10 years for a Binge by thadeusz

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To describe my adventure correctly I must explain the structure of my family. My paternal grandfather, Olivier de Valdec de Rivoire de Mérac is a two star general. He gave his sons a name which is awfully long and thus slightly ridiculous. But this old gentleman is very strict: he is a noble Frenchman and must thus, according to the traditions, serve in the military. We all lived in his big mansion.

My father, Pierre de Valdec de Rivoire de Mérac thus became a Colonel in the French Army and his big brother Olivier is an officer in the French Navy. My big brother is a student in Saint Cyr, the french equivalent of West Point. He is ready to become a Lieutenant in the French Army.

I am thus Armand de Valdec de Rivoire de Mérac. I don’t like that very long name. All the members of my family want me to become an officer, at least a soldier. They did not ask me if I would like that, they KNEW that this was what I HAD to do to honor the name which was mine. In fact, nobody asked the opinion of my mother: In my family, women’s opinions are not taken into account: it is assumed that either they have no opinion, or that they adhere completely to their husbands’ opinion. In fact, I don’t like the Army.

My parents placed me as early as grade 6, thus when I turned 11, in the Military High School of Autun. This Military High School is in fact a boarding school organized by the French Army. Students have to wear a pseudo military uniform, they must behave according to Military Discipline and they must prepare themselves to join the Army. Or at least to try to do so. In fact, many don’t even try to join: they are in this Military High School only because it is cheaper or easier for their parents who are low ranking soldiers. The situation was different for me: I was expected to bear up the honor of our name. I was doomed to become a soldier, and not only a soldier but an officer.

Just before I arrived at what would be my school, at the tender age of 11, I had long dark hair floating in the wind and I liked that. The first consequence of my father’s decision was simply to bring me to the barber of his regiment. This talented man transformed my joyful haircut into a severe, conservative and very short Ivy League Haircut. Instead of letting my hair flow freely in the wind, I now had to keep combing it to be sure that each single hair remained in its place.

I thus started reluctantly in that Military High School and I put on my first uniform very sadly. During the holidays, I was brought home in a car driven by a soldier belonging to my father’s regiment. During the holidays, it was not "play freely" for me. My grandfather required me to be in uniform and, whenever he brought me to some of his friends, to make a sort of exhibition. I had to show how well I could wear the uniform and how well I could execute the orders he gave me.

When I turned 15, I decided to change all that. One day, during one of these "performances" I refused to obey on the basis that one is not allowed to wear a forage cap inside a building, except if one is on duty. I added that I could not salute militarily the civilians who were my grandfather’s guests.

The next day, despite the fact that I was still on holidays, I was back in my Military Boarding School and I did not leave it before I got my BAC.

Nevertheless, I must admit that the teachers were excellent and that, maybe because of the discipline, we all learned well. Our teachers prepared us for the difficult BAC, the exam which ends the secondary studies. They also knew, and we all knew, that without a good result at that dreadful BAC, we would not be admitted in the section of our military school which would prepare us for the difficult exam opening the gates of the Military Academy, the gates of Saint Cyr. In any case, my grandfather had decided that I would take this difficult exam and that I would do everything in order to be admitted to Saint Cyr Military Academy.

The only problem is that my grandfather had not asked me if I wanted to go there. In fact, I hated the Army and my years in this Military High School had confirmed me in the idea that I did not want to become a soldier.

Eventually, all the boys and girls with whom I had studied got the famous BAC. I even got it with the mention "VERY GOOD" which should open for me the gates of the "preparatory" years leading in the end to the entrance exam of the Military Academy. I did not like what was ahead for me, but I was very glad to have my "end of school" exam !

So we had our BAC, we were rather foolishly pleased and five boys and I decided to go out, after hours, for drinks. This was very usual for new graduates. The only problem is that we were rather brutal with our joy: we drank too much and we broke things in bars. All the members of our group were arrested by the police and, since I was the only one of that group to be 18, I was considered as the leader. The fact that I was the only graduate to have the mention "VERY GOOD" for my BAC was probably also an element in this decision: in fact the police knew that our real aim in that school was to become soldiers, and they decided to make this impossible.

We were all brought to the police station. All my friends were released the next day on the basis that they were too young and would in any case be freed by the Judge. I was told to stay in a cell until a Judge could examine my case. I stayed there for 8 days to finally hear that I only deserved a "warning" or as we say in France: "A reminder of the law." I think I was kept there because I was the only one to be of age and also because of my good result at the BAC: the police wanted to break a possible career in the Army. They did not know it, but they had done me a great favor: I was no longer eligible for the Army.

At least I thought that this was the case and I went home very happy !

