The Free Shall Live and Other Stories by Georges Surdez

Book Details

The Free Shall Live – four stories of courage and honor in the face of certain death by Georges Surdez, the master of French Foreign Legion fiction. The term “Russian Roulette” was coined by Surdez in the story of the same name.

Legionnaires’ Way (1941) – Young Lieutenant Lesprade addresses himself to Major Takamura in a manner a Japanese gentleman must heed

The Blood Call (1939) – Take this money, Legionnaire, and get back to your drinking. For on a September afternoon in ‘seventeen, you killed my brother

Russian Roulette (1937) – The strange case of Sergeant Burkowski, who died many deaths, and his friend Feldheim, who had to explain one of them to their superior officers

The Free Shall Live (1941) – Strange savage 1941 war in the desert: British, Italians, Free French —and the others. But a boy from Brooklyn saves the day

Georges Surdez (1900-1949) made a particular study of the French Foreign Legion. He visited the headquarters of every regiment, and many outposts of the Atlas, Sahel and Sahara. His stories show a breadth of understanding of those fine fighting men second to none.

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Excerpt: The Free Shall Live

THE earth swept to the horizon in an immense wheel of sand studded with brown boulders; the Saharan heat was like the breath of a furnace. There was not a bird in the sky; not an insect crawled on the ground. Colonel Kergonel pointed out a spot in that desolation.

“Here they are, young fellow. You can spot their shadows.”

Texier squinted into the glare, and discerned movement. Yes, it was true that in this bewildering land the shadow could be discerned more easily than the substance. The approaching men, clad in khaki and white, merged with the background or with the sky; but their shadows were sharp and black. The young Lieutenant unwrapped the jacket which protected the breech of the light automatic rifle from sand. This was the end.

“Hold a bit,” the Colonel said, quietly.   “I’ll make sure.”

He left the boulder sheltering them, strode into the open. He was a tall man, and the folds of the native gandoura made him appear taller. With his tanned face seamed by wrinkles, his hooked nose and black eyes, he seemed more a Saharan than a Frenchman. He lifted his arms, gestured.

A bright little light kindled briefly in the distance; a bullet whined overhead, followed shortly by the muffled slap of a detonation.

“Italians,” Kergonel announced, returning. “Merely a warning shot. They use a smaller caliber than we do: did you note the peculiar pinging sound? No sense in resistance, Lieutenant. I’ve counted eighteen men before us, and they undoubtedly have flankers out. We are two, and your ammunition would soon run out.”

“But, mon colonel,” Texier protested, “you heard what the Lieutenant told us last night—”

“That I am to be shot? Yes.” He smiled. “But you have a chance, if you insist that you are British. I believe you can speak English?”

“After a fashion, Colonel.”

“Possibly enough to deceive Italians. That is a chance we must run. No protests, now! I am not giving up to save you. No matter what happens to me, you must try to get away, to reach our column. You can transmit to the commander the information we have obtained, and also tell him that in case of emergency, he can use the wells on the French side; that while the officers are not all ready to cooperate actively, he can expect a friendly neutrality.”

“He knows that, Colonel. Frenchmen will not fire upon Frenchmen in the Sahara.”

Kergonel lighted a cigarette, smiled sadly.

“You were on one of the transports off Dakar, weren’t you? And what is happening to us was planned. We have been betrayed.”

The young man flushed and was silent. Yes, he knew that Frenchmen had already fired upon Frenchmen. He was barely twenty-one, a stocky lad of medium height, with a boyish face. The sprouting beard on his cheeks was light, silken. But his eyes were old, wearied by bitter scenes—of war, of battle, of death and defeat, of treason.

He had seen the French Army crumble in a struggle that had lasted seven weeks; he had seen London bombed from the air; he had seen ships of war blasted into twisted scrap metal. And he had seen boats return to the transports, bearing dead men, wounded men, Frenchmen who were the victims of Frenchmen. He had wandered on, into Africa, across it; he had hoped for revenge, for glory. He had seen the blue cross of Lorraine placed upon the tricolor. And it all was coming to a humiliating end: Surrender to the Italians!

Only three days before, he had volunteered to fly Colonel Kergonel from the Chad region to the border of the Libyan Desert. A flying column of Free French troops, partly motorized, was forging across the continent, to surprise the Italian establishment of the south. Kergonel, famous among the native tribes and personally known to most of the French officers in the region, was to try to win them away from Vichy.

Naturally, landing at the principal posts was out of the question. But Kergonel knew where to locate the detachments of the Camel Corps, the Meharistes, at their pasturing grounds. He had a better chance of convincing active young soldiers than sedentary officials nursing the years to a pension. Their Potez reconnaissance plane had landed near three of these detachments. Kergonel was greeted cordially, even affectionately, by his former subordinates. But winning them over to Free France proved difficult, though they were brave men, and patriots.

BUT they pointed out that their isolated commands in the Sahara made them conspicuous; while they would have sacrificed their own lives, they all had relatives in France, virtual hostages of the Nazis. It takes a special type of somber courage to risk causing harm to one’s women and children. Texier understood this well, for he was serving his country under an assumed name now.

This very morning the young officer who was their host had shown them an order concerning Colonel Kergonel, whose presence in the region had been reported somehow: he was to be placed under arrest, sent north for trial. Another radio message stated that the Italian authorities, also informed, had ordered the border patrols to be on the alert for him, branded Kergonel as a franc-tireur, a partisan soldier, a free-lance unattached to any national army, and stated that he would be executed if found.

Excerpt From: Georges Surdez. “The Free Shall Live and Other Stories.”

Reviews

Tarmac492 reviewed the story Russian Roulette which is included in this collection. His review is HERE