More accurately I went AWOL from French Foreign Legion's elite 2nd Foreign Parachute Regiment. I was seventeen years old.

At the time the minimum age to be in "the REP" was 21. I was apparently the youngest man to have ever earned his wings in the Legion. I was based at Camp Raffalli in Calvi in Corsica.

This picture was taken at the 1ere RE in Aubagne when I was first accepted for basic training at the 4eme RE in Castelnaudary. I was about to have my life, my face and my mind rearranged.

To be accepted into the legion was a very proud moment for me. After an "interesting" childhood, I suppose to my naive young mind, it meant a chance to be in control of my life.

I could not have been more wrong. I certainly wouldn't be in control of my life. In fact the Legion wasn't going to be in charge of my life either.

I would discover that my life was in the hands of my direct superior, usually a corporal and the sergeant above him, and my fellow legionnaires. Every single moment of every 20 hour long day was spent hungry, on our feet (forbidden to ever sit down) and freezing cold or stinking hot.

I had left school when I was sixteen, then scrounged, begged and worked to pay for a plane ticket from Zimbabwe to the UK, "to join the British Army", or so I told my parents.

I immediately crossed to France, spent a couple of months at my old school there and then one day got a lift with a friend to Toulouse and signed up.

I was fit, very strong for my age and for my weight but also obviously young. That was quickly sorted out. Although "anonymat" or a new identity is often given, in my case I didn't have any past or crimes to hide, so I was just given a new date of birth to make me old enough for enlistment.

I went through a selection process and discovered that I was one of the ten percent accepted. Of that ten percent only the best ten percent at the end of basic training would be allowed to go for selection for the 2eme REP.

Before we went off to the training regiment in Castelnaudary, our intake paraded into the museum to swear the oath of allegiance before the General commanding French Foreign Legion, General Le Corre. Unfortunately, his gloriousness couldn't make it. Then, instead of another officer standing in and hearing us swear, they just called it off and we went to have our lunch. This made a huge impression on my idealistic young mind. I was totally confused. How could they just abandon something so important.

Basic training was hell. The actual training itself was tough, but the endless, sleep and food deprivation combined with the cold and endless discipline was miserable. Still, I understood that it was necessary and was what "made" a legionnaire.

After a few months I began to do well. I just had one problem. I hated bullies. I always have and always will.

I am happy to go through hell if that is the system and process necessary to get to the objective. I don't accept having the shit kicked out of me by some brainless ape for his amusement. I was joining the military, not a gang.

I had my nose and several ribs broken in the first few weeks. There was no taking off of stripes by the responsible corporal and squaring up. I had to stand there while the son of a bitch took swings at me.

The reason for this punishment was that I had requested to see our lieutenant.

I had seen a particularly bad beating during a long run. The recipient twisted his ankle while running ahead of me. The same corporal had screamed at him to get up. He did get up but couldn't walk let alone run. The corporal began pushing him and then punching him on the back of the head every time he fell. He basically hopped the rest of the way and then ended up in hospital.

My blood boiled when I saw this but it was training, and however twisted and extreme, there was some objectivity to it. Then something happened to a friend. There was no objectivity to it whatsoever.

J was an English Legionnaire. His father had been a famous soldier in the SAS who had written a couple of books. He was a few years older than me (everyone was) but we had become good mates.

As I began to get do well in the hellish training regimen, J struggled more and more. He was strong but just didn't have any stamina and just couldn't pick up French fast enough.

The legion doesn't accept failure. J and others began to get more and more "attention" from the corporals and sergeants.

One of these others, a French chap called Y cracked. We found him lying in the bathroom unconscious after trying to smash his own head in by running into the wall. There had been a successful suicide in the same bathroom a few weeks earlier by hanging. I hadn't known that Legionnaire personally but had seen him around.

Y was taken to the infirmary. A few days later he was charged and sentenced to forty days punishment for his "crime".

Then it was J's turn. After a particularly bad beating, we were in a French lesson and J cracked. He just began staring into space and mumbling to himself. He would not answer the sergeant who was giving the lesson.

