Dirty Deeds Done Cheap (17 page)

We had the normal mental dash across town and before long we were back at base. I went up to the ops room to see what the score was. Nothing much had changed while I’d been away, except the weather, of course. No one from our operation had been killed while I was away. There had just been a few minor injuries. This was good news. Fucking brilliant news in fact.

I quickly settled back into camp life. It was fast approaching Christmas (we were now at the end of November) and by this time we would more than likely have snow, which we did. I noticed all the expats wore gear branded as North Face (the outdoor-wear manufacturer). I wondered where it all came from and was informed it was all fake and was being sold at the airport. It was still excellent-quality Gore-Tex stuff, though, and it was cheap. Next chance I had I’d get some for myself, since it was now getting really cold.

I went for some food in the mess hall and then on to my room. The dog was hanging around outside my room and I gave her a pet. She’d grown a lot and now looked like a proper wolf. After a few minutes of fussing with the dog, who, for a change, didn’t try to bite me, I went to the armoury to get my guns, ammo, radio and personal sat-nav. It was as if I’d never been away.

Tomorrow was a new day – my first proper day back – and I’d be a liar if I said that my arse wasn’t giving it some. None of the guys who hadn’t been away were fazed, but, because I’d been out of the country for a few weeks, I certainly realised how damn dangerous this place was. Once you’ve been here for a while you get used to it and it makes little difference. Today we had a brand-new mission to start. This was to be a new challenge and I must admit that I wasn’t looking forward to it.

We were going to be travelling through some insurgent strongholds and this was going to be dangerous as hell. But what the fuck? In for a penny, in for a pound. And it’s not as if we had a choice about which jobs we did – we just did what we were told to.

W
e were getting missions left, right and centre now because the military saw us as extremely flexible in our capability to carry out almost any task they threw at us. It was decided at the highest level that we would be given the most harrowing and, for me personally, the most upsetting and unsettling mission I’ve ever encountered or would ever want to.

Our new mission was to protect the American forensic scientists whose job it was to identify and excavate the mass graves that Saddam had created while trying to eradicate and exterminate the Kurdish people. These graves were scattered all over Iraq and it was going to be a tough task. However, our job was to protect just two of these mass-grave sites. The insurgents were going to be going balls out to stop the military, or us, aiding these scientists who were gathering evidence for the prosecution of Saddam Hussein. The evidence they gathered would form part of the drawn-out prosecution case that would eventually result in his execution.

This tyrant’s regime had seen people whisked away from their homes in the night, never to be seen again. Saddam’s men would go out and dig huge pits in isolated parts of the desert where they knew they could not be observed by any of the local people. These abducted people were then transported to the desert and segregated into separate groups (the men were separated from their families in one group and the women and children were put into another group). We knew this because when the scientists excavated these graves, they found them in separate pits. It’s human nature that, when you separate or segregate a group of men and women, the men will rise up and fight to try to protect their wives and other loved ones; the women, however, will try to comfort their children. It’s so very sad. This is what the scientist showed us in the first pit we came upon. There were women, children and babies in this pit and the women had all been shot in the back of the head with some sort of small-calibre weapon, probably a pistol by the look of it – a .38 (9mm) I was later told. The scientist said that they must have been subdued (like lambs to the slaughter).

The men, on the other hand, in the second pit (which was close by and far deeper than the women’s grave) were just machine-gunned down. It seemed that they were desperately trying to evade execution and had all been torn down in a vicious hail of high-velocity rounds, which had ripped them to pieces. Obviously, a machine-gun post had been mounted on the side of the pit and just sprayed them with bullets, and they’d had no escape; though it seemed apparent that some of them had been trying to scale the sides of the pit when they were viciously mown down. All the bodies in this pit were in one corner, piled on top of one another, as the terrified and dying men had tried using the bodies of their dead neighbours as ladders to try to climb up out of the pits.

Even our hardened veterans of previous conflicts and atrocities had tears in their eyes; some of them refused even to go and look, and I can’t say that I blame them. However, I felt compelled to witness this for myself, as it proved to me that the Americans had been right to finish Saddam’s rule. It was truly one of the most shocking and emotional situations that I have ever witnessed and I hope never to see the likes of it again. It looked to me as if it was pure genocide. The terror that these poor people must have felt is unimaginable.

How anyone could have carried out such atrocities is beyond me. Killing men in battle against whom you’re fighting is one thing; executing women, children and babies is truly barbaric. We were hardened mercenaries who had fought all over the world, and I knew most of us would not even bat an eyelid to slot someone who was trying to kill us; but the murder of women, children and babies was beyond comprehension. The sights I saw on that mission will truly haunt me for ever.

