by Neryl Joyce
The party was in full swing. Swamp was wearing a gorilla suit, something he had brought with him after returning from leave. He was dancing about, with everyone cheering him on. Baloo had wrapped black plastic bags around his whole body, including his head, and had cut out little holes for his eyes and mouth. He placed a Christmas hat on his head, calling himself ‘Mr Christmas Garbage Bag Man’. To me, he looked like Mr Hankey, the Christmas Poo, from South Park.
After a few vodka Red Bulls, I stopped drinking. Blade had broken the bad news that we were rostered on at the commissioners’ workplace the next day – again. What the hell had happened to the roster system? The same people day in, day out were put on the picquets. We had missed out on the Christmas celebrations. It didn’t seem fair that we’d have to work Boxing Day too. I wouldn’t let it ruin my night, though.
Jeep pulled me over, wrapped his arms around me drunkenly, and started to serenade me. I joined in with him and together we belted out Evanescence songs. He passed me a beer. I shook my head, telling him that I couldn’t drink, as I had to work in the morning.
“No!” Jeep yelled. “I’ll get Team America to do it.” By that, he meant 51-50, Blade and Wolf. Jeep was American, but he considered himself to be different from those guys. He thought of himself as a cut above them.
“They don’t drink anyway. They’ll do the job again tomorrow,” he said, slurring a bit now. I tried to tell him that I was part of their team and was committed to working in the morning, but Jeep wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted me to stay and drink with him. Within five minutes he’d changed the roster and allocated my position to Outpatient.
I felt about two inches tall. Jeep had used his power as the team leader to get his friend – me – out of having to do a job. It was wrong. I couldn’t face myself let alone anyone else knowing that my ‘connections’ in the team were getting me a better ride than others.
I left shortly afterwards and told Outpatient that I would do the job. As it turned out he genuinely wanted to do the shift, but I still felt a bit dirty. I didn’t return to the party that night, and, instead, went to bed. Things were getting sticky now, and I wasn’t sure how long I could handle it.
Boxing Day arrived and with it a new and exciting task. A small team was needed to fly to Kirkuk by Black Hawk helicopter with some of our clients. The elections were only a month away and things were heating up. The team would be leaving on New Year’s Day. I put up my hand for the job straightaway. Dr Evil, Outpatient and Blade put themselves forward too. Our names and passport details were immediately given to the US military. Dr Evil was told he’d been designated leader, and the rest of us would be his team.
We were taken aback. Recently the command staff (including the desk-bound project manager) had been putting themselves on these types of missions at the expense of us worker bees. In fact, a small team was due to leave with a couple of clients for Basra in southern Iraq the following day, and team members had been kicked off the trip so that all the leaders could go. There had been a lot of resentment. Not only did the leaders forgo rotations at the commissioners’ workplace, they put themselves on every ‘cool guy’ mission that came up.
So it was odd that none of them had wanted in on the Kirkuk mission. I later found out the reason: a huge party had been planned for New Year’s Eve. Anyone going on the trip to Kirkuk would not be able to drink themself into a stupor the night before.
A couple of days passed, and the leaders returned from their trip to Basra. They’d had a shit of a time. The two clients had not behaved well. When the team arrived in Basra, they had to conduct a quick recon of all the places the clients were going to visit. They needed to know where the meetings would be taking place, what the security requirements were and whether the venues were safe. By the time they got back from the recon, the clients had completely changed their plan. The recon was a wasted task.
Both clients were put up in VIP accommodation at the British Consulate. They were even given a general’s room: the best digs in the house. The clients proceeded to drink all the wine in the fridge. Who knows what was in the wine, but it made the clients seriously regress. They jumped on the bed until it broke. They ran up and down the hallway screaming. There was a cake in the general’s fridge, which was left over from a birthday party; the clients stuffed their faces with the entire thing. And still they carried on. At one stage, another general burst into their room and yelled at them to behave themselves. The next morning, the clients – and our team – were evicted.
