“I don’t know. He is supposed to be here on account of his sick son, but it is possible for a man to have more than one motive. He must be aware that the Vichy ship is foundering. Murphy has been arguing with him until both of them are worn ragged. All this shooting is because he can’t make up his mind which way the cat is going to jump.”
“He has power to stop the shooting?”
“There’s no question about that. All the French officers consider him their military chief. He is Pétain’s deputy, and they are prepared to be told that Pétain is Hitler’s prisoner and is not a free agent. Darlan’s word will stop the resistance, not merely here but at Oran and Casablanca, and it might even get us Dakar and the French Fleet.”
“You are indeed playing for high stakes, Mr. Pendar.”
“Indeed yes,” said the vice-consul. “Bob Murphy never asked for this and he wasn’t trained for it; he’s been dropped into the middle of a cyclone. He’ll tell you he’s scared stiff, but so far he’s handled himself very well. He acts as if placing admirals and generals under house arrest was an everyday affair in the lives of American career diplomats.”
X
In the course of this drive Lanny heard the story of what had been happening to the American diplomatic corps that night. They had been dealing with French officers whom they thought they knew, but whose conduct in the crisis appeared to be hysterical. General Juin, for example, commander of the troops in all North Africa, had promised solemnly to support the landing; but he was also under oath to the Germans not to bear arms against them; and suddenly Darlan had appeared, and a mind trained to authority was paralyzed by the fact that Darlan was his superior and a representative of the revered old Maréchal.
Moreover every French officer quailed at the thought of another commando raid; the raiders would depart in their ships and leave their friends on shore to lose, not merely their jobs, not merely their necks, but their military honor. The Americans had kept the time of their coming a secret, very unfair indeed; and who could know how many ships they had, how many men, and how serious was their purpose? No doubt they were exaggerating their forces. Pendar smiled as he admitted: “We are exaggerating them not more than three times.” The bewildered Frenchmen argued and changed their minds and then changed back again, and with every hour they became more nervous. They scolded and screamed and even wept—behavior that Anglo-Saxons were supposed never to indulge in.
Soon after midnight Murphy and Pendar had gone to Juin’s home, the Villa des Oliviers, in a high suburb of the city, called El-Biar. Pendar was sent to bring Admirals Darlan and Battet, who were staying at the home of Admiral Fenard. This he did, and then stayed out in the garden, keeping watch. Presently there arrived a troop of insurgents, sent by someone, Pendar didn’t know whom. They posted themselves about the house and announced that nobody would be allowed to leave, save only Pendar, whom they knew. When the mighty admirals and generals made this discovery they were naturally indignant and unwilling to accept the word of Murphy and Pendar that they had no idea who had sent these gun-toters.
When the American troops did not show up, the same thing happened at this villa as in town; members of the Garde Mobile rushed into the garden and captured the insurgents. Murphy and Pendar were lined up in the porter’s lodge with their hands in the air and were thoroughly searched and had their papers taken. They were rescued by Commandant d’Orange, and General Juin ordered them brought back into the villa where the debate was resumed.
Admiral Darlan had written a telegram which he wanted sent to Pétain, and Pendar was assigned to take it to the Admiralty. Members of the Garde Mobile escorted him there, and on the way he made the extraordinary discovery that the guards had been told that it was Germans who had surrounded the villa and Germans who were attacking Algiers. At the Admiralty another admiral, Leclerc, refused to believe that the signature was Darlan’s, so Pendar was a prisoner again while Leclerc sent to the Villa des Oliviers to make sure.
The Admiralty is down near the harbor, so the young gentleman out of Harvard spent the next hour and a half listening to guns being fired at the British commando ship. When he was released, he drove away in Murphy’s car, and he was arrested again by the Garde Mobile who were defending their city—against the Germans! This time he landed in the barracks of the Fifth Regiment of the Chasseurs d’Afrique. There he sat and drank coffee while tanks rumbled by and ack-ack banged in the vicinity; when his story had been verified they gave him a pass and he went back to Murphy, who was still arguing with the admirals and generals at Juin’s villa.
