Der kleine Löwe und die Großen oder Die Patriarchen und die Diplomatie Page #3

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A bit steep, I grant you.

It leads not to the entrance

guarded by your men on Rue de Rivoli,

but Rue du Mont-Thabor.

The Emperor

merely had to cross the Tuileries,

walk up the stairs

and into the arms of...

Miss Howard.

France was none the worse for it.

Hans!

You two,

go down to Rue du Mont-Thabor.

- What number?

- There is no number.

Where is it?

Is this necessary?

I doubt Napoleon III will drop in.

Where is it?

The steel door

on the corner of Rue de Castiglione.

The corner of Rue de Castiglione.

You, follow me.

Check this staircase is secure.

There are 2-3,000 terrorists out there,

who'd happily spit on my corpse.

Did I not release

all political prisoners?

The last were freed yesterday.

So, what now?

I came to suggest

you put an end to all this.

Your so-called terrorists are patriots.

I respect enemy combatants,

but they are Bolshevik criminals,

and I will crush

every last one of them!

Kill one

and you create two more.

That depends

on the resources we deploy.

I was sent to Paris to restore order.

I shall do much more.

What will you do exactly?

Nothing special.

The stairs lead down to the street.

I was cut off.

It's urgent, take care of it.

- What's going on?

- No time.

Choltitz isn't finished yet.

If you saw him at Kharkov...

I was there.

You too?

To think that barely two weeks ago,

Paris was the dream posting

for a German soldier.

The most docile, disciplined territory

in the whole of Nazi Europe.

An officer posted here

knew he had left the war behind

and would want for nothing.

The only battles to be fought here

were to obtain the best table

in a restaurant.

The Parisians are cowards,

Mr. Nordling.

They skulked

in their homes for four years.

The enemy's Normandy landings

brought some out,

and now they start to attack us,

to defy us,

killing dozens of my men.

I shall make them pay.

With no distinction

between terrorists and the others.

I advise you to leave the city

forthwith. It's not your war.

Leave Paris no less?

And go where?

I have no idea.

Back home, I suppose.

Back home?

This is my home.

You can't say the same.

Pardon me?

We're foreigners.

I'm Swedish, you're German,

but I was born

and lived all my life in Paris.

You've been here barely two weeks.

So what?

I know these men and women.

They won't leave you in peace.

They've sacrificed their jobs,

comfort and families.

They'll die for their cause.

Same here, Mr. Nordling.

This is war, not a pleasure cruise.

Indeed. But you have 2,000 men.

And on the other side? 3 million.

One day very soon,

they'll make short work of you.

Who? The French?

Short work of us?

You claim to know them?

You're a diplomat, I'm a soldier.

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