Escape from Baghdad

by James Ashcroft

  I showed the captain the photo and his eyes bugged out. A myriad of emotions flashed over his face; the last one, I think, was relief that he had been treating me courteously.

  ‘Very good, Captain Ashcroft. Very good.’

  In fact, I didn’t know Prince Ali bin al Hussein of Jordan at all, but we had been at Sandhurst more or less at the same time and by chance someone had snapped a photo of a very young James Ashcroft standing next to His Royal Highness. I hadn’t technically told any lies, but if the captain stuck out there in charge of this far-flung immigration post wanted to think the prince was my best mate, who was I to meddle in this pleasant fiction.

  I was about to say that I’d put in a good word for him next time we met, but that must have been in his mind and I came to my feet instead.

  ‘Thank you for the tea. You have been very kind, Captain,’ I said. ‘You have important work here. I shouldn’t take up any more of your valuable time.’

  He, too, came to his feet. He screamed for his orderly and, with a string of shouted Arabic, gave the man the stack of passports. The man stamped and saluted. He gave me a sideways look of horror before disappearing. The visa problem had gone. We shook hands once more and the captain followed me and the orderly back through the complex to the wagons. I stood over the official while he stamped the passports and handed them back to Sammy. The captain very helpfully gathered all his official admin staff together and gave them a right royal bollocking.

  Then he turned around and roared an order. Every Jordanian soldier in sight stood to attention.

  The captain saluted and shook my hand. ‘Welcome to Jordan.’

  Seamus grabbed his passport. ‘Jesus, what the fuck’s going on, Rupert? Did you just give him the blowjob of his life?’

  ‘Fucking fruit,’ sniffed Les.

  ‘I thought he’d fucking left us and gone back for that bird,’ said Dai.

  Sammy stood looking from face to face, wondering why my mates seemed so angry. He still had not learned that that was the way they showed their friendship.

  He turned to me. ‘What did you say to the officer in charge, Mister James?’

  ‘Ash.’

  ‘Mister Ash.’

  ‘I told him it was Sammy Mashooen out there and he said, “Oh yeah, him, the slow learner”.’

  He grinned. ‘Mister James, you are pulling my leg.’

  ‘Yeah, now shake a leg. Are we going to Amman or what?’

  I was exhausted. I nodded off for a bit of Egyptian PT and woke up on the outskirts of Amman with one of the kids shaking me. We got into the city centre and I thought were hopelessly lost when we turned a corner and there was the Marriott Hotel.

  ‘Dinner at the Marriott, Mister James,’ Sammy announced softly.

  Unbelievable.

  We got out, stretched under the starry night sky and ignored the curious looks of the hotel staff. Then there were short awkward conversations as we Brits got out our bags and Sammy and his family prepared to leave. It was an incredible anticlimax. We had just been to hell and back together with these people, and now we were just going to shake their hands and go our separate ways. I didn’t know what was appropriate to say on these occasions, if I am honest.

  Fara appeared next to Sammy; tears welled up into her eyes. He put his arms around her, something you don’t see Arab men do, not in public, not in front of foreigners. She sobbed, long, soft, heartfelt gulps that came from deep down, tears for her aunt, for Iraq, for the future of her children, who came towards their parents, heads lowered, uncertain what they should do but wanting to be there at that moment. I was moved by the affection they had for each other and how that affection had revealed itself in front of us. Then Fara grabbed my head and kissed me on both cheeks. I was just as shocked as Sammy.

  ‘Thank you, James.’ And she ran off in embarrassment.

  We Brits huddled for a moment, then I turned around and went over to Sammy discreetly.

  ‘Sammy, this is all the cash we have. Cobus gave some as well before we left Baghdad. It’s a few grand and should last you a while if you’re careful. Keep the bus but you should sell the other vehicles.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sammy was choked up with emotion.

  He went around one last time to shake all the Brits’ hands, and thanked them all. He lunged at Les and almost got in a kiss on the cheek, but Les’s lifetime of boxing reflexes saved him. The two men laughed and shook hands properly.

  He hugged me and I hugged him back.

  ‘You sure you’re going to be OK? This guy you know in Amman, he can find you somewhere to live?’

