The Word Cloud

Now moved on good advice to the Forum section. I will remove this from Blogs later today...... Part of my book, presently being edited.

The setting is French East Africa in a remote 130 man post  of the French Foreign Legion near the frontier with Ethiopia and Somalia.  We had just returned from several weeks of patrols for refit.  

Along time ago...in a land far far away?

CHAPTER SEVEN

GARRISON LIFE JIM

...but not as we know it

 

     We had settled back into garrison life at Oueah. Most days would start with some sort of Physical Training, a run, the obstacle course, or on more relaxed days, football, volleyball or basketball.  It all sounds relaxed until you take into account the idea of playing football with serial killers.  Almost every event ended with a punch-up of some degree.  After the morning sport, those not on a guard or service commitment would usually descend to the maintenance bays to work on repairing and maintaining platoon equipment. This was very relaxed and the drill was to get all of the work done quickly before it became too hot and then drift off until the mid day formation.  Weekends were adjusted to living in the Middle East and Friday was the new Saturday.  Weekend passes were available and baring any major incidents in the week, usually given freely.

     One of our two platoon medics, Radic, was on the weekend pass list and he shared a taxi with us all down to Djibouti City (DC). He had his own plans and we would not see him again during the rest of our stay.

     DC had several areas off limits to Legionnaires and one of those was the diplomatic zone where the embassies were all located. This area included nicer bars and restaurants as well. We had no interest in these areas and we found our amusements that weekend in the main district of DC.  Our weekend passed without incident and we returned to camp forty-eight hours later skint, diseased, happy and hung-over.

 

Dinner for one....

     Radic did not make the first formation the next morning and it was soon announced by the Sergeant Majot that Radic was en Taule (Jail) for crimes committed over the weekend.  It seems Radic was lonely for the company of western women and after a few beers he staggered off into the prohibited embassy area in search of True Love. Radic had avoided all of the PM  (Military Police) patrols but had blown all his money by the time he bar-crawled there.  Not being the materialistic sort to let lack of funds get in the way of a good time, Radic blagged his way into a fine Chinese restaurant and ordered himself the banquet set meal for three.  He washed it down with several large whiskies and two bottles of fine red wine. 

 

     By the time the bill arrived Radic was a catatonic drunk and a total mess.  The management soon realized they had something they couldn’t handle and they called the PM’s.  The PMs arrived and were led to Radic’s table. Radic was by this time on the floor with his uniform trousers around his ankles, his knob out, and was pissing on the carpet while entertaining the rest of the customers by singing “Le Boudin” at the top of his voice.  The PM’s got him on his feet and began to drag him out when the head waiter pointed out that the bill has yet to be paid.  The corporal-chef of PM’s had to stump up the funds for Radic’s jolly. They were not amused and by the time Radic was returned to us in Oueah he was sporting a broken nose and a black eye.

I never heard if they left a tip.

A few weeks later...

The Great Dope Deal.

     Radic drew his pass and this time was accompanied by the platoon buffoon and chief stuntman, Gorgh, on his trip to DC. They had a fair bit of money, and a forty-eight hour pass so they decided to get a couple of rooms in a shitty hotel near an off limits area known as Quartier Deux.

 

    The Gorgh and Radic emerged from the lobby of their hotel after just arriving and a PM(Military Police) jeep pulled up to them and asked to see their IDs and passes.  They duly showed down their documents and the PMs could find no cause to pull them in.  Just as the PM’s jeep drove off, a large envelope dropped out of it at Gorgh’s feet.   Gorgh picked it up and opened it and showed the contents to Radic. There in the envelope was large amount of cannabis.  They couldn’t believe their luck. They were thinking they will get stoned, sell the rest and have a great weekend for virtually nothing.

 

     Just then the same PM jeep rounded the corner having circled the block. The jeep pulled up in front of Gorgh and Radic and the sergeant of PMs asked them “What’s in the envelope, lads?”.  Gorgh’s reply that the envelope fell out of their jeep a few moments before was met with a truncheon to the head for resisting arrest. Gorgh and Radic were arrested twenty minutes into their forty-eight hour pass and driven off the Gabode military police station.

 

     They were put in the cells and tortured/interrogated for the next two days.  They were repeated asked about whom their connection for the drugs is and their reply that it was the sergeant of PMs was met with even more torturing.  Gorgh and Radic being men of Eastern European origin are not fazed by the injustice of torture for no reason.   These boys were weaned on electric shocks.  The PMs became bored after a few days and they were released without charge.  Radic was reminded on his way out of the cells that he still owes the PMs for a Chinese meal. It dawned on him that this whole episode was probably in retaliation for his previous fuckup, that or it was a slow day down at the dungeons in Gabode.

Radic, a true Legionnaire of the ER, invited them to go fuck themselves.

When Radic and Gorgh return to our unit and relate their misfortune neither of them can understand why we are all laughing hysterically at them. I conclude that ironic humour is not common in Eastern Europe.

Mental note to self….Don‘t go on pass with Radic.