“Sounds fantastic! If you could point me to him sometime I'd appreciate it. You know what they say about bruises and pain - weakness leaving the body,” Vidal tells David Nedjar.
The legionnaire smiles as he replies, “Sgt. Verdurand is hard to miss. He carries a cane with him just about everywhere he goes, something he brought back from Indochina I hear.” He wolfs down a forkful of beans. “He tends to introduce himself by hitting you across the shoulders or the back of the thighs with it if he catches you making a mistake. I don’t know how he does it. It’s like he appears out of thin air the moment you screw up. Hand to G_d.” He shakes his head – to clear a memory perhaps? “He’s old Legion. Morocco, before the war. A real ancien.”
Supper passes with more small talk – Nedjar stands out as the most affable among the legionnaires in the mess hall. An undercurrent of disappointment at being left in reserve during the ratissage is heard in the conversations among the legionnaires – apparently Third Company was in reserve when the regiment was on maneuvers in the Kabyles as well, and the paras are affronted by the slight – “...left sucking hind teat again,” Sylvio Ortu is overheard to complain to anyone in earshot.
As supper winds down, Cpl. Sembène appears at the table. “See me after you’re done,” the black legionnaire tells Pyotr, Normand, and Vidal. He looks at Marcel. “You’re the new doc, right? You should come, too. You’re with us on the patrol tomorrow.” He excuses himself with a curt nod.
Sembène is waiting outside the mess tent when the legionnaires exit. He motions the replacements to follow him, and he talks as they walk to a set of wooden bleachers at the edge of the football pitch. “The sergeant asked me to cover a few things with you, before tomorrow,” he begins.
“Our section is made up of the choc group and the support group. You three – ” the caporal-chef points at Pyotr, Normand, and Vidal “ – are assigned to the choc group with légionnaire première classe Nedjar. He’s first voltiguer in the section – if you’re not sure what to do and the sergent or me aren’t around, follow his lead. Ortu, Syrovy, Sánchez, and Asmussen make up the support group – Ortu is on the AA-52 and the rest are pourvoyeurs.” Sembène looks at each one in turn. “Usually replacements aren’t assigned to a choc group, but Le Capitaine says you’re ready.”
Sitting on the unpainted wooden bleachers, Sembène continues in his flawless French, “If we are on the attack, the support group lays down a base of fire and the choc group usually flanks and makes the close assault. We typically lay down smoke on the enemy and then advance and mop up.” He smiles, his teeth white and straight. “At least that’s how they taught you in basic. The fellaghas are rarely so cooperative.”
“Mador, when the platoon is together the grenadiers answer to caporal-chef Kovic if Lt. Ramadier orders it. Usually this is to concentrate fire on some position.” Sembène looks serious. “Where we operate we rarely have mortar or artillery support, and the company has just one RCL, so the grenadiers are our direct fire option. Stay alert for orders from Kovic – if he tells you something, treat it as coming from the lieutenant himself.”
The caporal-chef sits back slightly, revealing a gold crucifix around his neck as he does so. “Doc, you’re coming with us tomorrow,” he says to Marcel. “Le Capitaine doesn’t like anyone sitting around camp too long. The lieutenant will give us the details in the morning, but we’ll probably be on an all-day hike in the hills. The truck pulls out at 0630.” He rubs his hands together. “All clear?”
