Canidy knew the réseau—for “resistance network”—was in large part the maquis, young men who refused to be slaves of the German occupation. They had fled into France’s woods, where the Allies planned to insert teams and supplies to help them wage guerrilla war.
“Tell me about the trouble you mentioned,” Canidy said.
Fine got up from the table. He walked over to the open French doors, then went through the doorway. Canidy followed him onto the balcony.
“You’ll recall Club des Pins, the resort that’s down there on the beach?” Fine said, pointing to the western end of the coast that was visible.
“Yeah,” Canidy said. “The one that the SOE is using for its finishing school, right?”
Special Operations Executive was the British saboteur and operative arm. The OSS was emula
ting it, and had named theirs, accordingly, OSS Special Operations.
“Right. The teams are modeled after the OSS teams we have in Corsica.”
“We had the reinforcement teams on the sub,” Canidy said.
“Of course. So you know each has an officer and three men, a liaison and two radio operators, who report to him.” When Canidy nodded, Fine went on: “So the SOE is fine-tuning their people in radio operations, Morse code, encryption, map and compass, hand-to-hand combat. There’s even a jump school and a demolitions school.”
“Their people? I though we had our guys there, too.”
“A handful. We maintain a presence in the interest of ‘Allied cooperation.’ But for the bulk of our men, it just wasn’t working out.”
Canidy’s expression showed that he was surprised.
Fine explained: “Our guys were being treated—in that fine, subtle English way, but it was there nonetheless—as sort of stepchildren. The training for the Brits’ missions always seemed to take precedence and we were left on a space-available basis. ‘Sorry, old chap, that was the last spot on the plane. We’ll put you top of the queue to jump tomorrow.’ And, of course, the next day there was another reason why we got bumped.”
“So much for Ike’s declaration that we’re all in this together.”
“I like Eisenhower,” Fine said, “and respect him immensely. But you and I know that the OSS must by its very nature operate on a far smaller scale.”
Canidy nodded. “We have—what—maybe ten thousand serving in the OSS?”
“I heard almost twelve thousand at last count. Total.”
“Okay, call it twelve. And figure half of that number are in Washington.”
“Uh-huh. And with his masses, Eisenhower, on the other hand, is too caught up in the big picture to want to worry about us. After seriously stumbling at Kasserine Pass, he wants to prove that the Americans can run the show—‘A seamless Allied force able to act as one,’ I’ve heard him say—and in so doing he’s both bending over to accommodate our cousins and being damn near deaf to anything that goes against that.”
The disaster at Tunisia’s Kasserine Pass in the Atlas Mountains had taken place only weeks earlier. Erwin Rommel’s Afrika Korps had hammered the hell out of Allied forces made up mostly of the U.S. Army’s II Corps. The Germans boldly forced them back fifty miles, while inflicting huge casualties, taking prisoners, and capturing critical matériel, everything from weapons to fuel. Eisenhower eventually struck back successfully, but there was no denying grave mistakes had been made up and down the lines of command.
“And our cousins are taking advantage of that?” Canidy said.
“You know the Brits and their snooty air of superiority. They’re brash. It’s creating friction for Eisenhower. And it’s certainly affecting how they treat the OSS and our intel. They’re making the point at AFHQ that if they don’t say something exists, that if their far superior intel-gathering services don’t know about it, then, ipso facto, it cannot possibly exist.”
“So if us new kids on the block don’t get our fair share of instruction,” Canidy said, “what do we do?”
“We set up our own finishing school,” Fine said.
“Okay. When?”
“Already done.”
“Really?”
“You underestimate me, my friend.”
Canidy grinned. “That I never would do.”