French Foreign Legion

by Douglas Porch

  The end of 1951 witnessed a standoff. Giap's subsequent strategy sought to confront the French with two equally unattractive choices. On the one hand, he infiltrated the Tonkin delta with guerrillas to carry out a campaign of what the French called “pourissement”—literally, “make rotten.” To confront this, de Lattre ringed the delta with a concrete belt of blockhouses and posts, and scattered his troops over the countryside to control the population. By January 1954, 82,470 troops were immobilized behind the wire of 920 posts in the Tonkin delta alone, to control Viet Minh forces estimated at only 37,000. The same thing occurred in Cochinchina near Saigon.

  At the same time, Giap kept his main forces together and threatened to strike at Laos, which for political reasons the French were forced to protect. Therefore, the French were also obliged to fight large-force actions and to do so had to abandon posts, which allowed Viet Minh “pourissement” to continue unchecked. It was a situation that Napoleon and Wellington would have recognized, for it was so similar to that of Spain during the Peninsula War of 1808–13. And as in Spain over almost a century and a half earlier, the French found that they could not be strong everywhere. King John might have handled it better. By the end of 1951, however, he was dying of cancer and had to be replaced. With his departure, strategic vision became a rare commodity in the upper echelons of the French command.

  Probably the classic experience of a legionnaire in Indochina was the monotonous duty in the outposts and blockhouses. In theory, these posts were to be centers from which French troops spread out to control the countryside, to prevent Viet Minh infiltration. As the war progressed, however, they increasingly became prisons, inviting targets for surprise attacks, so that in most areas of the Tonkin delta by 1953, as well as elsewhere, it was the French who were “infiltrated” into Viet Minh territory. The problems of controlling the countryside from these posts were immense. There was, of course, the general political problem that most Vietnamese saw no reason to support the French, even if they did not actively oppose them. Even the creation by the French of a friendly Vietnamese government from 1949 did not solve this political problem. The government of Emperor Bao Dai had no independence in critical areas like foreign policy, and therefore no real credibility. Furthermore, in an attempt to increase their stature in the eyes of the Vietnamese population, its officials adopted an attitude of studied neutrality to pose as a compromise between the Viet Minh and the French. They therefore failed to lend effective support to French pacification efforts. The 2e BEP complained in 1953 that their pacification operations in the Tonkin delta came to naught because they were not accompanied by political and social actions by Vietnamese authorities. The only effective authority in the countryside was the Viet Minh, who reasserted that authority as soon as the paratroops waded out of sight over the rice paddies.30 Pacification, with no political dimension, no implantation of a viable civilian infrastructure, was doomed to failure.

  These frustrating and half-understood problems were very difficult to solve by traditional military methods. In the 1940s, and even until the end of the war in some areas, patrols were fairly free to circulate in the countryside. Seldom did this pay off, however, even in military terms, for several reasons. Perhaps the most important was that the Viet Minh dominated the intelligence war from the beginning. The French were fairly proficient at “deep” or strategic intelligence, gathered mainly through radio intercepts. Local intelligence was another matter. French air reconnaissance was underdeveloped due to a shortage of aircraft generally, and after narrowly escaping capture during Operation Lea in 1947, the Viet Minh high command placed a special emphasis upon dispersion and camouflage, at which they became extremely proficient.

  Unlike in North Africa, the French had never established an Indochinese equivalent of an “Arab bureau.” The Japanese coup against the French of March 9, 1945, followed by the purges by the Fourth Republic of many officials who had remained loyal to Vichy, meant that the French had to begin virtually from scratch in 1946 to rebuild their knowledge of and contacts in Indochina. This was also true in the army. Many units either did not have intelligence officers, or burdened them with other duties like communications officer or even battalion executive office.31 The battalion commander of the 3rd battalion of the 13e DBLE complained that French intelligence was badly organized at the top, with different arms and services failing to cooperate in intelligence gathering, and then refusing to pass information down to the battalion level, much less the company level where it was needed.32 The 5e étranger observed that there were “sometimes profound divergences” in intelligence assessments sent by the general staff and the division, so one did not know whom to believe.33 It became very difficult for the French to establish an intelligence network once the war had already begun. Budgets to pay informers were derisively small— 1,300 francs a month for the entire regiment, the 13e DBLE observed in 1950.34

