I wanted to be a monk, ... A soldiering monk. Giving up everything you've known in your life to be part of this special unit — that appealed to me. I wanted to start fresh. I joined the French Foreign Legion.

[The legion sticks to traditional methods of instruction. A savage punch to the stomach helps most officers make their point, followed by a knee to the face if the recruit objects. Soldiers are put through a punishing physical routine of forced marches with heavy loads, marathon runs of no determined distance, or convict-style projects like filling a vast pit with boulders that have to be lifted by hand.] This ain't an army, ... This is Devil's Island.

Being hungry is something you get very used to in the French Foreign Legion,

I wouldn't recommend the Foreign Legion for a thinking person, ... because it's going to wear you down.

[Amid that shared misery, Salazar formed a bond with his fellows, thugs though many of them were.] In your house you can kick the dog, ... But if I kick your dog, that's a different story. Once you leave the Foreign Legion gates, every man with a kepi blanc is your brother, without question. I can rest assured that if I was ever in any trouble in the south of France there'd be about 20 legionnaires backing me up. And to this day if I see a legionnaire on the street, he's my brother.

hard, professional soldiers who are doing that for lack of another marketable skill.