Kicking Bombs

by Barry Stevens

  We were probably 150 metres from the bridge when our front security vehicle was attacked not only from the front but both sides as well, killing everyone inside. There must have been at least 30 gunmen all firing at once. One at a time each F350 drove into a hail of bullets as it tried to get through the chaos. The hummer that was in the centre of our group was swerving and purposely running over the enemy that had now run onto the edge of the road. The gunner in the turret was swinging in all directions and blowing everything in front of him to pieces. The enemy stupidly ran from out of their cover onto the road only to be filled so full of lead that their bodies shook from the impact of the bullets.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the smoke trail from an RPG coming from across the open ground in front of us. It hit the hummer square in the centre of the windscreen. Although the blast of the rocket was mainly contained inside the armoured vehicle the body of the gunner was shot from the turret like a champagne cork high into the sky, landing in a bloody mess on the road in front of us. Instinct took over and I immediately slammed on the brakes and swung the wheel violently to the left in an attempt to get out of the direct line of fire. The rear security vehicle that was following me swerved erratically past me with the inside of the windscreen covered in blood and the driver hanging half out of the window. The two other guards in the vehicle were trying to take over the wheel when an RPG round that was obviously aimed at my vehicle slammed into the side of the security vehicle, peeling the roof off and blowing pieces of the guards and their equipment flying through the air.

  The 350 I was driving came to a crashing halt, slamming into the drain that was being used as cover by the enemy and crushing two of them against the embankment. Luckily I was wearing my seatbelt (safety first!) but because of the way the others had to sit in the vehicles and cover the side of the road with our weapons they weren’t buckled in. Tripod was in the front with me and was thrown through the windscreen at the same time as the two boys in the back ended up flying over the bench seat and into the front with me, squashed up hard against the dash.

  The three of us still in the vehicle were temporarily stunned but still had the sense to scamper for our weapons. The insurgents were firing at anything and everything and in a way it was lucky for us that they were. The first of the enemy I saw after slamming into the drain was a group of about 10 men firing into the blown-up hummers and security vehicles. The road was covered in bodies wearing both police uniforms and black pyjamas with black shemaghs wrapped around their heads. One of our boys, Boof, climbed out through the smashed windscreen and started firing at a group that was running up behind our vehicle. I finally got out of the vehicle only to find Tripe’s twisted body in a pile on the ground in front of the vehicle. I fell to my knees in shock. But then my survival instincts kicked back in and I stood, roaring with emotion, and started to fire on the group to our rear. I then heard the last of us, Boots, trying to get out of the car behind me scream after taking a hail of bullets in his torso.

  As far as I was concerned Boof and I were the only two left alive. We were lying in the ditch beside our wrecked 350 in an attempt to protect ourselves from gunfire when we heard a solid stream of .50 calibre machine gunfire coming from far behind us. The rear hummer had survived! It was moving into a position along the creek bed and was firing heavily into the group of enemy stupidly standing in the middle of the road firing at the burning wrecks of the hummers and other vehicles. I moved myself into a position where I could clearly see the hummer firing in our direction and although it was itself under sporadic fire from a group of men hidden within the safety of the Hescos, it continued to stitch up the road beside us. Then as suddenly as it started it too was stopped by another RPG round coming from somewhere ahead of us. I watched it as it hit the turret where the gunner was standing. He saw it coming and frantically tried to climb out before it struck and detonated on the side of his machine gun, not only destroying his gun and the turret he was in but killing him and blowing his body backwards over the rear of the vehicle. Amazingly at least the driver of the hummer survived the explosion. It was too far way for me to be sure about anyone else in the vehicle but the second the projectile hit the turret the hummer kicked into life and sped off back along the road in the direction we’d just come from. I just hoped that their radio was okay and they were calling in back up.