There were literally piles and piles of bodies; these poor, undoubtedly terrified, women still clutching their babies. Saddam was trying to ethnically cleanse his country, though genocide is probably a better word. As contractors/mercenaries, whatever, you try not to take the moral high ground, but it’s so difficult sometimes. That fucker and all his henchmen deserved to hang.

In Iraq we had to work alongside some of the people who carried out these atrocities. Some were allowed to keep their positions of power in an effort to keep the peace. It was extremely hard to accept sometimes. Often you just had to walk away, take a deep breath and try really hard to keep your pistol in your holster, because sometimes the urge to blow them away could be almost overwhelming. Of course, knowing that you would get transferred or, worse, get sacked if you gave in to the impulse to slot the fucker was really the only thing that protected them from us.

It was, however, truly amazing how they had found these mass graves. One of the American scientists, who had a reputation of being one of the most knowledgeable and skilled professionals operating in his field, would use only local knowledge of the communities and the lie of the land. He had no electronic equipment to aid him and would be flown in a helicopter over the desert and could tell, from the air, where these mass graves were! He told us that he knew from experience which type of terrain was likely to conceal these graves. He said that land based in shallows, in wadis, places out of view were the most likely points. They also had to have reasonable access for heavy trucks. He told us that in certain areas, even after quite a few years, the graves could still be identified.

We were, yet again, going to be working alongside American troops on this mission. It made life a little bit easier having the backup of the largest military machine in the world.

Our first day on this mission started by running the gauntlet through Mosul as usual (trying just to get to this new job was a mission in itself!), then onto the main highway down to the southern area of northern Iraq. This road was like going down bomb alley, for it was a prime targeting area for the insurgents, and we were, yet again, very vulnerable, as we could be ambushed or encounter an IED at any time.

On this occasion, as we tried to get out of Mosul as quickly and safely as possible, it became apparent all was not well. Some of the streets became deserted – not a good sign at all, as it normally meant imminent attack or a bomb.
Boom!
The American patrol in front of us was hit, and hit bad. Must have been some sort of bomb, but we couldn’t identify exactly what it was. All we could see was a burning, blown-to-pieces Humvee with burning American troops’ body parts strewn across the highway. I saw a smoking boot with the leg still inside it. What could we do? We needed to get the hell out of that potential kill zone and it seemed that we were again in deep shit.

We carried on at breakneck speed and, fortunately, took no casualties. We all felt sorry for those Americans but we had to look after our own arses. They had armour and we didn’t. We still had to complete our mission, as we were employed and paid to do so. We had to press on, but the Yanks were quickly on the scene with all their backup.

As soon as we got to the scientists’ camp that morning, which was actually being protected by another PMC company, we went off to the mess hall to feed all our guys. Now this place had one of the best eating places in northern Iraq, but it was full of gung-ho American mercenaries just cleaning their guns on the tables (pretty rude, I thought, when people were eating). However, the camp was nice and, if we didn’t like the conditions in the chow hall, they’d just tell us to fuck off and we would be on MREs again. And the Yanks do love their guns! They were also a nice bunch and in trouble spots around the world, I’ve always found the Americans to be very friendly.

We spoke to the forensic guys we were going to be looking after and we were all of the opinion that we should do a route recce with the Yanks first. We came to the decision that the Yanks had to go in first across the desert. They were planning on going through with their mine-disposal equipment. This was basically a big mineproof truck that would drive the route and, if it went over anything, no one would be hurt. We were pretty much getting sick of a lot of our guys being blown to shreds. The fact that we were losing so many men was wearing quite a few of the lads down, not surprisingly. No matter how tough or professional you are, it still hurts when you lose friends. After the mine detectors and mine incinerators looked after our routes, we could then move in. There were no rules or regulations on this job. We just had to ensure these guys had as safe a passage to their place of work as possible. We were chosen for this task primarily because of our immense firepower and four-wheel-drive off-road Toyotas. And we were good – damned good!

The route into the desert was pretty amazing and, just a few miles away from where these grave sites were situated were the ruins where parts of the film
The Exorcist
were shot. We drove past them and past the hotel that had been built to house the film crew. The hotel was abandoned once filming was finished and left for the use of the locals, though these were just Iraqi squatters. They moved in and took over and then had themselves a free hotel. This place looked very strange in the middle of the desert. It almost looked like the motel from
Psycho
. It was very bizarre. The ruins themselves were extremely impressive and we stopped to take a look around, but we had to be careful not to go inside because of the potential for booby traps.

