The Loire rises in the south of France, flows vaguely north and west to Orleans, about a hundred kilometers south of Paris, then turns west and flows into the Atlantic. The major artery passing through Correze, Route Nationale 89, connected Bordeaux on the coast with Lyon on the Rhone (which is east of the Loire and flows south into the Mediterranean). Route 89 was the main German logistics — and escape — route from southwestern France. For that reason, German forces along the highway remained potent: Better than 2,000 veteran artillery and armor-equipped troops were divided among four heavily fortified garrisons along the highway (at Tulle, Brive, Egletons, and Ussel), while specially trained mobile anti-Maquis troops, equipped with light armor, trucks, and spotter planes, continued at the ready to sweep up Free French units. The Germans intended to keep Route 89 open.
On the other hand, the terrain gave a big advantage to the Maquis. The Massif Central was rugged, offering plentiful choke points. Both road and rail lines through Correze ran along narrow valleys. There was God's own plenty of bridges, viaducts, culverts — lots of targets. And to make matters more interesting, an Allied breakout from Normandy would cut off the Germans in southwest France, while an Allied sweep up the Rhone would close the box and trap them. The time was growing ripe for a major Maquis uprising in the Massif.
Airdrops had equipped the Maquis with modern weapons. They wanted — and needed — more, but it was a good start. Team James's job was to train the Maquis units in the use of those weapons and to be the liaison between the Maquis and Allied headquarters for further weapons drops. They would also be involved in sabotage and ambush operations as needed. And, not least, they'd be expected to lead the Maquis troops against the Germans, in whose eyes the Jedburghs were spies and not soldiers. If captured, they could expect torture and execution. (Poison pills had been issued to those who wanted them. Singlaub did not.)
As they marched to the farmhouse that would become their first command post, or PC—poste de commandement, as the Maquis called it — (it was the practice to move PCs frequently), Simon pointed out landmarks and explained the current situation to the three Jeds: "All the local German garrisons are surrounded," he said. "They won't come out at night for fear of ambush. But Egletons is a tough nut — a reinforced company of Hun infantry, with at least a platoon of SS, occupies a commanding position over the Correze valley. The proper lot of machine guns, several antitank guns, and maybe some mortars. They've also got a wireless, so they're in contact with their division HQ in Clermont-Ferrand." Clermont-Ferrand was the base for one of the Wehrmacht specially trained anti-Maquis units. "The German garrisons at Brive and Tulle are larger than the one at Egletons," Simon continued, "but we have more Maquis companies surrounding them; they don't have a wireless; and we've cut all the phone and telegraph lines." He grinned in the moonlight. "Poor buggers don't know what we're up to."
It was an interesting situation for guerrillas. The enemy was reeling, nervous, vulnerable, yet far from defeated, and still very deadly. The time was ripe for forceful actions, yet overconfidence could ruin everything.
Soon after dawn, there was a war council. Present were Jack Singlaub, Dominique, Simon, Captain Wauthier (he and his SAS troops had arrived earlier after a long hike through the woods, somewhat more lightly equipped than they'd hoped, having lost through various mishaps four of their cargo pods), and the local Maquis commander, a tough, smart, and very professional former French regular army officer whose nom de guerre was Captain Hubert. Hubert had arrived not long after Wauthier, driving an ancient Renault whose better days long predated the war, and commanded a 3,000-strong Gaullist AS unit called the Corps Franc de Tulle.
Once the SAS guys and several squads of Hubert's Maquis set up perimeter defense around the PC, the council began. Hubert in particular had important matters to discuss, chiefly:
His troops were poorly armed. Only about a third of his men carried weapons — captured German Mauser rifles, Schmeisser submachine guns, and a handful of British Sten guns and pistols. The best-armed Maquis in the Correze were the troops of the region's AS commander (whose nom de guerre was Patrick). An enormous American airdrop, with more than seventy B-17s taking part, on Bastille Day, July 14, had provided Patrick with enough rifles, Sten and Bren guns, grenades, pistols, and a few bazookas and British Piat antitank weapons to equip his own 2,000-man unit, but had left few leavings for Hubert.
Nevertheless, Patrick had put these forces to excellent use. His unit had set up permanent ambushes at three points along Route 89, had completely surrounded the German garrison at Brive, and blocked the southwest approach to the Correze valley, while a smaller but equally well-armed AS unit had blocked the valley's northeast entrance.
Not only did Hubert's troops crave a piece of this action, but many of them, he added pointedly, had been waiting for weapons for three years, ever since they'd escaped the Nazi Blitzkrieg. "My men are ready to fight the Boches," he said. "But we cannot do it with naked hands."
When Dominique asked him for detailed requirements, after which contact would be made with London, Hubert (ever the professional) instantly produced a typed list, which he had already long ago prepared. And then he continued, turning even more serious: "There is another matter," he said carefully. "The FTP has recently come into this neighborhood in force, especially south of the highway, in the hills around Egletons — the area which has been my own operational area. They are commanded by a onetime schoolteacher and army corporal who calls himself Colonel Antoine. Antoine commands 3,000 well-armed troops," having received their weapons during the massive American Bastille Day airdrop. "Previously, they operated in the Department of Lot-et-Garonne to our south. But now they are here.
"Antoine is not at all interested in cooperation with us," Hubert continued, not hiding his scorn. "He is very political. Yes, he wants a public victory over the Boches. But he certainly does not want to share the victory with us."
Hubert's implication was simple and ominous. If Hubert's troops weren't brought up to the armed strength of Antoine's, the Communists had a good chance of gaining the credit for liberating central Correze, in that way setting the stage for their postwar political agenda. Many FTP soldiers were good, brave, and dedicated, and had fought hard and taken many casualties, but they were poorly trained — more an armed rabble than a well-disciplined fighting force. Even if they wished to coordinate operations with the AS, which they showed little inclination to do, coordination with them would not come casy. Needless to say, relations between the Communist FTP and the Gaullist AS were tense.
Meanwhile, Hubert went on, word had come from higher up that General George Patton's Third Army had at last broken out from Normandy and was driving cast at full throttle between the Loire and the Seine. That meant his southern flank was exposed — a situation that typically left Patton unconcerned: "Let the other son-of-a-bitch worry about flanks," he told an aide. Be that as it may, his right flank was exposed, and the FFI had been given the job of protecting it. Specifically, their mission was to blockade the German forces south of the Loire and west of the Massif Central.
Meaning: The political strain between the FTP and AS had instantly turned dangerous. The blockade would require carefully coordinated actions. But if groups like Antoine's maintained an independent, politically motivated strategy, and continued to resist cooperation, the Germans could crush each center of resistance in turn, like beads on a string. This would also inevitably mean bad news for civilians because of savage Nazi reprisals.