Warrior Brothers (23 page)

One vital piece of Iraqi infrastructure that had been flagged as a major reconstruction project was Haditha Dam, a hydroelectric facility that provided approximately 15 per cent of the nation's electricity. The turbines had been neglected for many years and were functioning at less than half their capacity. The US Corps of Engineers contracted a civilian engineer team to assess what would be required to return output to original specifications. Haditha is located in the north-western province of Anbar, which was deeply embedded in the ‘Sunni triangle' – a hotbed of insurgent activity. Two four-man private security teams were formed and given the task of reconnoitring the dam site before moving to the Iraq–Jordan border to pick up seven ‘clients', engineers whom they would escort back to the facility to carry out the assessment phase of the project.

The man who allocated the operational tasking was a British former SAS squadron sergeant-major. Jim was a man of unquestionable integrity, loyalty and steely determination. His ability to multitask could be compared to that of a mother of sextuplets. He possessed the work ethic of a thousand soldier ants, was scrupulously honest and, aged in his mid-forties, was as fit as men 20 years his junior. He was a great company man and a compassionate leader who cared about his men. We were good friends and had previously
worked together in the UAE. I knew him well and was aware that he hated weak fucks. But besides fellow weak fucks, who didn't! He was my kind of man.

I was chosen to lead the task. I'd been in Iraq for about two weeks, even though technically I was still employed in the UAE. The months before the deployment of the reconstruction team had seen a steady increase in the number and intensity of incidents around the Haditha area. Reviewing the period revealed a rollcall of conflicts and tragedies. On 19 February 2004, several coordinated groups of masked attackers driving white pick-ups simultaneously attacked the Haditha and Haqlaniyah police stations. Several Iraqi police officers were killed. A US armoured response was deployed to assist, and in the ensuing firefight one American soldier was shot in the neck and another received shrapnel wounds. Nine insurgents were killed.

Five days earlier, on 14 February, a US armoured patrol had entered the village of Barwanah to investigate reports of a possible improvised explosive device (IED). The patrol was hit with a barrage of rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs) and small-arms fire from approximately 12 enemy combatants, who subsequently attempted to assault the armoured tanks. The Americans fired approximately 10,000 rounds during the contact. Another three days before that, an IED composed of two 155-millimetre artillery shells was located on Highway Twelve near the Haditha Dam turnoff. One and a half kilometres of communications wire was traced back to a firing point. The list of recent skirmishes stretched back to late January and beyond. The road to Haditha Dam was well and truly a hotspot.

I knew that this job was going to be challenging, as well as dangerous. The trip would see us pass by the north of Fallujah, a city that was in dire need of some anger-management classes. That hotbed of insurgency would later live up to its bad reputation. The two reconnaissance teams
were formed just 48 hours before the trip. Of the eight team members, there were only two guys who were actually looking forward to the journey (me and my team 2iC, Pottie). This wasn't surprising. Another consultant, who had previously travelled to Jordan while employed with a different security company, had been asked to delay his leave to join our operation, as his experience on this pioneering trip would have proved invaluable. His reply hadn't instilled anyone with hope: ‘No thanks. That's a suicide trip you're going on. That's a one-way ticket.'

It was true that the journey had the potential to be extremely hazardous, but such exaggerated comments were damaging. The consultant insisted that it wasn't possible to purchase fuel between Baghdad and Jordan, and that a Toyota Landcruiser would need two tanks to make it to the border. A round trip would require four tanks, he said, and the team couldn't carry enough fuel. His paranoid predictions of doom and gloom weren't to be trusted, but their negative effect on the group was undeniable.

Our ‘motivational speaker' consultant later bumped into members of the team and asked what project they were on. When they answered, ‘The Haditha Dam task,' he just shook his head and repeated his mantra: ‘Oh, the one-way trip.' His comments were insidious and encouraged a negativity that had to be contained.

I wondered what this guy was doing in Iraq and stabbed him with my eyes whenever I heard his pathetic voice. But for now, I had to ascertain the dangers we faced. I had little confidence in two members of my team. I would have replaced them in a second but, given the limited choice at the time, this was as good as it got. The other four-man team appeared decent but had no previous history together, so a lack of trust intensified their apprehension. Not an altogether promising start to a new project.

