‘’COME ON, YOU MAGGOTS! GET OUT OF THIS BUS AND LINE UP IN ONE
RANK, QUICKLY!’
The 24 young men aboard the military bus that had just arrived from the local train station hurried up as much as they could, dragging their suitcases and travel bags with them out of the bus and lining up in a rather disorderly fashion by the side of it. Kin, who had been extensively briefed by both Fernand Brunet and Jean Bigras about what to expect during his training as a recruit and on how to behave, stoically took place in the line and dropped his kit bag on the ground before standing rigidly at attention. Other recruits who couldn’t help look around them at their new environment attracted at once the hire of the alpine hunter sergeant in charge of ‘welcoming’ them.
‘’STOP TWISTING AROUND LIKE WIND GAUGES, YOU PIECES OF SHIT!
YOU ARE NOW IN THE ARMY!’
Seeing a recruit who still was glancing around, the NCO charged towards him and stopped only a few centimeters short of his nose, then screamed at the top of his lungs.
‘’LOOKING FOR YOUR MOTHER, BOY? SHE’S NOT HERE, BUT I AM! STOP
MOVING AND STAND AT ATTENTION!’
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‘’Uh, yes, mister!’ could only say the terrified young man, something that made the NCO explode.
‘’DON’T CALL ME MISTER, BOY! MY FIRST NAME IS ‘SERGEANT’!’
‘’Yes, Sergeant!’
‘’WHAT? I DIDN’T HEAR YOU!’
‘’YES, SERGEANT!’
‘’Aaah, that’s better!’ said the NCO before taking a few steps back to face the line of 24 recruits. ‘’LISTEN UP, AND LISTEN UP WELL, MAGGOTS! I AM
SERGEANT CHARLES VILLEMIN AND I WILL BE YOUR CHIEF-INSTRUCTOR FOR
YOUR GROUP. YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AND OTHER NCOs BY OUR RANKS, WHILE YOU WILL ADDRESS OFFICERS AS ‘SIR’. I WILL NOW DO A ROLL CALL OF
YOUR GROUP. WHEN NAMED, SCREAM ‘SERGEANT’ AT ONCE, IF YOU DON’T
WANT TO FEEL MY BOOT UP YOUR ASS!’
Using a list fixed to a clipboard which a corporal handed to him, the NCO then started to call the names of the recruits in alphabetic order, marking their name when they answered. When Kin answered in turn, the greying sergeant took good note of his impressive physique but did not comment verbally on it and continued with his roll call.
He however had to repeat three times a name near the end of his list, without getting an answer.
‘’CLAUDE POULENC!... CLAUDE POULENC! WELL, WELL, IT SEEMS THAT
WE HAVE A DESERTER IN YOUR LOT: TOO BAD FOR HIM! AS FOR THE REST OF
YOU, I WILL NOW LEAD YOU TO YOUR QUARTERS, WHERE YOU WILL BE ABLE
TO DROP OFF YOUR LUGGAGE BEFORE PAYING A VISIT TO OUR BARBER
SHOP. PLATOON, LEFT TURN! NO! THE OTHER LEFT, YOU NINNIE!’
With the sergeant continuing to scream orders as they went, the group of recruits walked to a three-story-high stone building some 150 meters away and climbed its stairs, ending up in a long room on the second floor where double bunk beds were lined on two parallel rows along the walls. Large windows provided good illumination, while footlockers lay at the foot of each bunk bed. There was also a long line of wooden lockers along one wall.
‘’ALRIGHT, DROP YOUR THINGS ON ONE OF THOSE BEDS, THEN FORM
BACK INTO A LINE, SO THAT WE COULD THEN GO VISIT THE BARBER SHOP.
MAKE IT QUICK!’
Kin, who was near the head of the line, hurried at once to one of the lower beds at the end of the room, managing to put his kit bag on it before some other recruit could take it.
