Algiers, December 12, 1961
It’s slowly getting light in Algiers. The day before, a gentle rain fell on the white city, but this morning it has finally given way to the sun. The timid rays lick the pavement and make the dampness rise from the ground. The gardens of the villas on Rue Sévérine are exhaling in abundance their aromas of cypress, boxwood, and pine.
The commander of the OAS has put one of the villas under high surveillance because a dozen suspect individuals are in it. Cops, soldiers, or simple civilians—it isn’t yet entirely clear—they arrived from metropolitan France two weeks before and have since been conducting clandestine actions against partisans of French Algeria. Two cafés have been destroyed by attacks that this time had nothing to do with the FLN. Degueldre, the leader of the OAS commandos, has been clear: there is no question of letting those scum act as they want in Algiers.
Sigma shivers. He has spent the night in the Dauphine, accompanied by Bizerte and Omega, dozing off from time to time. His body is stiff with cold despite the blanket he threw over his shoulders. At dawn, Babelo joined them, bringing coffee and fresh bread. As well as his famous American cigarettes. He has handed them out generously to his buddies and thick smoke is now stagnating in the car.
Shortly after nine o’clock, they see a figure slip through the junglelike garden of the villa they’re watching. A man in his thirties opens the gate and comes out cautiously. He has no difficulty spotting the Dauphine and its four phantoms. He puts his hand inside his jacket to make sure his gun is there.
Another man soon joins him, a gorilla well over six feet tall and weighing nearly two hundred and fifty pounds. The two men exchange a few words as they look toward the Dauphine. Then the colossus walks off and gets into a big Mercedes.
A delivery van passes the two cars and stops about fifty meters farther on. The driver gets out and immediately disappears into a nearby house. The driver of the Mercedes puts the car in reverse and slowly backs up to get the second man. Now they hesitate.
The van is still blocking traffic, and Rue Sévérine is too narrow to make a U-turn. They decide to back up all the way to Rue Mangin.
Everything is going as planned.
The Mercedes backs down the street. As it passes the Dauphine, its two occupants are paying no attention to the OAS men. The car reaches the intersection, where it can finally turn around. Omega wipes the condensation off the windshield and starts the engine. Babelo, Bizerte, and Sigma cock their submachine guns. They’re ready. Omega drives slowly and stops ten meters from Rue Mangin.
In the middle of the intersection, the Mercedes is no longer moving. They know why. Another car is blocking its way. Babelo and Bizerte roll down their windows while Sigma gets out of the car and lies down on the street.
The submachine guns start firing.
Their heavy fire echoes that of the other commando unit positioned on Rue Mangin. Despite the crossfire, the occupants of the Mercedes fire back. The younger of them jumps into the street and fires in their direction. Sigma takes refuge in the car. Babelo throws a defensive grenade, but not far enough, and it explodes on the street without damaging the Mercedes.
Before the street fills with smoke, Sigma has time to see the massive silhouette of the driver slump behind his steering wheel.
Omega rapidly backs the car into Rue Sévérine. As if by enchantment, the van has disappeared. Omega takes advantage of a wide place in the street in front of a luxurious villa to make a quick turnaround and the Dauphine takes off. It soon resumes a normal speed in the streets of Algiers.
Shortly afterward, Omega finds a parking place in the Rue Michelet. The four men hide their submachine guns in the trunk of the car and walk to the Otomatic. A hangout for activist students, the bar’s terrace on the sidewalk is shaded by young plane trees. They sit down at a free table and despite the early hour order four strong anisettes.
For a long time they remain silent, each of them reliving the emotions of the battle. A second glass of anisette loosens their tongues and the first laughs ring out.
“A film with James Stewart and Richard Widmark this afternoon, what do you say to that?” Babelo suggests. “Two Rode Together is playing at the Modern Cinema.”
“Is it good?” Omega asks. He’s getting a little tired of westerns.
“Is it good? The truth is . . . It’s by John Ford, the greatest director of them all!”
“Well . . . if it’s by John Ford!”
At 4 P.M. they meet at the Modern Cinema. When they come out, they learn that their action that morning, despite the risks they took, was only partly successful. Wounded in the left arm and the stomach, the driver of the Mercedes was taken to Maillot Hospital, but will live. The other man, one of the leaders of the group, escaped with only a few scratches. The people at the villa in Rue Sévérine moved out that afternoon.
“Don’t worry,” Babelo reassures them. “They’re going to set up somewhere else, but we’ll soon find out where they are. The battle is just beginning.”