As soon as I was home, my grandfather started to scream at me in a way he had never done. He also busted me using a very special, military and vulgar language. His main motto was:
"I cannot accept that my only grandson cannot be a soldier."
My uncle Olivier, from the Navy, suggested trying the French Foreign Legion.
I objected that I did not want to be mixed with these vulgar soldiers coming out of jail. My father simply said:
"The jail ? That’s precisely where you were. Your uncle's idea is a really good one."
"But father, I simply don’t want to be a soldier."
That’s when my grandfather told his sons to lock me in my room without supper.

Atleast, I was back in what had been my room, a place I had not seen for several years. I undressed, leaving my College uniform on a chair, and decided to get some sleep.

The next morning, very early, my grandfather silently entered my room and told me to put my High School uniform on and to follow him to his car. There he locked me in the back seat while his chauffeur, a Corporal, started to drive.

This car led me to Aubagne, at the selection center for the Legion. When we reached the aim, the General told me:
"Now you are going to enlist in the Legion in order to be a soldier despite your criminal activities."
I didn’t reply, but I was decided to fail all the tests until my grandfather added:
"Be good for all the tests in order to be selected. If you fail to be selected, I will use my influence to send you to a disciplinary regiment, which is much worse than being a glorious Legionnaire."
I had heard my grandfather and his sons discuss the disciplinary regiments, which they called BIRIBI, and the Foreign Legion Trial Section. That occured when I was 15 and not yet confined to my Military High School. It all seemed dreadful. It sounded like a nightmare. Now my grandfather threatened to send me to one of these places if I failed the Legion entrance tests. I was really frightened and I decided to do my best, knowing that my grandfather was a powerful man. I did not know then that these dreadful institutions had been suppressed several years ago. Please keep in mind that I had barely turned 18.

I entered the barracks with my grandfather who was checking my behavior. I gave all my papers and my phone, signed an enlistment contract lasting 5 year, but renewable. I got a new identity and became André Verlas, from Geneva, aged 19. I was anxious because of the threats formulated by my grandfather, who suddenly left.

I was told to go with other candidates. We all had to undress completely. After a short inspection for cleanliness, we all received a blue military brief and a blue overall. We were told that this would be our clothes during the first selection period.

This selection period consisted of several tests and I tried to do my best to be accepted in order to avoid my grandfather’s threat. Finally, the first selection phase was over and I learned that I was in. It is then that we were all shorn to the woods. This was done by young legionnaires who did not know well how a barber should work and who had been ordered to do this job as fast as possible.

This shearing process was like a ritual, an entrance ritual in the Legion. It was accomplished in perfect silence. The so called barber was, as far as I was concerned, a young legionnaire in perfect uniform. He showed me with his hand that I should sit on a chair placed in front of him. There was no mirror available. The "barber" got hold of my head, passed his clippers without guard on it for the first time. Then he turned my head with his other hand not respecting my natural neck movements. He really treated me like a sheep when a farmer is taking its wool. I hated that process, but I did not utter a word: I was afraid because of my grandfather’s threat. I was just 18 and I had always lived in a protective environment. When the "pseudo barber" was done, I passed my hands on my skull and discovered that it was as good as bold. A Sergeant who looked after us told me:
"You will repeat this shaving every two weeks until the end of instruction, if you reach that stage. Now go to the clothing room where you will get a complete set of Army fatigues plus Army undies. Put it on immediately."

After that dreadful shaving I received a second set of uniforms. I was lucky to get rid of the first set: it was clean, but worn out. My new uniform consisted of Army fatigues and Army underwear. The underpants were uncomfortable boxers. Then came socks. All that was uniformly green. There were also Army boots. These were black and I had to keep my trousers tucked in my new boots. I hated that, but I still had in mind the possibility of being sent to a disciplinary regiment, even if I had done nothing wrong: my grandfather was such a powerful man.

We were now in the second phase of the tests: IQ, psychological tests, medical tests, police record and finally an interview with an officer. I entered his office, introduced myself in the prescribed way and took the position of attention. He asked me several questions about my studies, my likes and dislikes, and finally when the officer asked me:
"Recruit Verlas, why do you want to join the Legion ?"
The best answer I could find was:
"Sir because I really want to be a French soldier despite the fact that I have had a small problem with the law."
"I know all about that recruit, go outside and wait with the other recruits."
I left his office and joined my comrades in a courtyard: we were all waiting for the verdict.

After a long time, this officer, a Lieutenant, came out in the courtyard and called the names of those who had been selected: I was one of them. I was now certain that my "dear" grandfather would NOT send me to a disciplinary regiment and I was really pleased with that, even if I did not like being in the Legion for 5 years.

I received additional pieces of equipment, including a ceremony uniform to be used for parades and for leaves. With all that I received a White Kepi which I was authorized to try once only: I was told that I would not be allowed to put it on before I had proven that I was worth the title of Legionnaire.

