The Silent Man

Days passed by, and the recruitment mission proceeded in full swing.

Lorraine stood under the porch of 10 Downing Street, waiting for the heavy oak door to open before him.

The rain started again. The rain in London is different from the rain in Paris; the rain in Paris is lingering, carrying the moisture from the Seine and the aroma of cafes.

The London rain was cold, seeping into his bones. He handed his soaked coat to the attendant at the door and followed the expressionless secretary through corridor after corridor.

He didn't know why he had been summoned. Three hours earlier, someone had rushed into his dormitory and said only one sentence: "Pack your things, Churchill wants to see you." Then he disappeared, leaving him alone to straighten his faded military uniform in front of the mirror.

At the end of the corridor, a door was half-open.

A voice came from inside, not the impassioned wartime speech he had expected, but a low, almost muttering murmur. Occasionally, there was the rustling sound of turning pages.

The secretary stopped at the door and knocked on the already open door.

"Prime Minister, Lieutenant Lorraine has arrived."

"Come in," the voice said.

Loran went inside.

The room was more cluttered than he had imagined. A fire burned in the fireplace, but its light was no match for the damp chill seeping in through the gaps in the curtains. The large oak table was piled high with documents, maps, telegram copies, and at least three ashtrays, each overflowing with cigar butts.

Winston Churchill wasn't sitting behind the table. He stood in front of the fireplace, his back to the door, one hand on the mantel, the other holding a glass of what looked like whiskey. He was wearing the grey bodysuit that Lorraine had seen in various news photographs, like a onesie pajama, the collar open to reveal a wrinkled shirt underneath.

He did not turn around.

"De Gaulle said you were a pragmatic man," Churchill began, his voice echoing slightly from the direction of the fireplace. "Pragmatic. That's a good word. Much better than those pedantic intellectuals' words like 'sober-minded' or 'sharp-witted.'"

He turned around.

Those eyes shone brightly in the fireplace, not the kind of bright eyes a politician would have, but the kind of bright eyes that only someone who has stayed up all night, relying on cigars and whiskey to keep going, bloodshot yet still sharp.

"Sit." Churchill gestured with his chin to the armchair opposite the fireplace, then sat down in another chair and placed his wine glass on the small round table between them.

Loran sat down.

Churchill looked at him without speaking immediately. That gaze reminded Lorraine of the feeling he had when facing German tanks in Stoney, as if he were being stared at by something with nowhere to escape.

"De Gaulle is next door," Churchill finally spoke, gesturing with his chin towards the closed side door. "He wants to speak with you alone. Do you know why?"

Lorraine shook her head.

Churchill picked up his glass and took a sip. Those eyes, looking past the rim of the glass, remained fixed on him.

"Because he thinks you can understand what I'm saying. But he's too proud; there are some things I can't say to his face."

He put down his glass, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Lieutenant Loran, do you know what I'm facing right now?"

Loran thought for a moment and chose a safe answer: "The German air force, submarines, and the possibility of a landing at any time."

Churchill shook his head. Not in denial, but in a way that went far beyond what he had said.

"The Germans?" He chuckled softly. "The Germans are the least of my worries. I know how to deal with them. If I can't shoot down their planes, I'll build more. If their ships sink, I'll build more. If they come to land, I'll turn every inch of beach into their graveyard. I know how to handle all of that."

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest.

"What I'm really worried about is my own people."

The room was silent for a few seconds. The only sound was the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace.

"Halifax," Churchill said the name in a flat tone, as flat as if he were describing the weather, "my Foreign Secretary. He urged me every day to negotiate with Hitler. A decent peace, he said, is better than destruction. A decent peace."

He repeated the word as if he were tasting something unpalatable.

"Do you know what a decent peace is, Lieutenant? It's the kind France has now. Half its territory occupied, the other half vassals of Germany. The army disbanded, prisoners of war imprisoned, Jews registered, resistance fighters shot—that's decent."