  For a short while there was complete silence. I could hear a group of men screaming out ‘Allahu Akbar’ over the groans of the wounded. Boof and I crawled under the chassis of our 350, which had been slightly lifted at the front where it had impacted with the embankment. Every once in a while there were a few small automatic bursts of AK-47 fire as they made sure the others in our group where dead. We both looked at each other and although we never said a single word we were both sure that sooner or later someone would discover us hiding under the wreck and kill us. There was no way we were going to let this happen without a fight. We knew we still had at least 20 rounds each in our magazines, but unfortunately our spare mags were on the floor somewhere inside the vehicle above us.

  Suddenly I could hear shouting coming from a single person on the road and the noise of someone going through our belongings in the rear tray of the 350. I could hear the sound of a group of cars moving quickly down the road and stopping in the middle of the road among the bodies. Every once in a while there would be another scream of ‘Allahu Akbar’ and a burst of automatic fire presumably into a corpse. I realised that I could crawl to a spot up near the front wheel arch where a pile of soil had been pushed up from the impact of the crash. From there I could get a look at what was going on without giving up the security of our hiding spot. I ended up with my head around ground level with the road. I could make out at least a dozen civilian vehicles a long way ahead of us turning around and speeding off in the direction from which they came at high speed, not wanting to be a part of this. The cars parked in the middle of the killing ground were being loaded with the enemy dead and everything they could fit in from out of the backs of our pick-ups.

  I could see smoke coming from the centre of the checkpoint, obviously from the cab of the truck carrying the explosives. The shipping container on the back seemed to be in one piece although I could only make out what was higher than the Hesco barriers. Just when I was beginning to think it was all over a group of about eight small one-tonne trucks came driving down the road towards the road block. A group of men ran from the road near us towards the Hescos, waving their weapons in the air and screaming ‘Allahu Akbar!’ Although I couldn’t see the rear of the container or where the trucks stopped, I knew they were there to unload the explosives and get away as fast as they could.

  By this time there was only a small group of men remaining on the road loading their dead. Everyone else was down in the vicinity of the explosives truck. When I thought they were far enough away I quietly slid back under the 350 and told Boof what was going on. The both of us were bruised, bleeding, shit-scared and still shaken by everything that had all happened in less than two minutes. I didn’t have time to think about Tripod; couldn’t let myself. We decided that regardless of what they were doing up top we were staying put and doing whatever was necessary to stay undetected.

  We could hear the small trucks revving up and driving away from the checkpoint on the other side of the creek in amongst the constant yelling and total confusion caused by the total lack of supervision of the group raiding the truck. By this time the pick-up truck that had been left to pick up the bodies of their dead from the road was leaving and heading up the road near where the civilian vehicles were turning around.

  Suddenly a huge explosion shook the ground. The Hesco barriers were blown into a huge dust pile amongst a massive ball of flame. The bridge itself was blown inwards and crashed into the creek. I could make out huge fragments of the shipping container being blown sideways into the creek. Bodies and the remaining vehicles were being thrown everywhere. The both of us watched from the safety of our hiding spot bewi
ldered by the events that were taking place in front of us. Initially I thought they must have done something stupid and detonated what was left in the truck, then suddenly an Apache attack helicopter flew in low over the top of us at an incredible speed, slicing the dust and smoke cloud caused by the explosion. The sound of this magnificent machine was both deafening and soothing at the same time. It looked like the surviving hummer had come through after all and got us the help we needed. As this painted green angel banked around over the open field beside us, another Apache came in low and fast directly over the top of us, spraying the demolished checkpoint and bridge with its chain guns. The cartridges were raining down over the bodies of the dead Australians lying in the centre of the road.

  Although we remained under our smashed up F350 I felt a huge sense of relief flood my body. Boof and I got choked up and quietly started to get emotional when we heard a siren scream towards us. I looked out of my spy hole to see an almost new Toyota Landcruiser police car with its lights flashing stop about 30 metres from us. Two uniformed men got out of the car and started running around the killing area rolling over the bodies of the dead Aussies, searching for survivors amongst the carnage left by the attack.

