The officer leaned forward, tapping the licence-holder against the door: ‘Monsieur Rios, this licence is not signed.’
The driver grinned: ‘I never remember to sign anything!’ He took out a pen.
Neil looked up and saw the young NCO thrust the earphones at one of the soldiers and start back towards the Citroën. The driver signed the licence, and Neil watched the NCO talking excitedly to the officer, glancing at the Citroën, then at the jeep.
The officer turned, put his head through the window and said to Neil: ‘Would you please get out for a moment, monsieur?’ He opened the rear door. Nobody in the car moved. Neil looked at General Guérin, then at Le Hir, and their expressions betrayed nothing. The officer held the door open and said again, ‘Will you please get out?’
Neil climbed from the car and stood up, feeling the morning sun warm through the mist, and the officer said quietly, ‘Follow me, please.’
They began to walk towards the two jeeps. ‘You’re the English journalist, Ingleby?’ said the officer.
‘Yes.’
‘Those men in the car — you know who they are?’
Neil said nothing.
‘Stand behind the jeep, please,’ said the officer, ‘don’t move.’ For a moment his eyes met Neil’s and their brilliant hazel light held a dangerous glitter. Neil nodded and stood behind the back of the jeep. He could just see the two Citroëns. Still nobody had moved in either of them.
The officer walked back towards the first car. He went round the bonnet until he was on the side where General Guérin sat, then shouted something and raised his machine-pistol. The two CRS men who were checking the second Citroën turned and ran forward, and the three of them, joined by the NCO, closed round the first car. Doors were pulled open and there were two bursts of gunfire.
The CRS officer slid forward against the rear door of the car and went down on to his knees, his machine-pistol crashing on to the road. The young German legionnaire was coming round the side of the second Citroën, his gun jumping in his hand, and Neil saw the little spurts of flame as the NCO shivered and grabbed at his stomach, then sat down and began to scream and vomit on to the tarmac.
The CRS officer was on his knees, groping for the door handle of the first car, when the driver came out with one of the guns from under the rug and slammed the steel butt across the back of his head.
Le Hir had sprung out of the car with the second gun from under the rug, and was crouching down with the two legionnaires, firing steady bursts from behind the open doors. General Guérin was still inside the car, kneeling on the floor against the front seat.
Neil sat huddled behind the back wheel of the jeep, listening to the shriek and whine of bullets, glass shattering and empty shells rattling on to the tarmac. The young NCO was still sitting in the road, holding his stomach and letting out a horrible panting shriek like an animal. Near him one of the soldiers was lying on his face, trying to crawl back behind the jeeps; and the other soldier was frantically fitting a new clip into his gun, edging back towards the pillbox. The remaining two CRS men had taken cover close to Neil, firing at the tyres of both Citroëns.
Neil heard doors slamming and an engine trying to start with a loose clatter. A bullet whined somewhere very near, and when he looked out again he saw Le Hir sinking on to the road. The second Citroën suddenly roared out from behind the first, its doors open, and swung round in the road with a squeal of rubber, both guns firing in a wide arc as the car reached the opposite lane, steadying a dry skid, and began to accelerate. Then the Douze-Sept opened up across the bridge.
Neil watched the blue flashes spitting up along the road as the armoured shell casing peeled off like a banana skin, with lead splashing out across the tarmac; then came the long thundering roar, and the car shook and split and cracked open, pieces flying off it like something seen in an old jerky film.
A column of men began to advance across the bridge. The firing stopped. All Neil could hear now was the steady crash of boots and whistles and words of command.
Le Hir sat against the wing of the first Citroën white-faced and bleeding from the legs. His gun was empty. The driver had laid down his own gun and came round the side of the car, hands above his head, waiting for the troops across the bridge. He had given up when the Douze-Sept started.
The rear door of the Citroën now opened and General Guérin stepped out. He moved slowly, closing the door behind him as though it might break in his hand, then walked to the side of the road and stopped only a few yards from Neil.
He looked neither at Neil nor at the advancing troops, but stood gazing out across the bridge, down the flat bed of the Oued Zain to where it trickled into the sea. He was stooped and old and broken. He did not answer when the officer came to arrest him. They took him to a jeep and sat him up between four armed CRS men, and the officer who arrested him was very respectful, addressing him as ‘mon Général’ as he helped him up, although he did not salute.
Le Hir was still sitting against the wing of the Citroën. They had carried the young NCO to the side of the road. His screams had stopped and he was dying. Neil was put in another jeep bound for the High Command Headquarters above the city. The lieutenant in