He stood up, walked to the window, and pulled back a curtain slightly. Outside was a gray sky and an even grayer street, with the occasional car driving by, splashing water in its wake.

"Half of my cabinet supports him. Not a small minority, but half. My intelligence tells me that if I were to hold a vote of confidence now, I might lose, to someone who advocates for peace with Hitler."

He turned around and looked at Loran.

Do you know what this means?

Lorraine paused for a second, then said, "Britain has surrendered."

Churchill nodded.

"Britain has surrendered," he repeated. "The British Empire, this 300-year-old empire, has surrendered to a shameful Austrian corporal. Queen Victoria will rise from her grave and slap me."

He walked back to the chair, but didn't sit down. He stood there, one hand on the back of the chair, looking down at Loran.

"That's why I need de Gaulle."

This statement is very direct and without any embellishment.

"I need a Frenchman, standing in London, speaking in French to the world, saying that France has not surrendered, that France is still fighting. I need that voice to travel across the English Channel, into the occupied towns, into the silent cafes, into the street corners plastered with German bans."

His voice began to rise.

"I need to show the Americans that there are still people in Europe willing to fight. I need to let those in my cabinet who advocate for peace hear that across the Channel, there are still people who would rather die than bow down to Hitler. I need to let the world know that Britain is not fighting alone; at least, there is a Frenchman on our side."

He stopped, took a deep breath, and sat down again.

"That's why I helped him, Lieutenant Lorraine. Not because I believe in any dream of a free France. Not because he's a general, or how much political capital he has. It's because I need him."

He picked up his glass and drank it all in one gulp.

"Reality is ugly like this. I know it, and he knows it too. But neither of us says it out loud. He needs my radio station and my money, and I need his voice and his symbol. We use each other, support each other, and reach a tacit understanding in this room."

He put the empty glass back on the table and looked at Lorraine.

"Now you know the truth."

Loran did not speak.

He remembered de Gaulle speaking into the microphone in that cramped recording studio. He remembered the tall, thin figure standing alone in front of the map, saying, "I am here all alone."

It turns out, he really was all alone.

It turns out that the reason the British Prime Minister behind him was to support him was nothing more than cold, hard politics.

But then he thought about it again and realized it made perfect sense.

War is not a romantic novel. It cannot be won solely through faith. Churchill needed de Gaulle, just as de Gaulle needed Churchill. The two men supported each other in dire straits, not out of friendship, but because without their support, both would have collapsed.

Churchill only needed to do a small favor, and Free France would unconditionally stand by his side.

This is a gamble, but also a trivial matter.

"Do you think I'm cold-blooded?" Churchill suddenly asked.

Loran raised his head.

The old man looked at him with a calm, all-knowing gaze.

"You came from Stoney," Churchill said. "You stayed there for three days, watching the men around you die one by one. What do you think cold-bloodedness is? Is it like me, scheming in an office, or like you, watching your comrades being blown to pieces in the ruins, and then continuing to fire?"

Loran did not speak.

"Half of my cabinet wanted to negotiate with Hitler. My Foreign Secretary, Halifax, advised me every day, saying, 'A decent peace is better than destruction.' My King, George VI, while supporting me, was also hesitant. My army had just withdrawn from Dunkirk, losing all its heavy equipment. My island nation, now isolated at sea, faced the enemy of all of Europe."

His voice grew louder and louder.

"And what about my allies? France surrendered. The United States was just watching from the sidelines. The Soviet Union and Germany signed a non-aggression pact. The whole world thought I was doomed, thought Britain was doomed, thought Hitler was doomed! Because we were completely isolated."

Churchill stood up, walked over to him, bent down, and got very close.

"Lieutenant, let me tell you something: being cold-blooded isn't a bad thing. Being cold-blooded allows you to stand when everyone else is down, it allows you to fire when everyone else is crying, it allows you to keep fighting even when you know you can't win."