I spoke to both teams the day before we left and told them
not to dwell on the negative aspects of what might happen. We had to be positive, so I asked them to identify reasons the trip would be a success. Of course, there were a lot of questions left unanswered, but this was half the challenge.

Another problem was that our team had no intelligence of the Haditha area. Unfortunately, the company that had employed us was yet to gain military contacts willing to divulge such information. Our task was unquestionably dangerous, and even though we knew there was a military base at Alasad Airbase, it wasn't clear whether we would be granted access without US Department of Defense badges.

Issues that in ‘normal' life would be trivial took on mammoth importance. In Haditha, how and where would we source fuel? Where would we be fed and accommodated? Were there military assets at the dam? These were the basics, and in this hostile location there were follow-on issues to be considered. What if we arrived at the dam and were met by a few hundred irate insurgents? Instead of accommodation and a warm meal, the team might be given orange jumpsuits before becoming international TV stars, notorious for being separated from their heads. It wasn't an overly rosy picture. Apart from anything else, orange is just not my colour.

We had no idea what we were in for, but both Pottie and I were confident that we could make the task a success. If nothing else, we had each developed a strong trust in the other's ability. If everything went to shit, at least we could rely on one another!

We also faced a worrying shortage of equipment. An 11- or 12-hour drive to the dam meant going through some extremely remote locations. This was not like travelling a major highway in Australia and only having to watch out for rogue trucks crossing over the white line. In Iraq we were constantly on the lookout for potential enemy or roadside bombs, and we had only the most basic mapping at our disposal. Ironically, we were being guided by a tourist map in
one of the most inhospitable places in the world. It was seriously inadequate.

In the early days of private security operations in Iraq, there were a lot of shortfalls. Lack of ammunition became the bane of our existence. Each man was issued with three 30-round magazines. I knew only two of my magazines were serviceable. My previous training and experiences in the military guided my thoughts and reactions, and in times of relative ‘quiet', images of our team in contact and imagined future operations flitted through my mind. I wasn't torturing myself with doubts – it was an essential part of establishing team protocol. No planning for a job is ever complete without some imaginative run-throughs beforehand.

In some of my imagined scenarios I'd fire the first magazine very quickly to reclaim the initiative, which would leave me with just one magazine before I'd have to reload. In an SAS patrol each man carries a minimum of 10 magazines and has weapons that are at least likely to work. Our weapons had been purchased on the black market. Although the AK-47 is a reliable rifle, there was always the chance that a round would jam in the chamber, reducing it to some sort of medieval club.

Well, it was the promise of a challenge that had brought me to Iraq, and it was a challenge I had received. There was no point complaining. Every other team and security company was in the same situation. It was just a matter of trying to make things work with what you had. The management team was aware that this was a shit sandwich, so to speak, but they were doing a fantastic job with the limited assets they had at their disposal and would have given more if they'd had it.

The private industry is, of course, primarily focused on money. There is always a clash between the managers on the ground and the suits back in their air-conditioned offices in New York or London. One group cares about the men, their
level of training and how they are equipped. The other cares about the bottom line – profits. ‘How much money are we going to make out of this? Who cares that the men are deploying with substandard equipment – that's why we pay extortionate insurance costs.'

In all probability the office-dwellers didn't think like this, but as we hit the roads day in, day out during those early days in Iraq, few of the men were able to resist seeing it that way. Our operational director, a part-owner of the company we were working with and a former legend of 22 SAS, managed to achieve a balance. By all accounts he was one hell of a soldier in his day and, although he was surly most of the time, he fought tooth and nail for his guys on the ground. He also subjected himself to the same dangers as the men working for him. He was a man's man, a hard-hitting, angry, former regimental sergeant-major who had been decorated in battle. Every security company needed men like this to keep the suits in check. He always backed our decisions and provided support, and the boys on the ground were always grateful.

Our two teams were employed on other tasks until the Haditha Dam contract had been signed and a lot of money had been paid. Once it was approved, it was all systems go, and we had one evening to prepare for the task. The vibe was one of urgency as we packed vehicles and tested equipment. I had received my final team member earlier that day, so we carried out vehicle contact drills until after midnight. Quite a contrast from operations in the SAS. The following morning we were issued with Thuraya satellite communication sets. These would be our lifeline and the only means of emergency communication with the operations room in the event of an incident. Considering the lack of preparation time, we were as ready as we could be.

