Jungle Mission

By René Riesen

Jungle Mission is a poignant account of René Riesen’s life and mission during the First Indochina War amongst the Montagnards, and his ever growing love for these people by going native, learning their language, their traditions, their rituals, and their way of life.

During World War II, Riesen worked briefly for the Vichy government and, following liberation, received a 20-year prison sentence. He volunteered to serve in the “BILOM” (Bataillon Leger d’Infanterie d’Outre-Mer), where WWII political prisoners could redeem themselves.

Arriving in Saigon in May 1950 as a Colonial Infantry “2eme Classe” soldier affected to the BILOM—which by then had ceased to exist and most of its soldiers assigned to the BMEO (“Bataillon de Marche Extreme Orient”) created in January 1950—Riesen was assigned to the 1st Company, 4th BMEO at the outpost of Kon Plong, controlling access to the coastal plains of Son Ha and Ba To; this post was located about a day’s travel away from Kontum, positioned on a 1,800m high peak, where the rainy season lasted about seven months, with thick fog present almost every day.

In December 1950, the 4th BMEO was renamed to the 4th Montagnard battalion, and its HQ remained at Ban Mé Thuot whilst its Battalions operated around Kontum. Riesen would go on to serve four years in the Kontum area and joined the GCMA after its formation, serving under Captain Hentic (“L’action Hre”).

For his services in French Indochina, Corporal Riesen was awarded the French Croix de Guerre, the Croix des T.O.E (Théâtres d’opérations extérieures) and the Croix de la Vaillance Vietnamienne, with palm for his actions in French Indochina.

As with many others, following his tour in Indochina Riesen was sent to the much quieter operational theatre of Algeria; however, this area too did not remain peaceful for long, escalating quickly into full warfare, and Riesen and his wife died during an ambush by Arabs in December 1956.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Borodino Books
• Release date: Jun 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781787205611

René Riesen

RENÉ RIESEN was a decorated French partisan officer and paratrooper sergeant who fought during the First Indochina War and became very close to the indigenous people. During World War II, Riesen worked briefly for the Vichy government and, following liberation, received a 20-year prison sentence. He volunteered to serve in the “BILOM” (Bataillon Leger d’Infanterie d’Outre-Mer), where WWII political prisoners could redeem themselves. Arriving in Saigon in May 1950 as a Colonial Infantry “2eme Classe” soldier affected to the BILOM—which by then had ceased to exist and most of its soldiers assigned to the BMEO (“Bataillon de Marche Extreme Orient”) created in January 1950—Riesen was assigned to the 1st Company, 4th BMEO at the outpost of Kon Plong, controlling access to the coastal plains of Son Ha and Ba To; this post was located about a day’s travel away from Kontum, positioned on a 1,800m high peak, where the rainy season lasted about seven months, with thick fog present almost every day. In December 1950, the 4th BMEO was renamed to the 4th Montagnard battalion, and its HQ remained at Ban Mé Thuot whilst its Battalions operated around Kontum. Riesen would go on to serve four years in the Kontum area and joined the GCMA after its formation, serving under Captain Hentic (“L’action Hre”). For his services in French Indochina, Corporal Riesen was awarded the French Croix de Guerre, the Croix des T.O.E (Théâtres d’opérations extérieures) and the Croix de la Vaillance Vietnamienne, with palm for his actions in French Indochina. As with many others, following his tour in Indochina Riesen was sent to the much quieter operational theatre of Algeria; however, this area too did not remain peaceful for long, escalating quickly into full warfare, and Riesen and his wife died during an ambush by Arabs in December 1956.

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Text originally published in 1957 under the same title.

