Mercenary Mum: My Journey from Young Mother to Baghdad Bodyguard

by Neryl Joyce

  They never appointed me as leader again, and ended up roping in poor old Camel to take on the job. He had been moved into their room and was then given the leadership task. He wasn’t going to say no. He had only just arrived and was keeping his mouth shut. I recognised the impulse. He took over as the leader – a guy with no close protection experience at all, who had been in the country a week.

  Around that time my life turned into a bloody soap opera. Feeling pretty low and despondent, I entered into a relationship with one of the guys on my team. It was an unwritten rule that you don’t fraternise with anyone else on your team, but I was over it. I didn’t care about the rules. The leaders never followed them; why should I?

  Eagle and I started seeing each other in secret. Eagle was a clean-cut, ‘All American’ guy on my team. He was a little shorter than me and had a heart of gold. He was always very considerate towards me and made the long days at the Convention Center bearable, but it wasn’t long before my professionalism got the better of me. I knew it was wrong and I realised I did not want to lower my standards just because my leaders were below par. So I sat down one morning and wrote a letter to the head of the company: I brought everything out into the open, revealing my relationship and requesting that he either transfer me to another project, or accept my resignation.

  The response was not what I had expected. My reputation counterweighed any complaints that my team leaders might have made about me, and the company was keen to keep me employed. It was decided that I would continue to work on the contract, and that Eagle might be moved to another project some time down the line. The company director, Simon, stated that just because I had entered into a relationship with a colleague did not mean my employment had to be terminated. “These things happen,” he said to Silver. Silver was surprised by the company’s attitude – as was I – but we were both happy with the response. I was still a valued member of the team, as far as Silver was concerned.

  Ghost, however, was furious. He was still fuming from my rejection of his advances and had been convinced that I would be sacked. He was wrong, and that only fuelled his hatred of me.

  Our team were finally given new weapons: two Minimi machine guns. Only a few of us on the team were qualified to use them – Swamp, Ronin, Cobra and me – as no one else had used one before. Cobra and Ronin were told to go out and test the weapons to make sure they were in good working order.

  Cobra asked me if I’d help to zero the Minimis so that his day would not drag on too long. It would be good and worthwhile training for me, I reasoned, especially as I was going to be carrying the weapon on BIAP trips. It had been a while since I’d fired a Minimi and I spent some time re-familiarising myself with the weapon’s drills. I went through my immediate stoppage drills, my weapon operation drills and basic firing positions before I headed down to the military range with Ronin and Cobra.

  My weapon-handling skills were a bit rusty but, by lunchtime, they were back under control. We did discover one important thing: the weapons were faulty. They fired as we cocked them. I didn’t know whether it was a problem with the hardware that needed to be fixed by an armourer, or if a change in ammunition would do the trick. I’m no expert; I just fire the things. I thanked Ronin and Cobra for taking me down there with them, and then we returned to the team house.

  The guys back at the house got ready to go to lunch. I wasn’t very hungry and decided to leave them to it. Before leaving, Cobra came over to me to have a quiet word. He said that someone in the house thought I should not have gone to the range to fire the Minimi. I asked him who could possibly be upset about that. He replied that he didn’t know but that he was going to find out.

  I sat in my room, confused. Who would bitch about my going to the range and zeroing a weapon? It was a rare day: I wasn’t rostered on at the commissioners’ workplace, and there weren’t any other tasks for me to complete here. I hadn’t ducked doing any work. If I hadn’t been at the range, I would have just been sitting in my room watching Star Trek DVDs. It made no sense at all.

  I went to see Ronin. He had moved into Merlin and Ghost’s room, along with Camel, when Bee had moved us out. I asked him if there had been any problems this morning at the range. He responded that there had been no problems; it had been a great help. I shrugged and turned to leave.

  Then I noticed Ghost in the corner of the room. He was on his laptop as always, checking out women’s online dating profiles. He lowered his screen, looked into my eyes, and announced that he had a problem with my going to the range. I looked at him incredulously. Ghost shut his laptop and stood up. He told me that I shouldn’t have gone to the range: I was supposed to stay in the house. I was sure I must have misheard him.

