by Neryl Joyce
I considered his deal and then accepted. As long as I didn’t have to work with Ghost, Merlin and Jeep, I would be okay. I felt for everyone else on the team, though. It was their lives that those ‘leaders’ would be taking chances with.
OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I immersed myself in the administration side of the project. I still did my security rotations at the commissioners’ workplace, but away from that environment, I sat in front of my computer. I organised leave rotation plans, coordinated leave travel arrangements, and updated next-of-kin registers. I compiled manning status reports (which detailed what tasks each team member was performing for the day), updated budget spreadsheets, typed out invoices, and most importantly, sorted out everyone’s pay sheets.
I saw better ways of articulating information, and made the appropriate changes. Silver was extremely happy, as the team’s administration was finally being done competently and without problems. He didn’t have to worry about double-checking my work, as he knew I could manoeuvre my way around a computer. This kind of administration was Mickey Mouse stuff compared to what I had done in my military career.
Things cruised along quietly for a while. Cobra put the hard word on me, but at first I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to have a relationship with someone twelve years my junior. Then, as life on the project was currently pretty shitty, I thought, What the hell? Technically, I wasn’t part of the team anymore; I was administration. Cobra wasn’t technically part of our team either, although he did go on BIAP trips when needed. Cobra was chiefly working as an instructor. He was employed by our company to train locals in close personal protection. It was envisaged that the Iraqi team would take over from us in a few months’ time, when our contract ended.
I was happy to have a bit of a fling: Cobra was young and very good-looking. Perhaps it was a matter of the band playing as the Titanic sunk, I don’t know. The whole team was so dysfunctional, it was only a matter of time until it all collapsed. I thought I would take my fun where I could find it. And it gave Ghost the shits, which was gratifying.
Soon another client trip was organised for the team. As I was no longer working for the leaders on those kinds of trips, I didn’t even bother turning up to the orders group. I knew they were heading out into God knows what part of the country and that they were going by vehicle. It was more bloody madness, as far as I was concerned. Since when do we drive our clients into the middle of Iraq? I wondered. We were not convoy escorts – guys with big pay packets but short life expectancy – we were security experts!
Any kind of reasonable security assessment would have told them it was far too risky to drive through Iraq with a tier-one target on board. We had US military assets at our disposal. We had aircraft, armoured vehicles and soldiers. If this trip was important, why weren’t those assets used? Instead, they decided to use one armoured SUV (to carry the client), and two soft-skinned SUVs, even though the company had access to a few armoured SUVs.
Ghost was running the team, and it wasn’t clear why he chose such a careless and dangerous method for transporting our clients. Would they and the rest of the team be safe? For some reason, I was really worried about Tomahawk. I couldn’t get the thought of him out of my head.
The team took off that morning. I wanted to send Tomahawk a text message to make sure he was okay, but I did not want to distract him from his duties. He was their rear gunner; he needed to remain alert throughout the trip. Later that night we heard that they had made it safely. I heaved a sigh of relief. They were okay. Even so, I worried incessantly the following day, the whole time they were making their return journey.
I ate my way through that morning, waiting for the team to make it back to the Green Zone. Chicken noodle soup and Oreo biscuits helped the time to pass more quickly. Late in the afternoon, I heard them come through the front door. I ran downstairs and gave Tomahawk a quick hug. I don’t know why it was just him I was concerned about, as it was good to see all their faces. Then Ghost came in, strutting like a warrior, and commenced his stories of ‘war and honour’.
Ghost told everyone that the trip had gone well, with no signs of insurgent activity. Of course bloody not. If there were, you’d all be dead. He told us how when they arrived at the compound at the end of the trip, the other security teams said they thought they were crazy. They had told Ghost it was suicide to travel the way that they had. Ghost didn’t take that as a criticism; he took it as a compliment. He was brave. He had done something every other security team would avoid at all costs. He was a tough and courageous team leader, as he had made the trip and survived. What a wonderful story this would make: the time when he went driving through Iraq in soft-skinned vehicles, getting his tier-one target to his meeting. He saw it as a glory story. Ghost couldn’t see it for what it was: a textbook example of poor tactical decision-making, poor leadership, and poor fucking judgment.
I nearly made myself sick listening to his crap. In the end, I walked away. I couldn’t listen to him spinning his yarn, when his actions could have cost his team their lives. What a fucking joke! And I was part of this joke. In fact, I was in charge of paying these jerks. I was no better. I had twenty days left on my contract. I hoped I could last the distance.
MY TIME ON THE project was almost up. I knew the end was coming. Ghost was not happy about my new relationship with Cobra, but that was just the excuse he was using to get rid of me. I was clashing with the leaders on a regular basis. I had made it my business to question everything they did. I couldn’t rest until I had exposed them for what they were – frauds.
During my first rotation in Iraq, I had remained silent and kept my views to myself. This time around, I couldn’t watch what was happening and not say anything – even if it meant losing my job. I was an ex–officer of the Australian Army, and a person who believed in doing the right thing. So I questioned them whenever they left themselves open for an attack, and, because that occurred frequently, they soon learnt to despise my sharp tongue.