The following night, the clients were forced to sleep in a tent at a British military camp. Unhappy with their new quarters, they complained until they were given a large metal Conex container to sleep in, along with stretcher beds and sleeping-bags. After having their demands met, they promptly fell asleep. The rest of the team was not so lucky. They were ordered by the military to conduct security picquets on the clients all night to ensure they did not get up to any more trouble. It was the price the team had to pay to remain within the safe confines of a military establishment.
The boys were cranky when they got back. Jeep was yelling and cursing about the clients and all the command staff had the shits. The rest of us ‘left-over’ members had a quiet chuckle to ourselves. To top things off, our Kirkuk trip was postponed by a couple of days, meaning we could have a few drinks on New Year’s Eve after all.
On the eve of the mission, I was told to borrow an M-4 weapon from another team member. The promised M-4s had still not arrived, but the company brass wanted us to look as professional as possible during the trip to Kirkuk. Some guys, tired of waiting for the elusive company weapons to arrive, had purchased their own through the local ‘weapon network’.
The weapon network was like any other buy and swap system you’d find back home. The only difference was that you were dealing with guns and ammunition. If you needed a specific weapon or weapon attachment, then you’d put the word out, and certain key people from around the Green Zone would source what you needed. AK-47s were very easy to obtain, as they were a dime a dozen in Iraq. Weapons like M-4s and other machine guns were a little more difficult as they had to be imported from other countries – usually the US. The supply and demand of a particular weapon determined its price, and from there you’d barter it down as far as you could.
I was very dubious about using a weapon I had not zeroed or test-fired myself. My AK-47 might have been an antique, but at least I could trust it. I knew it worked, I knew it was zeroed, and I knew it had been well looked after due to my daily cleaning ritual. To use somebody else’s weapon was unwise. In the end, I just did as I was told and borrowed the M-4.
I gathered all my kit together. I packed food, water, a borrowed map and a compass. I packed a small medical kit and put my radio on charge. It was only going to be a daytrip and all meals were provided, but I wanted to be prepared for anything. If the chopper went down, I had to have enough food and water to get me by. I’d need my map and compass if I were to get myself back to a safe place.
It was then time to run myself through some M-4 drills. It was not a weapon I had used frequently. I grabbed Spitfire, and he took me through the specifics. I practised over and over again, until I was confident I could use it properly. I thanked Spitfire for helping me out and continued doing some training alone.
The next morning we were up early. Our helicopter was due to fly out at 7.30 a.m. Before then, we had to eat, get our orders, pick up the clients and get to the landing zone. We arrived with plenty of time to spare. As usual, the Black Hawks were delayed, and we had to ‘hurry up and wait’. While we hung about, we watched all sorts of people come and go. There were representatives from the Red Cross, the UN and other aid agencies. Some of them wanted a photo taken with me, as if I were a freak. They wanted to know who I was and what I was doing in Iraq. One woman even wanted me to change over to the company that was providing protection for her. They only employed men and they inhibited her work. She often had to talk to Muslim women in areas that w
ere not safe, but she wasn’t allowed to take her male bodyguards with her as they were culturally inappropriate. I thanked her and shook her hand, but explained that her timing was not the best.
The Black Hawk eventually arrived. Then we were off. As the helicopter rose into the air, I felt a deep stirring in the pit of my stomach. I was excited, but also on edge. As we rose into the air, I looked down at the Green Zone. So that’s what Baghdad looks like from up here.
We began to head out. That’s when I saw the real Iraq. We passed over Haifa Street, the deadliest road in Baghdad. It was a no-go zone, unless you had a death wish. There were bombings and killings on an almost daily basis there. In fact, the checkpoint leading to that area from the Green Zone is called Assassin’s Gate. Haifa Street was chock-a-block full of people and cars. Traffic was at a standstill, and people were walking all around the marketplace.