  A dire shortage of Vietnamese interpreters made it difficult for Legion patrols to gather intelligence—for instance, the third battalion of the 13e DBLE complained in 1952 that they had only three interpreters for the entire battalion.35 Some interpreters worked for the Viet Minh or for themselves, or simply gave garbled or inaccurate translations. An April 1951 report complained that “Some Intelligence] Officers] place too much faith in their interpreters and have a tendency to give them a free reign in interrogations, the recruitment of personnel, the manipulation of agents, etc.”36 The shortage came in great part from the fact that most could command far better pay in less dangerous civilian jobs.37 The Viet Minh, on the other hand, were able to keep a firm grip on the population through both terror and persuasion. The French seldom could look for help there. Patrols tripped out over the paddies and jungles largely blind, often equipped with out-of-date or inaccurate maps, without benefit of air reconnaissance photographs,38 to wander aimlessly about the countryside, inviting ambush or setting off mines. “The battalion is often badly informed” the 1e BEP complained in 1953, and had “no intelligence concerning the general situation or the particular one.”39

  On the other hand, the Viet Minh were usually well informed on French patrols or operations from several sources. Legionnaires often discussed them with their congaïs or in bars. The Viet Minh were also tipped off by Vietnamese militia or “auxiliaries” serving with the French, or by their Trin Sat formations, three-man units set to watch French posts constantly. “The Viet [Minh] have a spy service so remarkable that their intelligence service prefers, in the face of superior numbers, to refuse combat and take refuge in the villages friendly to them [and practically all of them are],” the 5e étranger reported in 1952.40 French units, the Legion included, also had an unfortunate tendency to broadcast in the clear on their radios.41 This not only allowed the Viet Minh to eavesdrop, but even to broadcast contrary orders on occasion, thus increasing confusion in French ranks. At Dien Bien Phu, the Viet Minh sometimes broke into the French communications net to play revolutionary songs. Here is an area where the Legion might have used its linguistic diversities to advantage, as did for example many U.S. Marine units in World War II, by training Navahos as radio operators. Surely the Legion could have assigned teams of Serbs or Armenians to operate their radios. But this possibility never seems to have occurred to them.

  Sometimes a Legion patrol might surprise a Viet Minh unit, if they ventured out during the sacrosanct early afternoon siesta or if tipped off by a rare intelligence pearl. “Unfortunately, these cases are rare,” the 13e DBLE wrote in 1950. “We must admit that we are badly informed. From this come numerous operations which ‘a priori’ achieve no positive result and rather have unfortunate repercussions on morale.” In fact, it had caused posts to avoid combat, because of the lack of intelligence.42 Many also “buttoned up” at dusk, conceding the night to the enemy. Kemencei's paras discovered that, as a general rule of thumb, if the peasants were working happily in the rice paddies, then there were no Viet Minh or mines about, for the local population knew that French retributio
n would fall upon them immediately. If the fields were empty, however, trouble was near.43 By 1953, the 2e étranger was complaining that strength was so low that it was impossible to take advantage of good intelligence even when they were able to acquire it.44

  The commander of the 3rd battalion of the 13e DBLE argued that the Legion was in its element in major battles, like that to keep R.C. 6 to Hoa Binh open in 1951–52. They were less effective when countering Viet Minh “pourissement” in populated areas. For a start, they simply did not have the skills to search Viet Minh villages, which were honeycombed with tunnels and secret hiding places.45 Kemencei noted that in the villages,

