Mercenary Mum: My Journey from Young Mother to Baghdad Bodyguard

by Neryl Joyce

  “Who is it?” I called out through the door.

  “It’s K2,” I heard the voice say.

  Slowly, I unlocked the door and opened it a crack. It was indeed K2 and Judas, my senior contract staff. I then realised I had no pants on. I needed some clothes.

  “Can you get me my pants?” I asked.

  K2 grabbed my crushed cargos and passed them to me. I put them on, and then gradually came out of the bathroom. I was embarrassed to be seen. I was ashamed and humiliated.

  “I didn’t say no,” I told them. “I just let it happen. I didn’t want it to happen, but I didn’t say no. I did nothing. I just froze up. My head’s not right. I want to go back to my old room. The one I shared with Scooter. I want to lie in my bed and go to sleep. I want to go back to my team. I’m safe with them. Let me go back to Scooter’s room. My team will make sure no one ever hurts me again,” I begged.

  I was disgusted with myself. Why did I freeze up? I prided myself on being tough and stronger than the average woman. Why didn’t I fight back? Why did I just let it happen? My mind was still fuzzy. I had trusted Wingnut. He was my teammate. How could he do this? I was in one hell of an emotional state. K2 called Bee, and she accompanied me to the US medical facility. We were taken into a room, where I was examined. I was questioned by K2 and Judas. I was questioned by the military police. I was questioned by the nurse. I was questioned by Bee. Everyone wanted and needed to know what had happened.

  My urine was tested for your run-of-the-mill drugs, but nothing out of the ordinary was detected. For some reason, no one took a blood test. I would have thought it was necessary to check my blood alcohol level and to test for any other ‘exotic’ drugs. I knew by that stage Wingnut had put something in my drink. There was no other explanation. I poured myself three drinks in two and a half hours. They were all normal nips and should not have affected me much. Whatever he put in my drink after those first three, wiped me out completely.

  Wingnut had poured my drinks after my initial three. Either he slipped something into them, or he filled them mostly with alcohol and the tiniest bit of Coke. Whichever it was, it made me violently sick and unable to fight back. He had been so high since that morning. It was as if he had decided on a plan of action and was happy with what he had decided. It was all beginning to make sense now.

  The dirty little troll had planned to rape me. There was no way in hell I was going to let him get away with it. He might have robbed me of my will when he drugged and then raped me, but there was no way he was going to stop me from lodging a police report. I’d make sure he’d go to jail for his crime.

  He was a disgusting, pitiful creature who preyed on unsuspecting people. He needed to be stopped. God knows how many women he’d done it to before; and God knows how many more he was going to do it to again. I didn’t care how humiliated and violated I would feel throughout the court process, I was not going to let him intimidate me and get away with it.

  I left the hospital in a borrowed PT kit. My shirt, pants, underwear and socks were taken away for evidence. I emerged from the examination room in a pair of shorts and a shirt. K2 organised for me to stay with Bee for a few days until the company could sort things out. Bee was now working as a high-level security director so she had a lot of power within the industry. She took me to her compound and gave me a room. I showered, scrubbing myself until I got the foul stench of cigarette smoke off my body. I scrubbed to rid myself of his touch, his thoughts, his everything. I collapsed in my bed and slept fitfully for the next few hours.

  I awoke with a start. It took me a little time to work out where I was and what was going on. As soon as I remembered what had happened, I curled up in ball and cried. I felt so drained. I couldn’t let what had happened affect me. I knew I’d been through far worse. My break-up with Bruce had cut me up emotionally. Working for my previous cowboy team had cut me up. There was no way I was going to let this rape cut me up too.

  He may have taken me physically, but there was no way he was going to get through to my mind and my soul. A barrier had gone up years ago, and there was no way I was going to let him penetrate that. My mental barrier was made of titanium.

  Bee came into my room, bringing lunch with her. We sat down, eating roast chicken, salad and local bread. It tasted good. She told me that she was going to take me back to my room, so that I could pick up a few toiletries and clothes. She assured me that Wingnut was no longer there: he was being questioned by Blackwater and the MPs.