  Sammy nodded. ‘Yes, no problem. I phone to him while you are asleep.’

  ‘It’s not going to be easy, mate. Look after yourself.’

  ‘I am ready,’ he beamed at me.

  AFTERWORD

  12 AUGUST 2007

  The Daily Telegraph reported that up to sixty Iraqi interpreters working for British forces in southern Iraq and Basra may have been murdered by insurgent death squads.

  Speaking on condition of anonymity, an interpreter in his early forties said: ‘No one here is thinking about our security. The only consideration of the British is how they can use us. The insurgents are not waiting for the British to leave, they are killing us now.’

  25 OCTOBER 2008

  The Guardian: the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) reported that 13,000 Christians in Mosul – half the city’s Christian population – had in the space of four weeks been hounded from their homes during a fresh wave of killing and intimidation. Dozens have died and thousands have taken refuge in mountain villages or fled to Syria.

  Many of the interpreters killed had been at the hands of Shia extremists. In Mosul the blame lay at the door of Sunnis intent on turning the oil-rich city into a Sunni stronghold backed by al-Qaeda elements.

  18 FEBRUARY 2009

  The World Tribune reported that US security contractors have decided not to cooperate with a request from the Iraqi government for the names of their Iraqi translators.

  Industry sources said major contractors have concluded that information on their Iraqi translators could lead to assassination attempts by everybody from al-Qaeda to Shia militias. They said the translators would be accused of collaborating with US military operations in which Iraqi civilians were killed.

  ‘Translators’ personal identifiers absolutely will not be turned over,’ DynCorp International spokesman Douglas Ebner said.

  More than 300 Iraqi interpreters with the US military have been killed since 2003.

  Thank you to all who wrote in via my website with positive comments. You clearly enjoyed Making a Killing and I hope you enjoyed this second book as much as I enjoyed corresponding with you.

  For those of you who sent in negative comments about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, I can only repeat that I honestly had nothing to do with the decision to invade either country. Really. I hope this book annoyed you as much as the first one. I especially requested the publishers to put sharp corners on it so that you can shove it up your doos.

  One of the reasons Escape was written was that so many people asked what happened to those characters introduced in Making a Killing. I wanted to tell Sammy’s story. Although he can by no means be described as ‘average’, for me he represents the ordinary civilian in that in addition to being my friend, he was also a worried husband and father, trying to do his best for his family in often impossible circumstances.

  I have been in many war zones around the world and the media makes much of the politics, the politicians and the soldiers. Coverage of civilian themes is traditionally limited to the emotionally charged story, usually of some little girl specifically selected by cynical news producers after having been blinded or maimed by US/Israeli/British etc. artillery or air strike. The little girl will raise international outrage, a hundred grand in donations and be flown to London for specialist treatment.

  The plight of thousands if not millions of people, the average civilian
s caught up in events beyond their control, is often sidelined. But in every country the story is often the same. One day, people get up and go to work thinking about what to have for dinner. The next day they may be on the run, wearing the same clothes, their only assets what they’d put into their pockets the day before. They face hardship, deprivation and often torture, rape and death. Many are desperately trying to protect their own families. They hide in the ruins of their homes and neighbourhoods with nowhere else to go, counting the meagre stock of rice, water and grubby dollars that might get them through the next day.

  I am always moved by both the determination and despair of these people, and I hope this book gives a little insight into their world.

  Iraq is still a dangerous place. General Petraeus’s surge worked, but the handover of security to Iraqi forces is turning into entirely predictable chaos and bloodshed. Most police and security positions, even in Sunni areas, are given only to Shi’ites. The hugely successful Sunni Awakening councils are disbanding as the Shia government takes over the task of managing them and, of course, refuses to pay the Sunni apostates, as the Americans were doing. Far better to keep the money and spend it on themselves.

  This development has surprised no one. Sunni insurgency groups have enjoyed a 95 per cent increase in recruitment and the bloodshed and violence has spiked as once again Iraqis wage war on each other for power. The only good news in this is that both sides despise al-Qaeda and the remaining foreign mujahideen have been forced to withdraw to small areas of influence, including, ironically, Mosul.

