Algeria, 1943, through Italy and France, to Alsace in early 1945, with a coda years later. Arabs volunteer to fight Nazis to liberate France, their motherland. We follow Saïd, dirt poor, an orderly for a grizzled sergeant, Martinez, a pied noir with some willingness to speak up for his Arab troops; Messaoud, a crack shot, who in Province falls in love with a French woman who loves him back; and Abdelkader, a corporal, a budding intellectual with a keen sense of injustice. The men fight with courage against a backdrop of small and large indignities: French soldiers get better food, time for leave, and promotions. Is the promise of liberty, equality, and fraternity hollow?
year 1944, battle, firearm, cigarette smoking, reference to allah, 1940s, world war two, infantry, ballet dancer, milking a cow, race relations, year 1945, year 1943, arab, french soldier, muslim, algeria, wehrmacht, nazi occupied france, nazi soldier
Instead of guys named Danny and Polack and Sol and Brooklyn, you've got guys named Said and Yassir and Messaoud and Abdelkader. But it's the same deal. Prick them, do they not bleed? Blow them up, do their limbs not scatter and their guts not spill?