Such a night had never been known in Cambridge, Massachusetts, even after a football victory. The Harvard art lover was sent out again, this time to find Admiral Battet, who had got himself arrested again by the underground. Pendar was taken to Fort l’Empereur, General Juin’s headquarters, to get a really valid pass, and there he had the strange experience of sitting and listening to French generals and colonels getting telephone reports of the fighting in the west. This had been only a short while ago, and was the latest news that anybody had. The French were having a hard time on the outskirts of Oran, but in the town itself all was going well. The Americans had been driven off at Safi beach, near Casablanca, but were attacking violently at Port Lyautey near by, and at the city itself. Pendar said to Lanny: “H-hour at Casablanca wasn’t until four A.M., and it was a blunder to release the President’s radio talk before that time. We gave them notice!”
XI
There was no finding Admiral Battet, and Pendar mentioned to his guest that the officers at Fort l’Empereur had urged him to find the American commander so that an armistice could be arranged. Again he said: “Would you like to go along?” And Lanny replied that he couldn’t think of anything that would please him more. They drove to the Villa Sinetti, where the Americans had their secret radio sender. Here Pendar was told that the commanding general of the American forces was at the little harbor of Cheragas. They drove by an inconspicuous back road and came out to the sea to confront a marvelous sight—hundreds of gray-painted vessels of all sizes, and the roads filled with marching men, jeeps and trucks and light tanks, all eastward bound. Here Lanny had his first glimpse of those new landing craft about which he had heard whispers; they were like great scows, with high walls, and in front was a sort of drawbridge which was let down with chains when the craft had been grounded, making a ramp on which all kinds of heavy vehicles could roll down. Lanny asked: “How do they get the craft off the shore?” and the other told him that they had heavy anchors which they dropped when nearing the shore, and that winches wound up the anchor chains and pulled the craft back.
The American commander had his headquarters under a tree by the road, on what must have seemed to him an especially delightful Sunday morning. Ryder was his name, and he was unusually tall, and thin as if he had been drawn out in the process. Lanny sat in the car. He could see General Mast there, one Frenchman who had gone over to the Allies without any hesitation; “Flagpole” was his code name and he was thin but not tall. Lanny observed also a British Army captain, and was told later that it was Winston Churchill’s son. General Ryder gave Pendar two sets of terms for the surrender of Algiers, one easy if they quit at once, and the other tough if they delayed.
The vice-consul drove back to town with his guest, and just before they got to Juin’s villa they met Murphy, setting out to find General Ryder himself. They all drove to Fort l’Empereur, where the ceremony of surrender took place. It was, as Pendar remarked, “wonderfully French, like a historical painting in some museum.” Six French soldiers lined up in arrow shape, and in front of them stood Commandant d’Orange, extending his sword by the point and letting General Ryder take the hilt. The Commandant announced that with the sword he surrendered Fort l’Empereur and the city of Algiers to the American General. The cease-fire signal was sounded by the French with trumpets. The French officers were sad because they had been defeated, but they were happy because their honor had been preserved.
It had been a confusing day; but now people knew what it was permitted to feel and do and say. The word spread quickly that Algiers was in the hands of the American soldiers, and by nightfall the crowds turned out to welcome them. No more shooting, no more black looks—save from persons whose premises were commandeered for army purposes. Lanny went back to the St. George and released Denis from his imprisonment. They both had a bath and a shave, and then went out to see the mad excitement in the streets. Lanny, who looked like an American, had a hard time getting along; so many persons, male and female, wanted to welcome him and tell him that he was a deliverer and that they had known all along that he would come.
XII
Just after the ceremony of surrender Lanny had a few moments with the Counselor and said: “I think I told you that I know Darlan, and I wondered if it might not be a good thing for me to talk with him.” Murphy exclaimed: “Oh, would you?” Evidently this overworked man was glad to have someone to share even a small portion of the responsibility.