  We only found women, children and old people. It took us some time to discover that the rebels who shot at us, and whom we never managed to flush out, usually had hiding places or refuges in underground shelters organized well in advance. But it was difficult to catch them in their nests, for the entrance was too narrow for Europeans, and the hiding place usually had another exit. In one of these villages, part of the population, nobles at their head, received with us tea and choum. But after our departure, they shot at us. This is how we had one killed and several wounded. Of course, the punishment was made to fit the crime.46

  It does not seem to have occurred to Kemencei that the Viet Minh probably fired on purpose precisely to provoke the sort of retaliation that would further alienate the population from the French. Henry Ainley agreed that pacification was not the Legion's forte: “The men of the Foreign Legion were first-class soldiers, but they had nothing whatsoever to do with a mission of pacification and political re-education,” he wrote. “The Foreign Legion was brilliant at two things—killing and dying well, both of which the Légionnaires did frequently and with éclat. But that had little to do with protecting the quiet little yellow men who surrounded us, hated us cordially and occasionally got round to murdering us when they saw the chance.”47

  In the retrospective light of the American experience, it appears unfair to single out the Legion for poor performance in a task that U.S. forces carried out no more successfully. But while the frustrations of being unable to distinguish friend from foe were common to Western soldiers who fought in Vietnam, the hard-hitting mentality of the Legion probably made them less willing to pull their punches. Cruelty probably had several sources, which included frustration with the indecisive nature of the war, a reaction to the death of friends, especially by mines, and to the studied brutality of the Viet Minh terrorists, or a sense of racial superiority. Some of the problems probably stemmed from the recruitment of a certain number of unstable men who, in the conditions of war, might go off the rails, like the six legionnaries in Ainley's battalion who one night shot and robbed some of the local villagers.48

  The lack of firm supervision, especially by officers and senior NCOs, also permitted irregular behavior on occasion. “I had heard many stories about the license of légionnaires on operations when women were discovered and already we had been passing the bottle of schum to keep up our spirits,” wrote Adrian Liddell Hart, who served with the amphibious units of the REC in the Plaine des Jones near Saigon. “But this was a mobile unit, and we were closely supervised. We left the women and children unmolested—squatting forlornly in the swamp amidst the shambles as we lurched away.”49

  Ainley stopped his patrol leader, an Armenian, from raping a young Vietnamese girl:

  I grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him off the girl and told him that he couldn't do that. I don't know which of the two of us was the most surprised by my outburst. Still under the influence of Africa, I realized that I had laid hands on a superior and the consequence could be terrible. Thyme was so amazed that he finally burst out laughing and in the friendliest way told me that I would soon get used to a little friendly rape. To my relief the girl had taken the opportunity to bolt off into the bush with torn clothes clasped to her. In a cowardly way I was most relieved. I didn't feel up to fighting a whole army on the question of well-established traditional sports.50

  More shocking to him, Ainley soon discovered that “rape, beating, burning, torturing of entirely harmless peasants and villagers were of common occurrence in the course of punitive patrols and operations by French troops,” and were even encouraged by officers and NCOs who reported it in anodyne language in official reports. The torture of Viet Minh “suspects” was regularly practiced by the battalion intelligence officer, who directed a “Bande Noire” of Vietnamese thugs and deserters. “It seemed scarcely credible that the French—after all they had suffered during the war—could tolerate such a practice,” he wrote, but conceded that, in the absence of other intelligence sources, “the majority regarded the whole matter as a necessary and inevitable evil.”51

  Practices such as relieving the villages of their livestock and rounding up suspects were also encouraged by the poor material situation of the French posts. The poverty of rations, “little tins of pâté, little bags of bonbons, which are more suitable for a children's outing in the Bois de Boulogne than for famished légionnaires on operations,” according to Liddell Hart, encouraged looting. It also made a mockery of the “Indo-Chinese version of psychological warfare” devised by the General Staff—

  The leaflets [left in the villages] showed a small chicken, presumably meant to represent the people of Viet-Nam, being swallowed by a large fierce snake which signified the Viet-Minh or Red China. As we were the only people who were preying on chickens at the moment, the propaganda was not particularly apt.52

