Despite the ever-present threat of death, i remained a man of the people, constantly appearing in public and surviving someone trying to shoot me during a rendition of La Marseillaise, dodging a huge bomb exploding in the road ahead of my car and even lived through several cars full of shooters with machine guns, grenades and Molotov cocktails attacking my convoy.
Despite the stories, the French Resistance didn't actually do all that much resisting, the French people seemed to be totally okay with the Nazi leadership they now had and we had a problem of scraping together enough soldiers to build a halfway effective army.
When it became clear that the actual French weren't interested in making too much of a fuss, i decided to reach further afield, bringing in hardcore colonial fighters from the French territories in Africa.
My new Free French Army kicked an epic amount of derrier that you don't usually associate with the French and began to march into Paris to deliver a hefty kick to Hitler's balls.
Only we didn't get as far as Paris as the British and Americans allies said, hang on, we have an image to uphold and it would be far better for our people to watch Paris liberated by square-jawed, chiseled Aryan superheroes than a ragtag bunch of African natives and before i was granted permission by America and Britain to take back my own country, i had to scramble to find enough white people to replace anyone in my army who failed the whiteness test.
Unfortunately, despite almost dying so many times, i couldn't hide from death's cold embrace forever and i died watching The High Chaparral on the television at home, Ben Cartwright and his family doing what Hitler and my wannabe assassins failed at so many times.
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