  I told him that I’d been asked to help zero the Minimis, as I was one of only a few people qualified to use the weapon. I had nothing else to do except watch DVDs. I couldn’t see the issue.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” Ghost replied. “You shouldn’t have gone.”

  “Sorry?” I couldn’t get my head around what was happening.

  “You heard me. You shouldn’t have gone. And if you don’t like the rules, then quit.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I retorted. “If I don’t agree with you that I should have been sitting in my bedroom, watching DVDs for five hours, instead of training and zeroing a machine gun, then I should quit?”

  “Yes,” he replied vehemently.

  That’s when I twigged. Ghost had decided he wanted me off the team; this was his unsophisticated method for making it happen.

  I let loose a volley of swear words and stormed out of his room, slamming the door shut behind me. The windows shuddered and sound echoed throughout the house. I walked outside the front door and into the front yard. Then I backed into the side alley and bawled my eyes out.

  Ghost couldn’t see past the fact he’d been slighted, and now he hated me. Leaders are supposed to get on with job, regardless of whether they like their staff personally. They are supposed to rise above petty likes and dislikes, and just play to their team members’ strengths. Ghost didn’t give a shit. He just wanted to hurt and then fire the people he didn’t like. He’d done it with 51-50, he was trying to do it to the other Americans, and now he was doing it to me.

  I used a tissue to wipe my eyes. I wouldn’t make it easy for him, the arsehole. I’d never quit before, and I wasn’t going to start now. If he wanted to fire me, he’d have to work hard to do it.

  HAVING SEEN OUT Iraq’s first elections, Stu had decided to leave the project to receive medical treatment. I never saw him again. Baloo and Dr Evil came back from leave in mid March, and their return shook things up a bit. Silver remained as the assistant project manager, Jeep the overall team leader, Merlin the advanced leader, Ghost the CAT commander, but now Dr Evil would be the main body commander.

  Dr Evil was like a breath of fresh air. We were on the same page on many issues. He agreed that all the leaders should be doing their time at the commissioners’ workplace. He agreed that team members should not be in charge of the commissioners’ movements around the Green Zone, nor should they be taking up unpaid leadership positions. Immediately, Merlin and Ghost found themselves doing their rotations at the commissioners’ workplace again. It was satisfying to see them pulling their weight, but, as usual, it didn’t last long. Soon it was only Dr Evil doing the rotations, while the other two skived off.

  *

  I decided to end my relationship with Eagle. He was a nice person, and I realised I was not being fair to him. He wanted me to quit working in Iraq and move to America with him. There was no way that would happen: my son was in Australia. Rather than risk all that hurt in the future, I called it quits. I felt so bad for hurting him; he was an absolute gentleman. Life went on. Things were sticky between us personally, but we still remained professional. We both had jobs to do and we had to push aside our feelings.

  Cobra was a ‘networker’. He knew people. He knew how to get things, and he made a lot of money doin
g it. After you’d told Cobra what you wanted, he would speak to his contacts, and make deals with them. He’d then come back to you to let you know what you had to hand over in order to get the item. It might be money or it might be something else you had; it might even be a favour. Whatever it was, he would deliver it to the interested party, and then return with the item. Somehow he would extract a profit from both parties, and that was how he made extra money in Iraq.

  At first I didn’t realise how much Cobra was into this kind of ‘bartering system’. As his phone began to ring on a regular basis, followed by long talks behind closed doors, I realised something was going on. He’d take off for ages in a vehicle, then come back, looking like the cat that had caught the mouse. Another successful deal!

  A BIAP trip was organised to take Cobra out to the military airport. He was going to Kuwait to pick up some supplies. Logistics was a big problem for private security companies in Iraq at that time. It was not easy to ensure that the supplies you purchased arrived. There would be delays in orders, problems with customs from the sending country, and the pilfering of equipment when it made it into Iraq. Cobra spoke Arabic and found he could get whatever the company required. He would leave on weekend ‘shopping expeditions’, then return some time later with everything that had been on the company’s wish list. This made him a favourite at the company’s headquarters.

