Fighting for the French Foreign Legion Read online

  The aircraft made its approach to the airport round the mountains before landing, with the sound of its engines echoing off the hillsides. When I looked at my friends they were all staring at it with their mouths open in disbelief. It was bad enough making our first jump, but from this thing?

  The aircraft creaked to a halt about 20 yards from us; close up it looked much larger. What happened next was even more of a surprise – they took the back of the cigar-shaped fuselage off leaving a gaping hole which looked like a cutaway section on a display model. Two loading ramps, like the ones you attach to the back of a trailer to load a car, were attached to the rear of the plane ready for loading.

  Suddenly we were on our feet, and collecting our gear from the lorry helped to take our minds off what was to come. We were thrown our main parachute and the reserve from the back of the lorry and made our way back to the embarkation area to put them on. We were in two lines of ten and it only took us a couple of minutes to put the chutes on. This was the moment we had been training for over the past three and a half weeks and the inspection by our instructors went well. The straps between our legs were pulled a bit tighter than was perhaps required, but it would be a brave lad who complained.

  When the engines started again the noise was deafening and I was surprised at the heat and force of the exhausts as we were led forward to board the aircraft. We entered by the ramps at the rear, waddling forward like ducks going to a pond. Suddenly everything was much smaller again and the thing that struck me was the absence of seats. The first man in each column was led to the front of the cabin space where he turned round to face the rear and sat down on the floor, with his legs spread as open as he could get them. The next in line did the same and so on until we were all seated in our two lines facing the open hole at the back of the fuselage. The last one seated was only six feet from ... nothing. The jump master explained that one of the free-fall units would be jumping first, hence the reason for the back of the plane being removed. We would be going out of the side doors as we had been trained. Thank goodness for that.

  Once everyone was on board, the aircraft started to taxi to the holding point ready for take-off. Being a qualified pilot none of this took me by surprise, but the noise of the engines as the pilot went through his checks was almost unbearable and we had to put our hands over our ears to protect them.

  The disturbing thing was that that meant we had to let go of whatever we had got hold of because of the feeling that we would slide out of the back of the plane as it took off. The sense of speed as we accelerated down the runway was incredible, and the sight of the twin booms flexing up and down didn’t add to our feeling of well-being. Within minutes we had climbed out over the coast, the ribbon of golden sand that extended round the entire length of the bay quickly giving way to the beautiful ultramarine waters of the Gulf of Calvi. As we gained height my initial trepidation gave way to a new rush of adrenaline as I took in the magnificent view that was unfolding below me. I was used to flying but this was different, not having anything between us and the ground.

  The Nord Atlas climbed slowly in a wide circle and as we gained altitude the drop in air temperature was noticeable. We were climbing to the free-fall drop height of 5,000 feet and it was the end of November. At this time of year even the Med is cold at this altitude. The free-fall team were now standing up and checking each other’s gear in preparation for the jump. There was no fuss as they performed the task as if they did this every day, which they practically did.

  The aircraft levelled out and was now flying in a straight line towards the drop zone. The jump master was standing at one of the open side doors looking out and forward as he judged the exact position of the plane. At his signal the free-fall team moved as one towards the rear opening. A green light came on and a horn sounded. Before any of us realized what was happening they had taken the final step forward and were gone from our sight below the level of the aircraft. It all happened so quickly and without fuss. I was impressed.

  It seemed to take ages for the Nord to descend to our jump height of approximately 1,000 feet, but by this time we were thinking about other things. We stood up, hooked up as we had been taught and waited as our instructors made a final inspection. When the red light came on the first in each line was taken to stand in the door, where he put a hand on each side of the door frame waiting for the order to jump. The instructor at each one had a firm hold of the man’s belt as they waited for the light to turn green. I was third in line and could see the beach and the bathers as we rapidly approached the drop zone.

  Everything happened so quickly and I must confess that I have little recollection of what happened next. Before I knew it I was out of the door and being jolted back to reality by my chute opening. I looked at the inflated canopy and was relieved to see that everything appeared to be as it should be.

  Phew! Looking round me I could see my fellow trainees were all descending safely towards the ground. Because it was our first jump we had exited the aircraft quite slowly and there was a safe distance between us. I was dangling there in my harness enjoying the view and the new sensation of gliding gently along when I suddenly became aware that the ground was now rushing towards me at what seemed an alarming speed.

  I did my best to get into the correct position for landing – knees together, legs bent, elbows and chin tucked in. Boom, a quick roll and I was on my knees pulling the lowest parachute cord to deflate my chute which was beginning to billow gently in the slight breeze. I took off my harness as instructed, and wound it in a figure of eight movement round my arms, a bit like winding wool, pushed it into the main parachute sack, threw it over my shoulder and jogged back to the assembly point.

  Once we were sure that we had everything packed as it should be, we stood in line in the same order we had jumped. A ground controller then counted us in to make sure that no one was missing and that none of us had any injuries.

  I had completed my first jump successfully and it had all happened so quickly that I did not have time to reflect on whether I had been nervous or not, although I knew that I must have been. We were told that this was normal and that it wouldn’t be until the third or fourth jump that we would start to question if this was what we really wanted to do.

