Le Bataillon Francais
With the 65th anniversary of the Korean War armistice barely behind us I’m reminded of a story… Just about anything reminds me of a story, so bear with me for a little bloodless war yarn. No heroics… just a simple slice of life. That war began on June 25th, 1950.
In 1951-52 Le Bataillon Francais was attached to my regiment, the 23rd Infantry… that’s how the United Nations forces were organized, each foreign unit attached to an American unit.
We had the French with us – they were also fighting another war in Indo China (Vietnam). When those guys rotated from fighting in Vietnam it was to do some more fighting in Korea. These were tough Foreign Legionnaires, great fighters but not very disciplined. They just didn’t give a damn. Why should they? Ignored back home, on the short end of the stick for food, supplies, replacements, and even weapons and ammo… The war in Indo China had priority.
In France as well as America., Korea was The Forgotten War, even though the U.S. lost nearly as many men in three years as would be killed in ten years of the Vietnam war two decades later.
We were in reserve taking a break from battle when my CO called me to the CP (command post}. “Button,” he said. “Report to the French Battalion — you’re gonna be my liaison.” I was a corporal.
“But Sir,” I replied. “I don’t speak a word of French.”
“Who cares? That’s an order, Button. Get your ass over there NOW!”
I arrived to kisses on both cheeks, slaps on the back, and a big canteen cup full of powerful red wine. Then I got pinned with the Battalion’s triangular crest — a distinct honor. All in all, a great welcome – Voila! I had just become a Foreign Legionnaire!
First thing I noticed was that the French Battalion had damned few French. Their ranks were dominated by South Koreans, Katusas (Koreans Attached to the United States Army). French casualties were replaced by Koreans because most legionnaires were engaged in Vietnam; none to spare.
The fine French wine I had fervently looked forward to was cheap red shipped in kegs to Korea from North Africa by way of Vietnam. Our Legionnaires got the dregs — ships offloaded first in Vietnam; what remained went to Korea.
Their ranks were swollen with Koreans – French noncoms and officers, but even their cooks were Korean, all of them. Damn… I’d get no fancy French food! We ate as did the Koreans.
My very first “French” cuisine came from dozens of US Army C ration cans emptied into a big pot, mixed with local scallions and other native veggies (forbidden to eat in my army). Our own C ration pork and beans had magically become a French delicacy.
In my first combat with these guys I toted 5-gallon cans of water to the battle, steeply up Heartbreak Ridge, and carried wounded men back down. As I struggled downhill with a stretcher, a husky French sergeant stumbling past us bleeding from bullet holes in his chest: “Make some coffee,” he gurgled, then collapsed at my feet.
That sergeant recovered, and we later became close friends back in reserve. His name was Pierre Cheval… turns out Pierre’s family owned a small Pensione in Paris, a little rooming house, much like a tiny hotel.
I remained on loan as a pseudo-Frenchman for a couple more weeks.
When I left, Pierre invited me to visit him in Paris. And, as close combat buddies often do, we solemnly vowed to keep in touch forever. But of course we didn’t.
6-22-2018