Our staff sergeant stepped in. While we watched he sat down with J and hugged him. We were amazed. He then started talking to him softly. We couldn't hear what he was saying to him but it sounded like a father talking to his son. He started giving him biscuits to eat. Eventually J started responding and seemed back to normal again.

The staff sergeant told him with a kind smile to get up and helped him to his feet. Then he put his hand around the back of his neck and propelled him towards the kitchen which was at the back of the room we were in. He then forced him into a small freezer and closed the lid. I felt sick.

When J was eventually let out of the fridge he was like a zombie. From then on he just went through the motions of being a human being.

Now came my great moment to do something totally futile but important to me. I approached my corporal and requested to see the lieutenant.

The corporal looked at me like I had gone completely insane and asked why. I told him I wanted to tell him about all the abuse that was going on. He laughed his head off. Then he told me to come with him.

He took my to the same staff sergeant. They spoke. The staff sergeant laughed and told me to present myself. I did what I was ordered then he said, "Young, tu pense trop" (Young, you think too much) and ordered me to follow him.

I was taken to the lieutenant, went through the same drill and then was asked why I wanted to see him. I told him everything that had been happening.

He did not say one word about it, just dismissed me.

Before I had even gone 20 meters a fist knocked me to the ground from behind. I was ordered to my feet and then immediately knocked down again. This went on until I was knocked unconscious. Then a bucket of water was thrown over me and the corporals started again. The method was not to use a fist as that hurt the fist and left marks. Instead the base of the palm was used.

A week later I took off over the fence with Frank, a British ex-2 Para bloke, much older than me, who had served in the Falklands war and in Northern Ireland.

We went to my old school. We would run cross country during the night and sleep in small woods, "spooning" against the cold (December at the base of the Pyrenees), as we both only had our track suits on.

When we arrived there I left Frank out in a nearby treeline and walked in. The rector told me that the Military Police and Gendarmes had just left. I explained that I just wanted to make a phone call and get something out of the bag that I had left there for safekeeping.

I got a pile of clothes and all the money I had and gave it to Frank. A teacher friend at the school gave him a lift as far as he could. I never saw him again.

Then I sat down with the teacher and explained what I needed to do.

We called the barracks and asked to speak to the Colonel commanding the regiment.

We were put through to a Commandant (Major). The teacher explained that I was there, and wanted to tell him something over the phone with the teacher listening. (French phones then had an extra ear-piece so that a second person could listen) I told him everything. He said that if it were true it was a disgrace. Then I told him I was coming back.

The teacher drove me to the front gate and the MPs took me into custody.

I was ordered into my parade uniform and went immediately before the Colonel. My company commander, a Captain was also there.

In short, I was accused of everything under the sun. No mention was made of all the shit going on in our unit.

I was sentenced to 40 days. Then the Colonel said that because I was the first Legionnaire he had ever heard of that had voluntarily come back after taking off from basic training, I would only have to do 20 days in honour of "my balls".

I was sent to the guard house. There was a courtyard, open to the winter sky. I was stripped down, doused in icy water and then beaten with rubber truncheons. This was my welcome, it would only get worse.

After 24 hours of hell I was put with the other "punis". I joined them as they were eating at attention. A Caporal-Chef called Polar was standing on the table. The Legionnaire he was standing in front of was J.

When Frank and I had gone over the fence, J had freaked out and run. He had been caught by the Gendarmes within a few hours. He had been given 40 days. His face was swollen so badly that his eyes were just slits. His whole head was a mass of bruises.

Polar asked him laughing, "Who is the best Caporal-Chef"?

J replied, "Caporal-Chef Polar". Polar punched him in his already pulverized face.

J began to cry like a child. "All the Caporal-Chefs are the same" he said.

Polar thought this was hilarious and said, "When I hit my wife she cries, so I hit her again because then she pisses and when she pisses she doesn't cry".

I spent twenty days under this sick piece of shit.

