As Ali and the last of the group who dragged him in were leaving the room, he stopped and looked at me, indicating with his finger against his lips and shaking his ugly head: no talking. As soon as the door was closed and I heard the hasp and staple being closed I painfully crawled my way over to the man’s side. I got as close to his ear as I could and whispered to him to move over towards the wall. I had to tell him at least a half-dozen times before he began to move. Every move, regardless how slow and slight, caused him to moan. I was constantly whispering for him to be quiet so he wouldn’t cause Ali and the guards to come back, knowing full well that this would only cause them to beat us again, and I knew that I didn’t have many beatings left in me.
Finally I managed to get him over to the wall and near the bucket of dirty water. I slowly rolled him onto his back and lifted his head up onto my leg. I tipped some dirty water onto the old ragged trousers I’d changed out of and started to wash the blood from his face. My God, I thought, How could any human survive this! His face was a mess. Both of his eyes had deep cuts around them and were swollen closed. His nose had been broken at least once. His top lip was split from the corner of his mouth to just under his nose and was hanging free like a piece of meat. I opened his mouth as slowly as I could in an attempt to get him to swallow some water, and saw that all of his front teeth were missing; only bloodied holes and half stumps were left. One of these heartless bastards had used a pair of pliers or something similar and pulled them out. I’d managed to get a little water into him when he started to mumble something to me. There was no way could I even begin to understand him, so I just told him my name and continued to relax him and take away as much pain as I could by constantly washing him with the water. Eventually he passed out without even a murmur.
I lay him down beside me and placed him in the coma position in case he started to vomit up any blood. As I did I heard the crepitis of broken ribs and the wheezing of what had to be an injured lung. My army first aid training taught me to lay him on the injured side so I had no choice but to roll him over again, this time onto his back so I could watch which side was rising and falling more than the other in an attempt to find out which lung was injured. This turned out to be far more difficult than I thought as his breathing was so shallow he was hardly breathing at all. After a while I decided that it had to be his left side and rolled him over onto it.
For the rest of the day I just lay there and watched him. Not once did he move or make a sound. My mind was going a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out who he was. He had no clothes or jewellery nor did he have any tattoos. His hair was cut short so he could be in the military, but then again just about everyone in Iraq at that time had short hair simply because of the relentless heat. A few times during the day I whispered into his ear, eagerly waiting for a reply, and yet when I never got one I was never really disappointed. While he was unconscious he wasn’t in pain and at that point unconsciousness was the only form of relief he was going to get. God knows all I really wanted was to be in the same condition.
All of a sudden I could hear some talking going on outside the door. It seemed that someone was asking questions and the group of guards were answering, as usual all at once, as I doubt whether any one of them had enough brains to give an accurate answer alone.
Then it happened again. I could hear someone opening the hasp and staple. I placed the man’s head on the ground and rolled up hard against the wall, cringing and waiting for whatever was going to happen next, knowing full well it wasn’t going to be nice for either of us. I was able to lie in such a way that I could squint my eyes and cover my head so I could see most of what was going on without them knowing I was still conscious.
As expected as soon as they walked in I heard one of them kick my new cell mate; a dead thud but not even a murmur came from his lifeless body. Then something totally unexpected happened. A tall solidly built man, well dressed in designer jeans, black T-shirt and a heavy gold chain started shouting at the guards. He swung a punch so hard straight into the face of one of the guards that it knocked him flat on his back and a huge stream of blood flooded out of his nose. He turned towards the other guards, screaming something in Arabic that made them lift their arms up over their heads in an attempt to cover their faces. The bloke in black was livid and went right off at the guards, constantly kicking them in the shins and raising his fist at them. He started to scream something at them over and over until all of the guards left the room. As soon as they did he leant down over the still body of the black man lying beside me and shook his shoulder. He then bent over and pushed me on the hip and rolled me over. I had no choice but to lift my head and look at him.
He stood up and stepped back a little and held the back of his hand against his mouth. ‘Are you the Australian?’ he asked. I simply nodded and tried to sit up against the wall to make myself a little more comfortable, or less painful as it was.
‘Are Ali and his men responsible for this?’ Again I nodded.
‘What about this man? What about his injuries?’ he asked as he pointed down to the naked black man on the floor.
‘Of course he is,’ I said, grimacing, still trying to sit myself up.
He then shouted for Ali to come to him. He shouted over and over until he finally left the room, leaving the door wide open, and stomped off into the factory area. I could hear some very loud arguing coming from the courtyard area before he came back into the room holding Ali by the hair.
‘These men are very valuable to me and you try to kill them. Are you a complete imbecile? I told you not to do anything to them until I returned and I find them this way. You need to remember one thing, Ali; as far as I am concerned you are just as much an American as you are an Iraqi. I don’t trust you any more than I trust any American. If you dishonour me ever again I will make sure you are treated just like your insolent uncle, Hadji Mohammed. My men made sure he would never be allowed to go against my wishes again and unless you want to be with him and Allah I suggest you do not upset me again.’
