Fighting for the French Foreign Legion Read online

  I was awakened in the mid-afternoon by voices. It took me a moment or two to realize where I was as the voices came closer. I was confident that they would not find my hide as I had taken time to camouflage it properly before I settled down for a kip. I couldn’t see anyone but they were very close. It is amazing how loud your breathing sounds to yourself when you are trying to be quiet. The group were now so close to me that I could make out what they were saying. They were not behaving in a manner that made me think that they were aware of my presence. There were some bramble bushes just in front of my hiding place and this gave me some additional natural cover. From the number of footsteps I could tell that this was a military group and not just some civilians passing by.

  As the voices and footsteps receded I slowly let out my breath. I hadn’t realized that I had been holding it. My earlier attention to detail had paid off. I stayed in place until dark and had a hot drink before heading off towards the rendezvous point. The going was easier now and I made good time as I moved downhill.

  We had been briefed on the final phase of the exercise at the start of the week and I knew that the aim was to attack a hydroelectric dam. This also made it easier to find as all I had to do was follow the valley until I came to a lake. We were to be given dummy explosive charges to place on the wall of the dam before making a tactical retreat. I had until midnight to make it to the dam and join up with anyone else who had successfully made their escape.

  The moon was up and the sky was crystal clear when I moved into the area. It was very cold and I had tied a handkerchief over my mouth to hide the giveaway trace of steam rising from my breath. The timing of the mission was planned to catch any guards at the lowest point of their alertness, which was always about five in the morning. I knew only too well what it was like to do guard duty at that time of the morning – you were cold, half asleep and bored witless.

  Just after two thirty I heard then saw a couple of figures moving slowly down the hillside about 20 yards to my left, but waited until they drew level with me before making them aware of my presence. Over the next couple of hours our numbers grew as we waited to be contacted by our instructors.

  When a jeep drove into the clearing, I could make out our instructors and watched as they got a small fire going. They put what looked like a large coffee pot onto the glowing embers. It was time to join them. They also had a large urn full of hot soup waiting for us and checked off our names as they handed us a mug. Boy, was it good. My rabbit meal seemed like ages ago and the soup went down well.

  After a short briefing they handed out the dummy explosives and a set of plans showing the layout of the hydroelectric system. It was we who had to plan the attack and work out where the explosives should be placed to cause the maximum damage. The plan was to destroy the generating capacity rather than rupture the dam. There were several towns further down the valley and if this had been for real it would not be the aim of the mission to cause massive loss of life to the civilian population.

  An hour later we attacked the dam, neutralizing the guards before abseiling down the face of the dam to gain access to the huge outflow pipes directly below the generators. Another reason for the timing of the attack was that at this early hour there was not the demand for electricity and the turbines were not working. Another couple of hours and the station would see the turbines working flat out and it would have not have been possible to go inside the pipes to place the charges.

  The charges were what we called flash-bangs as when we detonated them they let off a very loud bang and a bright flash to simulate an explosion but did not cause any real damage. With the mission accomplished we made a tactical withdrawal before regrouping back at the clearing. Our instructors seemed to be pleased enough with our efforts as we embarked on the lorries for the journey back up the mountain to Mont Louis.

  After a short debriefing and a thorough medical, we enjoyed a hearty breakfast before crawling into our beds for a good sleep. The course was over and there was nothing left to do but get our equipment together for the return trip to Calvi. We travelled back down to the coast by lorry to the air base at Perpignan, where three C160 Transalls were waiting to fly us back to our base. As members of a parachute regiment it was only right that we would be jumping back into our camp as the climax to the course.

  A little over three quarters of an hour after taking off, we were on the final approach to the drop zone. The aircraft had formed up in close formation one behind the other in combat jump formation. It was also the practice to make this as close to real combat as possible and we would be jumping at 300 metres.

  It was a small drop zone with a normal stick being ten parachutists per door per pass, i.e. twenty in the air at a time. The jump masters were Regular Army and had not been briefed about what was about to happen. When the red light came on they called for the ten per stick to stand up and hook on. To their astonishment everyone stood up and hooked on.

  With the aircraft rapidly approaching the drop zone, the jump masters were frantically trying to get the rest of us to sit down. Exactly the same thing was happening on the other two aircraft and when the green light came on, the jump started. It was like a rugby scrum and with everyone pushing from behind, the aircraft emptied in under thirty seconds. With the other aircraft close behind, there were 120 parachutists in the air at the same time. The jump masters had to stand back and let it happen or they would have been out of the doors as well. This was six times the normal number of parachutists in the air at any one time, but it was exactly what would have happened in time of war. When the air is so crowded you take extra care and pay more attention to what is happening around you. As a result everyone landed safely. When a complete company is jumping back into Calvi, everyone comes out to watch and it also tends to cause a traffic jam on the main road into Calvi as the cars stop to view the spectacle. This was what it meant to be part of the Legion’s most elite regiment – everyone was on a high.

