Is Marching with the Devil the sort of cautionary tale you would have liked to read before joining the French Foreign Legion?
I think that would be fair to say. And coupled with the cautionary part, it’s a tale that lights up the shadows of myth and mystery about the Legion.
It’s a factual account, thanks to the diary you kept during your service. Given the anti-intellectualism you encountered, was there resistance to your journal writing?
Yes, there was. In fact, a couple of times, French people called me the espion—the spy. I’d go, “Do you think I’d be doing this if I was a spy?” It’d be a bit blindingly obvious! But because the Legion was so anti-intellectual, they thought, “Well, what are you writing for? There’s no need to write anything.
Just follow orders, drink, use the camp brothel and get on with life.”
Did anyone ever try to take your diary?
No. Mind you, I used to keep things in fairly secure places.
Were there specific incidents you thought about not including?
There were situations where I was involved in the deaths of people that were of a particular nature that I didn’t believe it was helpful to include them. So there are things I didn’t include, yes.
Are you still in touch with many of your fellow Legionnaires?
I’m in touch with a few. There’s one in Sydney, another in Auckland and one who works on the north-west shelf of WA. They’re mates in the sense that they might ring up and say, “G’day. How ya going?” I met a Legionnaire when I was in Baghdad last year—it was pure chance and we just had that common ground.
So mateship is one positive that can come out of being in the Legion?
Yes.
Do you know whether the standard of training and leadership in the Legion has improved since you left in 1993?
According to my sources—and there’s a couple of guys still serving—my understanding is that no, it hasn’t. It goes back to the critical point that if you can’t attract and retain good people, they are gonna leave. If you’re a thoughtful kind of guy who wants a military-type life, you’ll look around and think, “Okay, where
are the good leaders? Where’s the good training? And where might I get some operational service?” Then there are much better options.
Were you tempted to stay to try to effect positive change yourself, or were the odds against doing so insurmountable?
I was offered the world to remain behind, but I thought, “Would the little amount I could conceivably change be worth the rest of my life?” And I worked it out and went, “Nup.”
You’ve clearly stated you don’t regret your five-year stint, but what about your career path within the Legion? Anything you’d change if you did it over?
Probably not. If I’d known more about the rapid-promotion route, I probably wouldn’t have taken it. I note that the Legion cut it out for a while because it failed so badly, but they’ve reinstituted it. Effectively, it kept me from being out on operation for another year. It was only after I finished it that I got posted
to Djibouti. But had I not done it, I would have gone into the parachute regiment and maybe gone to Chad.
Do you expect to receive any negative feedback from the Legion about Marching With The Devil?
Officially, no. I’ve never heard of the French government making any comment at all about what people say. Some of the guys I was with, around the corporal level, might have something to say, though. None of them have read it yet, but when they do, I expect a bit of flaming to go on. Some of them come off quite well, but some of them come off extremely poorly. And significantly, they don’t like to be told their training is rubbish. |
At what point were you nearest to quitting?
Early on, when I was in the 4th Regiment, doing all of that training and just faking the numbers [fudging the training figures under orders]. That Redbach guy I mention in the book—I loathed him like I couldn’t begin to tell you. Having to be with people like that, I just thought, “I don’t need it.” What really kept me
there was the presumption that others knew what I was gonna do before I did. So those two corporals who kept telling me I was going to leave effectively kept me in.
When did you feel closest to death?
Once was when I was sitting on top of a bloody fence with a spike through my leg. The other time the world slowed down was when an officer walked at me cocking his weapon. I could see what he was doing, couldn’t believe it in my own mind, and thought, “He’s about to shoot me in the head!”
And the mongrel didn’t even apologise when the bullet whizzed past you! Do you still yearn for adventure?
Of course I do! There was the camel trip [across Australia]. Then I tried to cross Lake Eyre on foot, got very badly bogged and nearly didn’t make it out of that. I was in Iraq for a year in 2009, and I did two tours there before that.
What’s your actual occupation these days?
I’m a public servant lawyer with the Department of Defence. When I was over in Iraq, I was a civilian advisor. Last year, I was advising on rule of law issues. The time before that, I was an advisor to the Iraqi Minister for Defence. And the time before that, to the Australian Commander in Iraq.
Have you ever run into the Legion in a professional capacity?
You know what? I haven’t. But if I get a chance to go to Afghanistan, then I will run into them because they’re over there.
Will your next book be about your east-west crossing of Australia by camel? Did you keep a diary on that trip?
Absolutely, I did. It will be a lot gentler and more reflective, and it’s more about the country and the people in it. I’m working on it right now and already have a draft done. It’s a real Australian story because no-one’s ever walked across the country on their own before—or east-west across the Simpson Desert. Until
me, I suppose… along with a few camels. |