Appetite for Risk

by Jack Leavers

  I travelled in Dara’s vehicle with Neil, behind the General’s lead vehicle which had Greg, Roper, and Nabil on board. It was impossible to follow the messages in Kurdish coming over the radio from the lead scout and the replies from the General, but we encountered no delays or obvious issues.

  West of the lake, the hilly terrain morphed into uncultivated open land. Trees, bushes, and grassland loomed in front and to the sides as we wound our way down narrow roads towards the drop-off point. By my watch it was 21:45 when we finally slowed before coming to a halt; the four SUVs each twenty metres or so apart as the lead scout reported in. After a short while we rolled forward again and pulled up behind the scout vehicle. Dara turned and squeezed my hand briefly before we all debussed into the cooling night air.

  The Peshmerga moved like a well-oiled machine, fanning out noiselessly to provide cover as EAGLE 6 assembled and moved off to a flank into a hasty ambush position. As the sound of the Kurdish vehicles driving away merged into the night – another link to the outside world gone – we deployed ready to react to an attack if the drop off had been compromised. Without a rifle, I might as well have been naked. I shook my head as I remembered Mosul and felt the first fingertips of fear crawling over me since I’d arrived back in Iraq.

  In the planning and briefing stages, it’s easy to focus on objectives, contingencies, assets, and other factors. However, once you’re on the ground and the tangible reality of those plans is apparent, it’s only natural to feel vulnerable and fearful of what could be out there and what might happen. It was for me anyway, and not having a rifle didn’t help. For this mission Dexter and I were important elements, but to our SF comrades in EAGLE 6 we comprised a human cargo to be nurtured and protected. After our experience in Mosul, at least they knew I wasn’t completely out of my depth in this environment and could contribute usefully if things went kinetic.

  Dexter and I took up prone positions immediately behind the five men facing back towards our approach route. Neil lay prone behind us, guarding against any approach from the rear with a boot over my lower leg and the other across one of Dexter’s.

  After ten minutes lying in the dry grass, my night vision had improved to reveal a mix of surrounding foliage and trees in greater detail. With no sign of compromise detected, the guys in front rose into kneeling positions and the nearest leant over and tapped me on the shoulder. Time to move out. I passed on the signal by tapping my boot against both Neil’s calf and Dexter’s foot. After we’d risen, Greg’s camouflaged face came close enough for me to recognise him, and he used his hands to indicate the positions for Dexter and me in the order of march. We’d be in the middle of the team as it moved in single file, as per the team briefing earlier that day.

  The route to the final RV was just under eight kilometres and the plan had us reaching it by 02:30, in just over four and a half hours. For a regular bimble that would be plenty of time, but we needed to patrol with caution to avoid any risk of compromising our presence. It was perfectly achievable, provided we didn’t encounter any unexpected issues.

  Although sunrise wasn’t until 06:00, the pre-dawn Fajr prayer was scheduled for 04:15 and we knew from the two GOLF teams already on the ground for the last twenty-four hours that most of the AQI security team would be awake at that time to pray. We could also expect some movement between outlying farms and the nearest mosque.

  After reaching the final RV, we would still need to carefully advance the final few hundred metres. One of the British teams had performed a Close Target Recce (CTR) of the farm complex and both identified and prepared the closest workable OP position in a nearby treeline. However, the plan still required Greg, Neil, and Morgan to move forward with two of the British team for a final CTR before Greg returned to lead in the rest of EAGLE 6. The preparation work by the British team was intended to ensure the position was suitably hidden from view in daylight, which could be difficult to assess in the darkness.

  The team forded the Diyala River (known as the Sirwan River by the Kurds) at a narrow and shallow point previously identified by one of the GOLF teams. We sliced through the night with purpose, boxing around several buildings and farms due to signs of activity and the occasional barking dog. Although our advance was frequently interrupted as Greg stopped to assess potential obstacles and make route adjustments, we made good time.