© Borodino Books 2017, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

JUNGLE MISSION

RENÉ RIESEN

Translated by

JAMES OLIVER

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

ILLUSTRATIONS 4

CHAPTER I — ON THE MARCH 5

CHAPTER II — SOLDIERING 12

CHAPTER III — JUNGLE BATTLE TRAINING 18

CHAPTER IV — IN THE ALAKHONE COUNTRY 33

CHAPTER V — THE SACRIFICE 39

CHAPTER VI — LIFE AND DEATH 46

CHAPTER VII — ALONE 56

CHAPTER VIII — BIGAMY 65

CHAPTER IX — THE GREAT EROHÉ’S DEATH 75

CHAPTER X — HARVEST FESTIVAL 82

CHAPTER XI — THE TIGER 88

CHAPTER XII — MANHUNT 108

CHAPTER XIII — MIST CAMP 121

CHAPTER XIV — ONG-DIA-KIOU 129

CHAPTER XV — ANTS 142

CHAPTER XVI — DEATH OF CREY THE BAHNAR 151

CHAPTER XVII — END OF THE MIST 159

APPENDIX — THE ORIGIN OF THE MOIS—A LEGEND 164

The Orchid Legend 165

The Birth of Ri-Ada 165

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 178

ILLUSTRATIONS

The author and his wife, Ilouhi

Drinking from alcohol jars

In the Moï uplands

Fish caught with grenades

A group of Hrés

‘Monkey bridge’ made of lianas

A parley with the chiefs

A tigress weighing three hundred weight

A remote hut in the Moï forest

Doctor Freysle and René Riesen

Crossing the Dak Hré

Asian crocodile

Fording the Dak Léan

CHAPTER I — ON THE MARCH

THE day before, I had left our outpost at Kon-Plong, leading four sections of partisans, and on this second evening we had pitched camp at another day’s march from our destination—Kon-Pong, an Alakhone village whose chief, Djerö, was expecting us.

The Alakhones are a Moï{1} people belonging to the Bahnar tribe, and the Moïs were our most loyal allies in our struggle against the Viet-Minhs on the plateaus of the Annamite mountains.

We had few enemies among them. But though most of them were fighting on our side, there were still groups of them in the no man’s land between the Nationalist and the Communist zones who wanted to have nothing to do with the fighting. The Alakhones were a group of this sort, and we were going to explore their territory with a view to discussing an alliance with them eventually.

Originally wandering hunters, they had settled down in more recent times on the alluvial valleys of the foothills, almost bordering the coastal plain occupied by Annamites of Bong-Son province, beside the China Sea. Since they had become settled and peaceful, clearing the ground in the heart of the forest which cut them off from the world, the Alakhones intended to keep away from any quarrels between the white and yellow races.

Having lost any outlet to the sea, they sometimes went instead to our outpost at Kon-Plong, to exchange their produce for salt and dried fish, drinking jars and cloth, which they had previously bought from the Annamite bazaars. Nobody had yet come to disturb them, in spite of the progress and the struggles for influence made by the French, the Japanese, and the Viet-Minhs on the tracks of their own forests.

They had been lucky, these Alakhones, but their time seemed to be up. Their old enemy, the Yoane{2} from the direction of Bong-Son, was exploring their country, making fresh tracks, occupying village after village, extending his field of influence and action.

Djerö wanted no Yoanes around him, being well aware of the fate that awaited him, as refugees from the eastern tribes had told him all about that. Left to himself, he had no chance, so he had turned to the white men who had held the outpost of Kon-Plong for four years, only three days’ march to the west of his village and some sixty miles north of Kontum, the town on the plateau. He knew the French. They had never given him any trouble, and had always helped him in his trading. He knew that they would not trick him, for they were friendly to the hillmen.

In danger from the Viets, Djerö had sent messengers to our outpost. In response to this appeal our job was to get into touch with him to find out his plans, gather information, and defend him in case of need.

Our detachment had a hundred rifles, with eight Tommy guns for group-leaders and a machine-gun with four native gunners, Colonial veterans, who were my escort. The recruits had grenades and fuses for booby-traps in an ambush. As for the coolies who carried ammo, supplies, and trading goods, they still had the crossbow, spear or broadsword with which they had joined up as partisans. For myself, I had a Tommy gun, four grenades, and a revolver, the idea of which was to give me some prestige if discussions proved difficult.

The full strength of the column was two hundred, including some partisans’ wives, who were following their lords and masters into guerilla warfare. They were no less valuable than their husbands, as they made contacts, took messages, and aroused the fighting spirit of their men.

We had not met a soul in our two days’ advance through the forest. Only gibbons, macaws, and other parrots had greeted our invasion of their domain with a chorus of chattering and gnashing of teeth.

Our first night’s camp passed off without incident, and on the second night we again called a halt before nightfall. As before we had to employ the last moments of daylight in clearing the ground for those on guard and for positions in case of attack, because in the dark every footstep on the virgin soil raised a shining dust which might reveal our presence to an enemy.

We camped at the foot of a jungle hillock, from which a stream flowed through a wooded hollow with pools of clear blue water. A pool of this sort, reflecting the light of the sky, appeared to be a brilliant image of life, but this transparence was deceptive, for it concealed the poisons of rotting vegetable matter in a bed of oozing slime. Small bubbles of a deadly gas rose to the surface, and no animal ever came to quench its thirst there.

