Not entirely sure one element of this story is entirely realistic but it’s fantasy / fiction. I guess we’re allowed a little leeway into how realistic this all is.
Anyway, like most stories in this category (from those I’ve read), and those I do write outside my main category, any sex that happens is brief. There won’t be any long detailed scenes.
Any French is translated from English using Google, so for anyone who does understand French, apologies if the language is butchered. In addition, any knowledge of the French Foreign Legion is based on whatever I could find online.
Usual caveats. Written and edited in Word. Spelling is usually on point. Grammar can be ropey sometimes. I own all errors as I do miss things occasionally. I’m definitely not perfect.
Comments and feedback appreciated as always.
Hope you enjoy!
*****
“Sergent-Chef!”
A legionnaire does not stroll. Anywhere. Anytime. A soldier of the French Foreign Legion marches! Striding into the office of the Commanding Officer of the 1st Foreign Engineer Regiment, 6th Light Armoured Brigade, I turned, came to attention, and saluted. He returned the salute before I stood easy, hands behind my back.
“Sergent Taylor, in my hand I hold your resignation letter. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
For those interested, this conversation was in French. It is the only language of the Legion. If you’re lucky, some of your companions will speak English, but I rarely spoke that except on those brief times I had a chance to take a holiday. Even then, I hadn’t been home in years. At best, I had made it to the United Kingdom a handful of times in the past decade.
“You have served near enough ten years, Sergent. I must ask why you are choosing to resign now.”
“Precisely as it has been ten years, sir. I wish to go home.”
“France is not your home?”
“In many ways, yes, it is, sir. I am a naturalised citizen. Français par le sang versé.” He grinned at that. I had earned the right to citizenship due to spilling my blood for France while on deployment in North Africa. “But in my heart, I am still a man of my homeland. I left my family ten years ago. I left behind all that I know, what would have been a comfortable life. I have no regrets, sir. None at all. But I’ve given ten years of service to the Legion and to France.”
He met my eyes for a brief moment before nodding. “Understandable. You have kept in contact with home?”
“To a degree. My parents and sister are aware I’m in Europe. Most people wouldn’t have a clue where I’ve been. No-one knows I’ve been a legionnaire.”
“Guess they’ll be in for a surprise when you know on the front door, yes?”
“I aim to do so in my uniform and beret, sir. I’m sure I’ll receive a few questions when I arrive at passport control.”
He looked at the letter again. I had given the Legion ten years of my life. I’d joined on a whim after that morning after our end of year formal (prom, for non-Australians). The morning when all my plans had fallen apart, my heart had been broken, and the future I thought I had laid out for us both was snuffed out with a few sentences that changed my life.
I’d been tempted to join the Australian Army, but I wanted away from everything, as all I would ever see would be reminders of what might have been. I’d always had a romantic view of the French Foreign Legion. Books and movies mostly. I learned reality was far different very quickly, but I hadn’t regretted my decision a single day since walking into the recruiting office, using my half-decent four years of learning basic French at high school to enlist.
The CO sighed and signed the letter. “It is always unfortunate to lose a soldier of your calibre, but after ten years, I can understand the desire to return to your family, Sergent.” He stood up and offered his hand. “Thank you for your service.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’ll receive your papers within seventy-two hours. Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And if you do change your mind, the Legion happily accepts returning soldiers. Within a reasonable timeframe, of course.”
“Well, I would say you never know, sir. But we’ll see.”
Marching out of his office, I headed straight towards the barracks. The 1st Foreign Engineer Regiment was garrisoned in Quartier General Rollet in Laudun-l’Ardoise, which is in the very south of France. Once I had my exit papers within the next three days, I packed my things and readied myself to go. All my companions and friends were aware of my departure. They were from all over the world. I would say a third were from around Europe, a third from Africa, a third from the Americas. Plenty of nationalities. Religions. But none of that mattered once you wore the uniform and beret. We were all brothers. I was sad to leave them, but I had been away from home long enough.
I had to travel to Marseille to catch a TGV heading north to Paris. Thankfully, that was a quick trip before connecting to another train to make it to Charles de Gaulle Airport and a connecting flight via south-east Asia to Sydney. No-one knew I was coming home. I still had an Australian passport, making sure I renewed it while I was overseas. I received a few funny looks as I disembarked at Sydney Airport and the lady at passport control did a double take, then wondered why I was speaking French. I didn’t even realise I was doing it as it was just second nature.
But my passport was up to date and I was still an Australian citizen, so once I was through, collected my bag, and made sure I exchanged Euros into the local currency, I grabbed a taxi and gave them the address for my parents’ house. Staring out the window as we eventually joined the freeway west, the city had certainly changed during the ten years I’d been gone.
Pulling up outside the house I’d grown up in, I paid the driver and stepped out with my two bags. I sighed as nothing seemed to have changed in a decade. Cars in the driveway were different, but apart from that, it was almost a comfort to see the old place again.
Walking towards the door, I knocked and folded my arms behind my back again. My father opened the door and nearly fainted. “John?”
“Hey, Dad.” We embraced as the old man immediately started to cry. Nearly got me going at the same time. “Sorry it’s been so long.”
“It’s fine. It’s fine.” He leaned back and held my shoulders. It was amusing I now stood a good four inches taller than him. “Wow, you’ve changed. And what are you wearing?”
“It’s a long story.”
He grabbed my biceps. “Someone’s been going to the gym, at least.”
“Mostly carrying a lot of heavy shit.”
Grabbing my bags, he led me inside, putting a finger to his lips and gesturing to the kitchen. Even after all these years, Mum still hummed to herself while she was preparing dinner. Stepping through the doorway, she looked up and I think nearly fainted. Then she burst into tears, and when she hugged me, that’s when I finally released a few. Didn’t say a word for at least ten minutes, simply rocking slightly as she squeezed me.