower took a second to think on that.
“Strange I agree. Nothing handed over at all?”
“Nothing Sir, except at Tilly where some of our engineers were building running German tanks out of all the damaged stock. Our troops were attached to their work and refused to give them up. But that is it.”
Hood ploughed further on.
“It is also the fact that they have handed weapons to our new Spanish allies as was agreed. Those weapons do contain some German rifles but are mainly old French stocks from Vichy supplies, pre-1940. No machine-guns or assault rifles, no mortars, or artillery pieces, save old French stocks or equipment we have supplied to their FFI units.”
“So what are they playing at Thomas? What does this mean?”
The moment of truth had arrived, and Colonel Hood checked that no one was within earshot.
“I overheard a conversation in their headquarters. I was indisposed at the time and two officers came in and didn’t realise I was in the stall.”
Again the conspiratorial check of surroundings.
“The French intend to make a full military contribution to this war at last, with new French divisions within a powerful Corps, filled with experienced troops, tasked with attacking, defeating and throwing back the Red Hordes.”
Ike’s silence drew him forward.
“They retain the weapons and stores to arm their own private army of experienced soldiers, which will be organised into French units and carry the flag of France in combat.”
Eisenhower’s eyes narrowed, searching for treachery. He was unprepared for the truth.
“At this time plans exist and are in motion for the forming of a French Foreign Legion Corps, with one Tank, two Motorised infantry Divisions and numerous smaller formations, all consisting of German ex-prisoners, fighting under the banner of France.”
The General lit another cigarette from the stub, exhaling deeply as he conjured with the thoughts.
“I can’t see that. Why would the Germans do that when they can fight under their own German Republic Flag in German units?”
Hood coughed politely.
“They will do so because our politicians prevented them from fighting under that German Flag and in their own national divisions.”
Someone switched the light on in Eisenhower’s brain.
“The French can’t do that? I mean, they wouldn’t do that, would they?”
Hood looked his General steadfastly in the eye.
“They can and they are, Sir. It all makes sense when you look at the whole picture. They are pragmatists for sure, and something carrying the Tricoleur will be French, and that’s the way it will be painted.”
Eisenhower inadvertently lit yet another cigarette and smoked each in equal measure.
Automatically, he stated the default position.
“I think this is one for our political masters to sort out Colonel.”
“Yes Sir.”
Hood extracted an envelope from his inside jacket pocket, sealed and unmarked, nothing to betray its contents.
“So Sir, do you want me to give you an official written report or do I say nothing.”
The brain was working hard at that. The French were not the only pragmatists about.
“If I have a report then I must act, and we could have a political meltdown. I’m sure the Germans would be the least of our worries. It would be the Poles and the Brits who would make the most noise.”
The brain was nearly at its point of decision.
“If I don’t have a report then I can just plead ignorance. That will also mean that the French plan will succeed.”
Hood continued the thought in his own words.
“In which case I have no doubt that they will present SHAEF with a large field force of experienced and capable soldiers under the guise of the French Foreign Legion with nice new French Flags in abundance. Soldiers who would be an asset to the Allied efforts.”
Eisenhower nodded emphatically, putting his decision into words.
“I won’t burden you with unnecessary report writing Thomas. Keep an eye on the situation and report verbally to me on anything I might find of interest.”
Hood grinned widely.
“Yes Sir, it will be my honour Sir.”
Hood stood, saluted, and left, all in one slick flowing movement, leaving Eisenhower seated alone, with his cigarettes, coffee and thoughts, the sudden flare of burning paper on the log fire noted by his peripheral vision.
Only the Europeans would have a fire burning brightly in the hearth on hot summer’s afternoon. Apparently it added ambience.
‘French Foreign Legion? Jesus.’
Eisenhower had to hand it to them; it was quite elegant in its simplicity, although the duplicity of his French Allies was there for all to see.
The French even had an agreed protocol that they could recruit Germans into the Legion, including Waffen-SS, a protocol agreed amongst the Western Allies solely for the purpose of fighting Communist Guerrillas in Indo-China. Wracking his memory, he could not recall the exact wording. He challenged himself with a bet.
‘Care to speculate on whether they have that bit of paper ready to quote when tackled, and that it doesn’t prohibit recruitment for other areas?’
A moment’s pause.
‘No takers on that one General.’
None the less, politically acceptable to his masters or not, extra experienced soldiers would be most welcome.
“Jesus.”
Speaking aloud as he stood he drew the attention of the passing Rossiter.
“May I help Sir?”
Thinking quickly, Ike excused his language by complaining of a twinge in his back.
Rossiter moved away.
This time, ensuring he kept his thoughts to himself, Eisenhower picked up his cigarette pack and headed to the telephone for his regular chat with his senior commanders.
‘Goddamn, the SS are going to go back to war.’
Chapter 53 – THE RATHAUS
When men find they must inevitably perish, they willingly resolve to die with their comrades and with their arms in their hands.