To sack someone for opening their mouth is not enough. I wasn’t the only person complaining about the way the team was being run. Outpatient wrote a letter to the company manager detailing the ‘extreme leadership failures’ within our team, and requested they take action to remedy the situation immediately. Nothing was done. Dr Evil and Baloo had taken a stand, as had Wolf and Bee. Even Cobra had tried to tell the leaders, as a friend, that they were being too reckless, but they wouldn’t listen. If they started dumping everyone who was talking shit about them, there would be no one left. Ghost needed a really good reason that would see me gone, and he didn’t wait long to make his move.
One day a letter appeared on the notice board. The company had ‘decided’ that no one was allowed to have a relationship with another company member. Any breach would result in the termination of those people’s contracts. It was quite clear to me that this was a measure directed at me in particular, and that Ghost had been the one to orchestrate it. Not two months before, the company director himself had shrugged and said, “These things happen,” when I tried to resign after coming clean about my relationship with Eagle. This same company employed a husband-and-wife team. I didn’t buy that this sudden about-face hadn’t had an instigator.
So, there I was, sitting in the country manager’s office with Ghost off in a corner looking like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. The country manager told me to resign or else I’d be sacked. Resigning would mean that the company could sue me for breach of contract if I picked up employment with another PSD. Getting sacked would mean a tarnished reputation, but I would still be able to pick up work in Baghdad without risk of legal action. Should I save face (and my reputation) and resign my position, or tell them to fuck off and let them sack me?
I began to think back over my time in the team. I thought back to the moment I overheard Jeep, Ghost and Merlin bitching about ‘certain’ team members. I heard them say, “The only team members we have problems with are those who are qualified.” For once, they were right. Only quali
fied people stood up to them because we knew what we were talking about. I was sick of it all.
After considering the country manager’s option for maybe thirty seconds, I told him they could sack me. In addition, I’d require a letter stating the reasons for my termination. And that was it. I turned and walked out of the office.
I walked back to the team house, where I began to pack up my things. I would be leaving in the next day or two. As soon as I could get a flight out of the country, I would be gone. I went back to my room and told Bee what had gone down, as I put all my gear into a couple of large plastic trunks. Bee was upset that I was going and could not believe what had happened. She told me that she’d just spoken to Cobra: he had not been sacked. He had not even had a rap over the knuckles. That sealed it: it had been a stitch-up.
Bee knew I was not leaving because of a relationship with another guy in the company. This was all about someone speaking out. I chose to speak my mind because it was the right thing to do. I felt satisfied that I had done everything in my power to make things right on the team. I used my friendship with the leaders to offer advice, but they didn’t want it. I bucked the system and spoke aggressively to them, and still it had no effect. They had sent me and my teammates out on suicide missions, and they still didn’t understand they were messing with people’s lives.
I was booked to fly home the following day, and had not yet made any firm plan about coming back to Iraq. There was more to discuss with Bruce about Kane’s care. Now that the company had terminated my contract, I was no longer bound by the clause that prohibited me from finding work somewhere else. I could walk across to Lizard’s company tomorrow if I chose to. I had options. My career wasn’t over just yet.
If they thought they had won by firing me, they were mistaken. Emotionally, no one could hurt me. I’d been there and done that. I’d already endured the worst pain of my life when my relationship with Bruce broke down and my dream of living together as a family of three died. If sacking me for caring about my professionalism and the lives of my teammates was their best move, then they were wasting their time.
Whether I came back tomorrow, or in a month’s time, it didn’t matter. I was coming back, and I was determined to do better with my next team. As it turned out, I didn’t have a choice about leaving the next morning; the decision was made for me.
I AWOKE EARLY. The sun was barely up and the air still had a chill in it. I couldn’t sleep so much was running through my mind. I thought about all the crap I had put up with and everything I had endured. It had all come to an end. I would fly home that day to see Kane. I needed to be with him. He was my reason for living and working each day. I needed to go home and feel like a normal person again. After some relaxation, I would be in a better state to continue working.
After a few phone calls the previous evening, I had made up my mind that I was going to work for Lizard. The company he worked for was huge. They had many assets, their logistical chain was good and they employed highly qualified personnel. Each member was required to complete an intensive training course and work experience program prior to their working on a security detail.
Lizard’s company didn’t normally hire women for security roles, nor did they hire many Aussies. I would be breaking down barriers just by joining it, and I was proud to do so. I’d go home on leave, and then return in a month or two to begin working on one of their projects. I was happy with the plan I had mapped out.
The team was scheduled to drive me to the airport at 10 a.m. I still had a few hours before they got out of bed. Once again, there had been a heavy drinking session the previous night, so I didn’t expect to see anyone about for a while. I made myself a mug of coffee and sat down in the lounge room to think about things. As I drank my coffee, I began to feel really good. I was excited about going home to Kane, and I was relieved that my time with the company was finally over. I drained the last drops of coffee, then poured myself another. I just wanted to relax and savour the moment.