  After lunch, I cautiously headed back to my trailer with Bee. Spoon was sitting outside his room, along with another member of my Red Zone team. I don’t know if they knew what had happened, but they said hello and acted as though they knew nothing. I opened up my door and instantly the smell of alcohol hit me. There was a cup full of booze sitting on my bedside table. I didn’t know if it was Wingnut’s or mine, but instantly I felt sick and disgusting. I grabbed the cup and poured its contents down the sink.

  If only it were that easy to rid myself of the humiliation I was feeling. I quickly grabbed my stuff, and then got out, locking the door behind me. There was no way I’d go back into that room if I could help it. Bee grabbed my computer for me, and we drove back to her compound in silence. She had to go to her office so I made myself comfortable in my temporary accommodation. Slowly and methodically, I began to write my statement, recording what had happened, as best as I could remember.

  There were lots of blanks, but I was adamant about certain things. I only poured the first three drinks. After that, Wingnut poured the drinks. I only recall drinking twice more that night, before I was suddenly sick. Wingnut raped me, of that I was certain. I saw his face in the moonlight and I could smell his cigarette stench. He was an ugly troll; there was no way I’d ever encourage his ‘attentions’. He was a predator.

  *

  I stayed with Bee for the next week, but I was eager to return to work and get some normality back into my life. I was sick of sitting around, feeling sorry myself. I didn’t want to go home to Australia. I just wanted to immerse myself in my work. Wingnut had closed up and was not saying anything to anyone. He wouldn’t confirm or deny what had happened. Blackwater decided to fire him and send him back to the US, pending an investigation into his actions. Until then, he was placed ‘under escort’ at the team headquarters.

  I was finally permitted to return to work. Only a few people, including Jar Jar, knew what had happened. It was kept secret from the rest of the team. Jar Jar gave me a big hug and welcomed me back to the job before I drove him to his first appointment of the day. I was going to get over this ordeal. I just needed to throw myself into my job, and concentrate on what I knew best: client protection.

  I was healing. Day by day, I focused on my job, and I delivered results. My clients were pleased with my work, my company promoted me to site leader, taking over from Spoon, and I started inducting new members into team operations in the Green Zone. Professionally, I was getting a lot of satisfaction.

  Nobody knew, though, that I couldn’t sleep at night without the light on. No one knew I was having nightmares about my teammates coming in and forcing themselves on me. No one knew it was two in the morning before I’d finally fall asleep, exhausted from thinking too much. There was no way I was ever going to admit that I had sleeping problems as a result of my rape. There was no way I was ever going to admit I had any kind of problem as a result of my rape.

  TWO MONTHS INTO MY ROTATION I hooked up with Josh, the biggest, baddest, fiercest-looking security bloke I could find, and slowly I began to win back control of my body. With Josh in my life, I felt a little safer at night. I was determined not to be afraid of having a relationship with a man again. I didn’t want to fear being intimate with someone just because my body had been ravaged. I didn’t want to be a victim. It sucked.

  Josh used to be a sniper in the Australian Army, but left to take up security work with URG. He was exceptionally buff (from many hours spent in the gym), and his entire body was cove
red in tattoos. Rather than look ‘dirty’ and horrid, his tattoos were quite artistic yet menacing. It was not a serious union, and I knew I would never find lasting love with him. We were complete opposites. I was straight as an arrow, and he was, well, bent. But he filled a deep void that was in my soul. He knew of my attack, and often we’d talk about how our relationship was ‘therapy’. He helped me to win back confidence in my body and myself, without getting too seriously attached. He provided light-hearted conversation and we’d lie in bed for hours just listening to music. Flings aren’t always for the best, but our relationship certainly helped me to heal from within.

  By the time our affair ended, I was able to sleep with the light off. My nightmares stopped, and I was filled with a renewed sense of self-worth. Several of my friends, and other people I knew, offered to ‘do a job’ on Wingnut. The offer was tempting, don’t get me wrong, but it wouldn’t change what had happened. Retribution would come to him eventually. That’s how karma works. When it hit him, I hoped it would hit him hard.