He straightened up, walked back to the table, and picked up another document.

"De Gaulle didn't know why I helped him. Or rather, he knew, but we never talked about it. He thought it was because I believed in his ideals, in Free France, in those nice words. No, what I believed was that as long as one person was still fighting, Hitler couldn't win."

He turned around and looked at Loran.

"As long as there is one person behind some ruins, holding a broken gun, firing at those gray tanks. As long as there is one person who sneaks across the strait in the dead of night, bringing back intelligence and lists. As long as there is one person standing in front of a microphone, shouting to all of occupied Europe that France has not surrendered."

He paused.

"This person could be de Gaulle. It could be you. It could be anyone who refuses to kneel. I need you, not because you represent anything, but because your very existence is the loudest declaration."

The side door opened.

De Gaulle stood there.

He looked at Churchill, then at Lorraine, his deep-set eyes devoid of any expression.

"Are you done talking?" he asked.

Churchill nodded.

De Gaulle walked in and stood in front of Lorraine.

"You heard me," he said.

Loran nodded.

De Gaulle looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds.

Do you think he's right?

Loran thought for a moment.

"Yes," he said, "and no."

De Gaulle waited for him to continue.

"What he needs is a symbol," Lorraine said.

He looked at de Gaulle.

"You are that person. Not because he needs you, but because those people need you."

The room remained quiet for a long time.

Churchill stood by the table, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the ever-burning cigar. He watched the scene without saying a word.

De Gaulle stood there, motionless, the firelight from the fireplace dancing on his face.

Finally, he spoke.

"Lorraine," he said, "where are you going next?"

Loran pulled a list from his pocket.

"Calais. Lille. Brussels."

De Gaulle nodded.

"Come back alive."

Loran stood up, saluted the two men, and turned to walk towards the door.

Churchill's voice came from behind.

"Lieutenant."

Loran stopped and turned around.

The short, stout old man stood by the window, his back to him. Cigar smoke swirled above his head, tinged gray-blue by the light from outside.

"I mean it," Churchill said without turning around. "I need you. Not because you are useful. Because if even you are gone, all of Europe will be left with only Britain."

The air fell silent for a few seconds.

"A few nights ago, I took the subway without telling anyone. I didn't notify anyone, there were no security guards, I was all alone, mingling with people going home from get off work."

He looked out the window.

"The subway was crowded. Workers, soldiers, women, children. They all looked exhausted, but no one cried, no one complained. A young soldier saw me, paused for a moment, and then asked, 'Prime Minister, can we really win?'"

He paused.

"I looked at him, not knowing what to say. Then an old lady next to him spoke up. She said, 'Child, we've always been winning. We've been winning since Caesar's time. Napoleon didn't win, and Hitler won't win either.'"

Churchill turned around and looked at Lorraine.

"At that moment, I understood. I wasn't leading them. They were leading me—the ordinary people, the ones who squeezed onto the subway to and from get off work every day, lined up for rations, and cleaned up the rubble after the bombings. They wouldn't surrender. So neither would I."

"We will not lose, and neither will you, even if our army is so small that we don't even have a single regular division, and even if our current situation is not optimistic."

Lorraine stood there, looking into his eyes.

Churchill was also tired, and the light in his eyes gradually faded.

De Gaulle stood by the fireplace, also looking in that direction.

Three people, three postures, three kinds of silence.

Lorraine suddenly remembered a speech Churchill gave in June.

We will fight to the end; we will fight in France; we will fight on the seas; we will fight with unwavering confidence in the air.

We will defend our homeland at any cost.

We will fight on the beaches, at the enemy's landing sites, in the fields and streets, and in the mountains; we will never surrender.

Even if our island, or most of it, is occupied by the enemy and starving, the citizens of our overseas empire, armed and protected by our British fleet, will continue to fight.

Until the new world, when God deems it appropriate, uses all its power to save and liberate the old world.