05-27-2015, 08:28 PM
Legion HQ, Casablanca, Morocco
Commandant Tuff had had little rest in the past few days. No one at the Legion's headquarters had. They had been flooded with applications from around the world. The Commandant was sitting on the third request by the Moroccan authorities to speak to their CEO, Jacques Danjou. Apparently, the Moroccan government was 'nervous' about the Legion's recent activities and changes in their public mandate.
A resurrection of the old traditions, for instance. Many of their new recruits had taken new names, a rebirth of the 'anonymat' of old. New identities, the discarding of ties to one's land of birth. Having a dozens of foreign nationals in their borders, receiving military training that in many aspects outstripped what their own forces received.
Then there were the dealings with known Chinese arms traffickers. Firearms, vehicles, body armour, military grade electronics and the like. Through more legitimate means, the production of uniforms and boots. The first shipments had arrived in Morocco and been transferred to the Legion's training facility after Moroccan customs agents had conveniently turned a blind eye.
The most curious thing that had arrived with that arms shipment were two Chinese soldiers, ones whom had served only a few weeks prior at the Chinese embassy in Sierra Leone, and had received coins from Jacques Danjou. Neither claimed to be officially discharged from the Chinese military, but of course neither had given their birth names either.
Legion Training Center, near Arfoud, Morocco
Major Solomon stood resplendent in his dress uniform, secretly grateful that the day was both overcast and pleasantly towards the low end of the season's average mild temperatures. Before him was the Legion's newest batch of recruits. Fifty men and women seen at the training center in over a decade, stood relatively still, all dressed in respectful civilian clothes.
"Peloton. Attention!"
His tone was sharp, the delivery of the drill command drawn out in a clear-cut precautionary/execution, and the recruits responded fluidly. Each came to a position of attention as befitting the drill movements of their place of previous service, but all were attentetive and responded to the commands despite them being in French. The words were not so foreign, and the situation familiar enough that they could easily logic out their meaning.
"Today begins your training. Today forward, you are no longer South African. Moroccan. American. Chinese. Russian. French. You are no longer citizens of a foreign nation. You are no longer sons. Fathers. Daughters. You are recruits. And some of you shall be Legionnaires."
He glanced with some discomfort at the women; they could be troublesome at times. The Legion did not have separate barracks for women. Their were no private showers or washrooms. There were also decidedly few uniforms stocked for the women, an issue that was being remedied as quickly as possible.
None of the recruits fidgeted or showed hesitation; they had received the required reading before they had signed up. These were the first to have seen the new contracts, and no where in those papers was the name 'Legion Premiere.' No reference to security contracts.
"Recruits. The Legionnaire's Oath of Honour is the backbone of the Legion. It is what sets the standard. It is why you shall love each other as brothers and sisters. Trust the man or woman at your side, no matter their religion or accent or education. You shall sweat to this oath. It shall mandate how you live your life, in service to the Legion and to your new family. It is not to be taken lightly. Failure to uphold the Oath is to fail your family and the Legion. Take this to heart. Do not fail us."
The recruits stiffened their stances, shoulders were squared and heads held high. Each had excelled at the training and discipline requirements of their home nations, and that arrogance easily translated to a sense of arrogance and superiority in their first day at the Legion's training center. None truly understood just what they were getting into.
Major Solomon allowed a ghost of a grin at that surge of arrogance in the recruits, then it was gone again. "Recruits. Repeat after me."
"You are a volunteer serving the Legion with honour and fidelity."
The recruits responded, most in English, some in their native tongues. They would learn in time. English, and French of course. But part of the Legion's strength was the wealth of foreign experience. Languages, cultures, religions. This knowledge was shared among Legionnaires, and made them capable of operating in foreign lands with little trouble.
"Each legionnaire is your brother in arms whatever his nationality, his race or his religion might be. You show him the same close solidarity that links the members of the same family."
"Respect for traditions, devotion to your leaders, discipline and comradeship are your strengths, courage and loyalty your virtues."
"Proud of your status as legionnaire, you display this in your always impeccable uniform, your always dignified but modest behaviour, and your clean living quarters."
"An elite soldier, you train rigorously, you maintain your weapon as your most precious possession, and you take constant care of your physical form."
"The mission is sacred, you carry it out until the end and, if necessary in the field, at the risk of your life."
"In combat, you act without passion and without hate, you respect defeated enemies, and you never abandon your dead, your wounded, or your arms."
The recruits repeated each, their words increasingly haltingly and uncertain. Major Solomon allowed them no time to process, did not break the oaths into more manageable mouthfuls.
There was a long moment of silence, as the Major studied the recruits. The moment stretched to minutes, and as was always the case some of those proudly stiff backs and squared shoulders began to slowly bend and droop; it was natural as they grew distracted, wondering why he was so quiet. All the while Legion sergeants stood behind the recruits, where none could see them. A signal from each, and each of the five sergeants gestured to one recruit each.
"Recruits Kawaguchi. Huang. McKallister. Pasternak. Smith. You recited the oath without flaw. And yes, Recruit Huang, we have Legionnaires who speak Chinese quite fluently. Caporal Polzin shall escort you to the quartermaster, where you shall draw uniforms and proceed to your barracks. The rest of you shall form squads under the Sergeants. By the time they are done with you, you shall know the Oath by heart."
The Sergeants were quick to act. Pace sticks snapped out, slapping against the thighs of recruits too slow to react as they started barking orders in French and English, or a few other native tongues, and the recruits were turned to a very fast paced run away from the parade square. Some cast sour glances at the five recruits that were spared the others' punishment.
Soldiers. They never changed, did they? Major Soloman nodded to Caporal Polzin and the young Moroccan man moved to lead the five recruits away to draw their kit.