  The rest of my time Iraq sailed by. On one of my last nights there, Skippy came over and invited me to a barbecue. I didn’t want to go. In fact, I had declined every offer he made after I was raped. I didn’t want to socialise or talk to people; I just wanted to be by myself. But he was far too convincing this time. It was my second-last night in Iraq and he told me I was duty-bound to attend. Skippy said they were going to light a small bonfire and just have a few quiet drinks – and that he’d be cooking those fabulous steaks he was renowned for. How could I resist?

  I arrived at the barbecue very late. I really wasn’t in the mood for it, but it would have been rude of me not to turn up. There were only a couple of people left by the time I arrived. Skippy grabbed me a beer, and I sat down in front of the fire. It was nice. Music played in the background, and Skippy began to tell the first of many jokes.

  I noticed a guy walking towards us. I just assumed he was another security guy coming over for a few quiet drinks. He was tall, dark and built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. As he walked over, he clocked me sitting in front of the fire. Instantly, I looked away from him. I didn’t want to get drawn into his gaze.

  He was just another hot-looking security guy as far as I was concerned. They were a dime a dozen over there. I didn’t want to get to know him. I didn’t want to get involved. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I’d experienced enough in this past year in Iraq to last me a lifetime. I was going home. I just wanted to see my boy again. If I engaged this handsome stranger in conversation, I’d probably fall for him. I didn’t want that to happen. Security guys might be hot, but they’re not very good at steady relationships.

  I spent the night trying to avoid him. I wasn’t going to fall for his chiselled good looks and huge muscles. I wasn’t going to lose myself in his deep blue eyes or be caught off guard by his sense of humour. Fate was not going to set me up for failure again. Too often she had wielded her power over me. Tonight I would not let her win.

  If I’d listened hard enough, I probably would have heard her laughing at my feeble attempts to avoid Paul. It was his birthday. He had arrived back in the country only to be coerced into attending the barbecue by his mates. He also wasn’t keen on attending, as he was feeling the effects of jet lag. But his mates wouldn’t let him rest. It was his birthday. He had to celebrate.

  So he’d also made his way up to the barbecue area, noting the way I quickly looked away from him as he approached. He could sense that I was reserved, but that only sparked his interest in me. He made small talk with his friends, had a few drinks, then, very casually, sidled up to me and introduced himself.

  As the night wore on, I began to fall under his spell. I tried to resist him, God knows I did, but it wasn’t to be. Skippy began to get rowdy, and eventually burnt his penis on the fire (don’t ask me how it happened; just know it was a typical Skippy escapade). I told the guys I’d walk over to the trailers so that they could check out Skippy to make sure it was okay. Paul said he’d join me. Skippy had consumed quite a few drinks by then, and I doubted he could feel much pain. I suggested Paul’s mate, Silver Fox, take a look at his penis to make sure he wasn’t badly burnt. I knew what it felt like to burn your private parts; it’s not much fun!

  As we walked to the trailers, and I was giggling about Skippy’s situation, Paul suddenly pulled me in close. He wrapped his arms around me, bent his head down to mine, and planted a sweet, soft kiss on my lips. I felt myself melt into his body. He pulled his lips away, and looked deeply into my eyes. My fate was sealed with that kiss. It was the most tender, loving, sensual kiss I’d ever received in my life. We kissed again, more passionately this time. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and drew him close to me. I was in heaven. This was paradise.

  Finally, we parted and returned to the group. Skippy was okay and would live to fight another day. Things began to wind down around midnight. Paul walked me to my trailer, kissed me goodnight, and returned to his room. Okay, maybe a little more kissing and talking and holding and sleeping and whatever happened before he left. But I wouldn’t want to kiss and tell!

  I met up with Paul the next evening, and we talked for hours. He told me about his life before Iraq, his work and his family life. He was separated from his wife, had two children and came from Perth. As I listened to him talk, I grew fonder and fonder of him. I told him about my life, my son and my dreams. I don’t think I’d ever revealed so much about myself to another person, but Paul made me feel completely comfortable.