With this he shoved Ali back outside the room and told him to get some food and drink. He called for someone named Mohammed and gave him some instructions in Arabic.
He came over to me and knelt down beside me. ‘You can call me Colonel Safi,’ he said. ‘Regardless of what these imbeciles have told you, I am the leader of this group of men. I have been told that you are working for one of the intelligence agencies. Which one?’
I slowly shook my head and softly told him the same as I told Ali: ‘I am nothing more than a civilian contractor.’
He looked at me and said, ‘If that is true then you are useless to me and would definitely be dead by now. However, I have a plan for you and your brother spy lying here on the floor. You will be treated fair and will hopefully regain some of your strength before your next internet interview. It is only two weeks before Ramadan and your government only has that time to remove all Australian troops from Iraq and Afghanistan, or you will be putting to death and your execution will be shown on the internet so everyone will see we mean what we say.’ He walked out the door and locked it behind him.
Now I knew why I had been dragged around all over Iraq. Why I had been beaten but not murdered. These idiots really think I am a spy or something. Where the hell did they get that from? That would be why no-one had beaten me around the face. They still need me to read and make statements. Still, how the hell did they get this idea that I was CIA or MI6? Shit, I would make the worst spy on the planet, but as long as it meant I would be kept alive for a while longer I would play it out for all it was worth.
About an hour later Mohammed opened up and came into the room with a man wearing a white coat and carrying a medical kit. He was obviously pulled unwillingly out of some Iraqi medical clinic somewhere as he was shaking like a leaf. He walked over towards me first but was yelled at and told to look after the black man first.
He leant down and rolled him over on his back. He opened up his satchel and removed a bott
le of solution and started to clean the facial wounds as best he could with a few swabs. He slowly opened his mouth and saw the damage done to the black man’s teeth and started to dry retch. Mohammed said something to him and he continued to treat his face. He cut some thin plaster up into strips and used them to hold the man’s lip back up under his nose. He placed similar strips of plaster to pull the open cuts together around his eyes. When it seemed like he had done all he possibly could Colonel Safi came into the room and gave the medic some money. The medic knelt back down and removed a hypodermic needle from his bag and drew some serum into the tube. He injected it into the buttocks of the black man and placed his fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse. As he did so he looked at the colonel and shook his head. He looked at me and said in clear English, ‘Your friend is at the door of heaven. I fear he will enter soon.’
The colonel said something to him in Arabic and the medic came over to me. He stared at me and gestured for me to remove my clothes. I did as best as I could until the medic realised my wounds prevented me from doing it alone. He pushed his satchel bag to one side, stood up and helped me remove my chequered shirt. As he did I couldn’t help but scream out in pain. The blood from the beatings had hardened through the weave in my shirt and stuck to them like glue and my ribs hadn’t had any chance of healing. The deep welts from the whipping of the PVC pipes had now turned dark blue down their length with swollen black bruises either side. They crossed each other in dozens of places all over my back, chest and shoulders. When the medic helped me remove my trousers Colonel Safi looked, shook his head, muttered something in Arabic and walked away leaving me, my unconscious roommate and the medic alone. The medic applied some cream solution to the wounds and bruises and did whatever he could. He seemed to be shit-scared to be in the area and he constantly looked behind him to see if anyone was watching. As he finished and helped me replace my clothes he slowly turned around and had a good look to make sure we were alone. When he was sure we were he quickly reached into his bag and took out a strip of pills and placed them in my hand. ‘These are for pain for you and this man,’ he whispered, ‘you hide them somewhere.’ He turned and walked quickly out of the room.
No sooner had he done so when Ali and the colonel reappeared carrying a large plate of food. There was rice, fish, vegetables and bread along with a large glass jar full of sweet tea.
Colonel Safi indicated for Ali to place the food on the floor beside me.
‘Ali is going to give you all his food during the evening meal from now on,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind doing this do you, Ali?’
‘No sir!’ he replied.
‘If your black friend is able, he too will share this food with you,’ Safi said. ‘At least if Allah chooses you to die at Ramadan then you will both die with full bellies. During war there are times when your enemy must be treated harshly and at times they must be treated with respect. But your enemy should always be treated as another soldier as they are simply fighting for what they believe in just as you are fighting for what you believe. Because of this I will treat you like soldiers and with respect. Tomorrow I will begin to ask you some very important questions. It would be wise for you to answer them truthfully otherwise I will have no option but to treat you harshly. As a fellow soldier you must surely understand that, do you not?’
I looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘You have to do whatever you have to do, Colonel.’ He nodded as he and Ali walked out of the room, locking it behind them.