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Other recruits however were not as quick or decisive as him and wasted time trying to find what they thought were the best beds, only to end up with top bunks. Again, the sergeant noted Kin’s speed in reacting to his orders and mentally gave him a good note for that, something reinforced by the fact that Kin was the sole one in the group marked as a ‘volunteer enlistee’ rather than ‘conscript’ on the roll call list. Promising himself to follow closely the progress of this particular recruit, Villemin then had the recruits form back into a single line, then marched them out of the barracks building and into an adjacent building quite similar to the first. There, the recruits were made to sit on chairs lining one wall of a barber shop where three military barbers were waiting for them.
Then, each recruit was shaved closely, leaving them with only very short haircuts. As for Kin’s short beard and moustache, his hopes of being able to keep them were dashed by a few merciless passes by an electric clipper. While that hurt a bit his ego, he had been clearly told by Fernand Brunet to expect to lose them, so he endured the process in stoic silence.
From the barber shop, the group of recruits next proceeded to the quartermaster section of the school, where they were to receive their uniforms and personal kit. That was when Kin hit his first major snag: no uniform size could fit him, being either too narrow or too long. Sergeant Villemin, along with the master sergeant in charge of the quartermaster section, were scratching their heads about how to resolve that problem when Captain Lemire, the officer in charge of the recruits, entered the section, followed by a corporal carrying a large box, prompting a shout from Villemin.
‘’ROOM!’
Villemin and the quartermaster then saluted their officer, who saluted back.
‘’At ease! Master Sergeant Mirabeau, I got a visit from someone who anticipated that we would have problems fitting out one of our new recruits. We have also received some special instructions from Paris about that recruit, along with a bundle of specially cut regulation clothing and kit that could fit him. Chasseur Kin Comeau, step forward!’
Kin, who had like the other recruits undressed down to his shorts and socks for the fitting out session, stepped forward at once and stopped at attention two paces from Lemire, who eyed him critically up and down. The confidential information he had just received had boggled his mind but one look at Kin’s massive, muscular body convinced him that what he had been told was true. The trick now for him was going to cater to those special instructions from Paris without raising cries of preferential treatment. Lemire
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dealt with that dilemma by using the oldest method known to the French Army: issue orders but no or little explanations and tell anyone protesting them to put up and shut up.
‘’Chasseur Comeau, Paris sent to us a complete set of clothing and personal kit specially made to your unusual size, so that you could be able to serve without having to worry about wearing an improperly-sized military dress. Also, because of your enormous muscular mass, which necessitates a higher caloric intake than that of an average man, the Commandant of the Alpine Hunters has authorized that you be issued a double rations scale during your service, for which financial arrangements have already been made by Paris to cover the extra cost of those rations.’
‘’Thank you, sir!’ replied Kin, who saluted Lemire. Lemire saluted back, then told his corporal to pass his bundle to Kin.
‘’Master Sergeant Mirabeau, have one of your store clerks explain to Chasseur Comeau how to wear and care for his kit. You may now resume the kitting out session.’
Everybody again came to attention and saluted as Captain Lemire turned around and left. Seeing that many of the recruits were now looking at Kin with what looked like suspicion and resentment at a perceived double standard, Sergeant Villemin went back into screaming mode.
‘’WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? CONTINUE TRYING OUT YOUR NEW KIT!
WE DON’T HAVE ALL DAY!’
Now wearing a complete set of uniforms, called ‘dress’ in the alpine hunters’
special jargon, and carrying the rest of their kit in bulging kit bags, the new recruits left the quartermaster section a good hour later and walked back to their quarters, where they were told to drop their new kit in their assigned lockers, along with their civilian effects. There, Villemin and his marching junior NCO, Master Corporal Pierre Lacaille, took another hour to show to the recruits the finer points about wearing properly and caring for their new kit, including their emblematic large, dark blue berets, called ‘Alpine pies’. By then, it was time for lunch, so Villemin had the 24 recruits walk in formation to the central cafeteria, which gave him more occasions to scream invectives at their disorderly walk.
