Kicking Bombs

by Barry Stevens

  The young man walked in with two other men and a woman all with AK-47s slung across their backs. He introduced the larger of the men as Hydar and the other as Jawed. The women’s name was Negara and he indicated to me that she was far more aggressive and heartless than either of the men.

  I was told that these people would be looking after me and that if I didn’t cause any problems like attempting to escape then my stay here would be relatively easy; however, if I did try anything I would pay dearly to a point where I would wish I hadn’t.

  I was motioned up and led to the door. In the dark I could make out a large open area scattered with old car and truck bodies. I was then led across to a small old truck that could have been a bread truck or similar. It was sitting flat on the ground because it had no wheels or axles and had some faded Arabic writing painted along the red exterior. When they opened the rear door I noticed the truck was completely empty except for a pile of old rags and tyres in the centre of the floor. Hydar and Jawed moved all of them aside, revealing a small trapdoor with an old style padlock, while Negara held her AK into my back. After they unlocked the door and it swung back I could see a ladder dropping into a dimly lit cavern.

  I was told to climb down and Hydar followed me. Once we were inside Hydar made a point of showing me that the sides and the roof of the room where made of concrete. He showed me a box containing some packets of dried fruit, some local bread and a plastic container full of cooked brown rice. There was an old army jerry can filled with water and a large piece of cardboard placed on the ground for me to sleep on. A small lightbulb swung by a thin piece of wire from the centre of the roof. Jawed called from above saying that I would be checked every day and not to attempt to dig my way out. I thought to myself, What a stupid thing to say; as if I had anything that could dig through cement anyway. Just before Hydar climbed up the ladder and left me alone, the young man stood over the hole and told me that he would see me again soon. They closed the trapdoor and I was alone.

  16

  Video Message to the World

  100mm Armour-piercing APHE-T

  Made in Czechoslovakia. An armour-piercing (AP) shell is a type of ammo designed to penetrate armour. Iraq used this type of ammo in its 100 millimetre guns in their Soviet-made T55 tanks. It’s also good against concrete bunkers and the like. An armour-piercing projectile itself must be able to withstand the shock of punching through armour plate. Shells designed for this purpose have a greatly strengthened case with a specially hardened and shaped nose, and a much smaller bursting charge. Some smaller-calibre AP shells have an inert filling, or incendiary charge, in place of the high explosive bursting charge. Even with modern day tanks and ammo, AP shells remain the preferred round in anti-tank warfare; they have a greater ‘first-hit kill’ probability than a high explosive anti-tank (HEAT) round — especially against a target with composite armour. And because of higher muzzle velocity, they are more accurate than a HEAT round.

  The van was far worse than the container. At least there I was able to keep myself busy by listening to voices and the goings-on around the warehouse; even the small light through the vent gave me some sort of amusement. But here I was stuck in a hole in the ground, unable to hear or see anything. After a while I decided to remove the bulb from the light socket and try to get some sleep. For a second I forgot about my arm injuries and when I lifted my arms up to unscrew the bulb I realised that I couldn’t possibly lift my left arm any higher than horizontal. I tried for a while to unscrew it using my right arm only but gave up after a short time and simply lay down on the cardboard. I rolled onto my right side against the concrete wall and fell asleep. When I woke up it was like everything that happened to me the day before was a dream. There I was at one stage positive that I was going to have my head hacked off by a goon with a carving knife, to wearing a woman’s dress in the back of a car, to lying in a cement hole under a truck wreck. I stood for a while trying to take it all in, slowly and carefully feeling my left arm, now minus its tattoos. After having some water and dried apricots I sat myself back on the cardboard against the concrete wall. I closed my eyes and tried to think of every situation I had been through over the past week or more. Was there anything I could have done better that could have helped me escape? Was there any occasion when I could have acted differently? The road checkpoint was the obvious one event that stood out in my mind, but even then I decided that there was nothing different I could have done and stayed alive even if I’d had the opportunity.

  The throbbing pain around my left shoulder was getting so bad now that I couldn’t move my left arm at all. I took off the overshirt they’d given me and fashioned a sling to try to keep it steady against my chest. Although this helped very little as far as the pain was concerned it did make moving about my small enclosure a little easier.

  I had a little to eat as I knew I had to keep my strength up. Thankfully the small, dim light in the dungeon was more than enough to see everything inside the room. I had no idea what the time was as I couldn’t see whether it was night or day.

  I sat on my cardboard bed, leaning up against the wall in total mental numbness. I felt myself slipping into a state of shock that I had been working so hard to avoid. I knew that if I succumbed to the fact that I was going to die then I would. I forced myself to believe that every second I was thinking straight would give me an advantage. Every day that I managed to stay alive would give me another day of hope.

  After what seemed an eternity I heard the door of the truck above me open, followed by someone unlocking the trapdoor. It was the woman with her AK-47 and a man who I had never seen before. She waved for me to climb the ladder and said something in Arabic and immediately the man with her said in English, ‘Come up.’ It must have been obvious to them that I was having trouble with my injuries and as soon as my shoulder reached the floor level of the truck the man leant down and took my right arm and helped me up.