The very second they left the door I started stuffing the food into my mouth as fast as I could. I started drinking the tea straight from the jar. Oh my God it was good. As I was woofing it down I realised I had to leave something for my offsider lying unconscious on the floor just in case he came to. I felt that if he didn’t make it through the night I could always eat it in the morning.
Finally some good news. I was fairly confident that I was going to be kept alive for the next couple of weeks, or at least until Ramadan. I now had a chance to gather some strength and hopefully find a way out of this shithole. I decided to give the colonel whatever I thought he wanted to hear. As long as it wasn’t total crap so that he would see straight through me I might be able to keep from getting beaten anymore. If I could go a week or so longer without any more injuries and I had time to recover at least a little I figured I would have some chance. Really I had no other option.
21
Dexter
Chemical Bomb, KHAB-100kg
Made in USSR. Developed by the Soviet Union as a delivery vessel for a long list of chemical agents. Found around old Iraqi air force bases and buried in berms at Karbala after the US invasion. Saddam had no problems using chemicals like this — he gassed a village in Southern Kurdistan on 16 March 1988 towards the end of the Iraq–Iran war. After five hours of well-timed separate attacks the Iraqi Military killed between 3200 and 5000 people, and injured 7000 to 10,000 more. Iraqi Air Force Migs and Mirage jets dropped these and other bombs filled with mustard gas and other nerve agents believed to have contained sarin, tabun and VX. VX gas is approximately 10 times more toxic than sarin. Some sources have pointed to cyanide being used in these bombs as well. This bomb look like a medium-sized beer keg with tail fins attached, and weighs 100 kilograms. It detonates on impact; a small, low-order charge explodes the bomb and spreads the chemical agent into the atmosphere.
The next day Colonel Safi entered my cell shortly after the morning prayers. He came alone and was carrying a towel, soap and a pair of new blue overalls still in a sealed packet. He dropped them at my feet and said, ‘I assume we will be spending a lot of time together over the next few weeks and you smell like a goat. Come with me!’
As Safi left the room I very slowly got off the floor, nursing my injuries and using the wall to assist me. To my great surprise I noticed the black man open one of his eyes and stare up at me. I bent over to him while picking up my clothes and whispered for him to stay still and quiet. I’d be back soon.
As soon as I walked out the door into the warehouse two men took me by the arm and walked me across the open area into another room. It took my breath away the very second I entered. The stench of uncleaned squat toilets and stale urine filled the room. And Safi said I smelt like a goat! This was disgusting.
I was taken to a corner near a sink where there was a single tap about a metre up a wall with a small, red one-litre water jug shaped like a watering can you would use to water plants with standing half full on the floor underneath. From past experience I knew that this is what they traditionally used to wash their backsides with after having a crap so I was very hesitant to use it. But I really had no choice. I slowly took my clothes off while one of my guards left the room, leaving his partner behind to watch over me.
I slowly lowered myself onto the floor and started to cover myself with the cold but soothing water. I lathered myself up with the soap and reached for the jug. The guard smiled as I spent the next minute or so washing the jug out with soap and water before tipping its contents over my body.
I used my old shirt as a cloth and wiped as much of the stale blood off my body as I could. For the first time I realised my hair was growing back and I had a fair bit of a beard as well. I had never had a beard and I have shaved my head for more than 25 years. Other than the odd ‘porno mo’ I had been clean shaven all of my life. I’m sure I must have looked a complete mess during the video sessions that went on the internet.
After I finished I lifted myself up and gradually wiped myself off and got into the overalls. Although I could get the bottom half on easily enough there was no way I was going to get my arms through the sleeves and up over my shoulders. It wasn’t as if they were too small or anything, I was simply in agony from the beatings, and the places where my tattoos used to be were still very sore. In fact when I was washing myself I noticed small amounts of pus leaching from under the scabs and signs of a lot more that had dried up in the past. At least they were still healing and I didn’t have blood poison
ing; that’s all I needed right now.
Even though I was almost dry retching from the smell in this cesspit I made myself use the toilet before I was led back to my cell.
As we were going through the warehouse I saw a small van parked near the doorway of the courtyard. All of the other men were busy unloading something from a stack of cardboard boxes and small drums behind it. Then I noticed some things I had become very familiar with in the past — explosives; a half-dozen Soviet TM-62m anti-tank mines, a few Soviet PMN anti-personnel mines, some Iraqi 81 millimetre high explosive mortars and a heap of red high explosive detonation cord still on a roll.
Obviously they were making improvised explosive devices (IEDs) in this warehouse somewhere. If only I could get access to this stuff at some time, I sure as hell would teach them a little lesson about how to make a real bomb.
The goon who was escorting me slapped me in the back of the head with his open palm and pushed me forward towards my cell. Just as he did Colonel Safi called out to him from near the van. We stopped for a moment and then continued.
After he opened the door and pushed me in he said in poor English, ‘I bring food from Safi,’ and slammed the door closed behind me.
Kicking Bombs Page 15