  A few days later, six of us sat in the lounge room, waiting. There was Mr Happy, the Irishman who had shared a room with Merlin, Ghost and Jeep, until they gave him so much shit he had to move. There were Spitfire and Bee, a South African named Horse, another Brit named Buster, and me. We were six little rejects awaiting our orders for the day.

  Mr Happy had been selected as the team leader for the day and told he was to write mission orders for a BIAP trip. We were told that none of the other team leaders would be going with us, and that we were on our own. There had been a huge party the night before, and most of the team leaders were hung-over and asleep in their beds.

  Mr Happy gave us orders. I was the designated driver of an armoured BMW; Bee would drive the soft-skinned CAT wagon, which after extensive repairs was now ready for use again. Mr Happy was to be my vehicle commander, and Horse my rear shooter. Spitfire and Buster would jump into the CAT wagon to be Bee’s shooters.

  Ghost walked past and interjected: he said that we were expected to travel at 160 kilometres an hour along Route Irish. I told Mr Happy at the end of the orders that there was no way in hell I was going to do that. I was not normally employed as a driver and did not know where all the potholes and IED craters were on that road. If I hit one of them at those speeds, I’d probably kill us all, especially considering how slippery the roads were after a week of heavy rain. Not only that, but if a US army convoy or other PSD team came on us travelling at that speed, it was likely they would shoot us dead, assuming we were insurgents.

  Never had we been ordered to drive at that speed. It was crazy. Usually we coasted at about 100 kilometres an hour. Mr Happy told me to ignore Ghost and stick to the speed he’d mentioned in orders. It was time to leave.

  We were in two vehicles: six contractors and no company-sanctioned leaders. There was no reaction force or CAT to come to our aid if we got into trouble. We were on our own. Rain began to pour as I made my way through the Green Zone checkpoint. I gradually stepped on the pedal and began to accelerate down Route Irish. I was dodging some potholes and flying straight over the top of others. I couldn’t miss them all.

  Bee kept up with me in the CAT wagon, pushing the van’s engine to its limits. After showing our IDs and clearing our weapons at the Camp Victory checkpoint, we drove to the military airbase. The roads were muddy and completely swamped with water in parts. It was a long, slow trip, and the beat-up old BMW I drove struggled to get through the mud.

  Eventually, we arrived at the airbase to find it was flooded. We parked the cars and got out to take a look around. In order to get to the airport control rooms, we had to wade through thigh-high water. Mr Happy and I half swum up to one of the people in charge to ask them when the military aircraft Cobra was on would arrive. We were told that it had been diverted to Basra and would be delayed for a few hours.

  We returned to the vehicles to let the other guys know. Mr Happy decided that the team should weather the storm at the huge American PX store while he waited for the aircraft. Sitting in the BMW, I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. I tried it again. Still nothing. My car had bitten the dust. One by one, each member of team tried to start the engine, but they all failed.

  It was dead. To this day, I don’t know what happened to the car, but it was so ancient it could have been any one of myriad problems. Mr Happy was beginning to get stressed. I could see it in his eyes. I suggested he ring the team leaders to tell them what had happened. I hoped they would send a recovery team to pick up the rest of us. As for the vehicle, until they came up with a proper recovery plan, it should remain where it was.

  Mr Happy told us to go off to the PX store while he made some phone calls. We were to pick up some lunch for him from Burger King, while we were there. On the way to the PX, I thought about all that was happening. Everything about this trip was wrong. Why had we been sent out here without proper team leaders, without a full team, and without the usual third vehicle?

  We picked up some shopping, grabbed Mr Happy’s lunch, and made for the military airbase. Mr Happy was not living up to his name. His phone kept cutting out, making communication difficult. Cobra’s plane had been delayed once again, and it now looked to be another two hours before it would arrive. Mr Happy blew out a mouthful of air before he hit us with the real bombshell.

