Authors: Jean Larteguy
The Praetorians
PENGUIN
CLASSICS
THE PRAETORIANS
JEAN LA
RTÃGUY
(b. Jean Pierre Lucien Osty) was born in Maisons-Alfort, a small town just southeast of Paris. In March
1942
, he escaped occupied France for Spain, where he spent time in prison before joining the Free French Forces. He served seven years of military service in North Africa and Korea, during which he earned various military awards. After being wounded by a grenade, Lartéguy turned to writing, working as a journalist and war correspondent. He covered conflicts in eastern Europe, the Middle East, southeast Asia, and North Africa, primarily for the magazine
Paris Match
. In
1955
, he earned the Albert Londres Prize for his reporting in Indochina. A prolific writer, Lartéguy's body of work includes more than thirty works of fiction and nonfiction, most of which focus on the consequences of war and decolonization in the twentieth century. He is best remembered for his Algerian War trilogy, consisting of
The Mercenaries
(
1954
),
The Centurions
(
1960
), and
The Praetorians
(
1961
).
The Centurions
, an overnight sensation and bestseller in France, became a film titled
Lost Command
, starring Anthony Quinn, in
1966
. Though he died in
2011
, his significance as a chronicler of irregular warfare continues to rise with the proliferation of modern guerrilla warfare and counterinsurgency tactics.
A retired four-star general,
STANLEY MCCHRYSTAL
is the former commander of U.S. and International Security Assistance Force in Afghanistan and Joint Special Operations Command. General McChrystal is the cofounder of McChrystal Group, LLC, and a senior fellow at Yale University's Jackson Institute for Global Affairs, where he teaches a course on Leadership in Operation. He is also the chairman of the Aspen Institute's Franklin Project, dedicated to promoting national service initiatives among American youth. He is the author of two
New
York Times
bestselling books:
My Share of the Task: A Memoir
and
Team of Teams: New Rules of Engagement for a Complex World.
General McChrystal resides in Alexandria, Virginia, with his wife of thirty-nine years, Annie.
ALEXANDER (XAN) WALLAC
E FIELDING
was a British author and translator. He served in the Special Operations Executive in the British Army in Crete, France, and the Far East. The author of several books of his own, he also translated works by Pierre Boulle, Jean Lartéguy, and others from French into English. He died in Paris in
1991
.
PENGUIN
BOOKS
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375
Hudson Street
New York, New York
10014
First published in Great Britain by Hutchinson & Co. (Publishers) Ltd.
1963
First published in the United States of America by E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc.
1963
This edition with a foreword by Stanley McChrystal published in Penguin Books
2016
Copyright ©
1961
by Presses de la Cite, an imprint of Place de Editeurs Translation
Copyright ©
1963
by Penguin Random House LLC and The Random House Group
Foreword copyright ©
2016
by Stanley McChrystal
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Originally published in French as
Les Praetorians
by Presses de la Cite.
ISBN
9781101992593
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover illustration: Ed Fairburn
Version_1
Foreword by
GENERAL STANLEY M
c
CHRYSTAL
(
U.S.
Army, Retired)
THE PRAETORIANS
2
. The Three Notes of the Toad of Saint-Gilles-de-Valreyne
4
. The Parade at the République
7
. The
Chouchouka
of the
13
th of May
8
. That Morning Anything was Possible
10
. The
Zaouia
of Sheik Sidi Ahmou
Go, tell the Spartans, stranger passing by,
That here, obedient to their laws, we lie.
âEPITAPH ON THE CENOTAPH OF THERMOPYLAE
As the Greek historian Herodotus records, in
480
BC
a pitifully small force of Spartan soldiers stood defiantly in the face of an immense Persian Army, and, in a display of courage and willing sacrifice, died.
For many, King Leonidas's Spartans, like the Roman Centurions and Praetorians who came later, have come to symbolize the apogee of soldiering, red cloaks on stalwart shoulders, arms scarred by battleâwar-seasoned professionals. They are the rough men whose presence, George Orwell suggests, allows others to sleep in peace. They are at once from the society they defend and yet detached from it.