  Ainley reported that cattle-rustling expeditions were organized by his company, even in friendly areas, and the animals sold to a meat merchant, to get money for company funds. “It was accepted army practice to make off with everything moveable and saleable that was found in the course of patrols and operations in the non-pacified zones, but individual razzia, by local commanders of small units who were short of cash, were frequently and unofficially winked at.”53

  As for the roundup of “suspects,” this was made necessary by the shortfall of combat strength, as well as by the notion that the Legion was perfectly capable of providing for its own needs, even the construction of its own posts with virtually no equipment, because its ranks were well supplied with skilled artisans. The “POW” system was vital for the life of the posts, for they carried out many of the fatigue and building duties. A commission periodically passed through the posts to review the cases of the “POWs,” but some were hidden and became known as “black-market prisoners.” These were used as bearers, and if killed in action, they were tallied with Viet Minh KIAs. When funds did occasionally come through to hire civilian labor, the legionnaires enlisted their black-market POWs and pocketed their pay.54

  Life in these posts—on average occupied by sixty to eighty men—was depressing. Frozen in a defensive posture, at the mercy of the local Viet Minh commander, who often had the power to overwhelm a post at will, nerves were constantly on edge, and moral lassitude common. Ainley discovered that even Sundays gradually degenerated into debilitating monotony, as the legionnaires of his post set to guard a rubber plantation about thirty miles from Saigon slowly became drunk in the debilitating heat of the late morning. “Gradually the morning disintegrated and the afternoon pattern began to form under the increasing weight of the heat,” he continued.

  In the sergeants mess Smedlow, Rossini and Moineau were indulging in their usual Sunday after-lunch fight, plates flying, bottles breaking and the Annamite boy screaming like a stuck pig just for the fun of it. Hartz and I sipped our brandy and ducked the flying crockery. A few huts away, in the village, we could hear Sergeant de Perre quietly and methodically beating up his congaie, who was crying in a soft, penetrating, brain-piercing note. From the Captain's bungalow we could hear the Captain explaining to the Planter's congaie how much he was loved by his men and admired by his superiors... . It was just another Sunday no different to many others.55

  Life in these posts was not only extremely tedious, it was also exhausting, because the side that do
es not have the support of the population in a guerrilla war must be constantly vigilant, constantly on the move, constantly ready for action. The Viet Minh, on the other hand, were relatively safe and only fought when they were fresh, up to strength, and commanded a tactical advantage. Last, it could be dangerous. The proliferation of posts made them increasingly vulnerable because of their small garrisons and the fact that Viet Minh weaponry improved faster than did French defensive measures. Many of the posts were of log and dirt construction, which disintegrated when struck by Viet Minh mortars and recoilless rifles. The communists also became expert at striking several posts simultaneously to prevent mutual support, while concentrating their main effort on the most vulnerable. Also, often an attack was merely bait to draw out an “intervention force,” which was then ambushed and seriously mauled as it raced to the rescue. As a result, these “intervention forces” increasingly refused to go out at night, so any post attacked could expect to see relief only after daybreak.

  In the daytime, about one-third of the men in the posts were on guard, while up to three-quarters might be on alert at night. Insects were a constant, sleep-disturbing torment. Patrols through dense bush or jungle, legionnaires dressed in their floppy bush hats, open shirts and shorts, setting minefields, laying ambushes, often without the benefit of leave for six to eight months, gradually accumulated fatigue, which, in turn, led to mistakes in combat. Nor was morale improved by the realization that all this effort seldom prevented the sabotage of roads, the murder of friendly officials, or the passage of Viet Minh supplies. On the contrary, it created a steady drain of casualties usually caused by mines, which reduced strength further, placed greater strain upon those who remained, and discouraged offensive action. “An impression that everything we were doing, even building the post, was of the utmost futility began to settle on the company,” wrote Ainley. “And the impression, like a leech, sucked away what little vitality was left in the men. Dysentery, malaria and general fatigue made the situation even more critical.”56