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<blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2311910" data-attributes="member: 26473"><p><strong>La chat et la souris: Chapter 3</strong></p><p></p><p>Ahmed wakes to a gentle shake from one of the men. <span style="color: sienna">“Sir, Sgt. Boupacha is back.”</span> Ahmed nods, blinking back sleep, and the <em>moussebiline</em> withdraws deferentially. The lieutenant notes the man’s shotgun slung across his back, a bandolier of shells stretched across his chest. <em>Shotguns against tanks and aircraft</em>, he thinks, <em>but we’re not entirely without teeth</em>. He stands and stretches, ignoring the gaze of men already awake.</p><p></p><p>The sun has climbed high into the sky, the cool shadows of the ravine broken by sunlight reflecting off the rock wall. The air is warm and still, the shade provided by the acacias thin and mottled. Many of the men recline in what shadows remain, talking quietly amongst themselves – a few are up and about, pulling at straps on rucksacks, adjusting rifle slings, preparing for the night’s march. Ahmed’s gaze lights on Ali Poujad, the <em>katiba</em>’s machine gunner – another Indochina veteran, he’d served under Ahmed in the 1<em>er Regiment de Tirailleurs Algerienne</em>. Ali is resting quietly, the MG-34, the <em>katiba</em>’s only ‘heavy’ weapon, sitting on the ground beside him. Ahmed wonders how Ali is holding up under the march – possibly the strongest man among the <em>moudjahiddine</em> in the company, Ali suffered a badly broken leg in March 1954 and spent the next two months in a hospital in Hanoi while the rest of the 1st RTA remained in the cauldron of Dien Bien Phu. <em>He’d never complain if he was hurt</em>, thinks Ahmed. <em>Remind Saleh to keep an eye on him</em>.</p><p></p><p><em>Saleh</em>.</p><p></p><p>Talking a short pull from his canteen, Ahmed first checks on the observation post, to make sure that the men are rotated and getting enough rest for the night’s march. Then he finds Saleh, covered in dust and dripping sweat, leaning against his pack once again. The sergeant smiles when Ahmed approaches and holds out his hand – a dusty green beret with a silver wing-and-sword badge. <em>Legion paratroopers</em>.</p><p></p><p>Saleh takes a long swig from a canteen. <span style="color: sienna">“About sixty or seventy paratroopers. A <em>bataille de marche</em> perhaps, or maybe a training jump – we saw red berets, too, <em>coloniales</em>.”</span> The sergeant wipes his face with his sleeve. <span style="color: sienna">“They’re moving southeast, toward <em>Oued Baraba</em>. Taking their time. They won’t cover more than about ten or twelve kilometers before dark.”</span></p><p></p><p>Ahmed nods slightly, his face thoughtful. <span style="color: sienna">“We can avoid them.”</span></p><p></p><p>Saleh’s eyes narrow slightly. <span style="color: sienna">“Do we <u>want</u> to avoid them?”</span> he asks.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: sienna">“These paras are not our mission,”</span> the lieutenant replies firmly. Saleh says nothing – he recognizes the tone in Ahmed’s voice, one that will not condone challenges. <span style="color: sienna">“It’s another few hours to sunset,”</span> Ahmed continues. <span style="color: sienna"> “Get some rest. I’ll make sure your platoon is ready to march.”</span> Saleh nods and closes his eyes.</p><p></p><p>Ahmed briefs his other platoon leaders individually. Hs mind is racing as he watches the men eat a meal of couscous mixed with olive oil into a paste, bits of unleavened bread, and tin cups of strong coffee brewed over tiny fires of dead acacia branches. Walking along the ravine, the lieutenant spots the two men from El Abiodh Sidi Cheikh, one carrying a light hunting rifle resting on his knees, the other an ancient Lebel M1886 slung over his shoulder, sipping their coffee with the other <em>moussebiline</em> in their section. Their names escape him – he simply hasn’t had time to get to know the local guerillas.</p><p></p><p>He squats down on one knee beside the men. <span style="color: sienna">“You two are from El Abiodh, yes?”</span> Ahmed asks. Both men nod. <span style="color: sienna">“Tell me again about the French soldiers in the village.”</span></p><p></p><p>The older of the two, the one with the Lebel rifle, says quietly, <span style="color: sienna">“There are nineteen soldiers with three trucks and a jeep. They are mechanics. They fix broken-down vehicles on the road.”</span> He thinks for a moment. <span style="color: sienna">“They patrol with the <em>gendarmes</em> sometimes, but mostly they stay in their garage. They have a radio, and there is an <em>adjudant</em> in charge.”</span></p><p></p><p>Ahmed looks closely at the man. <span style="color: sienna">“What about paratroopers or Legionnaires? Do they come to the village?”