  Once everything had been cleaned and put back into store we had to get changed into our dress uniforms for the presentation ceremony at which our Colonel in Chief presented the ‘Commando Entrainement’ badges to those of us who had successfully completed the course. I felt quite chuffed at having made it. Each combat company has its own speciality and courses. Everyone wore their specialist badges with pride, inter-company rivalry was fierce and it was rare for anyone to want to move between combat companies.

  Within a month of being back in Calvi I was posted to the Bureau Operations and Instruction unit, known as the BOI. This meant leaving the 1st Company for the Regiment’s Command Company, the CCS. The BOI was a small specialized unit responsible for all operational planning, specialist instruction, situation analysis, mapping and photography. My new responsibilities included keeping up to date all maps and information on areas in the world where we might become involved. I had to build up a library of satellite photographs which I obtained from a variety of sources, including the National Geographical Institute, the French equivalent of the Ordnance Survey in the UK. I also had access to various military sources worldwide. All this was quite a responsibility as it was important that we had the latest information to hand instantly.

  My old artistic skills were brought into use, allowing me to prepare graphic presentations for the Regiment to a standard they were not used to. This was of particular use to the Colonel in Chief when he was making presentations to visiting VIPs. It also meant that I was present at most of these presentations and performed the additional duty of interpreter when we had foreign visitors. To help me perform this new duty, I was sent to qualify as an official army interpreter. This qualification (Certificat Technique Premier Degré) meant that my security clearance was upgraded, and I got another pay rise. It also made my work more interesting as I was now privy to everything that was happening in the Regiment. The one drawback was that I was very, very busy and every time I was proposed for a sergeants’ course, something would come up a couple of days before I was due to go. I comp
lained to my department boss who expressed his sympathy, but nothing changed.

  After three years’ service you go through a process called rectification in which your personal details, such as your real name, age and nationality, are reinstated. I had gone through this as part of my new security status, but it meant that I was back to my real age and was thus barred from the sergeants’ course, which you had to start before the age of forty. There was not a thing I could do about it, but it was a bit of a downer all the same.

  On 18 June 1944, General de Gaulle of France had made his famous speech from London about France being occupied but not defeated. This speech is now celebrated by the French every year and the occasion is used in much the same way as the Queen’s Birthday is in the UK to distribute honours and awards. As part of this tradition every year all regiments assemble and the speech is read out to them by the Colonel in Chief. On 18 June 1988, immediately after this had been done, I was called out before the assembled Regiment and promoted to the rank of Caporal Chef by special order, with immediate effect. I didn’t know that it was going to happen and was deeply honoured — it went a long way towards compensating me for being blocked from the sergeants’ course. Normally this rank was not achieved until you had at least ten years’ service and I had less than five. It also gave me another pay rise so I wasn’t about to complain.

  The rank of Caporal Chef is a NCO rank which entitles you to quite a few privileges, such as living out of camp, buying a car, opening a bank account or getting married. It also allowed you to take charge of a combat group and to perform tasks normally associated with higher ranks.

  At the beginning of July that year, the Regiment went back to Tchad for a normal four-month deployment. I was attached to the 3rd Company as a Chef-de-Group in one of the combat sections. We were to be stationed at Abéché which was close to the frontier with Sudan. As already described, I like the desert and had been stationed at Abéché on my first visit to Tchad in 1984. I was surprised when some of the locals with whom we had worked before remembered me by name.

  There were no particular problems in the area this time and it gave us the chance to train extensively in the art of desert warfare. We took over from a Regular Army unit and as usual we found that nothing had been done to the camp to improve the living conditions. They had been living in what can only be described as squalor rather than make the effort to improve things for themselves. Wherever the Legion goes they try to improve on and make the most of what they have. Within days of our arrival mud bricks were baking in the sun and the first real accommodation blocks had been constructed by the end of the second week. We begged and borrowed anything that could be used or adapted to improve our lot. We found the generator that we had acquired for our old camp in 1984 – it was still there where we had left it. Because it was petrol driven it was of no use to the locals and was in perfect condition as nothing rusts in the desert. We soon had it going and persuaded the Air Force to donate another one in exchange for the right to visit us, and share our recreational facilities together with some of our well-known hospitality whenever they wanted. Fuel for the generators was at a premium but we only required power for a couple of hours in the evening to run some lighting and the video system we had installed in the mess.

  By the end of the month we had completely rebuilt the whole camp with separate messes for the officers, NCOs and a first-class kitchen, mess and recreational facilities for the legionnaires. New entrance gates were erected and a parade-cum-sports area cleared in the centre of the camp. The morale of the company was lifted and on the whole, life was very acceptable.