Y was also there for his attempted suicide. A friend was raped repeatedly. This would happen at night when we were locked in our cells (we would get about three hours to sleep and would do hard labour the rest of the time). We did not know which of the guards was doing it, but we could hear it and then we would hear the poor guy crying. We pretended not to know what was happening so as to leave the poor guy some dignity.

After my twenty days, I mistakenly thought my punishment was over. Actually it was only beginning.

On being released, the first person I saw was Sergeant-Chef R. He quietly told me that I was forbidden to speak to another Legionnaire except when directly necessary for the work. If I disobeyed he would "hand me over to the Caporal-Chefs for their pleasure".

It is difficult to explain what it it means to remain totally silent in a team under extreme pressure and stress. The others don't know why you are just staring at them and ignoring them and they very quickly begin to hate you. To make it even worse the corporals spread a little lie that I had told the MPs where Frank was. Never mind the obvious fact that they never found him. The guys were to stressed and angry to care. They wanted my blood.

One night I walked into our particular barrack room and found four of my fellow legionnaires seated in a row. This was clearly unusual because we were never allowed to do anything except stand, other than to sleep. Furthermore, other fellow legionnaires were crowded around and all the Corporals were there.

The door closed behind me. The largest man among us all called Miles, then told me I was going to be "tried" for "grassing on Frank". He was a former Scots Guard, about six foot five and 250 lbs and covered in messy tattoos. I am only six foot and at that stage weighed about 165 lbs.

Miles ordered me to "salute the court". I stared at him and did nothing, so he tried to slam both hands against my ears.

I let him have it. I boxed as a kid and was always a lot faster and stronger than people expected, especially for my size and age. He was completely over confident and really didn't see it coming. I had also reached the end of my tether long back and was close to losing my mind.

I ended up standing over him with a steel stool in my hand, ready to bring it down on his head. It would have killed him stone dead.

An American called P was shouting at me to "do it".

I looked around and saw Caporal O rubbing broken glass from a bottle into his scalp in frustration. I dropped the stool and looked around. I walked out.

After that I did better and better physically and I became extremely aggressive. I would fight anybody who even looked at me the wrong way. I earned the respect of the corporals, sergeants and officers. But, the reason for my aggression was, I was beginning to hate myself.

At the end of my basic training I was chosen to be sent to the REP. The Sergeant-Chef got chatty with me before I left and started giving me all sorts of advice for when I got there. I ignored him.

Please go on.
You need to go on.

Make I book space coz the story dey make brain base on logistics

I was here

In Corsica I did really well and came in second overall in the selection and para-training.
We were joined in the training by legionnaires who had come from other regiments. There were also a couple of older legionnaires (most of the chaps coming in were in their mid-twenties but could be anything up to forty at enlistment).

One of these older legionnaires was called Ron Pereveresoff. He was Canadian originally and had fought in the Rhodesian Bush War with the Rhodesian Light Infantry, then he had done five years in the REP. After that he had joined the Isreali army. I met him as he had rejoined the REP.

Ron (he insisted we call him by his first name despite being a corporal) came and ate with me one day and asked what I was doing there. I was confused, I mean what were any of us doing there? What was he doing there? Then he told me to go home.

I was stunned. "What do you mean?", I asked

"Don't Bleep up your life like I have" he said. "You are still a kid, so it's not too late, but you need to get out of here now otherwise you are going to end up worse than anyone around here". This was a shock as I respected and liked him.

Years later, I heard how Ron Pereversoff died whilst fighting against the Serbs for the Kosovars. He was a Lieutenant commanding a company. They were joined by a bunch of "mujahedin" volunteers who were immediately disgusted to find a Jew fighting on their side. One night they shot him in the head while he was sleeping.

I was sent to the compagnie d'éclairage et d'appui (reconnaissance and support) and to SML, the heavy mortar platoon. This decision was literally made by the Colonel flipping a coin to decide who would go where. No one wanted to end up in SML. This was considered the harshest and least glamorous of the whole REP. The men there were also the fittest and nearly all needed their heads read. I was unlucky.

