Nights were surprisingly cold in the desert, a fact that Colonel Paul Gardy had become used to in the long years since the defeat in 1940. He had been in Morocco, joined the Allies, advanced through Algeria and Tunisia. By this point, he felt he had spent half his life in Algeria but for the two years spent with the Army driving into the heart of the Reich.

An old friend from his days in the 1st Armored Division had arrived in Algeria after sparring with the socialist government and being thrown out of his position in the Centre des Hautes Études Militaires: Brigadier-General Jaques Faure, a parachutist.

Two regiments of the Foreign Legion's parachutists were at that very time undergoing training in France, advised by officers of the 25th Airborne Division-- General Faure's unit. Colonel Gardy had only in the past three months achieved command of the Foreign Legion in Algeria. This was, ostensibly, the purpose behind his visit. The truth was somewhat more dangerous in nature.

General Faure entered Colonel Gardy's office later that night. Gardy stood and saluted, then offered Faure a cigarette. Both men sat in the cool, quiet office overlooking the rolling blue dunes of the Sahara desert in the midnight moonlight.

Gardy produced a lighter, which Faure took advantage of. He then lit his own cigarette, and the two smoked in silence for a moment. "I heard about the trouble at CHEM," Gardy opened.

Faure grimaced. "Fools. Paris has less of an idea what to do with a military every day. Now they want to demobilize units, yesterday they wanted to raise new ones. You can tell the days the socialists made a stronger argument over the Algerians, or vice-versa."

Across the desk, Gardy shook his head. "France cannot go on like this."

"All it will take is the UDMA threatening to walk away from the coalition and we will see another Indochina," Faure said, ashing his cigarette.

Another bloated silence. They both danced around the point, but neither seemed to want to cut to the core of it all too soon.

"There must be a response, if the socialists look to surrender Algeria," Gardy said at last. "You know that."

Faure said nothing. Now, the point had been made.

"There are other officers who feel this way. Men high in the ranks of the Army, higher even than you," Gardy said. He, too, ashed his cigarette and gestured vaguely to the north, towards France. "Every day they concede more to the natives. You cannot believe, and I do not believe, that they are not still in communication with their friends in the PCF. Such is the way of communists, they infiltrate and rot institutions from the inside-- why should PSIF be different? Communists bleat every day about imperialism. It is only a matter of time before the will of the PSIF is eroded completely."

Faure nodded almost imperceptibly, his contemptuous feelings about the socialists were well-known after his public dismissal from CHEM.

Leaning over, Gardy produced a bottle of liquor and two crystal glasses. He filled them both, and slid one across the desk. "There must be a response," he repeated.

His visitor took his own glass, swirling the liquid inside of it for a moment and thinking. "What do we drink to?"

"To France."