Come sunrise, it was a relief to get going and begin the first phase, a six-hour drive to Baghdad. We departed in four soft-skinned – non-armoured – Mitsubishi Pajeros with two men in each vehicle. From a security, military or even civilian perspective, driving in non-armoured vehicles meant that we were seriously compromised right from the outset. Armoured vehicles would be rapidly sourced over the following months when the insurgent activity and accompanying loss of Western lives escalated.

Perhaps the deaths of two security consultants in Mosul not long after we began our task prompted this requirement. One of these men was part of our security team. Who would have thought, as we drove to Baghdad that day, that this sprightly Irishman and father of a four-year-old son had less than six weeks to live?

The contact involved at least three attacking vehicles, two of which had taken up front and rear blocking positions. The third insurgent vehicle engaged from the side. The security team's rear vehicle provided protection, which enabled its lead vehicle to mount the gutter and ram its way to safety, thus saving the client's life. The two security contractors in the rear vehicle died in the ambush. The US military was involved in four separate contacts in Mosul that day. If there is any positive to come out of a good man being killed, it is
the fact that he did not suffer – he was shot 82 times. This man was a diligent operator who was skilfully able to sense danger. He was not one to switch off and lose concentration and was incessantly on the lookout for potential triggers. It was this mindset that identified the ambush and contributed to a client and two security contractors being spared on that fateful day.

The last words this man said to me before jumping in a vehicle and departing on leave were: ‘Hey, matey, take it easy and don't forget to tell Shaibah Ops that you want me back in your team when I come back. You guys take care, as I gotta get home to see my wee man and take him to the zoo.'

The intense situation we would be working in for the next few months was exacerbated initially by the fact that only one member of our team had previously been to Baghdad, and he was barely an asset. He actually had no idea how to get to the fabled ‘Green Zone' – the designated secure area in central Baghdad. He was not even able to pinpoint its location on a map! So dire were our circumstances that I virtually had to interrogate him to get the information I needed: that the Green Zone was ‘somewhere near a bridge' that crossed the Tigris River. In an increasingly uncomfortable situation, this was mildly encouraging. Trawling around Baghdad looking lost was likely to draw untoward attention to our under-armed, under-protected team.

Despite the odds being against us, I was able to source a precise grid to the entrance of the Green Zone at Skania, which was a US logistics base on the primary north–south highway. Route Tampa was a six-lane sealed highway with a very, very uncomfortable potholed unsealed section of approximately 170 kilometres in the middle. It would take another 12 months or so before the two sections of sealed highway were joined. For those forced to use it, this couldn't
come soon enough. Travelling this section once was one time too many.

The south of Iraq is dry, barren and relatively benign in comparison to the more fertile and restive centre. While travelling its tempestuous surface, our vehicles maintained a spacing of no less than 50 metres. The large military convoys that rattled past us at regular intervals stirred up considerable debris, and the choking dust sometimes reduced visibility to five metres. Our convoy felt its way though the orange powder while trying to dodge the heavy shadows of the intimidating US military tonnage. It was like travelling on a highway at night with your headlights off, only to be surprised by a bull appearing in your path the second you turned them back on. There was no shortage of near misses as the US military trucks and vehicles passed within feet of our darting Pajeros. Being crushed by a truck laden with a couple of tanks would have been a poor start to our trip.

Our first stop was a US refuelling station known as ‘Cedar'. All civilian traffic had been redirected and only military and Department of Defense cardholders were able to gain access. The break offered a chance to refuel, stretch our legs, relieve our aching bladders and relax. Most guys were always topped up with water, as a contact in such a remote area could have resulted in a very thirsty couple of hours, but this was a double-edged strategy. With too much, you'd find yourself rocking to and fro, your knees clenched tight, as your body armour pressed perfectly against your bladder. Each bump required a conscious effort to relax the detrusor muscle to stop from pissing your pants.