Lining up with the other new recruits and with more senior recruits in the lineup to the food counters, Kin grabbed a set of utensils and a food tray and read the menu, which had been scribbled on a chalkboard: it listed cabbage soup, boiled potatoes and
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ham. Hoping that the word about him getting double rations had been passed along to the cooks, Kin advanced slowly with the line, finally arriving at the steam tables, where he started by filling a bowl of cabbage soup for himself and putting it on his tray. Next, he arrived at the meat station, where a cook put one slice of ham on his plate. However, Kin didn’t move, waiting for a second slice. The cook threw him an irritated look then.
‘’Hey, you’ve been served. Move on!’
‘’I was told that I would get double servings, Corporal.’
‘’Who told you that?’
‘’Captain Lemire, Corporal.’
‘’Bunk! Move on before…’
The sergeant head cook in charge of the kitchen then intervened, patting the shoulder of his corporal.
‘’Didn’t you read the morning directives, Durand? Serve him another slice.’
‘’Yes, Sergeant!’ replied the corporal, who then nearly threw a second slice of ham on Kin’s plate while giving him a dark look.
‘’Next!’
Taking that incident out of his mind, Kin then collected four large boiled potatoes from the next cook before proceeding to the beverage counter, where he served himself two glasses of milk and a glass of cold water. Contrary to the other recruits, he didn’t pour himself a glass of red table wine, which was traditionally served at all meals in all French military cafeterias and messes. While he had drank alcohol before at the Time Patrol base, he was not fond of drinking and avoided alcohol as much as possible. Before heading for a long table occupied by his platoon, he made a last stop at the bread and salad bar, cutting for himself a few thick slices of bread, along with some butter. The recruits at his table couldn’t help eye his full tray when he sat down, with one of them staring at Kin’s plate.
‘’You really eat this much at every meal? But you are not fat. How come?’
‘’Different metabolism, guys. If I would eat normal portions, I would then slowly starve.’
‘’Do you practice weightlifting, to have such big muscles, Kin?’ asked a recruit named André Jonquière, a thin young conscript with an intellectual penchant with whom Kin had spoken with in the train which had brought them to Chamonix.
‘’I was born this way, André, but I do exercise every day in order to stay fit.’
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Kin kept it at that and concentrated into eating quickly his meal, expecting Sergeant Villemin to order them out soon enough. In that, he was right, as the recruits were made to leave the cafeteria after less than half an hour inside.
The drill exercise, made on the large parade square of the school during the whole afternoon, proved to be the most fastidious and unpleasant activity of the day, with Sergeant Villemin serving the recruits a juicy collection of swear words while he taught them the basic rudiments of military drill, all that done under a bright Sun and a cold wind. By five o’clock, all the recruits were shivering on the wind-swept parade square while also sweating from the frantic pace of the drill exercise. All except Kin that is, who still appeared fresh and comfortable as Villemin, himself getting quite tired but not showing it to the recruits, was about to conclude the drill practice.
‘’This Kin doesn’t only look tough: he is tough!’ thought the old NCO to himself, who usually trained mostly conscript recruits from urban environments who were not accustomed to physically rough conditions or work. However, if those recruits thought that their day of labor was about done, then they had another thing coming.
21:07 (Paris Time)
New recruits’ quarters
‘’YOU NOW HAVE LESS THAN ONE HOUR TO CLEAN YOUR KITS AND
WASH UP! LIGHTS OUT AT TEN!’
More than one recruit let out a sigh of relief at that announcement by Master Corporal Lacaille, their marching NCO: the day had gone by without hardly any break, except to go eat. Even that had to be done in a hurry, their instructors pushing them on constantly. After Lacaille left their dormitory, the recruits shed off their clothes and grabbed their towels and soap, then headed for the nearby communal shower room, situated on the other side of the hallway. André Jonquière, who was also heading for the showers, stopped by Kin’s bed when he saw that his new friend was not taking off his uniform.
‘’You’re not going to go have a shower, Kin?’
