Soldier in search of hot spots

Karl Plas was in the French Foreign Legion for five years.

There was nothing angelic about the former senior sacristan at Hamilton's exclusive Southwell School when he was on the wrong end of French Foreign Legion barrack-room justice. He had let the side down through a minor misdemeanour and his mates had been penalised en masse with extra drills while he was made to look on.

Now it was their turn to punish him. In the bunk room, he was told by a colleague to put on his helmet, lower his head and run into the wall. For good measure, he received a couple of swings from a rifle butt as he reeled to his bed to blink the stars from his eyes.

There is no bitterness as Karl Plas recalls the incident. For the son of a Dutch jeweller and English mother from Huntly, it was a price he paid to feed his passion to be a soldier.

Now 43 and living back home in the Waikato, Plas is one of only a few New Zealanders to have served in the Legion, the legendary force set up in 1831 to help to protect French colonies.

He was 21 and working as a trainee retail manager in Huntly and Rotorua when he set off overseas and eventually joined the Legion's ranks in 1983. He had tasted military life in the New Zealand Territorials and wanted more, but felt the New Zealand Army would be too tame.

Plas flew to Israel and observed military life from a kibbutz before presenting himself to Legion recruiting officers in Marseilles, France. He passed medical and intelligence tests, and signed on for five years.

The Legion is made up of 8500 personnel and while it once had a reputation for attracting shady characters, those days are long gone, thanks to rigorous selection processes.

Life is "all found". Clothing, food, accommodation and medical attention are provided in addition to the monthly cheque of $1760 for newcomers, or $2482 for chief corporals.

Recruits come from around the world, but during his time, Plas only ever came across three other Kiwis.

He never encountered Hamish Sands, the Hawkes Bay man who died in captivity in the Ivory Coast in April after an adventurous life which included a spell in the Legion.

"I have heard of him on the grapevine," says Plas. That was because Sands, after nine months' service, was banished by the Legion for "inappropriate behaviour". And that was a puzzle.

"I know of only four ways to get out - killed in action, deserting, discharged on medical grounds, or finish your contract." So what constituted inappropriate behaviour?

"Short of shooting an officer, the worst thing you could do was to bring the uniform into disrepute outside the barracks." What if Sands was wearing civilian clothing? "That could happen only if he stole it. When you join, you're stripped of everything you own, especially your passport. All you get to keep is your watch and shaver."

Plas saw enough action during his five years to dilute his craving "to be where it's happening", serving in places as diverse as Lebanon, Chad, El Salvador, French Guiana and Nicaragua.

He bears a scar from the day two weeks after he joined up when, as a peacekeeper in Beirut, he cheated death by a hair's breadth.

"It was a day of house-to-house combat. I peeped over a parapet and that was all the sniper needed. A bullet went through my helmet and took some skin and hair with it."

He had to learn French by rote, with the help of a training programme and a buddy system "but you paid for it if you got an order wrong".

He remembers the day he swallowed hard when someone barked: "Where the hell's the Kiwi?"

It turned out to be nothing he need worry about. A huge container of food had been flown in and those who opened it needed an interpreter. "New Zealand was all over it - whole hoggets, half pigs, wall-to-wall chops. And the cooks needed advice as well."

Plas acquired the largest sheets of flat metal around, ordered wood, supervised the building of supports and in no time, the biggest barbecue seen in interior Africa was sizzling. "All that sand, no waves and not enough beer for the 1500 who turned up. Really weird."

But it was far from all fun. Plas learned that life can be cheap when you mess with the Legion.

He was one of five English-speaking soldiers who were sent to "do what was necessary" after three Irishmen had signed up to the Legion with the intention of stealing weapons and ammunition. The trio murdered two Legionnaire guards and stole a small arsenal.

Plas and his colleagues were dispatched to search for the men. After days of searching and surveillance, they saw the three going into a pub, and they followed. It soon became apparent they had gatecrashed an IRA cell meeting. Plas would not say where it was, other than "it wasn't Belfast".

"We told them who we were and said we wanted our gear back. They told us to bugger off. We said they wouldn't see us again, but we weren't sure if they knew what that really meant."

Two of the murdering deserters were killed soon after. No one was ever charged. The third got the frights and gave himself up to the Legion in Marseilles. He was given 30 days' hard labour for theft and desertion, then handed over to military authorities who imposed a 25-year sentence for his part in the guards' deaths. For la belle France, honour was satisfied.

On an impulse, after 2 1/2 years' service, Plas pushed his own envelope into the danger zone when he risked being deemed a deserter himself.

During a slice of long duration leave, he obtained a temporary passport from the New Zealand Embassy in Paris and flew home.

On his return to France, he was asked to explain how and why he left the country without regimental permission. His story was accepted ... "after all, I did return within my leave time". He was given a token seven days' imprisonment in barracks, and sent on a sergeants' training course "as a reward for initiative".

Plas did not seek an extension of his five-year contract, not because he didn't like life in the Legion, but because it was time to arrange the future.

He spent a year on Norfolk Island washing cars "just to get my head back" before returning to New Zealand to settle down.

His experience in the Legion changed his view of the world. "Once I was a sacristan. Now, because of where I've been and what I've seen, I'm an agnostic. Who knows?"

The "bash", the shootings, the injuries, the training, the pain ... whatever, Plas still has deep respect for the Legion.

"Your past is left behind and you have a chance to start afresh. You're judged solely on your actions from then on, not by who you were."