  I was taken across the open paddock with the old car and truck bodies scattered all around. I noticed that there were a few mud buildings about 300 metres away, but none in real close proximity to where we were. When we walked into the building where I was taken the night before, I saw at least ten men sitting on a carpet drinking tea in a room near the entrance. As I was taken past the door to their room the entire group went quiet and stared me down.

  I was taken into a room that was decorated with black banners adorned with Arabic writing in fluorescent colours. There was an Iraqi flag hanging across one wall and a banner that I couldn’t read hanging beside it. I guessed it was the symbol of whatever faction these bastards belonged to. I was sat under the banner and told not to lean back against the wall. I had the feeling that this wasn’t going to be good.

  A group of people, some of whom I had seen before, came in from an adjoining room and lined the wall opposite me. Negara came in with a teenager who had a video recorder mounted on a tripod. He set it up between me and the group. I had to be strong; there was no way could I let these mongrels think that I was scared of them or whatever they had planned for me.

  A man who I had never seen before walked over to me with some A4 pieces of paper and handed them to me. The statement I was to read had been typed and each point was numbered. He told me that I was to read exactly what was written. It was made clear to me that if I didn’t do as he asked I would be punished until I did.

  I knew that whatever he wanted me to say would be total crap anyway and every single person who would see this video in the future would know it was total crap so without any hesitation I agreed.

  I remembered somewhere that if you were in a situation like I was in now, if you placed one of your thumbs between your index and middle finger on the same hand during the recording it was a sign of distress. During a situation like this, what other condition would I be in?

  As the teenager got the camera ready the man who gave me the paperwork said something to the others and they all went still and quiet. When the camera was ready I was told to r
ead, but as soon as I read it I realised that it must have been written by a complete moron; the spelling and wording was all over the place. But he’d told me to read it as it was written so that’s exactly what I did.

  1. Peoples of astraila

  2. You no hoo I am

  3. By no you wood have seen the Tatos on my skin that was taken from my arm on news

  4. My brutha astraila soldier in iraq have been killings men, women and childrens for to long

  5. My oficer have made me to kill inosent peples like childrens and steel tresurs on our raids in vilige and howses

  6. The America govermint is pay the astraila govermint for our army two do this bad thing

  7. I am told to me that America govermint only in Iraq for they want to make their own govermin puppet in Iraq for all of oil

  The older man who gave me the paperwork in the first place shouted and the young boy stopped recording. From across the room the man screamed at me, ‘Do you think we are uneducated fools?’

  I looked at him like I didn’t know what he was talking about.

  ‘You are speaking like a five-year-old boy! Are you trying to make us look unwise?’

  I replied, ‘I was told to read exactly what was written and that is how I am reading it.’

  ‘If there are any mistakes you will correct them!’ he shouted at me. ‘You do this again and you will be flogged.’

  I started reading again, slowly; this time taking my time and making the corrections as I was going:

  1. People of Australia you know who I am.

  2. By now you would have seen the tattoos on my skin that were removed from my arms on the news.

  3. My brother Australian soldiers in Iraq have been killing men, women and children for too long.

  4. My officers have made me kill innocent people like children as well as steal treasures in our raids on villages and houses.

  5. The American Government is paying the Australian Government for our army to do this.

  6. I am told that the American Government is only in Iraq because they want to make their own puppet government in Iraq so they can have all of the oil.

  7. I confess to being one of the murdering Australian soldiers committing these crimes.

  8. The people who have imprisoned me are the true people of Iraq and have the authority of Allah to judge and convict criminals in their holy lands.

  9. I have been judged and convicted of murder and sentenced to death for my crimes against the people of Iraq.

  Suddenly I went dizzy, almost passing out. The reality had finally hit me. They were going to kill me! And more than likely now, on video. Again I was screamed at from across the room: ‘Continue!’

  1. If all Australian soldiers are removed from Iraq before the holy month of Ramadan I will be freed unhurt.

  2. If a single Australian soldier remains in Iraq on the first day of the holy month of Ramadan I will be killed and my execution shown on the news and internet so the people of Australia will know that their soldiers are dying for a cause they will never win.

  3. My captives are good, honest people fighting for freedom of their country and religious beliefs.

  4. They want Iraq to be free of all American-commanded armies and are all willing to die until the infidels are gone forever.

  5. God is great!

  The very second I completed the last line they all started chanting ‘Allahu Akbar’ over and over with their arms up, holding their weapons above their heads. The older man came over to me and said, ‘You are a very brave man. Will you be as brave facing death or will you cry like a woman praying to your God?’

  I didn’t say a word; he got up and said something to the men. My mind was racing at a million miles per hour. The Islamic calendar is based on lunar cycles, so the exact dates of Ramadan shift slightly each year. This would be my second Ramadan here; I was pretty sure this year it was in the month of October. I wondered how far away that was.