</span></p><p></p><p>The man considers the question. <span style="color: sienna">“From time to time a line of trucks with soldiers comes through the village. I’m told there are legionnaires. They don’t stop, most times.”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="color: sienna">“They come from the south?”</span> Ahmed asks. The man nods. <span style="color: sienna">“Most times,”</span> he answers. Ahmed leaves the men to their coffee and conversation.</p><p></p><p>One of the men gives the call to prayer by moving along the ravine and speaking to the groups of soldiers individually. Some of the men pull prayer rugs from their packs and bundles – others simply kneel on the floor of the ravine. One of the section leaders, compass in hand, indicates the direction of Mecca and for several minutes the <em>katiba</em> acts as one. As prayers are completed, Ahmed passes the word for the platoon leaders. Saleh is the first to arrive, still dusty but much more alert.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: sienna">“Sir, I request permission to take my platoon...”</span> Saleh stops as Ahmed raises his hand. <span style="color: sienna">“In a moment, Sgt. Boupacha,”</span> Ahmed replies. <span style="color: sienna">“Wait for the others.”</span> After the leaders are assembled, Ahmed begins.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: sienna">“The paras that we saw landing this morning are likely somewhere south of us, possibly in the <em>oued</em>, perhaps someplace between these hills.”</span> His finger traces the terrain in the dirt. <span style="color: sienna">“They’ve been moving all day in the open. I don’t expect them to march all night, so they’ll likely make camp somewhere in here.”</span> Ahmed’s finger stabs an indentation in the earth. <span style="color: sienna">“Our mission is to attack the garrison at El Abiodh. It appears that these paras will travel through the village in the next day or two. We may have an opportunity to set an ambush for them.”</span></p><p></p><p>His finger slides through the dust. <span style="color: sienna">“The road crosses the <em>oued</em> just south of El Abiodh. I’m told the crossing is steep, leaving trucks little room to maneuver.”</span></p><p></p><p>Saleh speaks up. <span style="color: sienna">“Like <em>R.C.</em> 4,”</span> he adds.</p><p></p><p>Ahmed glances at Saleh. <span style="color: sienna">“Perhaps. In any case, if we have the opportunity to stage an ambush, this is the best point of attack.”</span> He looks around at the platoon leaders. <span style="color: sienna">“We will need to first know of the paras movements. We’re going to march to here,”</span> he draws another point in the dirt, <span style="color: sienna">“along <em>Oued Baraba</em> and take up a defensive position to block an advance from the south. Sgt. Yazid, you will take a section of your platoon to locate the paras and report back on their direction of travel as soon as it’s known, probably at first light.”</span> Yazid, a graying WWII veteran of the campaign in Italy, nods as Saleh shifts position, a shadow of frustration crossing the younger man’s face.</p><p></p><p>Ahmed can’t restrain a small smile at his old friend’s discomfiture. <span style="color: sienna">“Sgt. Boupacha, you will be our rearguard when we stop so that your platoon can lead the advance to El Abiodh. You will have responsibility for setting the ambush once we reach the road crossing, Saleh.”</span> Saleh nods, his eyes bright.</p><p></p><p>The lieutenant looks closely at his platoon leaders. <span style="color: sienna">“This operation will require quick action and absolute obedience to orders by your men if we are to gain surprise. It will require a daylight march along the <em>oued</em>. You will need to be aware of finding cover for your men at all times.”</span> He pauses. <span style="color: sienna">“They have the advantage of firepower. We have the advantage of numbers and if we are careful and blessed, we will have terrain and surprise on our side as well.”</span> Ahmed pauses. <span style="color: sienna">“Questions?”</span></p><p></p><p>Sgt. Yazid speaks up. <span style="color: sienna">“Sir, one of my men, one of the Kabyles, says that often the paras leave important equipment on their drop zones. He suggests scouting the site at first light.”</span> Ahmed is about to say no when Saleh chimes in, <span style="color: sienna">“They could scout the drop zone then head straight for the <em>oued</em>. We’ll pick them up on our way to El Abiodh.”</span></p><p></p><p>Ahmed is still as he answers. <span style="color: sienna">“Three men only. Use one of the two from the village so he can guide them back.”</span> The lieutenant studies Sgt. Yazid. <span style="color: sienna">“You trust this man?”</span> Yazid nods. <span style="color: sienna">“He’s a veteran, sir, of the Liberation,”</span> the old sergeant replies. The last is said without irony.