  As the patrol closed towards the RV, we began to encounter more signs of cultivated land and an increasing density of inhabited dwellings. Our tactical movement became more cautious and resulted in slower progress as Greg selected shorter bounds to make best use of the available cover. Regular wooded areas helped conceal our advance, and even in more open terrain we were often cloaked by an abundance of tall grass, bushes, and small pockets of trees. All despite the appearance of the moon adding some unwelcome illumination to the proceedings.

  My watch showed 02:15 as we went firm close to the final RV. On schedule, but we’d needed all the time available. After a few tense minutes lying in the swaying grass, straining to hear any signs of suspicious activity above the increasingly strong breeze, I got the signal to move and immediately passed it on to Dexter behind me. I hadn’t been able to see what was happening up ahead, but I assumed we had linked up with the GOLF team waiting to guide us into the OP. A couple of minutes later we dropped into all-round defence and a camouflaged face soon appeared to my left and mouthed ‘Final RV’ in confirmation.

  I knew from the mission briefing that the OP was located 200 metres to our front, and soon Greg, Neil, and Morgan would be led to that position by two of the SAS men from GOLF 20. As the five of them slipped away into the night, I shivered from the rising breeze. It was 03:05 when three figures returned. I couldn’t be sure who was who in the darkness, but it should have been Greg and the two Brits. According to the mission plan, Neil and Morgan would have remained in position at the OP while Greg came back to lead in the rest of us from EAGLE 6.

  The Brits would now patrol to their own OP position set back from the target and watch our flanks and rear, ready to provide support if necessary. The other team in the vicinity, GOLF 21, was deployed on the other side of the farm complex, again set back a few hundred metres from the target.

  After picking our way slowly to the treeline only eighty metres from the target location, I was directed into my assigned position inside a prepared hide. I took off my rucksack, checked the time on my watch, 03:29, and felt a flash of exhilaration now we had completed this phase of the mission on time and without compromise. The exhilaration was quickly replaced with the weight of tiredness.

  It was crucial that Dexter and I kept sharp for our observation duties later in the day, so we’d been instructed to get our heads down on arrival. Greg and the team would take care of sentry duties. Once we had daylight to work with, then we’d need to set up the optics and cameras and adjust our position as may be needed – hopefully nothing too drastic. Right now, all we could see through the observation slits was a whole load of blackness. I threw a piece of chocolate into my mouth before electing to go through the hassle of finding and then donning a fleece over the top of my body armour.

  The wind now whipped through the surrounding trees, but at least Dexter and I were protected from the worst of the elements in the dug-in hide. I shimmied into a comfortable position and felt warm and snug as sleep began to roll over me. Putting on the fleece had been a good call. However, before I dropped off, the bite of a mosquito reminded me it wasn’t quite five-star living.

  Although I’m a light sleeper in the field, the 4.15am call to prayer from the closest mosques had failed to wake me. Instead, it was Dexter’s hand on my shoulder that later roused me to a state of instant alertness. He used hand signals to indicate the optics and cameras laid out in front of him and where they needed to be set up. I peered through the nearest observation slit to orientate myself.

  Well done to the Hereford lads; our location was ideal in relation to the ta
rget. Not only were we close, but our field of view was excellent. I could already see an armed figure standing by a dusty Land Cruiser near one of the farm buildings. Although I couldn’t make out his features clearly, I knew the optics and cameras would capture him and anyone else who moved into our view with impressive clarity. We also had a great view of the road and track leading into the farm which the GOLF teams had reported to be the primary entrance.

  This was going to work.

  The wind hadn’t dropped, and the daylight revealed dust in the air which would reduce the effectiveness of our observation equipment, but not yet to any significant degree. Provided it didn’t deteriorate, we should be okay. Dexter and I worked together to assemble the tripods, optics, cameras, and satellite transmitter.