Commandant Tuff had had little rest in the past few days. No one at the Legion's headquarters had. They had been flooded with applications from around the world. The Commandant was sitting on the third request by the Moroccan authorities to speak to their CEO, Jacques Danjou. Apparently, the Moroccan government was 'nervous' about the Legion's recent activities and changes in their public mandate.
A resurrection of the old traditions, for instance. Many of their new recruits had taken new names, a rebirth of the 'anonymat' of old. New identities, the discarding of ties to one's land of birth. Having a dozens of foreign nationals in their borders, receiving military training that in many aspects outstripped what their own forces received.
Then there were the dealings with known Chinese arms traffickers. Firearms, vehicles, body armour, military grade electronics and the like. Through more legitimate means, the production of uniforms and boots. The first shipments had arrived in Morocco and been transferred to the Legion's training facility after Moroccan customs agents had conveniently turned a blind eye.
The most curious thing that had arrived with that arms shipment were two Chinese soldiers, ones whom had served only a few weeks prior at the Chinese embassy in Sierra Leone, and had received coins from Jacques Danjou. Neither claimed to be officially discharged from the Chinese military, but of course neither had given their birth names either.
Legion Training Center, near Arfoud, Morocco
Major Solomon stood resplendent in his dress uniform, secretly grateful that the day was both overcast and pleasantly towards the low end of the season's average mild temperatures. Before him was the Legion's newest batch of recruits. Fifty men and women seen at the training center in over a decade, stood relatively still, all dressed in respectful civilian clothes.
"Peloton. Attention!"
His tone was sharp, the delivery of the drill command drawn out in a clear-cut precautionary/execution, and the recruits responded fluidly. Each came to a position of attention as befitting the drill movements of their place of previous service, but all were attentetive and responded to the commands despite them being in French. The words were not so foreign, and the situation familiar enough that they could easily logic out their meaning.
"Today begins your training. Today forward, you are no longer South African. Moroccan. American. Chinese. Russian. French. You are no longer citizens of a foreign nation. You are no longer sons. Fathers. Daughters. You are recruits. And some of you shall be Legionnaires."
He glanced with some discomfort at the women; they could be troublesome at times. The Legion did not have separate barracks for women. Their were no private showers or washrooms. There were also decidedly few uniforms stocked for the women, an issue that was being remedied as quickly as possible.
None of the recruits fidgeted or showed hesitation; they had received the required reading before they had signed up. These were the first to have seen the new contracts, and no where in those papers was the name 'Legion Premiere.' No reference to security contracts.
"Recruits. The Legionnaire's Oath of Honour is the backbone of the Legion. It is what sets the standard. It is why you shall love each other as brothers and sisters. Trust the man or woman at your side, no matter their religion or accent or education. You shall sweat to this oath. It shall mandate how you live your life, in service to the Legion and to your new family. It is not to be taken lightly. Failure to uphold the Oath is to fail your family and the Legion. Take this to heart. Do not fail us."
The recruits stiffened their stances, shoulders were squared and heads held high. Each had excelled at the training and discipline requirements of their home nations, and that arrogance easily translated to a sense of arrogance and superiority in their first day at the Legion's training center. None truly understood just what they were getting into.
Major Solomon allowed a ghost of a grin at that surge of arrogance in the recruits, then it was gone again. "Recruits. Repeat after me."
"You are a volunteer serving the Legion with honour and fidelity."
The recruits responded, most in English, some in their native tongues. They would learn in time. English, and French of course. But part of the Legion's strength was the wealth of foreign experience. Languages, cultures, religions. This knowledge was shared among Legionnaires, and made them capable of operating in foreign lands with little trouble.
"Each legionnaire is your brother in arms whatever his nationality, his race or his religion might be. You show him the same close solidarity that links the members of the same family."
"Respect for traditions, devotion to your leaders, discipline and comradeship are your strengths, courage and loyalty your virtues."
"Proud of your status as legionnaire, you display this in your always impeccable uniform, your always dignified but modest behaviour, and your clean living quarters."
"An elite soldier, you train rigorously, you maintain your weapon as your most precious possession, and you take constant care of your physical form."
"The mission is sacred, you carry it out until the end and, if necessary in the field, at the risk of your life."
"In combat, you act without passion and without hate, you respect defeated enemies, and you never abandon your dead, your wounded, or your arms."
The recruits repeated each, their words increasingly haltingly and uncertain. Major Solomon allowed them no time to process, did not break the oaths into more manageable mouthfuls.
There was a long moment of silence, as the Major studied the recruits. The moment stretched to minutes, and as was always the case some of those proudly stiff backs and squared shoulders began to slowly bend and droop; it was natural as they grew distracted, wondering why he was so quiet. All the while Legion sergeants stood behind the recruits, where none could see them. A signal from each, and each of the five sergeants gestured to one recruit each.
"Recruits Kawaguchi. Huang. McKallister. Pasternak. Smith. You recited the oath without flaw. And yes, Recruit Huang, we have Legionnaires who speak Chinese quite fluently. Caporal Polzin shall escort you to the quartermaster, where you shall draw uniforms and proceed to your barracks. The rest of you shall form squads under the Sergeants. By the time they are done with you, you shall know the Oath by heart."
The Sergeants were quick to act. Pace sticks snapped out, slapping against the thighs of recruits too slow to react as they started barking orders in French and English, or a few other native tongues, and the recruits were turned to a very fast paced run away from the parade square. Some cast sour glances at the five recruits that were spared the others' punishment.
Soldiers. They never changed, did they? Major Soloman nodded to Caporal Polzin and the young Moroccan man moved to lead the five recruits away to draw their kit.