  Before I could say anything Boof had crawled out from our cover and was running towards the police car, crying uncontrollably and screaming for help. A policeman ran towards him and took him in his arms at the same time as an Apache hovered low overhead surveying the area. The other policeman waved at the chopper and gave him the thumbs up as he ran towards my wrecked car and called me out. As I came out the policeman helped me out of the drain and wiped the blood from my face with his sleeve. He led me towards the Landcruiser where they offered me a bottle of water and sat me in the back seat. All the time the noise of the hovering helicopters was deafening. Obviously they didn’t want to leave us until help arrived as back up for the two lonely police officers.

  Suddenly it all went to shit. There was a huge explosion above us. I looked up to see a large smoking hole in the side of the chopper closest to us and the crew trying desperately to fly the out-of-control machine. The other helicopter quickly banked and lifted away from the area at the same time as the damaged Apache crashed and exploded into the creek line near the smashed bridge.

  The two policemen rushed us into the Landcruiser and we took off down the road, swerving so as not to run over any of the bodies lying on the road. I could hear the remaining helicopter firing its chain guns at something behind us and could just make out in the distance an area in the middle of the open field where the RPGs were coming from erupt under a barrage of 20 millimetre high explosive chain gun fire.

  The police car took us away from the area as fast as it could. I could hear frantic radio chatter coming from the police radio fitted into the dash but couldn’t understand a single word they were saying. Boof was obviously in shock and started to dry retch and cry uncontrollably. Not that I could blame him. In fact I felt like it myself, but for some reason was so shocked I was still finding it all hard to take in.

  The police car we were riding in slowed down and turned off the main road about 5 kilometres from the ambush site. After a couple of hundred metres we turned into a small farm and stopped outside a small mud farmhouse surrounded by a grove of almost dead trees. One of the policemen in the front seat turned around and said to the best of his English-speaking ability, ‘Everything okay, everything okay,’ over and over. He got out of the car and opened my door for me. As I got out I heard someone scream ‘Allahu Akbar’ at the same time as I felt something hit me hard in the back of my head.

  10

  The Farmhouse

  500kg Incendiary Bomb, BIN-200

  Made in Spain. The Iraqi Air Force, when there was one, commonly used napalm incendiary mixtures in thick-walled drop tanks against airfields, military camps, Iranian villages and troops. No doubt they would have used them against the co-ablation forces during both Gulf Wars if they still had the aircraft to carry them. These tanks/bombs were made out of aluminium and were externally indistinguishable from normal gasoline carrying underwing drop tanks. The capacity of these napalm tanks was around the 500 litre mark. They were fitted to underwing bomb racks and fitted with attached box-type stabilisers. When dropping these bombs from low altitude the tanks were used without stabilisers so they would spin and tumble. In order to ignite the mixture when dropped against surface targets they were fitted with two specially fitted phosphorous grenades located at the nose and tail end of the tank. When the tanks hit the ground from low altitude, the burning mixture would cover an area of 1500–2000 square metres.

  When I came to I found myself stripped down to my underwear, and tied with thin wire that was cutting into my now bleeding wrists and ankles. I was lying face down on a dirt floor that was covered in chicken shit and reeked of animal urine. I rolled onto my side against the wall beside me to look around and saw Boof lying half naked and motionless on the floor beside me. His hair was knotted and thick with blood and dirt. I could see a fresh trickle of blood coming from one of his ankles as if it wasn’t long ago that they tied him up. I heard noises in an adjoining room and the sound of people arguing. A small child was crying out loud, obviously distressed by the commotion.

  Suddenly there was a man standing in the doorway who when he saw me conscious fired a burst from his AK into the mud wall just above my shoulder. He started screaming something at me and then began to kick the living crap out of me with his bare feet. He must have kicked me at least a dozen times in the stomach and chest when finally someone stopped him. I looked up and saw a man in an Iraqi Army uniform pulling him away and trying to console him. One of the policemen who initially brought us to the farmhouse came into the room and pushed me face down onto the floor. He twisted the sole of his military boot into the back of my head forcing my face into the rancid soil beneath my face while all the time muttering something in Arabic.