  On my return to Baghdad I had bumped into a group of ex-Spartan colleagues in the palace chow hall. It had been fantastic to catch up with old friends and hear all their news. Within two months of me leaving Iraq again, word reached me that three were dead and the fourth seriously wounded.

  Colonel Mad Dog McQueen was successfully casevaced to Germany and then the US, where he was very shabbily treated in the Walter Reed medical centre in Washington DC. He is still in a terrible state after three long years of operations to repair his shattered body.

  Typical of this amazing man he regards himself as lucky, having seen the many other wounded Coalition personnel who have suffered more than him. I did visit and get to see his astonishing gun collection, which would put many museums and the Green Beret armoury to shame. However, he insists that he is ‘normal’ and not crazy like ‘some of those other people’ that collect guns. When I visited him, he met me at the airport with one hand, one eye and one ear. He drove me back to his place. I have never been so scared in all my born days.

  For his single-handed desert charge against an enemy platoon, whilst already wounded, killing twelve enemy soldiers with literally one hand tied behind his back and rescuing the damsel in distress, Mad Dog was awarded the Bronze Star for Valor and the Purple Heart. I thought he should have got the Medal of Honor. In the book, I actually underplayed his actions that day, including the rescue of a dozen civilian reconstruction contractors from another ambush.

  On a trivia note, the photo on the back cover was taken by Mad Dog as he was being casevaced to the Green Zone in a Blackhawk that happened to be flying past the ambush site. Apparently he saw the view, said ‘Neat’, sat up, took the photo, tucked his camera away and lay down so the medic could carry on treating him.

  Tanya Carillo I presume married her fiancé and lived happily ever after. I hope so. I only knew her briefly but she got under my skin and I remember her fondly.

  Ali, the armourer turned black-marketer, disappeared into the chaos of the war and I never found out what became of him, despite several attempts through my remaining network of Iraqi friends still in Baghdad.

  Les, Dai and Seamus all returned to the UK and are doing well. Seamus still bodyguards his VIP regularly and Dai returns to Afghan occasionally to top up his tan.

  Confused and bewildered by a strange world full of electricity, running water and toilet paper, the Yaapies, including Cobus, have all returned with much relief to the kraals and bomas of their native land. I can only hope that they find some kind soul who can read these words to them, so that they may hear this story and pass it on to their future generations around the campfires through their strong traditions of oral history, much as I have witnessed on the Discovery Channel. They are an ingenious people and have devised a method of passing quite complex messages by drum, from village to village, far faster than the same message can be carried by a man running.

  My last contact with the Green Berets assures me that they are all still well and doing good work in various places. I wish them good luck. I still owe one of them a copy of Making a Killing and when I find his address I will send it, I promise. You know who you are!

  It is amazing to the soldier on the ground that Donald Rumsfeld still has not been tried and convicted for what they consider to be his terrible crimes against the US armed forces.

  Last but not least, Sammy and his family spent two long years as refugees in Jordan. I never took a penny of the royalties sent to me for Making a Killing. I just forwarded them on to him and his family, with a little personal top-up now and then, just to keep body and soul together.

  Their attempts to request asylum were thwarted constantly by the bewildering early requirement that each Iraqi applicant had to be vouched for by at least a general. Our task-force commander, Mad Dog, was only a colonel.

  In the meantime the news reports have been full of the plight of interpreters, attempting to shame, often in vain, the US and UK governments into doing the right thing and sheltering those who risked their lives to help the Coalition Forces.

  Finally, in early 2009, Sammy and family were successful in their request for asylum and have now been resettled in the US. Ayesha gave birth to a son in the States. They called him James.

  James Ashcroft, July 2009

  www.makingakilling.co.uk

  INDEX

  The page references in this index correspond to the printed edition from which this ebook was created. To find a specific word or phrase from the index, please use the search feature of your ebook reader.

