Dirty Deeds Done Cheap

by Peter Mercer

  Tal Afar was truly mental. I’ve never been through such a place. The local people seemed to wear vacant expressions on their faces, but as there was so much fighting in the city – in fact, there seemed to be fighting everywhere – I guess they were just numb to their circumstances. We all knew we just needed to get out of there, and fast, before things got any worse.

  We flew through Tal Afar and we were soon on the outskirts of the city. As we were driving so fast, we unfortunately hit a mother dog; she was killed instantly but the puppy with her wasn’t. Because of the lower risk in the area we were now in, and because we were a bunch of soft bastards, we stopped and picked up the puppy and put her in the back of the truck. We decided to keep her, and we named her Kasper (after a good friend of mine). In the war zone it is definitely true that soldiers or mercenaries can be some of the softest bastards you will ever meet when it comes to animals and not humans. So now we had ourselves a pet.

  I’m not going to lie to you and say Iraq, especially Fallujah, Mosul and Tal Afar, are out-and-out firefights every day, but it could be vicious and our personnel casualty rate was 47 per cent overall. Obviously, this was nearly half of our guys. We were losing an average of one or two guys a month through death or serious injury. This was far from our lack of professionalism; rather it was down to our being in the worst hotspot in Iraq. It made me think sometimes that I should have got a job in Tesco! All joking aside, the soldiering side of you loves it, but the family-man side (and your conscience) can sometimes deplore it.

  As we ploughed through and out of Tal Afar we could see the American forces walking behind their armoured vehicles while on patrol, especially on the outskirts of town. You couldn’t blame them (if we had armour-plated vehicles we would definitely have done the same). We just fired straight past them at breakneck speed with a quick wave as a good-luck gesture. This was bandit country after all. They all thought we were crazy fuckers for having no doors on and hardly any armour. I was beginning to think that they were right.

  As we got through this broken, tattered city it was obvious these people were in a mess. Something was wrong. The hearts-and-minds strategies weren’t working. When the US military accused the British forces in Basra of losing the battle for hearts and minds, I personally was a little bit disgusted. The British are very good at hearts and minds – as good as the Americans, I believe. Hearts and minds can win wars. I apologise to any Americans reading this, but don’t take it personally. It’s just my personal view – take it or leave it.

  Tal Afar is a crazy place – an insurgent stronghold. I wouldn’t call it fun because this was still going to be a tough escape – basically trying to get out of this place in one piece. It was going to be a major escape. The American forces at the time were having a pretty hard time trying to keep control of the place. For everyone who works in Iraq who is of white or European origin, their worst fear is capture. If you were unlucky enough to get caught the consequences are unimaginable: days, weeks or possibly even months of torture. And I’ve already spelled out the likely consequences of that: certain beheading, after which I’ve personally had to pick up the pieces. I’ve read quite a bit of the Koran and know that the people who do these atrocities are hypocrites. They don’t believe in good or bad: they believe in their way or no way. I’ve some very good Muslim friends and they feel the same as me about this.

  Once we’d hit the outskirts of Tal Afar with our new pet tied on the back of one of the trucks, we started to relax a bit, when, to our slight shock and surprise, we encountered a big burst of automatic gunfire. This place never let up! We couldn’t pinpoint where it came from, just that it was from our right. A stray round then winged one of the Gurkha gunners, who was on the back of one of the trucks. We just ploughed on, though – we had to. To stop would have been suicide.

  I’ve worked for unprofessional companies with idiots working for them out in Iraq. They would probably have just started blasting away at anything that moved in a situation like the one we were now in. This is totally counterproductive, doing more harm than good. As you travelled through towns like these, some of the locals would often actually warn you of imminent danger and guide you away from what would almost certainly end up with the demise of some of your team in some sort of explosion or ambush. So it is always the smart option to keep some or as many locals on your side as possible.