  The principal reason for our presence in Tchad was to maintain the security of the frontier and guard the military facilities at the air base which had two Mirage fighter aircraft and a C160 Transall on permanent station. The fighters flew daily missions along the Libyan frontier and had the habit of buzzing the base at a very low altitude at the end of each mission. Despite warnings by the base commander, this somewhat dangerous practice continued until he asked for our help. It was time that the cocky pilots were put in their places.

  The base was protected from ground attack by 5-metre-high earth banks and after landing the aircraft had to taxi through them to gain access to the parking area and hangars. The fighters had to stop briefly before passing through the gap to enable the ground crews to make safe the air-to-ground missiles. While the aircraft were stationary a couple of our lads ran out unseen by the pilots and attached to the aircraft about 30 metres of cable of the type which was normally used on the aerial farm. After they taxied in, the pilots were met on the tarmac by a supposedly irate officer from the signals unit who proceeded to dress them down, pointing out the trail of wire snagged under the aircraft. The pilots protested their innocence and neither of them twigged that they had been set up until much later. The message got across and it put an end to the practice of low flying. It was all taken good humouredly but could have ended in tears if they had got caught up in the aerial farm for real.

  We had the chance to discover the real joys of the desert on a two-week patrol deep into the Sahara. As we were forbidden to sleep on the vehicles in case of air attack, we laid out our sleeping bags in the sand in a circle round the vehicles and slept under the stars, which was wonderful.

  One night we stopped as usual just before dark and set up our camp under some palm trees. After the evening meal I posted the guard and issued them with night-vision goggles, with which you could pick out the faintest stars far away in space. It was a breathtaking sight. I suppose that the same thing must be experienced in the middle of the ocean. The glasses could also pick out the faintest light sources far out in the desert. It always came as a surprise just how many people were camped out there. You thought that you were on your own in the middle of nowhere, but it was far from the case. Nomadic caravans still criss-cross the desert as they have done for centuries.

  One afternoon we had watched a nomadic caravan pass us while we were having a break. It was an entire village on the move, complete with goats and dozens of camels which just seemed to amble along at their own pace. They wouldn’t stop until they reached the next oasis where the animals could graze. The men walked in front of their camels leading the whole village along at a calm walking pace. The women and children were on the backs of camels protected from the sun by material stretched over a frame. The only sounds came from the camels who kind of snorted as they were led along, their huge feet spreading out over the sand to take the weight. They walked with an economy of movement under the blazing sun. It was over 40°C in the shade, but even we were getting used to it. It took almost three hours for the camel train to pass through our location.

  By contrast the night temperature dropped very quickly as the sand give up its heat and after the evening meal everyone wasted no time in getting into the warmth of their sleeping bags. Whereas some read for a while by torchlight, I was more than content to lay back and stare at the stars. It was mesmerizing, to say the least - almost hypnotic - and you were made to feel very small in the overall scale of things. You soon fell asleep under nature’s fairylights.

  At about 2.00 one morning I was jolted out of my sleep by someone swearing loudly and by torches being switched on all over the place. The sand was moving with hundreds of large black scorpions. They had been drawn to our campsite in search of heat and were trying to get into the sleeping bags beside the legionnaires. To hell with regulations – everyone was given the order to get into the vehicles. No one had been bitten and the sleeping bags were all turned inside out to evict any unwelcome guests.

  Because of the intensity of the sun, everyone had to keep their sleeves rolled down and their skin covered as much as possible. The temptation was to do the opposite to try and keep cool, but it was amazing how effective the nomadic headwear was when worn correctly. Despite all these precautions I still got sunburn on the tip of my nose and on the outside of my ears. It was very painful and I had to keep the affected areas well covered in c
ream.

  I love Africa despite the extremes of climate and the landscapes – from the mountains of Tibesti and the sands of the Sahara, to the tropical forests. Huge red ants, spiders, scorpions, snakes and elephants – it didn’t matter what they were, they were fabulous. There were occasions we would rather have forgotten, like the huge, suffocating, hot sandstorms that got into every orifice you could imagine; or the swarms of flies and mosquitoes that would cover you from head to toe given half a chance. But these were a small price to pay for the privilege of visiting this wonderful continent.

  Only too quickly it was time to head back to Calvi.

  CHAPTER 10

  New Responsibilities

  On our return to Calvi we were given the usual month’s leave, the difference this time being that my new rank let me take mine anywhere in the world that I wanted. I went back to Scotland for a couple of weeks but was soon fed up and headed back to the south of France and spent the time exploring the area round Nice. I hired a car and visited all the small costal towns from Nice to the Italian border. You can’t visit this area without spending some time in Monaco. Just walking round the port, looking at how the other half live is a real eye-opener. The mega yachts were something else and I personally don’t mind how much they cost. They provide employment for lots of people from boatbuilders and crews, to florists and those who supply their basic provisions at every port of call. Who cares what the owners do? As long as they spend their money everyone is happy.