But that came later. The task of getting these forensic guys from A to B safely was going to be tough. First, we had to be introduced to them – if they had no trust in us, the job wouldn’t work. We ate with them at the canteen and built up a rapport with them. They weren’t as nervous as we were about being shuttled around northern Iraq – civilians in war zones tend to be very complacent and generally too trusting, and they don’t necessarily take into account what can happen to them. On one occasion in particular (later in our series of missions), they actually left camp on their own, with only a shadow of bodyguards, and one of their trucks was taken out big style, blown to bits by a big IED in the desert. A hard lesson to learn but a useful one – they had to be shown that you couldn’t fuck around in places as volatile and dangerous as this without proper protection. They needed an education and they learned a tough lesson.

The camp they were living in was pretty luxurious compared with ours and very well protected. I think sometimes that because they were in the middle of nowhere they thought they were safe – but far from it: northern Iraq is rife with insurgents.

The places we were now operating in were safe havens for insurgents and they could easily adapt and hide in some of these remote areas to launch their attacks effectively and very efficiently. The insurgents had mines all over the place and this was one threat we couldn’t avoid – it was out of our control. If you went over one of these, you were a goner. Even worse for us was that we had no way of finding or locating them.

After we’d eaten in their far superior canteen, we prepared to move. The first thing we had to do when exiting camp was to establish a roadblock to stop the oncoming traffic. This would enable the convoy to pass safely out of the camp gate – a critical part of the task. If any vehicle approached too quickly or wouldn’t stop, it would be taken out.

Once we were rolling we’d be pretty much OK apart from the landmines and, hopefully, the Yanks would take care of them. The guys and girls in the investigation team were now part of our convoy and under our protection. On the first mission, we flew out of the gate, the lead vehicle with the .50-cal going out the fastest to get ahead and then to establish the roadblock. It was now game on – there was no turning back.

Following the death of our comrade, the Gurkha, in the incident with the mine, our arses were twitching constantly as we drove though the desert. As we travelled along these desert track roads, I had an unnerving feeling that these were the very same routes along which Saddam’s men took those poor people to their horrific executions. At the same time as we were having this unnerving feeling along the route of death, you couldn’t help but notice the remarkable scenery we were travelling through and, if you hadn’t known it was Iraq, you could, quite possibly, imagine you were on a sightseeing tour of somewhere totally different in the world. Of course, you were soon snapped out of this. We put our shemags on to aid our breathing because of the desert dust.

One of our other big problems, apart from the shootings, bombings, landmines and breaking down, was getting stuck in the mud. This was more like quicksand and sometimes impossible to avoid. For this reason all of our vehicles carried towing chains. It was still a bastard of a job getting the trucks out but handy as hell having all these massive Fijians available to push as well. The biggest threat in the desert was the insurgent snipers. Some of these guys were very good and so we never underestimated them. They were highly trained, well financed and had the best weapons in Iraq (well, maybe not as good as ours).

The insurgents always seemed to have the upper hand. They had the hills and mountains, the cover and the local knowledge. When you were hit it was almost impossible to see the shooter, mainly because of the speeds you were travelling at and the type of terrain you travelled through. It’s hard to identify targets at speed, especially over rough ground. It’s even harder actually to shoot and hit them while you’re moving.

As we got nearer to the grave sites I could see a US military Black Hawk helicopter and a large tented area. The Americans used to guard this place 24/7. It was feared that the insurgents would come and try to destroy the graves. As there were far too many bodies in these sites to remove, they’d probably have to torch them or blow them to pieces. Either way, it was evident that they were going to do their best to halt the evidence-gathering process.

Grim as it was, we had this job to do. We got closer to the Black Hawk helicopter just as it was starting to wind up and prepare for takeoff. However, when the blades started turning, the extremely fine excavated sand was blown everywhere and we couldn’t see a fucking thing. We were also in the middle of nowhere, which didn’t make things any easier: just desert, nothing else. But we couldn’t see, so we just had to stop. We put more shemags on and then some eye protection and just waited for it to take off. After it had gone we still had to wait for all the sand to settle before we could carry on. We now were so covered in sand that it looked as if we’d been rolling in the stuff. It was made worse by the fact that we had doorless vehicles, but these vehicles were brilliant: they’d go through anything and take a hell of a lot of abuse.