Leaves and branches of ancient trees struck by lightning strewed the ground. The mosses and fungus of natural decay had the phosphorescence which goes with rotting vegetation.

It was ten o’clock at night. The moon made a gleaming path of light through the network of branches, traced circles of silver on the dark tapestry of the undergrowth, and played on the ripples of the stream flowing close at hand.

I made the round of the camp before changing the guards. I was unable to sleep despite the weariness brought on by a day’s wandering—for we had lost our way. We had had to squelch about for hours in marshy ground before getting back to solid earth and finding the track through the jungle. I was utterly worn out, yet my mind kept on the alert.

Hell, how lonely I was! Alone—an evening without a date, as we used to say. I sat down on a mossy tree-trunk, and, with my Tommy gun beside me, let the light from the gleaming bark play over my fingers, while I listened to the life of the night which rose like a breath into the air around me.

A sound—what was that? The men on guard. I should have gone and sworn at them, to keep a silent watch, quiet in their movements to and fro.

It was not fear but the loneliness which affected me. It was no use saying anything to them. Inch Allah! What must be, will be. Certainly nothing was happening at the moment, for I could hear the call of the roebucks coming closer in the woods. It was all a result of nervous tension. It was a perfect night, and the Viets either did not know where we were or were out to find us. So much was possible, but it was quite certain that they were not searching in our direction.

Then, what was up? Up there were the stars advancing slowly through clouds in the depths of the sky, threads of mist trailing behind them. France was far away, it was true, and the quiet settled life of home seemed like a dream of long ago. But as I pondered, I preferred life in the jungle, even with its fear of the unknown.

After all, I was not so much alone as all that. Ilouhi, the young Hré girl whom the chiefs gave me in marriage before we left the outpost, was a very great help. She was a sort of psychological barometer, both on the trail and at every village we reached. She carried my Tommy gun, did the cooking, and prepared our sleeping quarters every night. She was wife to the leader of the expedition and rapidly became aware of the fact, so that the orderlies whom she instructed to prepare the camp at each stopping-place obeyed her as such. The partisans called her Mi-Kane, the great mother, a title which had nothing to do with her age, for she was only nineteen and very pretty, with a statuesque figure worthy of a Greek sculptor.

This union of a young Moï girl with one of the devils from the West was aimed at the conquest of a territory the size of a French department. As a matter of fact she was the first girl from these tribes who had ever married a ‘Boc’ or European—under orders too, for she was against it and did not like the idea. Yet we came to agree. It needed all the Hré chiefs’ authority and the elders’ persuasion to gain her consent. They had adopted me as father and wanted to do me an honour by presenting me with a wife. The marriage would still not have come about, despite their insistence, if an old woman called Bloha, of whom I had made a friend, had not used feminine diplomacy in convincing her.

Even more than the European whose wife she was later proud to become, Ilouhi was afraid of what her own people would say and her friends’ catty remarks, and how they might cold-shoulder her when the day came for me to return to France, because she had broken the tradition which forbade marriage between a hillwoman and a stranger.

At last she agreed, and two months before this expedition I had sealed our agreement at the outpost of Kon-Plong by presenting the parents and relations of the young bride with a pig, a black cock and a white hen. There was none of the usual tribal ceremony. I simply gave a feast for the family, the chiefs, and the elders. No sorcerer came to ratify the marriage of the Moï girl and the Boc with his chantings.

Days had gone by since then. Ilouhi grew attached to me, and I could no longer do without her. She taught me and she kept me informed. Thanks to her I could give a name to a new face, make out the position of a village or tribe, while I got to know the men, the land, and the dialect which she taught me so patiently.

From that time I could face my future in the Moï country without any anxiety, and Ilouhi, who wanted to bear her chief a son, was already talking of a second wife. For custom demanded that before she could become a mother she should choose another wife for me herself, which would also seal a fresh alliance with another tribe. A great chief ought to have several wives. I was beginning to get a little scared. In order to carry out my mission, would I have to become an Asiatic potentate, lord and master of a harem? I had gone far enough already, and I wanted to tell Ilouhi, who took me for a great chief, that I was only a corporal on a special mission.

She would not believe it, yet it was true enough—I was a corporal on a special mission in the Moï jungle, alone with a couple of hundred hillmen.

