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French Foreign Legion Adventures.
French Foreign Legion Adventures.
French Foreign Legion Adventures.
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French Foreign Legion Adventures.

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Caught between the lines a Legionnaire is captured by the "Wild Men of No-Man's Land", deserters from both sides living in the hell of mud and blood during W.W.1. On the deadly R.C 4. in Indochina a Legionnaire fights to the bitter end against the Viet Minh. A Medic fights for survival at the bloody battle of Dien Bien Phu. In the desert heat Legionnaires battle marauding Berber tribesmen. In the Western desert during W.W.2. Legionnaires struggle against innumerable odds to halt the Axis advance. From the Crimea to Kolwezi and Sarajevo I have written about the battles of the Legion, many of the names used are actual Legionnaires I had the honour of serving with.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherRicky Balona
Release dateJun 10, 2018
ISBN9781386581420
French Foreign Legion Adventures.
Author

Ricky Balona

Ricky Balona is the author of hard hitting and graphic military fiction novels. Steele is a military fiction series centered on the character Sergeant Steele. It charts Steele's experience as a Templar during the Crusades where he is cursed to an eternity of military servitude. We follow Sergeant Steele's battles in the French Foreign Legion, all based on some of the Legion's most epic and bloody battles. French Foreign Legion Adventures is collection of short stories beginning with the Legion's involvement in the Crimean war through the North African desert era, W.W.1 and W.W.2 through Indochina and Kolwezi and Sarajevo. Written from a simple soldiers point of view caught up in merciless combat using the names of fellow Legionnaires I had the honour of serving with as the characters in the stories. Ricky Balona was born in South Africa, now living in Queenstown, New Zealand. Served in 1 Para S.A.D.F and 5 years in 2 Parachute Regiment of the French Foreign Legion. Author of By Blood Spilt series Steele's Dien Bien Phu, Steele's Verdun and Steele's Death March. Show More Show Less

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    French Foreign Legion Adventures. - Ricky Balona

    French Foreign Legion Adventures.

    By – Ricky Balona

    2018

    ––––––––

    Dedicated to my family and the Legionnaire brotherhood.

    ––––––––

    Please click on the link below and subscribe to new releases updates.

    Best wishes, Ricky.

    http://rickybalonabooks.com/

    No Man’s Land

    Legionnaire Sasa Panic stared up at the concrete coloured sky. Slowly consciousness returned, and with it the terrible pain once again. Clenching his teeth Sasa breathed deeply fighting the wave of nausea washing over his battered body. Cautiously he moved his head from side to side, then he lifted his arms. Must have been concussion from a shell. He thought to himself. How long have I been out for?

    Taking stock of his surroundings Sasa forced himself to remain calm. He lay half submerged on the side of a deep shell hole. The smell of stagnant water mingled with the stomach-churning stench of decaying flesh. Body parts littered the area, some decomposing, others still fresh from the mornings assault. Rats scurried over the dead and dying, feasting on the never-ending supply of human flesh. First, they ate the nose and lips of the bodies before burrowing into the stomach.

    Above, the skies thundered, not with the roar of incoming artillery but something almost as deadly to the wounded men trapped in the shell holes of no-man’s land. Heavy rain turned the already muddy ground into a treacherous death-trap of glutinous, porridge like slime. Like a living, moving beast it sucked the dead, dying and often those still alive and unhurt down into its bottomless depths, consuming the men and horses with a boundless appetite. The battlefield of the Somme had become, like everywhere along the front, one vast quagmire.

    Sasa stared at the inert body on the opposite side of the shell hole. He heard an almost imperceptible groan coming from the mud and blood covered soldier. He wore the Grenade and Flame insignia of the Foreign Legion on his collar. Again, the wounded man groaned. He moved his hand slightly. Sasa, Sasa help me. Trapped in a tangle of barbed wire and splintered wooden posts the Legionnaire struggled feebly to free himself.

    Barisof, is that you? Sasa called out above the heavy downpour. Artillery shells exploded somewhere in the near distance. The constant clatter of machine gun and rifle fire were audible above the sudden storm.

    Rivulets of liquid mud trickled swiftly into the shell hole. Sasa was alarmed at the rate at which the water level rose in the hole. Only a few minutes before the filthy muck had been at waist level. Now it reached his chest.

    Trapped slightly lower than Sasa, the liquid mud was level with Barisof’s chin and steadily rising. Pushing against the slippery sides of the shell hole Sasa reached out for his friend. Screaming in pain and frustration Sasa tried moving his legs. He reached down under the muddy slime. His hand ran along a length of wooden beam or tree branch pinning his legs to the side of the hole. In sheer desperation Sasa pushed and shoved at the weight across his legs. It moved an inch or two then stuck fast.

    Screaming in terror Barisof attempted to keep his mouth above the level of sucking mud. Wide eyed he thrashed around straining against the barbed wire trapping him. Blood mingled with the stagnant water as the razor-sharp barbs bit deeply into his flesh.

    Plunging his head under water Sasa pulled at the beam with all his remaining strength. Once again, it moved, ever so slightly. Gasping for air Sasa stared at Barisof. Sasa watched helplessly as the liquid mud rose over Barisof’s head. He thrashed around until he eventually lay still. All that remained was a lacerated hand still imprisoned in the barbed wire above the viscous muck.