  We took the used chutes to the parachute store where they would be checked for damage before being repacked for reuse. This work was carried out by legionnaires, as is everything else in the Regiment, other than a few female regular army staff who do the machine repairs and are seconded to the regiment. Most have married legionnaires and have been with the Regiment longer than most of the legionnaires. Even so, they wear the red beret of the Regular Army and are not actually part of the Regiment.

  Within half an hour we were back at the airport collecting another parachute for the next jump. The aircraft had made several sorties since our first jump and it would be like this all day. By 10.00 am we had completed the second jump and it was planned that we would make a third one in the afternoon. Everyone was full of chat, excited by the morning’s activities, all wanting to tell of their own experiences and how easy it had been for them. Time would tell.

  We ate a hearty lunch and were back raring to go for our third jump. Although the adrenaline was still doing its thing, I was aware that my mental approach had changed slightly and I was thinking more about what I was about to do.

  By 3.00 in the afternoon, we were getting kitted out for the jump. Whether by circumstance or by intention, we were kept hanging about for most of the afternoon while other members of the Regiment made their jumps. The sequence of activity did not let up all afternoon, but hanging around was making some of the lads nervous.

  It was starting to get dark quickly and I didn’t think we were going to jump again that day when suddenly we found ourselves on the plane, taking off, hooked up and standing in the doorway. The back of the aircraft had been put back on so it was a lot quieter and, on the whole, a lot less stressful. All the same, one of the lads was showing the stra
in, so the instructor unhooked him from his place in the stick and took him forward to stand in the door so that he would be first out. All went well, the parachutes were handed in and we were off for another well-earned meal.

  That evening our instructors debriefed us on how we all felt after the first day’s jumping. They were trying to assess if any of us had any doubts about continuing. No one wanted to admit it, but I think that some were having second thoughts. Tomorrow was another day and what we needed now was a good night’s sleep. The activities of the day had left us both physically and mentally exhausted.

  Morning seemed to come thirty seconds after I had put my head on the pillow, so I must have slept well. After a good breakfast and the statutory pull-ups, we were on our way back to the airport for another long day’s jumping. The first jump of the day was an important one as we had to use our chest-mounted reserve parachutes for the first time. It is essential that everyone knows how to deploy the reserve chute in an emergency.

  We were lined up in the two sticks, parachutes on, waiting to board the aircraft, when one of the lads stepped forward and said that he couldn’t do it. There was no shouting or bullying by the instructors. He was asked if he was sure and, on his confirmation, was removed from the line as we walked forward to board the aircraft. We never saw him again and by the time we got back to our quarters at lunchtime, his locker was empty. He was the first but he wouldn’t be the last.

  The morning jump with the reserve chute went well. By the time we had cleared the aircraft and I had checked that my principle chute had deployed correctly, it was time to deploy the reserve. This is a lot easier said than done. I pulled the release handle remembering to keep my other hand firmly on the front of the chute to keep it in place. The danger is that the chute falls out and passes between your legs as it fills with air, which would cause you to flip head down with disastrous results. You also have to remember to hold on to the release handle and to stuff it into a pocket. Apart from the obvious danger of it hitting someone on the ground, you would be out on the drop zone until you found it.

  Having stuffed the handle into a trouser pocket I took the reserve chute in both hands and threw it as far as I could outwards and downwind like you would a rugby ball. It began to drop slightly but as I waved the cords up and down the chute began to fill and rise in front of me. The descent under two inflated chutes is much slower than it is with one and I made a gentle landing. I had to force myself to roll over as instructed, although there was a great temptation to make a stand-up landing. This would have been noted by the instructors and would result in a punishment of some kind.

  Up until now we had made all our jumps without carrying any extra equipment. Such jumps are known in the military parachute world as ‘tourist’ jumps. The next jump that afternoon would be with everything we would carry into combat. This changes everything as suddenly you have to cope with the extra weight of your pack, weapon and ammunition. The main chute weighs 12kg, the reserve 6kg, your pack a minimum of 15, plus your weapon. All up you are carrying something like 60kg, at least two thirds of your body weight. When you land all of this has to be carried off the drop zone at the double. It was winter and I was sweating just thinking about it.

  The pace of jumping was kept up by ourselves and the Regiment as a whole over the four days. By the time our last jump of the promo arrived our numbers had been further reduced. One lad refused to board the aircraft and another would not go to the airport for the last jump.

  Our tenth and final jump was scheduled for first thing on the Friday morning – if everything went according to plan we would get our jump wings and be part of the Regiment by the afternoon.

  I found myself last in the stick and on the way out of the aircraft one lad hesitated in the door. The delay of those few seconds meant that by the time I left the aircraft we were over the end of the designated drop zone. It was obvious to me when I looked down at the smoke flare on the ground that the wind was going to take me well out of the drop zone. Looking around me I couldn’t see any flat areas and the ground seemed to be covered in large boulders and dry-stone dykes. My luck had just run out and I was in for a heavy landing.