  This can also be a double-edged sword, though, as they could quite as easily be leading you into some sort of a trap. You have to make a rapid risk assessment on the spot, but a good rule of thumb is not to go down any narrow streets that could end up in any unfamiliar potential cut-off points. If you’re on one of the main routes you can almost take it as gospel that there is going to be some sort of device that’s going to do you some real harm: take out, kill or maim your patrol. This was part and parcel of the job; there wasn’t a lot you could do about it.

  As we were getting to the relatively safe areas, adrenalin was now slowing down, so we stopped to assess and stabilise the injured Gurkha (poor little fucker). His injuries weren’t life-threatening and our medic did a fantastic job of patching him up. What had happened was that he’d had one round go through the right shoulder just below the clavicle – serious but he’d get to go home with a lot more medical insurance money in his pocket than he would have earned the whole of that year in Iraq, plus some great scars to show the girls when he arrived back in Nepal!

  Everyone was now buzzing from the contact we’d just gone through – and it is a massive, massive buzz – probably from the amount of fire being put down from the Iraqi insurgents. I think that, after this one, we sent quite a few of the insurgents off to paradise and I think the Yanks would definitely have to stump up for a new apartment building! All my company would have to fork out for would be a new wheel. With all of this gung-ho shit, you’d think you would want to be getting to a safe place as soon as possible, but I tell you what sometimes: do you fuck! ‘Bring it on’ was the case sometimes. The smell of cordite does get you going and you feel alive and invincible at times. Of course, it’s pure testosterone and adrenalin kicking in most of the time. Difficult to explain to some people, perhaps.

  As we’d now cleared the worst of it all, we were still on edge a bit, but our little colleague was fine. We’d had no further casualties so far and things were looking good. However, as we approached Mosul we had a bit of a scare – nothing serious but quite spectacular. While we’d been away, the insurgents had launched a combined attack on the Yanks. This attack had involved RPGs, mortars and gunfire. The Yanks in turn had called in a huge airstrike on them; this was truly awesome. We had to go firm, get defensive immediately, and then we settled back to watch the fireworks. To watch these fighter planes (F-16s) drop from the skies along with Apache attack helicopters sending guided missiles into houses is something awesome and was certainly better than Guy Fawkes Night. Our new puppy was completely oblivious to all of this and slept right on through it!

  After witnessing these dramatic airstrikes and with, no doubt, an untold amount of dead or wounded insurgents, altogether we’d had quite a busy day trying to get through what must be one of the toughest cities in Iraq. We hadn’t delivered our package or completed the mission, but we’d had no losses. Of course, one of the guys had sustained a gunshot wound and we’d had a blown tyre, but overall it was not a bad result.

  We were soon back in camp and we sent the wounded Gurkha off to the sickbay. He would in time, undoubtedly, be sent back to a hospital in Germany to recuperate and when he was recovered he’d be sent back to Nepal. At least he wasn’t going home in a box, which made him one of the lucky ones. Many did get sent back home to Nepal in boxes. Not nice.

  But watching those airstrikes had been amazing and demonstrated to me what truly awesome firepower the Americans had. There’s no way I’d like to be on the receiving end of any of that! It had gone on for a good thirty minutes and it was truly compulsive viewing.

  Chapter 5

  CIA Safe House


  My alarm went off at 06.00 and I didn’t even hear it. I was totally knackered. We’d been on patrol until the early hours escorting a convoy of petroleum trucks down from Turkey again. I was awoken by Stu banging like fuck on my door and shouting about getting my lazy arse out of bed or I’d be late for breakfast. Now, to tell you the truth, my ideal morning routine, if I’m not going for a run or doing some gym work, is a nice, long, red-hot shower followed by two or three cups of coffee and some beans on toast. I had none of that this morning. I was late. I chucked on my trousers and T-shirt and legged it out of my room. It was still dark. I couldn’t figure it out. Why was it still dark? Then it dawned on me: the other guys had sneaked into my room and altered my alarm clock by an hour and a half while we had been out on patrol. Then, when the other patrol had come in from another mission, they banged on my door at around 05.00. ‘That’ll teach you to take so fucking long in the showers Mercer!’ Stu said, cracking up. ‘Arseholes!’ I said, slamming my door and getting undressed again. And then I thought, Fuck it! I might as well get into my patrol gear – normally a T-shirt, plain khaki combat trousers, desert boots and belt with pistol holster on it. I would come back for my hardware later (all my heavy stuff). At least I definitely had time for breakfast now, since there was absolutely no point in going back to bed. But I’d get my revenge.