    Sasa struggled in desperation to free his legs. Horrified by what he had witnessed the adrenaline pumped through his body. Again, the wooden beam moved, this time just enough for Sasa to wriggle his legs from under the dead weight.

    Immediately he half swum, half waded through the mud terrified that he would be sucked down into its bottomless depths. Reaching the barbed wire entanglement on the opposite side of the shell hole Sasa tried in vain to lift the dead Legionnaire’s body above the surface of the water.  Exhausted by the strain Sasa gave up.

    Clawing at the side of the shell hole Sasa dug his fingers deeply into the slippery slope. Inch by painful inch he managed to climb halfway up the slimy hole. Night began to cover the death and destruction with its dark cloak.  Sasa reached the lip of the crater as darkness was falling. Totally disorientated, hungry and thirsty he watched the flares and tracer bullets crisscrossing the sky above. 

    With no way of knowing where the French front lines were Sasa decided to wait until morning before setting out. Somewhere out in the dark Sasa heard the moans of the wounded. Cautiously crawling forward, he attempted to reach the wounded man closest to him.

    Shadowy figures darted past silhouetted momentarily by a shell burst. Sasa lay low waiting to see if he could identify the patrol before revealing his position. His rifle lay at the bottom of the shell hole. Gripping his sharpened entrenching tool tightly in one hand Sasa hoped like hell it was their boys. Maybe it’s the stretcher bearers rescuing the wounded out in no man’s land. But then again it could be a German trench raiding party. Sasa thought.

    A chill ran down his spine. Out in the inky blackness the wounded man screamed in terror. His cries were suddenly cut short. Sasa swore he heard a maniacal cackle. One by one the moans of the wounded ceased.

    Pressing his back against a shattered tree stump Sasa crouched ready to strike. Entrenching tool at the ready he tried to distinguish between the noises of the scurrying rats and what sounded like men moving swiftly through the darkness. Shots rang out, wild shouts and the distinct sloshing of boots in the mud.

    A flare arched lazily through the sky. For a split second Sasa caught a glimpse of three ghost like figures advancing toward him. One bent down bayonet in hand and began cutting off the ring finger of a dead Legionnaire. He dropped the ring along with the finger into his pocket.

    They whispered in a mixture of French, English and German. Slowly raising his entrenching tool Sasa tensed. No more than ten feet away they methodically stripped the dead and dying of personal items. Whimpering cries caught their attention. Like a pack of wild dog’s, they turned to stare in the direction of the cries. Dressed in a mixture of uniforms they all had long unkempt hair and beards. Seconds before the flare fizzled out one of the men stared directly at Sasa. Their eyes locked momentarily before the men disappeared into the darkness.

    Instinctively Sasa changed his position. He crawled through the mud ever fearful of slipping into a deep hole. Reeling from the shock and stench when his hand sunk into a decomposing stomach of a body Sasa fought against the urge to vomit.

    A grenade exploded right at the foot of the tree stump where he had been seconds before followed by a volley of rifle fire. Did you get him? one of the men shouted with a heavy German accent. Hard to tell in the dark with all these bloody bodies around. Sasa lay still. What the hell is going on? Tommie’s and Germans fighting together in no man’s land. He thought he had lost his mind.

    Hey you there! Come with me if you want to live. Sasa froze. You have no choice, I am French. You will not be harmed. This way, quickly.

    Staring into the dark Sasa advanced toward the sound of the voice. He felt a hand pat him on the shoulder. This way and for God’s sake don’t make a noise. Are you armed? Sasa turned to face the Frenchman. He had the same long hair and crazy eyes as the others. Don’t even think about it mon ami. The man growled when Sasa raised his entrenching tool. You would not get far if you did, we are many here. To emphasise his point the Frenchman pushed the barrel of a revolver against Sasa’s head. Shoving Sasa forward he moved sure footed amongst the shell craters and debris.

    Arriving at a battered concrete dug out he let out a low whistle. The heavy metal door creaked open. He pushed Sasa down a long winding staircase. They went through another heavy metal doorway. Stepping through into a large concrete walled room Sasa covered his mouth and nose with his hand. Ha! you will get used to the smell down here mon ami. The Frenchman laughed then shrugged.

    Sasa looked around the dimly lit room. There were around fifty men milling around. Some sat at the long wooden tables inspecting their loot. Others rummaged through rations taken from the dead.

    Sasa stared in disbelief at the filth surrounding the men. All of them had long hair and beards. Their skin was a ghostly white from venturing out only at night.

    Welcome to our lair monsieur, it was indeed your lucky night. My name is Pierre. We need news of the outside world. How is the war going, when it will end and most importantly has the front line changed in the last year? Sasa shook his head. How long have you been out here Pierre? Sasa asked.

    Let’s just say I have been here quite some time mon ami. Most of us have been here at least a year, forced to live like animals. He slammed his fist down on the table. Crowding around Sasa the deserters listened intently to what news he had on the warfront and the civilians behind the lines.

    A grim-faced Australian closed in on Sasa. Are the authorities aware of our existence? Do they send out patrols searching for those us who refuse to be led like lambs to the slaughter? Sasa shook his head. We certainly had no idea you were all living out here in no man’s land. What is this place?

    Our men built these bunkers, German technology and engineering. Puffing out his chest a German wearing

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