  I was very upfront with him. I told him I did not want to start anything with him, as I was just about to leave the country. I didn’t want to use him or be used. I was enjoying his company, but I still didn’t know if I could trust him. He understood my reasons, although I could see he was disappointed. Even though I was a little upset myself, I had to protect my heart and my mind. I had made a secret pact with myself before I’d even met him, that if any guy were truly and honestly interested in me, they would go to the effort of making things work. That was the sort of man I’d want in my life.

  ON MY LAST DAY IN IRAQ, Paul sent me a goodbye text message as I left for the Blackwater house. The team there was going to take me and a few other contractors out to the BIAP to catch our flights home. After receiving orders and packing my equipment onto the truck, I positioned myself inside the commander’s armoured vehicle.

  The commander’s vehicle was situated second in the convoy. We headed out of the Green Zone, ‘rolling hard, rolling heavy’. I felt completely safe in the commander’s capable hands, but was ready for action nevertheless. We weren’t very far along Route Irish when suddenly an explosion erupted next to our vehicle. Everyone braced themselves.

  We were coming off an overpass at the time. The first vehicle made it safely off, but the roadside bomb exploded just as we passed by it. The vehicle shook and swerved to the side. I readied myself for the ensuing small-arms fire, but there was none. The rest of the convoy made it safely off the ramp, and we continued along Route Irish.

  After arriving at Baghdad airport safely, we had a quick debrief about the attack. Some thought that the explosion was the US military conducting a ‘controlled detonation’. They were only doing them at certain times, and this bomb hadn’t gone off in that time period. The IED had gone off within 8 metres of our vehicle. The US army certainly wouldn’t detonate a bomb within metres of a passing Blackwater team. But insurgents would.

  It was later confirmed that insurgents had indeed attempted to blow us up that day. It was believed that the insurgent IED was faulty or not set up correctly, and so the explosion was not lethal enough to inflict damage on us. Perhaps that’s why it wasn’t followed up with small-arms fire. None of the vehicles was disabled so the enemy would have had to fend off five vehicles with heavy machine-gun fire if they had tried.

  Forty-eight hours later, I arrived home to Kane and embraced him in my arms. I felt normal. I felt good. I felt all the ravages of war seeping out of my mind. I was bac
k with my little boy, and I was going to give him a holiday he’d never forget. I was going to give Bruce, Pamela and all their family a holiday they’d never forget. Three weeks later, we all left for the Gold Coast.

  IN LATE DECEMBER, I paid for everyone to fly to the Gold Coast for a theme-park holiday. We swam with the dolphins, went down the waterslides and shopped at all the big centres. We ate at restaurants, went sightseeing and bonded as an ‘extended family’. It was a fabulous holiday. It was money well spent. I know Kane and I had a great time, and I’m sure Bruce’s family did too.

  In return, Bruce invited me to his brother’s house, located a few hours from Canberra. We were going to spend the New Year’s holiday with them. It was while I was there that I found myself thinking about Paul. I had not sent him many emails, as I’d been busy with my family. The emails I had sent him were light-hearted and impersonal. I woke up on New Year’s morning thinking that I would make the first step to see if Paul really wanted to pursue things with me. It had been at least a couple of weeks since we last wrote to each other.

  When we returned to Canberra, I logged onto my computer, not really knowing what I would write to Paul. As it turned out, there was an email waiting for me from him. It was as if he had read my thoughts and knew exactly what I wanted from him. I wrote him a long letter back, and, from there, things steadily progressed.

  While on holidays, I managed to break my little toe. I broke it right off the bone and was forced to hobble around on crutches for the next couple of weeks. I didn’t let it stop me from buying a little townhouse in Canberra, though. I had made enough money to pay a 20 per cent deposit, stamp duty and all the other associated fees for a new house. It was in the same suburb as Bruce’s house, and wasn’t far from Kane’s school. There was some fighting between Bruce and me about where Kane would live. I thought things might degrade between the two of us again. Luckily, we were able to talk through our issues, and finally settle on arrangements for Kane’s care.