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: sienna">“All right, sergeant, send out your scouts.”</span> Ahmed stands, brushes the dirt from his hands. <span style="color: sienna">“We advance by column. Sgt. Kaci, you will place security on our flanks. Sgt. Boupacha, you will trail and are responsible for overwatch. Sgt. Yazid, you will have the point – avoid sudden contact with the paras. Assemble the company.”</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The Shaman, post: 2311910, member: 26473"] [b]La chat et la souris: Chapter 3[/b] Ahmed wakes to a gentle shake from one of the men. [color=sienna]“Sir, Sgt. Boupacha is back.”[/color] Ahmed nods, blinking back sleep, and the [i]moussebiline[/i] withdraws deferentially. The lieutenant notes the man’s shotgun slung across his back, a bandolier of shells stretched across his chest. [i]Shotguns against tanks and aircraft[/i], he thinks, [i]but we’re not entirely without teeth[/i]. He stands and stretches, ignoring the gaze of men already awake. The sun has climbed high into the sky, the cool shadows of the ravine broken by sunlight reflecting off the rock wall. The air is warm and still, the shade provided by the acacias thin and mottled. Many of the men recline in what shadows remain, talking quietly amongst themselves – a few are up and about, pulling at straps on rucksacks, adjusting rifle slings, preparing for the night’s march. Ahmed’s gaze lights on Ali Poujad, the [i]katiba[/i]’s machine gunner – another Indochina veteran, he’d served under Ahmed in the 1[i]er Regiment de Tirailleurs Algerienne[/i]. Ali is resting quietly, the MG-34, the [i]katiba[/i]’s only ‘heavy’ weapon, sitting on the ground beside him. Ahmed wonders how Ali is holding up under the march – possibly the strongest man among the [i]moudjahiddine[/i] in the company, Ali suffered a badly broken leg in March 1954 and spent the next two months in a hospital in Hanoi while the rest of the 1st RTA remained in the cauldron of Dien Bien Phu. [i]He’d never complain if he was hurt[/i], thinks Ahmed. [i]Remind Saleh to keep an eye on him[/i]. [i]Saleh[/i]. Talking a short pull from his canteen, Ahmed first checks on the observation post, to make sure that the men are rotated and getting enough rest for the night’s march. Then he finds Saleh, covered in dust and dripping sweat, leaning against his pack once again. The sergeant smiles when Ahmed approaches and holds out his hand – a dusty green beret with a silver wing-and-sword badge. [i]Legion paratroopers[/i]. Saleh takes a long swig from a canteen. [color=sienna]“About sixty or seventy paratroopers. A [i]bataille de marche[/i] perhaps, or maybe a training jump – we saw red berets, too, [i]coloniales[/i].”[/color] The sergeant wipes his face with his sleeve. [color=sienna]“They’re moving southeast, toward [i]Oued Baraba[/i]. Taking their time. They won’t cover more than about ten or twelve kilometers before dark.”[/color] Ahmed nods slightly, his face thoughtful. [color=sienna]“We can avoid them.”[/color] Saleh’s eyes narrow slightly. [color=sienna]“Do we [u]want[/u] to avoid them?”[/color] he asks. [color=sienna]“These paras are not our mission,”[/color] the lieutenant replies firmly. Saleh says nothing – he recognizes the tone in Ahmed’s voice, one that will not condone challenges. [color=sienna]“It’s another few hours to sunset,”[/color] Ahmed continues. [color=sienna] “Get some rest. I’ll make sure your platoon is ready to march.”[/color] Saleh nods and closes his eyes. Ahmed briefs his other platoon leaders individually. Hs mind is racing as he watches the men eat a meal of couscous mixed with olive oil into a paste, bits of unleavened bread, and tin cups of strong coffee brewed over tiny fires of dead acacia branches. Walking along the ravine, the lieutenant spots the two men from El Abiodh Sidi Cheikh, one carrying a light hunting rifle resting on his knees, the other an ancient Lebel M1886 slung over his shoulder, sipping their coffee with the other [i]moussebiline[/i] in their section. Their names escape him – he simply hasn’t had time to get to know the local guerillas. He squats down on one knee beside the men. [color=sienna]“You two are from El Abiodh, yes?”[/color] Ahmed asks. Both men nod. [color=sienna]“Tell me again about the French soldiers in the village.”[/color] The older of the two, the one with the Lebel rifle, says quietly, [color=sienna]“There are nineteen soldiers with three trucks and a jeep. They are mechanics. They fix broken-down vehicles on the road.”[/color] He thinks for a moment. [color=sienna]“They patrol with the [i]gendarmes[/i] sometimes, but mostly they stay in their garage. They have a radio, and there is an [i]adjudant[/i] in charge.”[/color] Ahmed looks closely at the man. [color=sienna]“What about paratroopers or Legionnaires? Do they come to the village?”