  Everything we carried on us, including weapons and ammo (which took up a hell of a lot of room), was kept in our rooms. With the hours we kept, an armoury would have been a pain in the arse. Obviously, we had one, but it kept to strict opening hours. Also, if the camp came under attack, I don’t think there would be any way you could separate us from our guns. We had to be kept armed all of the time.

  After my rude awakening, I took a brisk walk down to the mess hall past some huge conifer trees, planted for Saddam when he used to visit, and then past the constantly bustling helipad. I could make out an Apache gunship and a Black Hawk getting ready for takeoff; they looked like they meant business. The sun was coming up now and it looked to be another glorious day (apart from the bombing and shooting). I hadn’t really heard any shooting yet – a rare situation – and it was almost peaceful. I hung around the helipad for a while because passing helicopters always fascinated me – probably something going back to my school-boy days. I could smell breakfast cooking and I was now feeling famished, so I made my way to the mess hall. You could always eat as much as you wanted – so we always used to train like hell.

  I entered the mess hall and I could see there were troops covered in dirt and dust and looking knackered – they were obviously just in off some patrol. Then, in contrast, there were some troops looking clean but slightly apprehensive, probably because they were about to go out on patrol. And last, but not least, there were the desk jockeys, who always looked immaculate, as they were never required to leave the camp or even go out of the gate. After a great breakfast of poached eggs and beans on toast, I walked back to my room.

  As I was walking along the main road six of our Toyota pickups approached, driven by our Fijian and Gurkha drivers. Every morning and night these guys would check the water and fuel and mount the heavy weapons on the trucks before our mission. It was quite a sight. They looked is if ‘don’t fuck with us’ was written all over them. I jumped in one of the approaching vehicles through the open door and we drove down to our accommodation. I ran into my room and went through my routine: pistol in holster, body armour on, ammo pouches attached to body armour. OK, so the whole lot weighed a ton, but it was very comfortable when driving. I then put my rucksack on, which contained ten spare magazines of thirty rounds, so in total I was carrying around six-hundred rounds of ammunition. Then, lastly I picked up my M16 with M203 grenade launcher. Wrapped around my M16 was a bandolier of twenty rounds of high-explosive 40mm grenades. I would always put these around my neck until I got to the vehicle. I turned my light out and kissed Kasper the dog bye-bye and, as usual, she tried to bite me. Little fucker!

  I went to give my team a quick brief, do a comms check and make sure everything was ready. Once we were out of that gate there was no room for screw-ups. It all had to be slick as fuck. As usual, all the Fijian guys prayed, and I prayed with them. We could always do with all the luck we could get. We got the signal to mount up and assembled in a line of march – head of the patrol at the front, 2IC (second-in-command) in the middle. In the event that the lead vehicle was taken out, the 2IC would take charge. Every American soldier we saw on the way out of camp gave us a wave. We waved back. They knew that some of the time some of us wouldn’t be coming back. Adrenalin was going some now as we approached the gate.

  Each patrol commander pulled up his vehicle at the main entrance and we all got out. It always amazed me that not one of the guys was nervous. On the contrary, everyone was smiling and checking his kit. These were a fucking great bunch of guys, tough as you like, confident but not overly so. Last checks were made, then the command was given to load our weapons and make ready. I heard hundreds of loud clicks, almost in unison, ringing out (this was the guys cocking their weapons). We were ready to roll and got back in our vehicles and set off. The pace quickened and the wires and chains at the sentry post dropped. We flew past the concrete bollards and out we went out as we’d done so many times before. Not a round was fired at us, thank goodness!