After that, all the new recruits were all sent to a very rudimentary place called "the farm". There we learned the basic moves and behaviors a Legionnaire must be able to perform rapidly, nearly automatically when an order is given. There were also French lessons: all Legionnaires had to know a minimum of 500 French words at the end of Basic instruction. In order to make that possible, each French speaking recruit was assigned to one or two non-French speakers in order to help them. I had as "twins" a Polish guy, Cyril, who did not know a word of French and was much older than me: he was 31. I also had to take care of a German guy named Franz. This one knew a little bit of French but was still considered as needing linguistic assistance.

I was punished several times at this "farm": every time one of my "twins" made a mistake, he was punished and I had the same punishment for not preparing him correctly. The most painful twin was Cyril, my Polish colleague. The main forms of punishment were "the inverted tree" and the "croatian bridge". For the inverted tree, I had to stand against a wall, my head as the base and my feet above while I kept my arms crossed on my chest. For the croatian bridge, I had to form a bridge with my back using as pillars my head and my feet while I kept my hands crossed in my back. One should mention that my head was carefully shaved before each punishment could start and that the Corporals selected nice rocky ground to place my head. These punishments made the correct answers enter the brain more easily, at least that’s what the chiefs said.

There was one instance of the cruelty of the Corporals: one day they were very unhappy with our performances. They woke us all up in the middle of the night and told us to stand only in our boxers. They made us then do all kinds of exercises which we had failed, including a good 15 minutes of croatian bridge while singing one of our Legion songs: the Boudin and reciting the Legionnaire’s oath.

This phase of our training ended with a painful march of 60 km to be accomplished in two days with all our kit on our back. All that may appear dreadful but in fact it had one major purpose: to mold us all, coming from 150 different nations, according to one single model, that of the obedient Legionnaire, glad to be one of the best soldiers of France.

At the end of this long and painful march we all solemnly received the order to put on our White Kepi: we were now full legionnaires. I shaved my head just before this ceremony in order to feel nicer. I behaved like the others: after all I was mighty proud to have succeeded. I had been well drilled. I was very proud to be called as of this instant "Légionnaire" and no longer "Recruit"

Basic instruction continued for 3 more months, but it was no longer grueling and I was no longer punished. On the contrary, I seemed to be one of the best "young legionnaires" of our group. At the end of instruction, we appeared in order of merit in front of the Colonel and each could ask, in turn, to be sent to one of the available places in one of the Legion regiments. I applied for 2 REI which has the reputation to have a milder discipline and to offer possibilities of leaves in mainland France. I heard that I was sent to 2 REP, the Legion paratrooper regiment, where I would be more or less blocked in Corsica. The Colonel told me that this was done upon request of my grandfather because the discipline there was very strict.
"Légionnaire Verlas, the Colonel of your future regiment, has been advised to keep an eye on you since, despite your final good marks, you were often punished during your first month."
I saluted, made a perfect about turn and left the office. Strangely enough I had been so well drilled that I was pleased with that decision and that comment.

In my new regiment, the small group of "young legionnaires" who had been sent there with me started the regimental training rapidly. This started with the "para training": learning to jump joyfully from a flying plane who had no technical problem. Being too intellectual I made some jokes about my Master Sergeant. This resulted in a stupid punishment of 8 days in the brig. The Master Sergeant had no sense of humor. I was told that I was the best for this training and should have been promoted immediately to Legionnaire 1st Class, but that because of this punishment I would not be promoted. This finally made me understand that in the Legion you obey without any comment all orders given by a superior. In fact the motto is "Put your Brain on OFF."

I continued my legionnaire life and got used to the very strict and very precise discipline of my regiment. I even started to like this life, convinced that after 5 years I would be free again. In the meantime, I enjoyed the tremendous brotherhood between all the legionnaires of my regiment: we were blocked on an island and most of the time confined in our barracks, so we lived a very brotherly life inside these barracks. I got my first leave outside the barracks after 8 months of service and I was strictly confined to the town of Calvi where the barracks was situated. There were several controls by the Legion police: it was easy to see that I was a Legionnaire since I had to be in full uniform. Buying civilian clothes was strictly forbidden.

After 1 year of service, I became Legionnaire 1st Class: this was not a great promotion, simply a distinction given automatically not later than 1 year after enlistment. I asked to have my real name back, but this request was denied because, according to the Colonel, I was French and if I got my real name back, I might be tempted to desert (which was not my intention after this gruesome basic training). As a consequence, all leaves outside Corsica were automatically denied. I did not know then that this denial had been done upon a formal request made by my grandfather who still wanted to punish me for my bad behavior when I got my BAC.

