Read Online Shake Hands With the Devil by Romeo Dallaire - Free Book Online
Authors: Romeo Dallaire
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counsel. I remember that just before I was promoted to brigadier-general, my father-in-law lay dying in the old veteransâ hospital, which is now the Laval University Medical Centre. When I went to see him the last time, his breathing was very shallow, his eyes closed, and it was obvious he was slipping away. I leaned over and whispered that I had been promoted general. His eyelids flickered for a moment and I could swear that a shadow of a smile played about his mouth. He was as proud of me as he would have been of a son. He died two days later in his sleep.
Elizabeth had been teaching on the Canadian base in Lahr, Germany, since 1970. She loved the life there and invited me over for a vacation. We had a wonderful time together skiing the Swiss Alps and running around in her new Peugeot 504. But I did have an ulterior motive for making the visit. Back home the word was that there was no way that I, as one of the few French-Canadian officers in the regiment, was going to get posted to either the Airborne, or 4 Brigade in Germany. I intended to lobby the commanding officer of the artillery regiment for a posting. I spent some time in the garrison, mingling with the troops and officers at the mess and having a great time. I guess I must have made an impression, because Lieutenant Colonel Harry Steen, the commanding officer at the time, says he still remembers the mad French Canadianwho injected so much fun into the place. He became an enthusiastic supporter of my efforts to get posted to Germany.
It was 1973 and we were still in the middle of the Cold War; Germany was definitely an operational theatre with all the attendant realities. After I arrived, we were continually on long, live-fire exercises and huge NATO manoeuvres that lasted weeks. However, the life in the field as well as in garrison was outstanding. It had to be, since there were no phones and no TV , just a nascent radio station run by the CBC and Radio-Canada. The folks on the French broadcast were left-wing peaceniks who were just a whisper away from being outright Quebec nationalists, but they were such good company I couldnât resist hanging out with them. I remember when René Lévesqueâs pro-sovereignty government was elected in 1976. We had a great party inside the radio station, with me continually looking over my shoulder to make sure none of the troops saw me. It was in Lahr that I first met Maurice Baril, a fellow officer who would be crucial to my posting in Rwanda. He was from the legendary Vandoos, some years my senior, a major and second-in-command of his battalion.
I married Beth, after a seven-year courtship, on June 26, 1976. It was a small wedding, since most of the Valcartier regiment was in Montreal to provide security for the Olympic Games. After we got back from a six-week honeymoon in Germany, I was caught up in a whirl of activity, attending courses as well as being called out on a NATO exercise. Beth returned to her teaching job at Valcartier. I was supposed to be posted to Army Headquarters in Montreal. At the last minute, however, I was sent to Gagetown, New Brunswick, as head of a national program called Francotrain, which was set up to translate all the forcesâ manuals, documents, and pedagogical tools used from English into French. It was a stressful time for Beth. Amidst all this upheaval and uncertainty, she had a miscarriage the night I flew out to Germany on exercise. Alone, she soldiered on as so many military wives do.
Located in the little town of Oromocto on the St. John River, the Gagetown base is a pretty place but was a bit of a letdown after Germany. While at Gagetown, I was promoted major. Since I was young, only thirty-two, many of the older guys complained that I was beingfast-tracked because I was a francophone. This was the first time I had encountered the bitter jealousy that can sour regimental life. Being separated out from your brother officers can be a lonely and vulnerable
Elizabeth had been teaching on the Canadian base in Lahr, Germany, since 1970. She loved the life there and invited me over for a vacation. We had a wonderful time together skiing the Swiss Alps and running around in her new Peugeot 504. But I did have an ulterior motive for making the visit. Back home the word was that there was no way that I, as one of the few French-Canadian officers in the regiment, was going to get posted to either the Airborne, or 4 Brigade in Germany. I intended to lobby the commanding officer of the artillery regiment for a posting. I spent some time in the garrison, mingling with the troops and officers at the mess and having a great time. I guess I must have made an impression, because Lieutenant Colonel Harry Steen, the commanding officer at the time, says he still remembers the mad French Canadianwho injected so much fun into the place. He became an enthusiastic supporter of my efforts to get posted to Germany.
It was 1973 and we were still in the middle of the Cold War; Germany was definitely an operational theatre with all the attendant realities. After I arrived, we were continually on long, live-fire exercises and huge NATO manoeuvres that lasted weeks. However, the life in the field as well as in garrison was outstanding. It had to be, since there were no phones and no TV , just a nascent radio station run by the CBC and Radio-Canada. The folks on the French broadcast were left-wing peaceniks who were just a whisper away from being outright Quebec nationalists, but they were such good company I couldnât resist hanging out with them. I remember when René Lévesqueâs pro-sovereignty government was elected in 1976. We had a great party inside the radio station, with me continually looking over my shoulder to make sure none of the troops saw me. It was in Lahr that I first met Maurice Baril, a fellow officer who would be crucial to my posting in Rwanda. He was from the legendary Vandoos, some years my senior, a major and second-in-command of his battalion.
I married Beth, after a seven-year courtship, on June 26, 1976. It was a small wedding, since most of the Valcartier regiment was in Montreal to provide security for the Olympic Games. After we got back from a six-week honeymoon in Germany, I was caught up in a whirl of activity, attending courses as well as being called out on a NATO exercise. Beth returned to her teaching job at Valcartier. I was supposed to be posted to Army Headquarters in Montreal. At the last minute, however, I was sent to Gagetown, New Brunswick, as head of a national program called Francotrain, which was set up to translate all the forcesâ manuals, documents, and pedagogical tools used from English into French. It was a stressful time for Beth. Amidst all this upheaval and uncertainty, she had a miscarriage the night I flew out to Germany on exercise. Alone, she soldiered on as so many military wives do.
Located in the little town of Oromocto on the St. John River, the Gagetown base is a pretty place but was a bit of a letdown after Germany. While at Gagetown, I was promoted major. Since I was young, only thirty-two, many of the older guys complained that I was beingfast-tracked because I was a francophone. This was the first time I had encountered the bitter jealousy that can sour regimental life. Being separated out from your brother officers can be a lonely and vulnerable
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