French Foreign Legion Headquarters
Aubagne, France
General Alain Laiveaux glanced up as someone knocked on his door. “In.”
Natalie Bryden walked in, gave him a shy look. He stood and waved to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit, recruit,” he said and removed two tumblers from the serving cabinet. He pulled the cork from a bottle of Rémy Martin and sloshed two healthy measures into the glasses. He placed one in front of her and sat. He studied her. She was a good-looking girl. Her head had been shaven like the other recruits, but she had her father’s sparkling green eyes. She had freckles on her nose and cheeks, like her mother. If she fattened up a bit, she would be an attractive young lady.
She looked up at him shyly.
“Go ahead, drink,” he said. He tapped a cigarette from the pack and offered her one. She took it and he lit it for her.
“How are you finding the training, my girl?”
She shrugged then took a sip of the cognac. She coughed and lifted her hand to her nose as the liquid dribbled from her nostrils. “Shit, this stuff is strong.” Natalie wiped her nose with the back of her arm. Her hand went to her mouth. “Oops, sorry, General, I didn’t mean to—“
The General laughed. “Don’t worry, my girl.” He cast a mock-glance over his shoulder. “No scary general here to discipline you.”
She smiled, her hands folded in her lap, looking down. Her cigarette was smoking in the ashtray. “The training sucks. Luckily Bruce took me through my paces, so I’m not the worst of the recruits.” She looked up, the corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. “But I’m definitely not the best, either.”
Laiveaux waved a dismissive hand. “You are making history, Natalie. Imagine being the first female to ever complete Legionnaire training.”
She nodded slowly, biting her lower lip.
“Come, come, drink up,” he said, refilling his glass.
She sipped the drink slowly then grimaced.
“You don’t like it?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s nice. I’ve never taken a liking to hard liquor.”
The General tsk-tsked. “We’ll make a soldier of you, yet, my girl.” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers into a pyramid. “How are the other recruits treating you?”
“Fine, under the circumstances.”
Laiveaux sat up and slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “I want names. If any one of those delinquents so much as looks at you awkwardly, I will have them whipped.”
Alexa looked at her lap but didn’t say a word.
The general waited for her to respond.
She looked up and smiled shyly. “Thank you for setting up my living quarters next to your office.”
The general grunted. “A woman needs her privacy. How’s the food?”
She looked at him and smiled. He guffawed and then they both broke out in laughter. He slapped his leg, wiping a tear from his eyes. “Here’s a tip. Scavenge for grubs and insects in the forest.”
She pulled a face.
“You need to keep up your energy levels or you’ll never complete the training. Starvation is a part of the psychological orientation of the recruits.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I cannot afford you any more privileges than you already have.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I know, General. Thank you so much for the opportunity.” She ground the cigarette into the ashtray. She hadn’t taken a single puff.
Laiveaux nodded. “Very well, then.” He stood up. “If there is anything else, please let me know.”
She turned and opened the door to leave.
“One more thing, Natalie.”
She turned to face him. “Yes, General?”
“Grow your hair. Just because you’re training to be a soldier doesn’t mean you can’t look like a woman.”
She frowned. “Are you sure, General?”
He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
She saluted again. “Thank you, General. I think I just might do that.”
She turned around and exited the office, closing the door behind her.
Laiveaux emptied his glass and poured himself another. He had a good feeling about this girl. Her father had been a brilliant man, and her mom was a strong and gorgeous woman. She had the right genes. He hoped she was mentally up to the task.
Natalie bolted upright in her bed as the drill sergeant slammed a fist against her door. “Wake up, recruit! We’re having a four a.m. torture session with your name on it.”
She jumped out of bed and pulled on her uniform and boots. She dashed to the parade ground while tucking her shirt into her pants and fell in with the rest of her platoon. The men were still sleepy, wiping the grit from their eyes and yawning.
“Look lively, dammit,” the sergeant commanded. “We’re going to complete obstacle course three. Whoever doesn’t make it back by —” he checked his watch, “—0600 is out of the program.”
Natalie dashed away without waiting to be dismissed, the other men following behind her. She needed every second she could spare.
Course three was known as the widow-maker. Thirteen miles of undulating dirt track with a variety of obstacles. Her previous best time ever had been a touch over three hours, and now the sergeant wanted them to do it in two.
She stopped and unbuttoned her bulky cotton shirt and tossed it on the ground, then she sat on it and pulled off her boots and her pants. The men trundled past, casting appreciative glances her way, some giving her wolf whistles.
She slipped her boots back on and jumped up. She needed to be as light as possible; mud tended to get stuck on her clothes, weighing it down. She caught up with the men and started passing the straddlers. One man slapped her bottom as she jogged past. “Come on, Bryden, how can you expect us to concentrate when we have to look at your pretty ass?”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Consider it motivation; try and keep up.”
The men chuckled and picked up the pace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Natalie arrived back at the parade ground an hour and forty minutes later. Her hair was matted and caked in mud and she had various rope burns and scratches on her stomach and legs. She bent over, holding onto her knees, then went down on her hands and knees and puked. She wiped her mouth and collapsed onto her back, sucking in rasping breaths. “What time is it?” she asked the drill sergeant.
He checked his watch. “0538,” he answered. “Where are the others?”
“On their way,” she said in between breaths.
He removed his jacket and folded it over her. “I like the way you think, Bryden. Survival means everything. It’s even more important than being shamed.”
She pushed herself up and wrapped the jacket around her shoulders. “Thanks, Sergeant,” she said and stood on shaky legs. She breathed deeply, waiting for her heart rate to steady, then walked to the garden hose and sprayed herself clean. The first men started arriving five minutes later.