I hoped we were high enough to avoid any anti-aircraft missiles, but knew we were not. We were close enough to the ground to clearly see people on their roofs. Gradually, we moved higher into the air and further north until eventually we were out of the city altogether. The terrain then changed to sandy embankments alternating with perfect rows of crops.
As I enjoyed the view, I began to mull over possible ‘what ifs’. Could I survive the fall if the Black Hawk went down? If I so, then what? In my head, I began to go over my ‘actions on’ if anything happened. First aid, security, navigational bearings, water, clients, teammates, and so on. Over and over I played scenarios through my head. Eventually, I gave up and just relaxed into the trip.
It only took about an hour to get to Kirkuk. Landing inside a secure compound, I could see many officials awaiting our arrival. Immediately, we prepared ourselves. When it was safe to disembark from the chopper, the aircrew helped the clients out and we followed close behind. There we were, one hell of a professional-looking team, with all the gear, guns and attitude to match. I had my M-4 by my side and wore a tough-guy expression on my face.
Outpatient had also borrowed an M-4 and was looking pretty slick with all his kit on. As he stepped out of the chopper, he tripped and landed flat on his face. The barrel of his M-4 went straight into the clay landing-zone platform. I helped him up, trying to hide my huge grin, and we continued on. There was another private security team watching our every move, and they had a little chuckle over Outpatient’s fall. There goes our reputation!
We followed the regional security officer (RSO), who led us to a tent. This was where the meeting would take place with the clients. The RSO informed us that, as this was a secure compound, there was no need to worry about the place being stormed by insurgents.
All visitors attending the meeting would be screened at the entrance to the compound. While the clients were discussing the elections, they would be protected by the integral security arrangements already in place. After dropping off the clients, we were taken to the food hall for a late lunch. This certainly hadn’t been one of my what-if scenarios, and I was enjoying myself.
We returned to the tent where the clients were having their meeting, and waited around for them to finish. It was a long day. We didn’t end up leaving until midnight. As we flew home, the chill in the air grew more intense. It was nearly two in the morning before we arrived back at the team house.
Dr Evil told us we could sleep in and have the day off. He told us that we’d done a good job and should be proud of ourselves. I was exhausted. It didn’t take me long to curl up in my bed and get comfortable. Just before I drifted off, I felt a little jolt of electricity as I remembered: tomorrow we’re getting a new team member. I couldn’t wait. I was finally going to have a partner in crime. We were getting another girl on the team.
I SLEPT IN TILL 8.30 A.M. It felt so good to wake up at my leisure and not be in a rush to get ready for work. I had to rearrange the small corner of the room I slept in to accommodate the new girl. I slept on the bottom bunk so she would need a new mattress for the top bunk. I grabbed some clean sheets and blankets for her bed, and then got Blade to help me bring in another cupboard so she could hang her clothes up. The space was very small and would be even more cramped once she arrived. But it was liveable, and that’s what counted in the end.
She arrived just as I was heading out to lunch. She was smaller than me and had the body of an elite athlete: toned and muscled. She had long, straight brown hair, a creamy complexion and seemed very comfortable in her own skin. Her name was Bee, she had a thick Welsh accent and wasn’t afraid to say what was on her mind. As soon she arrived she wanted to change the whole bedroom around. She even wanted me to move some of my stuff so that she could place her things there instead.
I wasn’t used to people being so pushy and forthright after I’d only known them for five minutes, and I didn’t respond well. Rather than get into a catfight over personal space, I excused myself and took off for lunch. While I ate, I replayed the events in my mind. She was definitely not a shy girl. She lacked tact. Nevertheless, she spoke her mind, which I respected. Would I get on with her? My first impressions were not good. But, like me, she was a minority in this industry, and we had that in common.
I returned after a hearty lunch, thinking that perhaps we had just got off to a bad start. Surely we could put that behind us and try again? She must have been thinking along the very same lines. As soon as we saw each other, we both introduced ourselves again, as though we had never met before. We shook hands and then gave each other a hug. I helped her move her kit into the room and we made a few modifications to room, until we were both happy with the outcome.