In the years following World War II, the cloak was replaced by a parachute harness and camouflaged battle uniforms. Paratroopers, intrepid men who jumped behind enemy lines carrying a submachine gun and boot knife, became the darlings of a war where killing had gone industrially impersonal. Although they leveraged technology that was brand new, paratroopers suggested a romantic vision of combat where the individual was more than a nameless part of a larger machine.
In
1974
at West Point, in a course titled Revolutionary Warfare, I studied Malaya and Kenya, Korea and the Philippines. Unconventional or “guerrilla” warriors Francis Marion, Tito, Castro, and Mao became familiar figures. But it was
Indochina, precursor to the war my father and brother fought in South Vietnam, and Algeria that resonated. It was as a cadet that I first read Jean Lartéguy's
The Centurions
, and later
The Praetorians
. The infantry major who taught the course had us analyze the characters and consider the message. We followed Colonel Raspéguy, the instinctive warrior, and his officers; Esclavier, the complicated intellectual; Glatigny, the traditionalist-turned-paratrooper; Boisfeuras, the wily operative; the surgeon Dia; and others as the bitter experiences of Indochina were seared into their psyche. “People's wars,” we concluded, would demand something fundamentally different from us than would more conventional struggles. Our major, shaped by his own Vietnam experience, subtly reinforced the message.
It was simultaneously a realistic, and yet romanticized, view of complex, brutal conflicts. Paratroopers dropping voluntarily into already-doomed Dien Bien Phu or combing rugged mountains for an elusive foe in a futile struggle careening to failure was not an attractive template for a life of purpose. But the role held a seductive appeal; it was a temptress that I, and some of my peers, willingly courted.
It wasn't the most heavily traveled path. The American Army we joined in the mid-
1970
s was turning away from the agony of Vietnam and looked instinctively to Europe (and soon the Middle East) for mission and purpose. Through the years of the Cold War, the Soviet Army's frightening mass of tanks, artillery, and soldiers had loomed as a constant menace to Europe. But the
1973
Arab-Israeli War reflected dramatically improved weapons technology and signaled a new era of conventional warfare. For many, it was a welcome reason to turn our backs on the frustrations of revolutionary wars. The tanker and artilleryman regained the stature they'd lost to America's temporary fixation on the jungles of Southeast Asia.
But for some, the allure remained. As a young Lieutenant in
1977
I reported to the famed
82
nd Airborne Division. I donned the uniform, topped by a maroon beret, with the hope that before long I'd have the sinewy physique, steady nerves, and nonchalant demeanor of a veteran warriorâthe outward traits of the paratroopers Lartéguy introduces us to in
The Centurions
and then examines more deeply in
The Praetorians
. Soon, my comrades and I learned the trade of young paratroop officersâfrom siting machine guns to dealing with strong-willed senior sergeants.
It would have been impossible to be quite as competent, courageous, and attractive to women as our French counterparts Lartéguy portrays, but at least superficially, mimicking warriors we admired was straightforward. Like Lartéguy's characters, however, we'd learn over the years, careers, and wars ahead, almost everything else was far more complex.
In its simplest description, a soldier's role is to master and execute the mechanics of war. Doctrinally, the policy before, and the way ahead after combat are the purview of others. From a distance this clear delineation between the civilians who craft a policy for war and the soldiers who fight it is comfortingly distinct. The paradox emerges when the inevitable reality blurs the line.
Lartéguy's veterans leave Indochina with two deeply held conclusions. The first is that wars can be won only by an army that is willing and able to mobilize its soldiers and the people with a narrative that inspires. The Viet Minh's unexpected triumph over the French Empire convinced them that an already discredited status quo (in that case, colonialism) is indefensible. They vowed that the next time they fought, they would have a cause worth believing in.