  We were to take a different route today and our main mission was to act as backup for another one of our call signs – they’d drawn the short straw and had a dangerous cargo of one hundred fuel tankers to protect. Our main job was to position our heavy weapons (the ones on the backs of our trucks) either side of the main dual carriageway on two opposite hills to protect their convoy, staggered so as to avoid a possible crossfire. We also positioned two vehicles as cut-offs, one up the road and one down.

  As we tore through town, every one of us was checking his arc in anticipation of what could easily turn into a very bad situation. The main reason for this was that just outside town the CIA – or OGA (other government agencies), as they prefer to be known in Iraq – had a heavily fortified safe house on the outskirts of Mosul. This was guarded by some of our Gurkhas and the American security company Triple Canopy. This house was not that safe! It was constantly getting mortared and shot at by the insurgents, so driving past the bloody place always gave everyone the heebie-jeebies. There were some ideal ambush positions for the insurgents around this area, with high ground on either side of the buildings and the main complex. Unfortunately, it was the only road to and from our base, and insurgents could just as easily hit us at any time – as later on we would find out, big time.

  We sped past the OGA building, which was now on our left, as fast as possible. We really did have to drive at breakneck speed. Everyone was tense, with thumb and fingers on their safety catch, at the ready. The heavy-weapon gunners on the back were equally ready, each gunner in each truck taking up arcs left and right. I was at the back this time, in control with the M19 automatic grenade launcher. This thing could bring down a house; it was a weapon definitely not to be used for warning shots! We also had two massive Fijians in the back seats with M240 GPMGs; we had some awesome firepower.

  Once past the OGA (CIA) building we were then on to a dual carriageway with hills on one side and a 10-foot wall on the left. To all intents and purposes, we were travelling along a shooting gallery, and the insurgents knew this. However, this was the only way out of town and the insurgents also knew that, if they had a pop at us on this route, they would have twenty-four pissed-off Fijians or Gurkhas with bigger guns than they had, unleashing everything they had in return, so it was easier for them to fire at the Yanks. Now, the insurgents are far from stupid. They are extremely effective and intelligent. But they would often go for the easy target, and this we were certainly not. They knew they would have trouble on their hands if they went for us.

  As we got past the worst part of the danger, my arse began to relax a bit and I took my thumb off my safety catch and switched on my sat-nav and swi
tched off the bomb-jamming equipment. We’d done this journey many times before but, in the event of having to split the patrol, we had emergency RVs (rendezvous points) put into all the routes we took. All of this was put in code in case any insurgents managed to get hold of one of our vehicles. If a vehicle was disabled and we would have to leave it behind, we would blow it up to make it unusable.

  We got deeper and deeper into the desert and there were now no signs of houses, just the occasional hut by the side of the road selling engine oil and truck bits. Soon we came up to our main positions. We then put the Toyotas into four-wheel drive and left the road – always a risk, as getting stuck in the sand can make you can easy target for a sniper. Three of our vehicles broke left and our three broke right. My group of three vehicles carried on for half a click (kilometre), then we got into our positions, facing towards the dirt tracks that insurgents could possibly have approached us by.

  Now that we were in position, I posted a sentry with binoculars (whose job it was to scan the whole of the area we were covering to spot any potential trouble). We did a comms check again and surveyed the area. Nothing and no one (not even on foot) could approach us without our seeing them. We had ample cover from the road. In any case, we were supposed to be overt, not covert.

  After we were settled and in position it was now around 08.30 and I was getting some funny looks from the Fijians. Fuck! They’d gone two and a half hours without eating and if they didn’t eat soon I wouldn’t be popular! ‘Get stuck in, then,’ I gestured. They didn’t need to be asked twice. Those guys could really put away some food. After they had their feed they looked much happier. I felt better, too.