  As they started to leave the room the woman Negara came back in toting her AK as if it were her only possession. She motioned me to get up and move out of the room. As I did so she poked me in the ribs with the muzzle of her weapon and mumbled something.

  I was led back outside by the woman and two goons in man dresses with AKs. On my way I was trying to take in as much of the local surrounding area as I could. As we approached the truck body where I was being kept I was surprised to find it locked from the outside. I waited while one of my escorts opened it up and went inside. Again the trapdoor was locked as well. He opened it up and shouted something down into the hole.

  Shit; there was someone down there.

  17

  Ben

  Boeing AH-64 Apache Helicopter

  The Apache helicopter is a revolutionary development in the history of war. It is essentially a flying tank — a helicopter designed to survive heavy attack and inflict massive damage. It can zero in on specific targets, day or night, even in terrible weather. Unfortunately it does have a few soft spots — the rotors being one of them. The biggest worry a pilot had in Iraq was a simple RPG. To counter the ability of RPG fire the Apache pilots usually fly just high enough to keep command of what’s going on under them but just high enough to make it hard to be shot down by an RPG. Small arms fire like that from an AK-47 does little more to an Apache than a few dents and scratches, and something for the crew to show off to their mates when they get back to base.

  Tenderly nursing my arm, I climbed down the ladder and saw a middle-aged black man with dried blood all over his very swollen face. Blood had also dried and knotted his hair into a thick black mass. He was wearing a pair of dirty white traditional trousers without a shirt. As soon as he saw me he tried to get up but I put my hand on his shoulder and kept him down. I put my finger to my lips and signalled for him to be quiet and waved for him to stay where he was. I doubted that these idiots had the brains to be able to plant a microphone in the hole but I checked anyway. As it turned out it was a very simple procedure as there wasn’t anything in the hole but four concrete walls, a concrete ceiling and floor with a few pieces of cardboard. As soon as I was as certain as I could be that the hole was clear I sat beside him and again motioned for him to be quiet.

  After a minute or two I heard the trapdoor lock being put on, followed by the truck doors being closed and locked. I looked at the man and said, ‘These bastards must think were fucking stupid.’ We smiled at one another.

  I put out my hand and introduced myself, ‘Hi, I’m Craig, but everyone calls me CJ.’ But my new cell mate pushed my hand away and gave me a huge man-hug like I was some long-lost friend. Unfortunately it was shortened by my groan of pain as he squeezed on my still very painful ribs and shoulder wounds. He jumped back and apologised.

  It was understandable that we had a thousand questions we wanted to ask each other.

  My first, looking at him in total disbelief was, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m First Sergeant Benjamin Schroeder. My friends call me Ben. How long have you been in here, man?’

  He didn’t interrupt me as I told him of my previous moves and treatment. I explained in detail what had just taken place inside the building and what they apparently had planned for me.

  ‘Man, you have no idea what a stir you have caused outside in the world. The Australian Government has made accusations to the new Iraqi Government that they aren’t doing enough to control their own people and that they are simply standing back waiting for the US and every other country in the world to clean up Iraq for them. Damn, man, they really just came out and said what no other government had the guts to say.

  ‘No-one really knows whether you really are a civilian contractor or whether you’re Special Forces under cover. Tell me, man, which is it?’ ‘Unfortunately I’m simply a retired soldier trying to make a few taxfree dollars from the US Government just like a few thousand other ex-pats over here,’ I told him. ‘So, what about you, Ben? How did you get captured?’

  God it felt good to talk
after having to hold my tongue for so long.

  ‘I’m a gunnery officer on an apache gun ship. We were on a mission over Al Amara. After completing the task we were heading back to FOB Duke outside of Najaf when we had engine problems and had to put her down quick. There was nothing but swamp for miles so while we were calling out a mayday we had to sit her down in what we thought was a reed bed, but it turned out to be deep water with crap floating on the top. Apaches are heavy birds, man, and aren’t designed to float. As soon as she hit the water she was going down real quick. Me and Jim, the pilot, opened the doors and got out as fast as we could and swam over to a large bunch of sticks caught on an old log. I always wondered why they always made us wear life preservers when we were flying over a damn desert. Well, now I know.

  ‘The rest of our team hovered real low above us for a while until we heard them land off in the distance. We knew they wouldn’t leave us behind but we also knew they didn’t have very much fuel. My guess was that they simply landed until a rescue team from Duke could come and pick us up.

  ‘Then the shit hit the fan, man. There was gunfire everywhere, heavy shit, like .50 cal stuff, zipping low over our heads. We heard the birds start up off in the distance and fire as they got into the air. Then we heard one of them get hit and crash real hard into the swamp about 200 yards from us.

  ‘Man, we must have landed smack in the middle of a darn enemy base hidden in the swamp. We knew that with two birds down and all of the heavy ground fire our boys had no option but to pull back and get some more firepower in there. Hell, we knew they had to refuel anyway otherwise they would have been in the swamp with us.