The area between Cedar and our next destination, Skania, was an unpopular section of unsealed road. When we finally alighted to refuel and revive ourselves, I felt like a cartoon character that had been squashed between clashing cymbals. Although the vehicles were now stationary, the jolting and shuddering in our bodies was like stepping onto dry land after weeks at sea.

Once we regained our equilibrium, we restocked the vehicles with US rations and bottled water. They now looked like a set of family wagons heading off for a week of camping. But it was time for the team to get down to business and make the final push to Baghdad. The fraught drive was worlds away from setting up camp and throwing a few snags on a barbecue back in Oz. The mood of the guys became deadly serious. There was no jovial or relaxed talk. We were sharply attentive to this highly dangerous environment and the task at hand. I'd estimated that the trip from Skania to Baghdad would take 90 minutes. We emerged from an arid landscape into fields of healthy date palms, and ‘By the Rivers of Babylon' immediately sprang to mind. Unfortunately, such a haunting, spiritual melody didn't quite fit our vision of post-war Iraq.

The locals were coolly indifferent. Nobody was friendly and the vibe became increasingly eerie. There were no smiling children or casual waves. Here, in central Iraq, we were offered piercing stares and looks of contempt. This was disconcerting and another blow to team morale. With the overthrow of Saddam Hussein, this Sunni-dominated area was in turmoil, having lost their stranglehold on power.

It was obvious that we were disliked. The Sunnis didn't care who was here for the war and who was here for reconstruction – as far as they were concerned, we were all invaders of their country. It was a strange feeling, as we felt no hatred or animosity for them. We disliked the insurgents, but only because they were trying to end our lives. A suicide-bombing or roadside ambush could occur at any time, and our team was acutely aware that we would have to be fast and reactive. These were the politics of survival.

Travelling the roads was a lucky dip, and we knew that all the training in the world might not be enough to keep us safe. The best and the worst operators would be equally shredded by a roadside bomb. Adding to this stress was the fact that I
was unsure which roads were blocked off and which areas were the most hazardous to pass through. Although we were driving blind, I was determined to take the most direct and fastest-flowing route to the Green Zone.

We turned off Route Tampa onto Route Irish (the road that led towards the airport) and were immediately confronted by heavy traffic. Baghdad had a population of more than 5 million people and, since the war, had no decent system of traffic control. I instructed the team to close up as we attempted to weave our way through the maze of vehicles without pissing off the locals. It was a simple enough directive. The aim was to minimise any unwanted attention, so there was to be no erratic driving or honking of the horn.

We scanned our surrounds feverishly – roadside stalls, vehicles to the left, right, front and rear, overpasses, off-ramps, oncoming traffic – it was controlled mayhem. Needless to say, driving around Baghdad is exhilarating. Some of the men were excited and some were nervous. Either way, we all had racing hearts. Things were going well and we maintained our momentum. There were no traffic lights and everyone on the crowded roads believed they had the right of way, so the larger or most damaged vehicles generally penetrated the wall of traffic most efficiently. It was obvious that we were Western-looking and armed. So although we were unwelcome, we were generally granted a little space. We took what we could.

Navigation, even with an out-of-date tourist map, was relatively easy and we approached the entrance to the heavily fortified Green Zone within 20 minutes of entering Baghdad. Once access was granted we moved directly to the KBR refuelling station. Our security company had a presence inside the Green Zone but, unlike the military, our team could not expect a lot of support. It had been stressed to us that we were on a separate project and were not entitled to use assets provided by another client. Where was the sense of
teamwork? We weren't even given accommodation within the Green Zone and were directed to move to the Palestine Hotel, across the river.

After our vehicles were secured in the hotel's car park, we took all essential items inside. The eight of us, with loaded weapons slung over our shoulders and arms heavily burdened with equipment, were expecting looks of complete horror from the hotel personnel. Were weapons allowed inside a hotel? But this was Baghdad. We attracted very little attention as we were issued with keys to rooms on an upper floor.

That evening I sent off a situation report back to the Kuwaiti Ops and, more importantly, ordered room service. The food was actually pretty good. Most guys ordered a soup that was far less bland than anticipated, which was accompanied by a thin steak with oily chips and a salad topped with goat cheese. We had to make the most of it – who knew what we'd be eating tomorrow? There was every chance that for morning tea we'd be chewing on little pieces of lead.