Bee’s background was impressive: she was an ex–British forces sergeant and a qualified mechanic. While she didn’t have any military close protection qualifications, she’d had experience in the area through her last job.
She understood that women had to work much harder than men to be recognised as an equal in the military. So she trained like a demon with her fitness, and had strived to become extremely proficient with her weapon handling, as well as having soaked up all pertinent security information along the way. She was awesome. It was thrilling to be working with another really good operator. She also knew the importance of doing things the right way.
Bee’s previous security company was a stickler for policy and procedure – it was like being back in the army, only worse, she said. While they were very good at what they did, her old employer was just too regimented. She was going to get a bloody shock when she realised how this team functioned.
I warned her that she would find herself doing security picquets at the commissioners’ workplace most days, and that she’d learn very quickly how the leadership operated. I didn’t want to influence her too much, but it was only fair that she be aware of what was going on. She would find out in time what it was like, and could then make her own assessment of the situation.
I was still getting on fairly well with Silver and Jeep, as I couldn’t risk getting on the wrong side of them, but I was unhappy with the way things were going with the team. Jeep was all over the place: he was disorganised, longwinded and rambling in his orders, and it seemed he couldn’t think straight. Silver was helping him out a lot. In fact, Silver was carrying him.
When Ghost and Merlin came back from leave things got worse. With Ghost’s return as the CAT commander, Wolf was discarded like a piece of rubbish and bumped down to being a normal team member again. Wolf was an outsider, and hence had avoided the power trip everyone else was on. When he was in charge, he always did his rotation at the commissioners’ workplace, unlike most of the other leaders. Merlin returned as the advanced team leader, while Silver became the permanent assistant project manager.
Stu and Jeep remained as team leaders. Stu was looking at finishing up his rotation earlier than expected. While on leave, he had discovered that he might have cancer. He required medical treatment but wanted to stay on the project to ensure the commissioners were safe during the elections. I gave him full credit for his dedication. It was good to k
now there was at least one leader on the team who gave a damn about doing a decent job. Stu started to see the leaders as the lazy jagweeds they were. He did his rotations at the commissioners’ workplace in a blatant attempt to show up the other leaders’ flaws. But they didn’t care.
The rest of us noticed, though, and a fissure developed in the team. Over time, that fissure became a crack, and that crack became a canyon. In the end, there were more bloody leaders than workers. For us, it meant more shifts at the commissioners’ workplace, and fewer people to do them. How could I stay friends with people who were so flagrantly abusing their position?
Ghost was beginning to piss me off too. He was being outright sleazy towards me. I’d had enough of it. He was as bad as the rest of the leaders. I’d ignored those flaws before, as I was enjoying the feeling of being admired. I was over it now and, in no uncertain terms, I made him aware of it too.
He was not pleased to be told that I wasn’t interested. He’d leave me alone and quit being so skeezy around me, but I knew my professional life was going to get harder. I was going on leave shortly and hoped that would give him time to get over it.
I AWOKE SUDDENLY to the sound of a bomb going off in the distance, a car bomb from the sounds. Just another morning in Baghdad. There was, however, something different about today. I was flying home. Nothing could perturb me. Not the distant bomb, the pop-pop-pop of the ensuing firefight or the shit that had gone down at last night’s party.
It was the last night in town for Jeep, Silver, Ronin and me before we went on leave. Everyone decided to throw a huge party. The music was loud and the alcohol flowed freely. Bee and I went to bed relatively early. I’d had a couple of drinks but didn’t want to go overboard. We still had to do a BIAP trip the next morning in order to get to the airport. There’d be nothing like letting your guard down and dying on your way out of the country: the equivalent of announcing you had ‘one more day till retirement’. Besides, I can’t consume alcohol and fly anyway. I get motion sickness bad enough without adding alcohol to the problem.