  I made sure that my landing position was as good as it could be with everything tucked in tight. My pack was still attached to my front and so I released it when I was still 50 to 60 feet off the ground. The pack then hung 10 feet below me on its cord and was the first thing to touch the ground. Three seconds later it was my turn – just before I hit the ground my pack caught on a wall causing me to land at an angle. My left shin bone struck the top of the wall hard enough to dislodge one of the stones. It hurt but after a couple of minutes I was on my feet, gathered up my gear and made my way back to the assembly area. My ankle was sore but I was able to walk rather than run.

  About half an hour after we had returned to our room to prepare for the afternoon ceremony, my ankle began to swell, got very sore and extremely hot. I had no option but to report my injury. The camp had its own hospital and medical staff, so after a couple of prodding fingers and an x-ray, I was heading for the plaster room. The outer shin bone of my left ankle had a hairline fracture and a little bit of bone had been chipped off.

  The ceremony took place as scheduled that afternoon without me, but I was delighted and surprised when the Colonel in Chief came to the hospital and presented me with my wings. I had made it into the REP at the grand old age of thirty-eight, and I was proud.

  CHAPTER 6

  La Première Compagnie

  We had been told that the Regiment would be going to Tchad in Africa in January for six months. No one wanted to be left behind in Calvi, including me.

  Colonel Gadaffi of Libya was flexing his muscles again and had his eyes firmly fixed on taking possession of the northernmost part of Tchad above the sixteenth parallel. The main reason for this was that this mountainous region, known as Tibesti, was rich in uranium. If it was not to give himself the capacity to build an atomic bomb, the value of the uranium to rogue states wishing to do so was way beyond Libya’s wildest dreams.

  Tchad was a former French colony and still had a military protection treaty with France. This ensured that there was always a large French military presence with over 10,000 army and air force personnel on Tchadian soil at any one time. There had been a steady increase in the number of Libyan incursions into Tchadian territory over the past couple of months resulting in Tchad asking for France to step up its military assistance.

  Meanwhile, back in Calvi, I was getting used to moving about on crutches. Once more I was being told that due to a combination of my injury and age, I would probably be assigned to administrative duties. I didn’t mind that but I would be disappointed if the Regiment left for Tchad without me. However, luckily for me, the combat companies were being expanded from three to four operational sections each. Our promo was the last before the Regiment would deploy in January and the first company required every last one of us to take them up to full combat strength. Each section comprised a commanding officer (normally a Lieutenant), a second in command (Sergeant Chef) and four combat groups made up of a Sergeant or Caporal Chef, a Caporal and eight men in each group. That was an additional thirty-eight men per company.

  It was up to the company commanding officer to make the final selection and I had to present myself to him on my crutches. Normally I wouldn’t have held out much hope but I had forgotten that this was the Legion and normal is not a word used very often. I liked him immediately but he made it quite clear to me that if my ankle was still in plaster by Christmas Day, I wouldn’t be going anywhere. These were his exact words: ‘still in plaster’.

  On 1 December, the doctor told me that the cast would have to stay on for at least another thirty days. As the Regiment would be departing on 15 January, time was not on my side. In the meantime I was assigned to the fourth group of the fourth section. My new section was to be made up of a mix of old and new. We had a new Lieutenant straight out of Saint Cyr, the elite officers’ academy
just outside Paris - the French equivalent of Sandhurst. The senior NCO was a Scot who had had a very colourful background to say the least, if everything said about him was true. He had been up and down the ranks a couple of times and was now a Sergeant Chef. He was very experienced and respected by everyone from the Colonel down. The sergeants had come through the ranks and had always been in the Regiment. Our caporals were more of a mixed bunch. One was Irish and would become a close friend, one was French and a bit of a head banger, one was a Belgian and I never did find out where the fourth one came from. He was a strange guy to say the least and kept himself to himself.

  We were all given a particular function within each group: radio operator, medic, sniper, light-machine gunner and two riflemen – at least, that was the theory. My shooting results during basic training had been good and due to the lack of time to send any of us on a specialist course, training would be given on the job. It was decided that I would fill the roll of sniper and I was issued with a FRF 1, 7.62mm, standard-issue sniper’s rifle, complete with telescopic sight and an image intensifier for firing in the dark. It was all very impressive if I could get fit in time. Between 5 December and the first week in January I fired an average of fifty rounds a day at distances up to 800 metres in daylight, and at 400 metres at night. I got to know my rifle quite well.

  Christmas was approaching fast and I was only too aware that the deadline for getting out of my plaster cast was too. The doctor and my Captain were sticking to their respective dates and it wasn’t looking good.

  Christmas is a big thing in the Legion and the preparations were well under way. Each section in every company set up a bar and decorated it with a theme. Being a Roman Catholic country, the companies each built a religious crèche which again had to have a theme telling a story with a taped message. Each crèche was judged for its originality, construction and theme, with a prize going to the winning one and a trophy that was kept by the company for the year. It was very competitive and a great deal of time and effort went into their manufacture.