I sat back down on the lounge chair and went to take a sip. As I brought the mug up to my mouth, coffee spilt, burning my bottom lip. Surprised by the sudden onset of pain, I jumped. My hand jerked upwards, causing the hot liquid to tip out of the mug and onto my pants.
The scalding-hot coffee penetrated my trousers through to my skin. I screamed out in pain as the burning liquid leaked through my underwear. The coffee mug fell out of hand and shattered into a million pieces as it hit the ground. I ran up to my room, yelling to Bee that I had burnt myself. She jumped out of bed as I quickly undressed.
“Get my burns kit out. Get my burns kit out,” I said. When I was seventeen, I spilt boiling-hot water over my leg on the night of my debutante ball. I understood how bad a burn could become if it was left unattended, so I made sure to always carry a burns pack in my personal first-aid kit. I jumped into the shower, grabbed the nozzle and directed soothing cold water onto my wound. I returned to the room, lay down on my bed, and then awkwardly placed the burns treatment pads onto my private parts.
I didn’t have enough to cover the whole area, but the important bits were taken care of. I told Bee that there was no way I could get on a plane today. I’d have to go to the military hospital (CSH, pronounced ‘cash’) to have the injury looked at. Even though it wasn’t a severe burn, it was in a very sensitive area. The burns kit provided relief, but I was still in pain. I was aching and emotionally drained. Just when I thought I was going home …
As I lay on my bed, Bee went downstairs to let the leaders know what had happened. Instantly, Ghost demanded to see how bad the wound was. I told Bee to tell him to fuck off. There was no way in hell I was going to let him take a look at my burn. I needed to see proper medics. I was throbbing down below and knew the pain would only get worse if I sat on a plane for the next twenty hours. My wound had to be dressed properly, and some painkillers wouldn’t go astray either. Bee came back into the room with an angry look on her face. She told me that downstairs the leaders were flipping out.
Crazy things were happening because the leaders had no ability to deal with a change in plans. They were losing it because my injury meant they would not be leaving on time. Jeep even went so far as to accuse me of staging the whole thing so that I could remain in the country longer, as that would mean the company had to continue paying me. I was incredulous. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my son. Why would I want to delay that? Jeep was off his tree. I thought for sure he must have taken some full-on drugs the previous night because he was out of control. Both Merlin and Silver were out of the country on leave, and Jeep was not coping with all the extra duties.
Bee couldn’t take me to the CSH that morning. She had to get ready for the BIAP trip she was making with the team. In fact, no one could drive me. Or should I say, no one was allowed to drive me to the CSH. Instead, I was ordered to drive myself. Tomahawk offered to give me a lift, but I told him no. I didn’t want him to get in trouble for my sake.
Tomahawk pulled me aside before I left and told me that I would be okay. He told me to be strong and to forget about what was going on with the leaders. He gave me hug and then said goodbye. I grabbed a set of keys and carefully got into a vehicle. I drove off to the CSH with tears flowing down my face. I was hurting emotionally and physically. These men who had once been my friends had sent an injured member of their team, alone and without a weapon for protection, to the CSH. I felt abandoned.
I drove slowly along the road, as the speed limit near the CSH was only 10 kilometres an hour. Just as I passed the hospital entrance, an explosion erupted from my vehicle. I can still feel the vibrations in my hands to this day. I lost steering power and crashed into a concrete barrier near the road. My first thought was that my vehicle had been hit with an IED. I furiously looked around, waiting for the onset of small-arms weapon fire. But there was none. The car was not on fire. It was just not moving. I tried to start the engine, but nothing happened.
A US soldier standing guard outside the CSH came over to
see if I was okay. He couldn’t understand what had happened either. One minute I had been driving along the road, and the next my vehicle had crashed into a cement blast wall. What the hell was going on? My day was getting crazier by the minute.
I rang Bee to let her know what had happened and telling her I needed assistance to recover the vehicle. I was blocking traffic along the road, and the engine was stuffed. Being the team’s resident mechanic, Bee came down to take a look at the car. She brought Baloo and Dr Evil with her so that they could help to tow the vehicle away. They began to look over the vehicle: there was nothing wrong with it externally, except that the front right-hand tyre was ruined from hitting the wall. They opened up the hood and tried to start the engine. Once again, it would not turn over.
In the end, they put it down to bad fuel. The bad fuel must have blown the engine, which caused me to lose steering control. It was lucky I was only going at a snail’s pace. Dr Evil and Baloo assured me that everything would be okay; they’d tell the leaders that the vehicle had malfunctioned and caused the accident.
Jeep and Ghost wouldn’t believe them. To my humiliation, they declared me a ‘suicide risk’. They wanted a full medical report from the doctor too, as they were convinced I was faking my burns injury to avoid leaving the country. Bee was pulled off the BIAP trip and told to stay with me, in case I did anything ‘silly’. I was livid by this stage. My private parts were hurting and the leaders were labelling me suicidal. They had finally gone too far.