  9/11 attacks 52, 54, 113

  Abrams tanks 151

  Afghanistan 52, 74–5, 76, 106, 107–9, 111–3

  Africa 4–5, 6–16

  aircraft 56, 83, 139, 213, 265, 266, 267

  AK47’s 9, 10, 14, 48, 81, 103, 132, 143, 145–6, 190, 205, 220–1, 241

  Al-Hamra Hotel, Baghdad 70–1

  al-Maliki, Nouri 76

  al-Mazyad, Abeer 175–6, 180, 216, 219, 220

  al-Qaeda 37, 51, 52, 54, 75–6, 86, 106, 219, 269, 294

  al-Sadr, Muqtada 65, 76–7, 241

  al-Zarqawi, Abu Musab 37

  Ali (former Spartan armourer) 206–9, 211, 295

  Amin, Mark 136, 138–9, 143–5, 195, 196

  Amman, Jordan 36–41, 288–9

  Antoine (gunner, Côte d’Ivoire) 9–14, 16, 26

  arms see under names of individual weapons

  Ashcroft, Krista (wife) 2, 4–6, 7, 24, 30–2, 33–5, 141–2, 146–7, 224

  Ashcroft, Natalie (daughter) 1, 5, 10, 141, 224

  Ashcroft, Veronica (daughter) 5, 9–10, 141

  Awakening Movement 269–70, 293

  Ba’ath Party 50–1, 56, 97, 226

  Baghdad Economy and Administration College 78

  Baghdad International Airport (BIAP) 29, 41, 42–6, 48, 149–50

  Beretta M9 pistols 48

  bin Laden, Osama 51

  Bird, Paul 165–70

  Blair, Tony 53

  body armour 8, 14, 48, 60, 228, 256

  border crossing, Jordan 282–7

  Bosnia 2

  Bradley fighting vehicles 55, 151, 183

  Bremer, Paul 51

  Bren guns 202–3

  Bush, George W. 18, 52, 54, 58, 75

  car bombs 235–7

  Carillo, Tanya 60, 62–3, 64–5, 69, 70, 71, 72–4, 99, 106, 107, 110–1, 112, 116, 120–3, 155–64, 295

  Cobus 17–8, 20, 21–3, 40, 46
–9, 61, 62, 63–6, 69, 72–4, 83, 85–6, 88–92, 96, 109, 114–5, 120–4, 125, 128–33, 136, 138, 147–8, 155–6, 170, 176–81, 182–5, 188–98, 204–18, 295

  Combat Support Hospital (CSH) 56, 155–64

  communications

  mobile phones 81

  radios 9, 10, 81

  satphones 8, 81

  container housing units (CHUs) 63

  Côte d’Ivoire, Africa 4–5, 6–7

  Croatia 164–70

  Daily Telegraph 291

  Davor 137, 138, 143, 198–9, 258–9

  Dragunov sniper rifles 244–5

  Ebner, Douglas 292

  Etienne 25, 26–7

  explosively formed penetrators (EFPs) 49, 50

  FAL rifles 207–8, 218, 221

  Fallujah 269, 271–7

  female suicide bombers 78–80, 231, 232–4, 256

  Gabir (Sammy’s cousin) 125–7, 179–81, 186–7, 215, 219

  gardiens (informants) 6, 8

  Gates, Robert 75

  General-Purpose Machine-Guns (GPMGs) 9, 10, 178 Global Positioning System (GPS) 9, 65, 281

  Green Berets 135–46, 195, 202, 203–4, 268, 295

  grenade launchers 220

  Guardian 291

  Hayes, Seamus 25, 32–3, 149–55, 170, 176–81, 182–5, 188–95, 202–23, 228–84, 287–9, 295

  Hendriks 25, 33, 38–9, 47

  Hunt, John 158, 160

  Hussein, Saddam 18, 51, 54, 56, 59, 96

  Ibrahim, Colonel 20–1, 28, 65, 87, 116, 124, 253, 280

  Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) 19, 49

  informants 6, 8

  Iran 50, 57

  Iraqi Army 84, 230, 239

  Iraqi Police (IP) 20, 21, 84–5, 87, 179, 188, 219, 259–66

  ‘Iraqification’ process 18, 19, 68

  Janjaweed, the 6

  Jones, Dai 25, 27–9, 69, 103–15, 116–24, 125–33, 136–42, 147–8, 150–5, 170, 176–81, 182–5, 188–95, 202–23, 227–84, 287–9, 295