After 2 years and 7 months of service, I was sent to the Corporal course which for us was organized on the island. I got good marks, became Corporal but I still did not get my real identity back. During the promotion ceremony, the Colonel told me that I was an excellent element who deserved, as first of the group, to be promoted immediately to Master Corporal, but he added:
"Your grandfather is opposed to this promotion and since he is a two star General, I had to obey."

In the Legion, we change Colonel every two years. After 4 years of service I had thus my third Colonel. This one called me in his office. I thought that he did not know my grandfather and his opposition to promotions for me. The Colonel told me that he wanted to send me to the Sergeant course. I did not mind until he told me:
"In order to go there, you must reenlist for a period of least 3 years starting after the end of the course."
"Colonel, this Corporal must respectfully refuse your offer. I don’t not want to reenlist: I want to go civil at the end of my first contract."
"Verlas, you could have a great career in the Legion."
"Colonel, I really don’t want to have a career in the Legion."
"Verlas, in that case you will be demoted for disobedience and you will be reenlisted as such by force."
I remembered the words of my grandfather about the disciplinary regiments and the stories about such a regiment in Corsica for the "bad" legionnaires. I was really anxious and I finally accepted the Colonel offer: I accepted to become a Sergeant and I re-enlisted immediately for 5 years.

When I reached my room, a Corporal who was a friend of mine, but who was older and wiser, told me that the Legion could not force me to re-enlist, nor could they threaten to demote me if I refused a promotion. Anyway, it was too late: I had signed my re-enlistment form and I had accepted in writing to go to the Sergeant course. I guess that this was another trick of my "dear" grandfather. I was bitterly angry since I knew now that I was cornered for 5 more years. Anyway I did my best to avoid punishments.

I went to the Sergeant course and started my additional 5 years. After all, Legion life for a Sergeant was not so bad but it dreadfully lacked freedom ! Nevertheless, I now had more leaves than when I was Corporal, but I still had the feeling that there was a sort of leash on my neck. I also had to keep shaving my hair regularly. It was no longer a baldy: that had been abandoned since the end of instruction, but it had to remain a very short haircut until I became Sergeant. Now, it still had to be an unpleasant short haircut but I could reduce the number of times I went to the regimental barber to once a month. Strangely enough, this barber had special orders concerning my haircut. I guessed that my grandfather had again given special instructions concerning his only grandson: I knew that he wanted me to make a full career in the Legion.

During one of my leaves, I went into a special bar well known by all legionnaires and there I met a new girl: Alisa, a young Russian girl who was trying to make a living with the legionnaires. We had long "meetings" and started to fall in love. I wanted to marry her, but that was impossible: I had not retrieved my real name and I was blocked in the Legion.

After 3 years of service as Sergeant, my new Colonel told me that he liked me and wanted to promote me to Master Sergeant. He said:
"This can be done immediately: you just have to sign that you accept the proposal."
"I thank you Colonel, but does this require an extension of my contract ?"
"Of course, Verlas, when we have a good legionnaire. We want to keep him. This promotion implies an extension of contract for 5 more years."
"I am sorry Colonel, but I cannot accept this extension."
There was then an exchange of harsh words between the Colonel and me. Among other things, he said that the Legion had saved me from prison and that I was dreadfully ungrateful. I remained polite, as I had to, but he promised me a severe punishment.

The Colonel summoned a special meeting of the punishment council. The officers and NCO who were present agreed of course with him and I was reduced to Legionnaire 1st Class until the end of my present contract. The council added 40 days in the brig, which is the maximum, for "insulting a superior officer" and added that I could no longer have any leave.

I was sent immediately to the brig where I received a prisoner’s uniform and a special haircut. I was bald again ! I nevertheless succeeded in warning Alisa.

At the end of my contract, after two more years as Legionnaire 1st Class without any leave, I left the regiment where I had been forced to serve for 10 years. I had no regrets.

I automatically got my real name back. I took all the money I had in the Legion bank, went and found Alisa. We left Corsica and went to Marseille. Alisa and I got married as soon as possible. We bought a bar with our common savings. I renamed this bar "The Legionnaire saved from the Legion".

I wrote a letter to my now retired grandfather. I announced to him our marriage and I attached a picture of our bar. My dear grandfather replied that he was furious since I had destroyed a potentially great career. Moreover he forbade me to marry Alisa and he instructed me to change the name of the bar. I replied that we were already married and that it was too late: the harvest was for very soon.

My stupid grandfather finally replied that since I was french and since I was an ex-soldier, I remained a reservist and that I could be called back at any moment for 5 years. My reply was short but efficient: I told my grandfather that despite my requests, I never got my real identity back. As a consequence I had never been a soldier under my real name and I could thus not be called back. I ended by a strong sentence:
"Dear grandfather, you stole 10 years of my life, go and f*ck you."

There has been no reaction !

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