I immediately started my specialty training on heavy mortars. It was going extremely well. I was doing better than ever. Others weren't. There was an Irishman called John who one day passed out for no reason. Of course some brainless corporal started kicking him. Then he told me to kick him. Something switched my head. I ignored the corporal and hauled John over to a chair.

At the moment that the corporal had told me to kick my friend I realized I would have to make a choice. It would be the hardest choice of my life as I knew that either way I would get no reward for it, only disappointment.

There were two chaps with me who had been with me since beginning basic training. One was a Welshman we called "Taff". Taff was battling. He had made it this far but was really behaving strangely. Physically he was okay, but he was clearly losing his mind.

We were given a four hour pass into Calvi. A Scotsman from another company was with us. We had some drinks at the "Song and Guitar". We had to be back in front of our beds for the last of the three daily roll calls at 10pm.

At the end of the evening Taff refused to get in the taxi. Then he started shouting at us to leave him alone because he had had enough. The Scotsman and I had to hit him to get him into the car in the end. If we didn't and he got to the barracks late, he would go inside for ten days and be beaten every day.

On the way back Taff started crying. I realised that he wasn't that drunk. He told me he couldn't take it anymore and was going to kill himself. I knew he meant it. I suddenly made my decision.

"I'll help you get home, Taff," I said.

I had done the impossible getting this far, but knew that if I didn't get him home Taff would end up killing himself for certain.

The next day, ostensibly to take uniforms into Calvi for dry cleaning for the sergeants (the back actually held our track suits), I walked out the gate.

Just recently a former Royal Marine had kayaked all the way to Italy in a stolen kayak in an attempt to get away. He managed it but was then picked up and sent back by the Italians.

Taff and I would have to get through Corsica and across the sea to France. Then we would need to go all the way through France and across the channel to the UK. We had shaved heads, no civilian clothes, the equivalent of about $100 and no documents other than our Legion ID.

One week later, after three times running into the Gendarmes and MPs and getting away again, as well as a bunch of other challenges, we arrived in the UK. I had slept only five hours in the entire time and when we finally arrived my body went into convulsions.

I still had to get home to Zimbabwe.

I arrived in Southern Africa about a month later. I went to a doctor and discovered that although I was extremely fit, my health was a mess. [/b]I also turned eighteen years old.

After a break, I walked into the French Embassy of one of the Southern African countries, gave the receptionist a piece of paper with my "matricule" written on it and asked to see the military attache.

I was shown through to an office and a Colonel introduced himself to me in a very friendly manner, shaking my hand and ignoring any formalities.

I began to tell him who I was.

He stopped me,[b] "I know exactly who you are", he said. He offered me a seat and then he offered me a drink. I was shocked.

He poured me a good scotch and one for himself and then said, "How on earth did you get from Calvi to here?".

I gave him a brief rundown and then said, "I decided to leave because of my friend, but I am not going to go back unless all the bullshit stops and I know that is not going to happen." It was very important for me to explain why I did what I did and that I would never have done so in time of war. I knew, of course, that no one was going to change anything because some nobody like me made a noise.

Op Please Continue. This is very interesting

@OP: Reference this write-up, or I will reference it for you.

Wow.....
So where are you now?

why is your post hidden?

My brother you deserted

Apart from the alleged rape, I see nothing out of the ordinary in all your experiences. What do you expect from military training? In Nigeria; when you faint during training, no medical team treats you and you have to repeat that training from day one after you recover, people die.

I hope that rape was just mind games and not real. Please next time when you hear a friend is being raped, you raise alarm and threaten whoever with death. As a military personnel, are you not meant to DIE FOR THE INNOCENT? Why didn't you guys stand for your brother in arms? Why didn't the victim ripped off the coppral chefs testicules in self defense?

Anyway, you guys were young and 'not about that life'. I would like to join the French Foreign Legion but after looking at the logistics, I don't think I can raise the funds to even get a visa or even afford flight ticket. Even if I work from now until am 35 years old, I can not raise the money but I am training almost everyday (so if an opportunity shows up, I would be ready).

It seems you are from a rich Zimbabwean family that is why you felt it was too hard, I presume you are also white or mixed race.

i hope you're fine now?