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then in through southern France. Yet no matter which of those options is in play—indeed, if all of them are in play; the President made it clear in his Casablanca Conference speech two weeks ago that the Allies will settle for nothing short of unconditional surrender—Hitler knows that his chances are made far better by Germany’s success in the Atlantic.”
Canidy nodded. “The starving of England,” he said.
“Exactly. Continue to dramatically reduce the flow of supplies—food, fuel, weapons, ammunition—and the Germans’ defense of France becomes easier and gives way to the Germans’ offense of London. And the U-boats have been wildly successful in taking out our supply ships in the Atlantic and Mediterranean.”
The director of the Office of Strategic Services leaned forward and picked up his glass, took a sip of single malt, considered his next thoughts.
He continued: “That’s the big picture, dangerously simply put, for Europe. As for a smaller picture—at least as far as the OSS is concerned—it involves what David Bruce has Fine doing. OSS London’s Special Operations is working with Britain’s Special Operations Executive and the Free French to support the Maquis—young guys pretty much your age—who fled for France’s woods instead of being forced into slave labor for the German occupation.”
“Small wonder they don’t trust the Vichy government, either,” Canidy said.
“And for damned good reason. So they’ve formed groups. There’s the Francs Tireurs et Partisans, which is controlled by the Communists. The Organization de la Résistance dans l’Armée, full of followers of Giraud. De Gaulle’s faithful are Forces Française de l’Intérieur, which is the strongest, and in large part controlled from London by the Bureau de Renseignement et d’Action. And a smattering of others.”
“And we’re supposed to support all these various factions?”
“That and pull them together,” Donovan said, nodding. “For now, and for after the war. They’re already fighting among themselves for postwar control. But they need training. They need weapons. Food. Money.”
“They need us…” Canidy said.
“Exactly. We’re having great success in Corsica. And we can do it in France. The vast majority of the French was anti-Axis before being occupied by them, and they can only be more so now. And those who may be on the fence, for whatever reason, can be persuaded to work with the réseau by appealing to their patriotism—or to their basic sense of survival.”
“When you say ‘basic sense of survival’…?”
“I mean life or death,” Donovan replied, his tone cool and calculated.
He let Canidy consider that, then said, “Our mission will be to supply and lead the Maquis in guerrilla warfare, sabotaging fuel-storage facilities, rail lines, factories, power plants—anything to rob the Germans of their use. SHAEF will designate targets, which SO and SOE agents will then tell the Maquis to take out. For example, using Fulmar’s recent work, it’s a ball-bearing plant. If those who run it are receptive to working with the Maquis, then we blow the machinery—forges, lathes, electrical transformers, whatever—to disrupt production for the short term; if, however, they choose to be uncooperative, we lay on an aerial bombing run and blow the whole building. The whole damned neighborhood.”
“Making it a French decision if they want their infrastructure to survive the war,” Canidy said, nodding. “Effective.”
“Quite. And I don’t think we will have to resort to the bombing more than necessary. The French, as we’re finding on Corsica, will readily accept our arms and support. Perhaps too readily.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Donovan considered not answering. After a moment, he replied, “Part of dancing with the devil is that we have to recognize they’re the devil for a reason, and that the devil has his own motives.”
“For postwar?”
“I’m getting more than a little heat here in Washington when it’s suggested that we’re supplying the Communists—the devil incarnate—with arms.”
“But there is, even if only a little, Allied support for that,” Canidy said, making it more of a question than a statement. “‘If Hitler invaded hell, I would make at least a favorable reference to the devil in the House of Commons.’”
Donovan smiled. “So sayeth Winston. Yes, there is a reluctant Allied support. Because the success of the Maquis is critical to the success of the American and British and other Allied combat forces to come. And that, Major Canidy, is why I brought you back here.”
Canidy looked off in the distance and tried to make sense of it all. Something was not right. A piece of the puzzle was missing. He looked at the director of the Office of Strategic Services, who he saw was watching him, studying him.
Canidy said, “At the risk of losing what little credibility I’m afraid that I might have with you, I must admit that I do not follow you completely. I understand going in and supporting the French resistance—I’m fully prepared to act on that right now, set up SO teams, et cetera, et cetera—but what does not make sense to me, if you’ll forgive me for saying, is why you could not have made these orders in a Secret—Eyes Only message. I could be on the ground in Algiers with Stan Fine right now.”
“Because you’re not going into France.”
The surprise was evident on Canidy’s face. “But I thought that you just said—”
Donovan held up his hand. “Did you stop to wonder why it’s just you and me here, Dick?”
“Yes, sir. I thought my ass was in a crack—”
“And after I made it clear to you that it wasn’t, did you not wonder?”
Canidy said nothing. There was nothing to say.