Lanny continued: “It might be better if I sought the appointment myself, so that it will be a social matter and not official.”
“Fine!” agreed the other. “You know where Juin’s villa is?” When Lanny said that he could find it, the other added: “Keep clear of Madame Juin if you can. She is an Algerian heiress, very set in her opinions—and they are not ours.”
“Don’t worry,” smiled Lanny. “I was once married to an heiress, and I know how they behave.”
So, fairly early on Monday morning, Lanny tried to telephone, and discovered that the line to the villa was continuously “busy.” He went out and tried to find a taxi, but in vain, so he enjoyed the pleasure of a walk in weather which had a touch of chill. He was in the midst of fine scenery, and there was one aspect he observed with special pleasure—a line of gray-painted ships of many kinds and sizes filing past the breakwater into the crowded harbor of Algiers.
He came to the Villa des Oliviers, an estate of magnificence suited to an Algerian heiress. At the elaborate iron gates he addressed himself with his best society manner to a sous-officier in the Garde Mobile, saying that he was a friend of Admiral Darlan and would be pleased to have his name sent to that august person. Members of the privileged classes have their clothing cut and pressed in exactly the proper way so as to indicate that they have a right to have their names submitted to admirals. The officer answered: “Bien, Monsieur,” and went into the porter’s lodge, presumably to telephone. Lanny reflected that this was the building in which, some twenty-four hours ago, Murphy and Pendar had been stood against the mantelpiece with their hands in the air.
The officer came out, a member of the guard opened the gates, and Lanny walked up the drive. Ordinarily it would have been bad form to approach such a place on foot, but now even the rich sometimes had to walk—you couldn’t come up into these hills on a bicycle. A servant escorted M. Budd upstairs to the great man’s bedroom; he had apparently just finished shaving, and was buttoning up his shirt. Lanny saw that he was pale and had dark rings under his eyes; no man plays the rude game of power politics without paying a price.
He greeted his visitor cordially, and Lanny explained that he had developed an interest in Algerian mosaics and fountains for ablutions and had been caught here by an astonishing series of military events. The commander of all the military forces of Unoccupied France took up this lead and plunged into the subject of how completely astounded he had been by the rude and unceremonious intrusion of the American armies. Lanny listened to all that the astounded gentleman had to say, now and then nodding and putting in a sympathetic murmur. Yes, it was most distressing, and so different from what the French had a right to expect in view of a century and three-quarters of unbroken friendship between the two countries.
There came a time when the stocky man of affairs had said his say; then Lanny began: “Voyez, mon Amrial! You know that I am a lover of art, and no politician, and I have no control over the movements of armies. When I heard this distressing news, I thought at once of you, and the problems that would confront you. Since I am an American, you can hardly consider me a disinterested observer; but truly I am that. I have no thought but of friendship between our countries, and the preservation of our social order, which seems to me in grave peril.”
“Vraiment, Monsieur Budd; but it is your country and not mine which is in alliance with the Red terrorists and is supplying them with arms.”
“So it seems, mon Amiral; but it is necessary to take the long view. You must know that America is the strongest bulwark of the private enterprise system, and offers the best hope of holding down the Reds when this hurricane has blown over.”
“You feel so sure of that, Monsieur Budd?”
“It is my firm conclusion. The changes which the so-called New Deal is making are purely superficial; they are small concessions made to keep the masses contented. Basically the system in which we both believe stands unimpaired. You will have an opportunity to observe that where the American armies come, no property rights are interfered with, and everything that is commandeered is liberally paid for. I have heard those policies stated to my father by some of our highest officers, and you may be sure that my father is not supporting a program without knowing its ultimate purposes.”