  As I’d expected, the optics zoomed in with shocking definition on the armed man and a second who had since joined him carrying two glasses of chai. My confidence I would recognise Abu Saif if he came into view was absolute. I’d need to bide my time though; it was only approaching 06:30 and the meeting wasn’t expected until lunchtime or early afternoon. If that intel was accurate, it meant at least six tense hours of watching and waiting and hoping a full-blown dust storm didn’t arrive.

  By 11:00 only weak sunlight filtered through the swirling dust, although still enough for our equipment to obtain an acceptable level of detail as we observed the AQI security team moving around the buildings and the perimeter. The one positive from the storm: it helped to conceal us and our limited movement. Our position had been well chosen and prepared, but any additional camouflage was welcome.

  New arrivals appeared in two white Land Cruisers at 11:30, which excited Dexter. As the cars stopped in our sight line, he recognised one of the men climbing out as a suspected AQI logistics commander. His excitement was infectious and it began to bubble inside me as well. The positive attitude in the hide was dampened when Greg informed us the satellite link for the camera was inoperable due to the weather and the drones could not eyeball the target. The helicopters carrying Team SILVER might not be able to fly if this got worse.

  I imagined the TOC in a state of permanent planning revision as the potential ramifications of the worsening weather had to be taken into account. The other pieces on the board – the two GOLF teams, Team BRONZE at Warhorse, TF 1-30 at Normandy, the Kurds of Force KILO and even our own team – might have a bigger part to play than expected.

  Greg crawled up to the edge of our hide with an update: ‘Team SILVER has been lifted forward to FOB Warhorse, ready to insert by road if the conditions result in Sus Ops (Suspended Operations) for the birds.’

  Positive news, although it was still a forty-kilometre road move from Warhorse. I bet the Meteorological Section were earning their wages today as they battled to provide an accurate forecast the planners at the TOC could rely on.

  Another three vehicles rolled into view just after midday and I strained to see if any of them contained Abu Saif. Dexter ticked another two commanders on his list, but they contained no-one I recognised.

  It had been a long time since I’d attended the Terrorist Recognition Instructor course and worked in the role while deployed to Northern Ireland, but I had revised my fading notes recently and reached into my memory. Rather than needing a Jedi mind trick, I quickly remembered the feature recognition aide-mémoire in my rucksack and dug it out.

  It was nothing I didn’t know already, but I found it useful to remind myself of the features that didn’t change, irrespective of the efforts a person might make to alter their appearance. Shapes and positions on the face for eyes, ears, mouths, and noses; bone structure for cheeks, chin, and head shape. All these were unchangeable without reconstructive surgery and I mentally summoned the features of Abu Saif, trying to imagine him with different hairstyles, completely bald, bearded, clean-shaven, and everything in between.

  Efforts could be made to disguise height with a stoop or limp, but Abu Saif was a big guy and that would be tough to conceal. However, for all my earlier positive thinking, it had been so long since I last met him that a surge of doubt flashed through me. Would I definitely recognise him again? Had I already missed his arrival? No, I was certain he hadn’t been any of the men we’d seen arrive so far.

  An hour later the wind had noticeably dropped, and the sun made an effort to break through the reduced level of dust in the air. I settled behind the eyepiece and slowly ran the optic from right to left and back again. More armed men were present than at any time during the morning. One of them began shouting and pointing, eliciting a burst of energetic activity from the previously lethargic group.

  ‘Dex, something’s happening.’

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Dexter check the camera and drop his face behind the viewfinder.

  ‘Roger, I see three vehicles approaching.’

  I swung my scope back to the left and the lead vehicle filled my view. I couldn’t make out the features of anyone in that or the other two Land Cruisers yet. The SUVs pulled to a stop in our line of sight and the front passenger of the lead vehicle jumped out. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him – probably nothing. Armed men spilled out of the front and rear vehicles as I searched for signs of my target.

  A face suddenly filled the display and disappeared just as quickly. Someone had walked across my field of view, much closer to our position than any time before. I reared back and instead scanned the ground with my mark one eyeball. An armed man stood taking a piss about fifty metres in front of us, but I saw no sign anyone was patrolling in our direction. Satisfied, I adopted my position again behind the scope.