‘’Later!’ replied Kin while taking out a shoe brush and a can of black shoe polish.
‘’I’m going to clean and shine my boots first.’
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‘’Uh, okay!’ said André, who then walked out of the dormitory. Kin followed him a minute later, but went instead to the communal kit washing room, where big vats and a few large sinks were used to clean off mud and dust from their boots and equipment.
Despite having lived nearly all his life in the ultra-modern facilities of the Time Patrol’s secret base, Kin had also been surrounded and coached by field agents who were nearly all military veterans and who were accustomed to, as Fernand Brunet and Otto Skorzeni had said a few times, ‘clean up our own shit’ and who preferred the good old manual cleaning methods instead of simply letting cleaning robots do the work. Besides, his early childhood as a Neanderthal boy had taught Kin that, if he wanted something to be done, then he had to do it himself and not dither about it. So, he rinsed and brushed off the mud from his boots and dried them with a rag, then started applying a new coat of shoeshine on them. He was in the process of patiently polishing his boots to mirror-like appearance when a loud raucous broke out, coming from the direction of the communal shower room. Leaving his boots on the counter next to his washing sink, Kin stuck his head out of the washing room to see what was going on. Anger and irritation flashed in him on seeing what appeared to be a large group of more senior recruits forcibly running out his platoon comrades from the shower room, beating the naked junior recruits with tightly rolled wet towels while shouting invectives and insults. Kin understood at once what was happening: Fernand Brunet, Jean Bigras and many other field agents with military backgrounds had told him many stories about the kind of violent hazing and harassment that new recruits could expect from the more senior recruits, who took out their day’s frustrations on their juniors at the same time as they proclaimed their status as more senior recruits. Still, although this was supposed to be an old tradition, Kin felt anger at this demonstration of abuse: those being beaten were after all his new comrades. Charging out of the washing room at a fast pace, Kin shouted as loud as his oversized lungs allowed him.
‘’STOP THIS, YOU BUNCH OF ASSHOLES!’
The senior recruits froze and twisted their heads towards him at once, surprised to hear some resistance. One of them then grinned and pointed at Kin.
‘’THERE’S ANOTHER ONE OF THEM! LET’S TEACH HIM A LESSON!’
That senior recruit then advanced on Kin while holding high his wet towel, ready to strike Kin with it, as three other senior recruits closely followed him. Kin did not back off or fled, as the senior recruits had expected him to do. Instead, he charged the leading recruit at a run while yelling, both of his arms up in front of him and bent. His forearms
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slammed hard into the chest of the leading senior recruit, with the impact projecting him backward with enough force to cause the other senior recruit following him to lose his balance and fall on his back, slamming hard on the wooden floor. Kin then stopped a third senior recruit from hitting him by grabbing his right wrist and crushing it, making the recruit scream with pain and losing his grip on his wet towel. Grabbing himself that twisted wet towel, Kin then started swinging it around him like a flail and continuing to yell savagely, using all of his huge strength while doing so and sending senior recruit after senior recruit either falling down or fleeing. That proved too much for the band of abusers, who then fled back as a group to their own dormitory, pursued by Kin’s taunts.
‘’SO, YOU’RE NOT THAT BRAVE OR TOUGH, AREN’T YOU, YOU BUNCH OF
WIMPS?! DON’T EVER FUCK AROUND AGAIN WITH PLATOON NUMBER THREE!’
Making sure first that the senior recruits would not regroup for a second attack, Kin then looked at his platoon comrades, who were all starring at him with disbelief.
‘’Well, what are you waiting for? Finish your showers, so that I could take mine afterwards.’
André Jonquière, who had received quite a few hits from wet towels and now sported a few bruises, thanked him by grabbing and shaking his right hand.
‘’Kin, you are one great guy and a real friend!’
‘’Bof! What are friends for, except to help their comrades?’
05:00 (Paris Time)
Monday, March 21, 1955 ‘B’
Dormitory of Number Three Platoon
École Militaire de Haute Montagne