Recently we have been reminded that that cause must be broad enough to inspire more than just those in uniform. Entering Afghanistan in
2001
, propelled by the cause of
9
/
11
-fueled righteous indignation, we soon recognized that our cause did not automatically resonate with Afghansâthe World Trade Towers had no tangible reality. And despite a general dislike of the recently ousted Taliban and a deep disdain for the largely foreign Al Qaeda, the Afghan people were soon frustrated by the formation of a government that at the local level felt much like the corrupt warlords they'd learned to abhor in the
1990
s. As a result, recruiting young men to risk their lives in service was a tough sell. They were instinctively attracted to patriotism and a sense of nation but were revolted by their up-close experience
with actual conditions. Countless good people worked tirelessly to push the effort forward but, like Sisyphus, often watched the stone roll back down.
It was difficult even for us. As soldiers, we sought to find cause in our fight against Al Qaeda, the Taliban, and threats to our homeland, but, like Colonel Raspéguy's frustrated young officers,
opposition
to something is not enough. Sustained commitment requires the sustenance of belief. You must have something to fight
for
.
Lartéguy's veterans' second conclusion is more subtle: that any war fought in a manner sure to lead to defeat is stupidâand to fight stupidly is immoral. They decided that because losing was wrong, any tactics or measures necessary to win were therefore the right ones. On examination, it's flawed logic that can begin a long downward slide on a slippery surface. But the complex struggle that enshrouds a nation and society at war with itself does not take place in a rhetoric class on a university campus. It occurs on a battlefield strewn with the shattered detritus of internecine carnage. The desire to win is as much visceral as it is logical.
For Colonel Raspéguy's men, the quest for critical intelligence leads to torture, while in seemingly contradictory behavior, their objective of gaining popular support produces civil engagement ranging from schools to infrastructure projects. Driven by experience, they are unwilling to accept a narrow view of the mission. Close to the problem, they conclude that their perspective is most accurate; their solution, most appropriate. Directives and guidance from afar are dismissed with disdain.
Ultimately, when Lartéguy's Praetorians take an active role in Algerianâand therefore French Nationalâpolitics, it reflects a natural evolution that began with their disillusionment and resulting conclusions with the failure in Indochina. Their traditional military aversion to any political involvement fades with the specter of yet another defeat. But this new endeavor is a poor fit for soldiers for whom the gravitational pull of traditional military values is still present, the habits strong. Neophytes to political intrigue, in failure they retreat to the security of what
they know: a more traditional, narrower view of a soldier's role. And in doing so they conclude and accept that another defeat is inevitable.
Like most books, Lartéguy's characters and story appear in the hue and focus of the reader's personal lens. For some, the paratroopers are an arrogant, swaggering lot who abandon the sacred covenants that govern the profession of arms. Like a drug prescribed that does more harm than good, they no longer reflect a responsible option for the nation they are sworn to represent.
But in the minds of soldiers I led and knew, in the psyche of today's paratroopers and special operators who most closely resemble the small society Lartéguy describes, there is no consensus or simple conclusion. The constant tension between politically correct and practically expedient, or between unquestioning obedience and a broader interpretation of responsibility is undeniable. The academic debate feels irrelevant in the complexity of the alleys of a violence-wracked city in Iraq or astride the illogic of the Durand Line. There is a very real temptation to abandon the confines of conventionality and “do what it takes.”
There are few answers in
The Praetorians
, but a multitude of questions. There are no tactics to adopt or figures worthy of unexamined emulation. But for soldiers, and those who would have a need or desire to understand them, there is food for thought. At its outset analysts typically declare “this war is different.” And the maps, names, uniforms, and technology often areâbut much remains the same. Each time we will wrestle with questions that defy simple answers. Each time, each soldier will find the need to answer the truly difficult questions for themselves.
In the hurricane-like political atmosphere of Algiers, as their excursion in politics collapses in failure, one of the paratroopers' own lashes out at them in frustration: “I took you for men, and you're nothing but good soldiers . . .”
GENERAL STANLEY M
C
CHRYSTAL
(
U.S.
Army,
Retired)