  No one was coming to get us. Mr Happy told us that we were to remain in place and continue to try and start the vehicle. Apparently, the team leaders were going apeshit back at the team house. Ghost assumed that I must have done something to disable the vehicle. Once again, he was just looking for a reason to have a go at me. Mr Happy, as the designated team leader, and a passenger in my vehicle, told Ghost to settle down. I had not done anything wrong to the vehicle; the engine had simply just refused to turn over.

  Two hours later, we were finally informed that the aircraft would not arrive at all, as it was far too wet and muddy to land here. Mr Happy was back on the phone, informing Jeep of the situation. I could see Mr Happy’s jaw tense as he listened on the phone. He hung up, shaking his head: the plan was that we would all jump into the CAT wagon and head home in that one soft-skinned vehicle.

  This was lunacy. If we were hit on the road, then every one of us would die. Who was going to make the phone call for help if we got into trouble? I wouldn’t be able to phone for help if I had been hit and was lying in a pool of blood in the back of the van. No one else would, either, as they would all be dead or dying in the back of the van next to me. I was really fired up.

  Bee started the wagon, and we all piled in. I took a photo of us all, a memento of what we were about to do. Bee made a phone call to her boyfriend and told him what was going on. He worked with Lizard’s security company and they had access to ‘mobile assets’. He’d ensure that there was some protection for us out on the road. So we were reduced to looking to another company, rather than to our team leaders, for support.

  Bee drove as though our lives depended on it, which they did. Twelve years as an army mechanic, combined with having grown up on a farm, made Bee a gutsy driver. I would not have felt safer with anyone else behind the wheel. She drove like a hellcat, and got us back safely to the Green Zone.

  We all got out of the vehicle, silent and seething. I walked into the house, threw my weapon and webbing on my bed, and stormed straight into Silver’s office. Once inside, I told Jeep and Merlin, who were hanging about like the shiftless pricks they were, to leave. I slammed the door shut behind them.

  I could put up with a lot of crap, but I drew the line at my leaders sending my team and me out on a suicide mission.

  I unleashed on Sil
ver. I told him that Ghost, Merlin and Jeep had no right to send us on that trip. No one had ever been sent out like that before. How dare none of the ‘paid’ team leaders go on that trip? How dare they accuse me of breaking the vehicle on purpose? How dare they send us back to the Green Zone in only one soft-skinned vehicle, and deny us another security vehicle for protection?

  They were our leaders. It was their responsibility to ensure the security and safety of all their team members. They didn’t have to like us, but they had to at least try not to actively kill us. I told Silver there was no way I was ever going out on a Red Zone trip organised by those leaders again. I told him I was no longer willing to put my life in jeopardy for those guys. They were useless and negligent and playing with our lives – and I’d had enough.

  We were supposed to be security experts. We were supposed to be the ones who avoided risks. That was our job, and the bloody leaders weren’t doing theirs well enough. The result was that they were putting us at risk. I didn’t think they were doing it on purpose; they just couldn’t have cared less about us. Their problem was that they simply didn’t take their jobs seriously. Any leader with proper training understands the importance of good leadership on a team. Except we weren’t a team right now; we were insurgent bait.

  With that, I turned and left. I poured myself a full glass of rum and sculled it down. I returned to my room and proceeded to go off my nut.

  Silver came into my room a little while later and sat down on my bed. He apologised and said he didn’t know what Jeep, Ghost and Merlin had been thinking when they sent us out. He told me it was wrong and that it wouldn’t happen again. I accepted his apology, but I was adamant that I would never work with them again.

  Silver considered my comments and made me an offer. He knew I was an asset to the team and didn’t want to see me leave. He asked me if I would consider working for the team in a different capacity, whether I would take on an administration role. None of the other team leaders could make heads or tails of the normal Word and Excel spreadsheets that had to be completed daily. Silver asked me if I would take on this role for him, even sweetening the deal with an extra $50 a day. I would still be required to do security rotations at the commissioners’ workplace, but he promised I would not be sent out on the road again with those leaders.