  The passenger of the second vehicle, a top-of-the-range white Land Cruiser, had disembarked and opened the rear passenger door. Out stepped Abu Saif. He’d hardly changed since I’d last seen him. The same haircut, the same shadow on his jawline, and definitely the same intelligent features. I had no doubt in my mind that the figure in front of me was the man introduced to me the previous year in Baghdad as Abu Saif al-Tikriti. When he turned his head, he seemed to look straight back down the scope at me.

  I shook off the unnerving sensation.

  ‘Positive ID Abu Saif, rear passenger vehicle two, now walking past vehicle one.’

  I expected Dexter to react as though we’d just scored the winning goal in a cup final, but he was oddly subdued in his response.

  ‘Are you sure? Can you check again that you have PID?’

  Abu Saif was now being greeted by the earlier arrivals. As he shook hands, embraced, and kissed his insurgent colleagues on both cheeks, I had a clear view of his face again, and then again.

  ‘Confirm PID Abu Saif.’

  ‘Fuck,’ said Dexter quietly, ‘I know that guy. I need to speak with the TOC.’

  I turned to look at him. ‘PID of Abu Saif and your other guys, so we’re good to go, yeah? Get this show on the road.’

  But he looked like he’d swallowed a turd as he crawled out of the hide to send a secure message to the TOC from Morgan’s radio.

  Chapter 49

  Alone in the hide, I focused back on the expansive greetings taking place less than a hundred metres in front of me. I didn’t understand what Dexter’s problem was; surely we were about to deal AQI and the insurgency a serious body blow. When the main group finally entered the largest building, Dexter still hadn’t returned. With the weather brightening up, Team SILVER could be summoned to arrive in less than fifteen minutes.

  Dexter reappeared with Greg behind him and slid in next to me.

  ‘Are we going to DISNEYLAND?’ I joked.

  ‘That’s a negative,’ said Dexter. ‘The mission has been aborted. The abort code LOCK KNIFE has been issued and we’ll be exfiltrating on foot to the north.’

  What the hell?

  ‘Why? We have PID. Why is the mission aborted for fuck’s sake? We’ve got them sat here for the taking. We can decimate the al-Qaeda command.’
<
br />   ‘John, I’m gutted about this as well. But the man you’ve identified as Abu Saif is a senior Sunni official in the Iraq government and, far more importantly, has recently been recruited by the Agency. There’s no doubt about it. He is the CIA’s latest prize asset.’

  ‘What? So, what is he doing here planning terrorist attacks if he’s spying for the CIA? And hang on a minute, if he’s an asset for the CIA, why the hell didn’t you know who he was?’

  ‘My understanding is that no-one on our side knew he was the Shadow Emir. In fact, they’re going to find it difficult to accept back at Langley if they didn’t know already. The point is that if that man is the Shadow Emir, then his potential use to us is far greater than anyone anticipated. His recruitment is already being touted by Langley as a game changer. If he’s the Shadow Emir, then it moves things into a different league.’

  I couldn’t take it all in. Greg’s face screamed frustration; he wasn’t loving this turn of events either.

  ‘Put it this way,’ said Dexter, ‘killing and capturing Abu Saif and the others at this meeting would gain us a short-term success, but extinguish an intelligence opening which could give us a critical long-term advantage in the fight against the insurgency. This was a call made from the very top. And I mean the very top. However much you or I might not like it, sitting here right now with our fingers on the trigger, the Joint Chiefs and the intelligence community, hell most likely the president himself, agree the most effective option right now is to abort the mission. It might feel like losing a battle, but it will help to win the war.’

  ‘But no-one can be sure of that. It’s possible Zarqawi himself could be on his way here. After all the months of effort, the sacrifices, to finally get into position to take the shot and… we’re just going to let it go.’

  I felt drained. I understood the argument and in the grand scheme of things it made little difference to me one way or the other, but this simply seemed wrong.