  I must have passed out again because the next thing I knew I was in total darkness. I whispered to Boof to see if he was okay but heard nothing. It was completely quiet and getting cold. I had no idea what time it was or how long I had been unconscious. Off in the distance I could hear vehicles travelling down a highway. The smell of urine was still strong so I assumed that I must still be at the original farmhouse. I was planning to move my legs and swing them around to see if Boof was still lying next to me when I heard him groan as if he was slowly coming to. Suddenly a torch lit up the room and a man started to yell. I stayed perfectly still in an attempt to let them think that I was still unconscious. I heard some men come into the room and abuse Boof then heard a thud as they began to kick him. The more Boof cried and pleaded for them to stop the harder they kicked him. I continued to lie in silence on the floor knowing full well that there wasn’t a single thing I could do to help him. One of the men said something to the other and they both stopped the beating and laughed. Unexpectedly, the next thing I heard over the top off Boof’s weeping was the sound of the men urinating on him as he lay helpless on the ground. The way the sound of his pleas turned to gargles I knew he must have been lying on his back and they were purposely covering his face and filling his mouth each time he asked them to stop. When their bladders were empty I heard them kick him a few more times and then leave the room. Again Boof went silent as he passed back into unconsciousness.

  From that ordeal I learnt that the longer I let them think I was unconscious the longer I would go without getting the same treatment as Boof. I also learnt that there was no door or they had it permanently open so that could watch us — I hadn’t heard one close when they left the room. It seemed like a lifetime that I was lying there trying not to move or make a noise. I was getting huge cramps that were incredibly painful and the wire around my wrists and ankles was obviously affecting my circulation because my hands and feet were burning and throbbing. Even though all of this was excruciating I knew that if I even let out a whimper I would be in a far worse situation.

  As I lay there I
thought of nothing else but my children and my new grandchildren. I knew that it would be far too easy for me to just give up and have my captors end my misery simply by abusing and insulting them. I knew that they were not intending on ever letting us go free, and reckoned that the only reason they were holding us was to make some sort of political threat followed by our recorded and broadcasted execution. I can remember dreaming; all the pain had gone from my body and I was back at Enoggera in bed with my girlfriend, talking and laughing. I could clearly see my kids during different stages of their lives playing and arguing amongst themselves about what to watch on TV.

  I suddenly felt a huge wave of depression wash over me as I pictured my kids sitting beside the rest of my family in the front rows of my funeral. My youngest was crying so much that I couldn’t recognise her. I then found it was impossible to remain still and quiet; my whole body shook as I attempted to hold back my emotions. As soon as the torch lit up the room I knew I was in for a similar bashing to Boof’s. A single man came into the room screaming something in Arabic and smashed me across the back of my head with a narrow piece of wood and rolled me onto my back. I could almost feel my shoulder muscles tear as my tied wrists were now underneath my body in the middle of my back. He hit me again with the piece of wood but this time across the ridge of my nose, splitting it badly. The blood from the wound flowed into my eyes and burnt so bad I couldn’t open them. I held my eyes closed as tightly as I could in an attempt to stop the stinging. At this point I was at a point where nothing he could do to me could impose more pain. He started kicking me in the side and I just lay there and took it. It wasn’t as if I was some sort of superhero, but simply someone who had so much pain running through his body that it just wasn’t registering. I remember seeing Boof’s lifeless body lying against a pile of broken bricks where they had last left him while this madman continued to beat me. It was as if I wasn’t in my body anymore. I felt like I was looking down watching myself getting bashed by this crazy man, who seemed to have no control over what he was doing. Finally a man and a woman came into the room and pulled him away screaming. Somehow I managed to roll onto my side and felt the sharp pain coming from my ribs and what I figured must have been severely bruised kidneys. That was the last thing I can remember as thankfully I felt myself drift off into unconsciousness.