But I was no longer alone. The small hand that I knew so well had come affectionately to rest on my shoulder in the darkness, though I had not heard a sound.

‘Man of mine,’ said Ilouhi anxiously, ‘come and sleep, or you will be terribly tired tomorrow.’

She was quite right, and if she was worried about how I would face up to the next day’s journey, she also understood that I was browned off, or rather that I had an evil spirit troubling me.

‘Man, beware of the spirits of the forest. It is time to sleep.’

‘You’re right, Ilouhi, I’m coming. Go and lie down, I must go and see the men on guard.’

Without a word she went back to our hut in the camp, guarded by the men with the machine-gun. She was a good little Hré{3} girl and my most reliable ally in exploring the Alakhone no man’s land. With her to interpret, I could understand and express the most varied ideas, increasing my French-Moï vocabulary.

She was also the most trustworthy of bodyguards. Weeks before, when this mission was still in the planning stages, we had tested her, without her knowing anything about it. The test was conclusive. Ilouhi had a loyal detestation of the Viet-Minhs. With her at my side, I would never be betrayed without getting wind of it, and my food would never be poisoned unless she died before me or with me.

I had reached that point in my reflections when, as a precautionary measure, I made my way as well as I could to the advance posts of a small combat group. They were the men who had to keep awake. I was confident that the section-leaders would keep their men on the alert. Those in the camp knew what to expect, but the sentries posted out in front, alone in the jungle, might give way to fatigue.

To take them by surprise, I went silently over the soft ground, flitting from tree to tree, leaving behind me a trail of light from their phosphorescent bark.

‘Father, where are you going? Go back and sleep, we’re keeping watch for you.’

Somehow, struck dumb, I could not find an answer to the partisan who had recognized my figure in the darkness. I had been anxious and afraid, and I had wanted to swear at him in the Western style, like a sergeant going his rounds—but it was he, whom I never even saw, who had noticed me and given me an affectionate scolding: ‘Father, go and sleep. I’m on the lookout.’

‘Lem! Kone—All right, son.’

Not very proud of myself, but reassured, I went back to my hut in the camp, stepping over the bodies lying on the ground.

I found Ilouhi asleep. She sighed for a moment, when I lifted the mosquito net. Then she pressed herself against me, to enjoy her man’s animal warmth, and I lay down with a happy sigh, relaxed in body and mind. I was safe enough among those primitive beings who had scared me only a few months before, when I was newly arrived from home. Life was so simple with them. It was enough to like and understand them to feel yourself liked, respected, and watched over in the hostile solitude of the jungle.

I could not get to sleep at once, at best only doze, while the fireflies danced round the mosquito net, like a ballet of will-o’-the-wisps or sparks dropping from fireworks, and with a flutter of wings the fiery-eyed fern-owl snatched them as they passed.

Then, as at the cinema, the film of memory unrolled itself and gave me a series of flash-backs over the days which had elapsed since my coming to Indo-China.

What really was I doing on that Bahnar mountain, on those plateaus of the Annamite Chain, five hundred miles north of Saigon, and ten thousand miles away from France?

CHAPTER II — SOLDIERING

MY home was in Lyons, and I was a corporal in the Indo-China expeditionary force, disembarked from the Pasteur at the end of May 1950. After being temporarily attached to the ‘Fire Convoy’s’{4} escort, I was finally posted to the forces operating in the plateaus of the hill country, in Annam.

From Saïgon, via Bien-Hoa and Ban-Méthuot, I went on a two-day road convoy to Pleiku, garrison town of the Fourth Hill Battalion, commanded by Colonel Mille.

At the office in the command post I was lucky enough to run into a fellow-citizen, also from Lyons, Lieutenant Richard. We were both skiers and mountaineers, and had met before at club reunions. After the first surprise of recognizing each other, we talked over old times, chiefly centring on the city of Lyons and the banks of the Rhône and the Saône.

From that moment I was taken over by my compatriot who for two years—he was already in his second term of service—had been engaged in fighting over the plateau country, at the head of Moï partisans and irregulars.

On his orders, I was at once attached to the first company of the Fourth Hill Battalion. Via Kontum and the outpost of Kon-Braïh, some twenty and forty miles from Pleiku respectively, a day’s journey by jeep took us to the most advanced French outpost in the heart of the hill country, some sixty miles north-east of Kontum—Kon-Plong.

