Passage to Marseille Page #4

It came the last time,

and it'll come again

to the army that outlasts its opponent,

the army that holds its lines

five minutes longer.

And that army will be the French Army,

because its officers will make it hold,

because they'll hold their men in place

by means of cast-iron discipline.

And what if

the Maginot Line is outflanked?

Forgive me, sir, but I've always

understood that in a democracy,

even a soldier has the right to think.

Discipline is more essential

than thought to a combat officer.

An army is not a debating society.

Its thinking is done for them by experts.

I trust the Captain does not

believe himself wiser

than Marshal Ptain and the general staff.

The British have a general staff,

and it seems to feel as I do.

Our allies have no such blind faith

in the Maginot Line.

That is because they did not build it.

They're jealous of French genius.

A nation of shopkeepers.

They wanted to sell us the cement.

Very well said, mon Commandant.

No, do not mention the British.

The word offends me.

The British will fight.

Oh, yes. To the last drop of French blood.

Only last week the Commandant said

exactly the same thing.

Only last month

the same words were invented

in the office of Herr Doktor Goebbels

in Berlin.

- Are you accusing me of disloyalty?

- Or is it me you accuse, sir?

Please, let's not accuse anyone,

neither our traveling companions,

nor our allies.

Very well, I accept your apology.

You ask for my opinions, mark my words,

time always proves I'm right.

This was the atmosphere

in which I was destined

to make a voyage

halfway around the globe.

By the time we'd reached Panama,

the world we'd known was falling apart.

The Maginot Line was outflanked.

The invincible French Army

was on the run.

Events were happening

with alarming swiftness.

"Maginot line flanked."

Fault of our allies, sir.

British, the Belgians.

What did I tell you?

They let our line get flanked.

France can curse the day she let herself

get mixed up with foreign alliances.

- Sir?

- No.

Passing through the Panama Canal,

the Ville de Nancy set her helm

for Marseille.

Two days out of Coln,

the wireless buzzed continuously.

The air was full of the news

of torpedoings and hostile raiders.

Ahoy, the bridge. Submarine!

- Where away?

- Thirty degrees starboard, sir.

Sound the alarm.

- What do you see?

- Some sort of suspicious craft.

Can't be sure.

- Man the guns.

- Aye, sir.

- Hold the fire.

- Aye, sir.

We'll have a torpedo

in our belly any minute.

- Hold your fire.

- Hold your fire.

Well, it's no sub.

It's a craft of some sort, isn't it?

- A boat?

- Or a canoe.

See there.

That's a man.

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