[/color] The man considers the question. [color=sienna]“From time to time a line of trucks with soldiers comes through the village. I’m told there are legionnaires. They don’t stop, most times.”[/color] [color=sienna]“They come from the south?”[/color] Ahmed asks. The man nods. [color=sienna]“Most times,”[/color] he answers. Ahmed leaves the men to their coffee and conversation. One of the men gives the call to prayer by moving along the ravine and speaking to the groups of soldiers individually. Some of the men pull prayer rugs from their packs and bundles – others simply kneel on the floor of the ravine. One of the section leaders, compass in hand, indicates the direction of Mecca and for several minutes the [i]katiba[/i] acts as one. As prayers are completed, Ahmed passes the word for the platoon leaders. Saleh is the first to arrive, still dusty but much more alert. [color=sienna]“Sir, I request permission to take my platoon...”[/color] Saleh stops as Ahmed raises his hand. [color=sienna]“In a moment, Sgt. Boupacha,”[/color] Ahmed replies. [color=sienna]“Wait for the others.”[/color] After the leaders are assembled, Ahmed begins. [color=sienna]“The paras that we saw landing this morning are likely somewhere south of us, possibly in the [i]oued[/i], perhaps someplace between these hills.”[/color] His finger traces the terrain in the dirt. [color=sienna]“They’ve been moving all day in the open. I don’t expect them to march all night, so they’ll likely make camp somewhere in here.”[/color] Ahmed’s finger stabs an indentation in the earth. [color=sienna]“Our mission is to attack the garrison at El Abiodh. It appears that these paras will travel through the village in the next day or two. We may have an opportunity to set an ambush for them.”[/color] His finger slides through the dust. [color=sienna]“The road crosses the [i]oued[/i] just south of El Abiodh. I’m told the crossing is steep, leaving trucks little room to maneuver.”[/color] Saleh speaks up. [color=sienna]“Like [i]R.C.[/i] 4,”[/color] he adds. Ahmed glances at Saleh. [color=sienna]“Perhaps. In any case, if we have the opportunity to stage an ambush, this is the best point of attack.”[/color] He looks around at the platoon leaders. [color=sienna]“We will need to first know of the paras movements. We’re going to march to here,”[/color] he draws another point in the dirt, [color=sienna]“along [i]Oued Baraba[/i] and take up a defensive position to block an advance from the south. Sgt. Yazid, you will take a section of your platoon to locate the paras and report back on their direction of travel as soon as it’s known, probably at first light.”[/color] Yazid, a graying WWII veteran of the campaign in Italy, nods as Saleh shifts position, a shadow of frustration crossing the younger man’s face. Ahmed can’t restrain a small smile at his old friend’s discomfiture. [color=sienna]“Sgt. Boupacha, you will be our rearguard when we stop so that your platoon can lead the advance to El Abiodh. You will have responsibility for setting the ambush once we reach the road crossing, Saleh.”[/color] Saleh nods, his eyes bright. The lieutenant looks closely at his platoon leaders. [color=sienna]“This operation will require quick action and absolute obedience to orders by your men if we are to gain surprise. It will require a daylight march along the [i]oued[/i]. You will need to be aware of finding cover for your men at all times.”[/color] He pauses. [color=sienna]“They have the advantage of firepower. We have the advantage of numbers and if we are careful and blessed, we will have terrain and surprise on our side as well.”[/color] Ahmed pauses. [color=sienna]“Questions?”[/color] Sgt. Yazid speaks up. [color=sienna]“Sir, one of my men, one of the Kabyles, says that often the paras leave important equipment on their drop zones. He suggests scouting the site at first light.”[/color] Ahmed is about to say no when Saleh chimes in, [color=sienna]“They could scout the drop zone then head straight for the [i]oued[/i]. We’ll pick them up on our way to El Abiodh.”[/color] Ahmed is still as he answers. [color=sienna]“Three men only. Use one of the two from the village so he can guide them back.”[/color] The lieutenant studies Sgt. Yazid. [color=sienna]“You trust this man?”[/color] Yazid nods. [color=sienna]“He’s a veteran, sir, of the Liberation,”[/color] the old sergeant replies. The last is said without irony. [color=sienna]“All right, sergeant, send out your scouts.”[/color] Ahmed stands, brushes the dirt from his hands. [color=sienna]“We advance by column. Sgt. Kaci, you will place security on our flanks. Sgt. Boupacha, you will trail and are responsible for overwatch. Sgt. Yazid, you will have the point – avoid sudden contact with the paras. Assemble the company.”[/color] [/QUOTE]
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