No more than a camp for the Indo-China militia before fighting broke out, Kon-Plong occupied a strategic position on the line of hills, at the intersection of the Kontum valleys and the pass which gave access to the plains of the Son-Ha and Batö, leading down to the sea.

In 1946 the higher command sent a company of hill riflemen there. It was out in the wilds, nearly six thousand feet up, on a rise surrounded by jungle, and the different units took their turn of mounting guard there, in the mist, the cold, and the torrential downpour of the monsoon which on those heights lasted for seven months of the year.

From 1946 to 1948 the chief pioneer work of the settlement was undertaken, when weather and lulls in the fighting permitted. The Viets, while also harassing our patrols, tried again and again to reconquer this dominant position, which was an obstacle to their military and political activity in the valleys and plains.

After 1948, the military outlook changed. The defensive tactics to which the Kon-Plong garrison had been reduced gave way to daring raids on the enemy’s most distant bases. Three officers, gaining territory and extending political influence at the same time, battling against nature, men, and the minds of men, made Kon-Plong a stronghold and a base for further attacks by the French forces. These three officers were Second-Lieutenant Duret, of the geographical service, Lieutenant Richard, who was in charge of the commandos and partisans, and finally Captain Pierre, the commander of the outpost, who had earlier been with the Alessandri column in Tonkin.

Supported by some fifteen N.C.O.s and European troops, among them Regimental Sergeant-Major Jacquet, Sergeant Jean, and Sergeant-Majors Turc and Canivet, all of them posted there to train regular rifle units, they had penetrated into almost unknown territory, with encouragement from their superior officer, Colonel Mille, and with aid from the administrative services of the Resident, M. Riner.

Reconnaissance patrols had led to friendly visits which made many of the natives rally to their side. Swift and effective raids had overwhelmed the Viet-Minh support positions along the Song-Hré and the Song-Tra-Cuk.{5}

Liaison between Kontum and Kon-Plong was assured once a month by road convoys of four-wheel-drive Dodges and six-wheel-drive trucks.

The outpost became a strongpoint with blockhouses, loopholes, look-out posts, trenches, and a network of barbed wire, completed by an airfield, where Morane aircraft could land in the dry season.

The jungle retreated a little every day. The forest yielded ground to the axe, and the field of vision was enlarged at the same time as fresh paths were made towards villages where the people had returned. A road was opened up right over the hills in the direction of Batö, thanks to the picks of the coolies, for whom a village had to be planned, and beyond the defence network fresh soil was brought into cultivation to supply their needs.

Captain Pierre set up a market for provisions and trading goods in the outpost itself. Distant tribes came from east and west to exchange the produce of their fields or their hunting for salt—a valued commodity—dried fish, cloth, and fancy goods. N.C.O.s among the hillmen, Djaraïs or Rhades, got into friendly conversation with every new arrival and, as a result of information obtained, Lieutenant Duret was able to mark on his map the position of a Viet unit three or four days’ march away.

Such was Kon-Plong when, a young soldier hardly licked into shape by three weeks in the country, I crossed the drawbridge over the defence outworks. Brought by Lieutenant Richard into the presence of Captain Pierre, I was at once strongly impressed by his personality, which had become a legend from Kontum to Ban-Méthuot. At every stage of my journey to Pleiku I had heard the same talk in all the European messes—the topic was always Kon-Plong, the men there, and Captain Pierre.

He was a dark man of medium build, and his energy was evident in his bronzed face. His reserve, the shrewdness of his glance, and his controlled gestures showed at once that he was a born leader of men. Behind the reserve and the aloofness of his rank was concealed a man whose character was just yet generous, reasonable yet daring, impulsive yet balanced, weighing the issue and pursuing it with a dogged willpower.

Lieutenant Richard asked him to have me attached to one of the units for special duties.

Much impressed, I stood respectfully to attention in front of Captain Pierre, as he asked, ‘You volunteer for service outside the regular formations?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Don’t be surprised that I should consult you. Normally, we only take on N.C.O.s who have been promoted or at least hardened by several months of active service out here, to work in with these special units. You fulfil none of these conditions, and you are new to the army.’

‘Of course, sir,’ I mumbled, worried.

‘Sit down. Lieutenant Richard has told me about you, and I am trusting his judgment. But it is essential that you should have some insight into what we require.’

‘Whatever you say, sir.’

‘This is not like life in barracks. So forget for the time being the sort of duties which fall to a soldier according to his rank in his section or company. At this outpost there are seventeen of us, Europeans, officers, and other ranks, as against a hundred