That was the sort of reassurance a French authoritarian would value, and when Lanny perceived that his bait was being taken he went on to sing the praises of America as the classic land of big business, where every worker had been persuaded that he was soon to become a capitalist, or that, at the least, his children would. American armies were disciplined, and American officers knew gentlemen when they met them. It seemed to the son of Budd-Erling that all believers in law and order ought to welcome such an army, and that Admiral Darlan owed it not merely to himself, but to his class, to his friends, and to the best interests of the traditional France, to realize that the Americans came as conservators of the established order. The Catholic Church throve mightily in America, growing rich both in numbers and possessions; French industry, producing mostly luxury goods, found its best market in America; the two countries had no rivalries, no memories of ancient antagonisms. And so on and on.
XIII
Shrewd as Darlan was, he must have known that this was no mere social call. But what Lanny told him was what he wanted very much to hear just now. It was a fact that he was in Algiers, not in Vichy or anywhere else; he had to deal with what he found here, and it was obvious that if he stood out against the Americans and they stayed on, he would become one of those pitiful refugees of which Europe was full, frustrated and helpless people without property or functions. On the other hand, if he could make a satisfactory deal with them—!
The son of a great airplane manufacturer was in a position to tell him that the Americans were here in force and meant to win this war. “I have seen the preparations at home with my own eyes, mon Amiral. I was not told where the forces were coming, but I know that they are being brought into existence, on a scale never equaled in this world. What you see here is just a beginning.”
Events timed themselves conveniently to support these arguments. There came the sound of heavy firing from the sky, and the pair went out to the balcony to see what was happening. A notable war game was playing itself out. At the hour which under the American system was described as H-plus 3 or thereabouts, American commando teams had rushed to the great Maison Blanche airport and seized it and cleared the field. With a matter of only a few minutes to spare there had appeared a fleet of British and American fighter planes, coming from Gibraltar, having fuel enough for a one-way flight, but not for a return. The field had to be ready for them, and it was. For thirty hours thereafter the pilots had been on tiptoe, waiting for the enemy to make a try.
Now, at H-plus 33, the Junkers and other bombers made their appearance, coming presumably from Sicily. They could have no idea that pursuit planes were already at Algiers, and, warned by the wonderful new radar, would be waiting high up in the “wild blu
e yonder.” The Americans came diving down, and there occurred one of those battles which Lanny had watched over London, but which the Admiral had perhaps never had a chance to see. Lanny had the satisfaction of counting, one after another, eighteen German bombers tumbling out of the sky in flames; and he was in a position to remark casually: “I don’t know whether you are familiar with the Budd-Erling plane, mon Amiral. I should say that about one in four of those fighters is from my father’s plant. The rest are Spitfires and a few Hurricanes.”
Coming out from that villa, Lanny had the good fortune to encounter Robert Murphy on his way in. “Be tough with him,” Lanny whispered. “Demand what you want. You have all the high cards.”
XIV
The P.A. went back to his hotel, and there discovered that he had troubles of a private nature. The Army had commandeered the old St. George Hotel! It was to become the headquarters of important officers, and Lanny could guess who they were. He went hunting a room, and it wasn’t easy to find because the city was so crowded with refugees. Finally he had to appeal to Denis, who undertook to find some officer family which could crowd itself together and make room for a paying guest. Lanny had to insist that it must be a non-political family, for he knew that Algiers, suddenly liberated from the Nazi yoke, was seething with every sort of intrigue, some of it violent and dangerous. Already Denis’s friends D’Astier de la Vigerie and the Abbé Cordier were busy arranging for the coming of the Count of Paris from Spanish Morocco, and were printing secret literature in his behalf. Lanny didn’t want to be in any household where that was going on.
That afternoon General Mark Clark and his staff arrived by plane from Gibraltar—right in the midst of another air battle over Maison Blanche. They went to those rooms which Lanny and other guests of the St. George had vacated, and there began the final duel of wits with Admiral Darlan and his military staff. The Americans at this time had only about thirty-five hundred men ashore, with a few guns and small tanks; but Clark had to talk big and look big. The latter was easy, as Lanny knew, having seen him in the twilight at Cherchell; six-feet three, lanky and rawboned, with an unusually prominent nose that gave him a hawklike appearance. He could be very emphatic when he had to be, and this was one of the times.