Dirty Deeds Done Cheap

by Peter Mercer

  As contractors working in northern Iraq, sometimes we walked a fine line between being security personnel and mercenaries. To look at us and the weapons we carried and our tactics, you’d think we were some kind of paramilitaries. You can argue the toss all day: contractor, private military or mercenary. All I know is that I got paid a lot of money to look after and protect people and property. If trouble ever found us, so be it! We would deal with it using all the resources available to us – and we had a lot. We wouldn’t look for trouble, far from it. It was the team leader’s job in each of our patrols to avoid it at all costs, but we would not shy away from it, either. In the job we were doing people die; it’s part of the job. We were all there by choice and were there for the dosh. If you don’t agree or don’t want to do it, you go home. Period.

  On this particular day it wasn’t much different from any other, as always the heavy weapons were fitted to the vehicles and all the spare ammo was loaded into the back along with, if you couldn’t guess, boxes and boxes of MREs (the American emergency food rations). It wasn’t unknown for us to sometimes get through 3,000–4,000 rounds in a large contact, our main tactic when being hit was to put down a large amount of fire and get the fuck out of the area as fast as possible. Being fully financed by the US Government, we had no shortage of weaponry and ammunition. We went through our usual routine of checking and double-checking our radios, weapons, bomb-jamming equipment, sat-nav and other communication means. We then went through the IA (immediate-action) drills quickly. These were mainly generic, but, for the mission we were now tasked with, we would be travelling through an insurgent stronghold so we really had to hammer it home to the lads to be on their toes, as this was going to be fucking dangerous, more dangerous than Mosul.

  Tal Afar is a city in northwestern Iraq in the Ninawa Governorate, located approximately 30 miles west of Mosul and 120 miles northwest of Kirkuk. While no official census data exists, the city has been assessed as having a population of approximately 220,000 people, nearly all of whom are Iraqi Turkmen. The population’s religious affiliation is split roughly in halves, between Sunni Muslims and Shia Muslims. While most residents do speak Arabic, a dialect of Turkish is also used almost universally throughout the city.

  After the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, insurgents used Tal Afar as a staging point for most of their attacks. In September 2004, American forces stormed in and defeated the insurgents and left roughly six-hundred troops in the city, and this was the time we were tasked to travel through this stronghold. This was not good. Later, however, the Iraqi authorities lost control over the city and in May 2005 the insurgents began taking over again.

  Military operations in June 2005 did not quell the violence. Final offensive operations involving eight-thousand Iraqi and US troops were launched in September 2005. They tried, and successfully used, a new strategy of clearing, holding and building in the areas that they had purged of insurgents. An ambitious reconstruction effort was implemented. Most of the sewers had to be replaced after the attacks and this was done within a matter of weeks. Tal Afar has also been the scene of sectarian violence between the Shi’ite and Sunni Muslims. In May 2005 clashes broke out between the two groups. In March 2006 President George W Bush highlighted Tal Afar as a success story, but I personally feel that this was a bit premature, as the fighting continues to this day with some ferocity. On 27 March 2007 a truck bomb exploded, killing 152 people and injuring a further 347.

  However, for us in 2004, there was going to be a lot of resistance, but I’ll tell the whole story, to give you an idea of how bad it actually was. We were to be travelling through this place at the height of its violence. With a total area of approximately 10 square miles there were a lot of places from which we could get ambushed, bombed or shot at. At the brief before going out on patrol, we gave the lads a heads-up and told them that this was going to be a dangerous one. But nothing fazed these guys.

  As we left the gate as normal, I prepared the guys, explaining that it was likely we would have a contact of some sort today, be it a major one or minor. I just knew it was going to come at some point. We knew this was going to be a bit dodgy. You can’t expect to breeze through an insurgent stronghold without an incident of some kind. We’d studied the map and it was the only route we could travel to get to where we were going. On this particular job, we had to escort one of the American special-ops guys to the other end of the town and, hopefully, get him and us there in one piece. This job we were doing was outrageous and hard to take in sometimes, but I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t enjoying it a little bit.

  We burst out of the gate in our typical style – fast and aggressive – and then cleared the chains, so now we were definitely on our way. I was slightly apprehensive about this mission but excited nevertheless. I always worried about the guys in my team. They were like brothers to me now and I was always trying to make sure they were OK. Being responsible for the lives of four guys always adds pressure and a certain level of stress in situations like these. If or when any of our guys were killed or badly injured, you always tormented yourself with thoughts of how you could have done things differently – hindsight always being 20–20.

  As we started to travel through Mosul, we heard the occasional gunfire; we always did, but it was nothing we weren’t used to. We travelled past the familiar places on our new mission to Tal Afar. Noticeably, one of them was the giant mosque that the US government were paying to be built to try to pacify the local community. Unfortunately for us and the US troops, it was becoming popular with insurgent snipers: because of the height of the building, it had great vantage points for them. In situations like these, where you were going into the unknown, you had to be spontaneous and improvisational. A lot of the time there was no bloodshed, but the energy was often ugly and violent. You can often sense bad vibes: sometimes it’s like the calm before the storm; sometimes it’s the look in people’s eyes. It can be many things, but you know – you sense it. Gut instinct, if you like.

  We sped across this dangerous city and we were soon clearing the outskirts of Mosul when I saw two white camels tethered at the side of the road; I couldn’t believe my eyes, this place was mad. We sped along into the desert and, as we’d now cleared Mosul, everyone started to chill a bit. I radioed ‘Patrol clear’ as we cleared the town. ‘Roger. Out,’ came the reply from the patrol commander. I was still tail-end Charlie at this point. We were all a bit more relaxed now. The only threat to us was from IEDs, and there wasn’t much you could do about those except keep your eyes peeled and look for something that could contain one. But, as we’ve seen, the insurgents would hide them in the most ingenious places. Most of the time you knew one was there only when it went off, and then it was too late – you were fucked.

  When we could no longer see civilisation, we pulled over into a bit of cover and went into all-round defence (all of our tail gunners facing outwards) so the guys could have a piss stop and, you guessed it, some elevenses. They’d gone a couple of hours now with no food and they needed topping up! We got the flasks out. We tried never to use the same place to stop at twice within, say, a month to prevent the insurgents from getting familiar with our movements and planting booby traps or mines.

  The temperature was coming up a bit now and the sun was warming the desert by a few degrees. After some coffee and some American MRE (meal, ready-to-eat) rations, we loaded up and carried on. Everyone was now feeling recharged and raring to go. I was mentally going through my contact drills and did a few radio checks with the other call signs. I reiterated to the lads that something would probably happen (major or minor I couldn’t say; after all, we weren’t fortune tellers). They all now had their serious heads on – this was almost coming up to show time.

  We were now about 5 kilometres away from Tal Afar and could clearly see the outskirts of the city. Also, we had started to drive past some basic little huts by the sides of the road, complete with wild dogs barking and running out at us. This was new territory to us and we didn
’t really know what to expect, so, a few kilometres later, before we got to this hellhole, we pulled over and had a pow-wow. There wasn’t much to plan for. The main reason we’d stopped was to make sure everyone was ready for a bad firefight. Minutes later we were tearing off again into the unknown. We were averaging about 60 m.p.h. and we’d got our spacing spot on. Everyone was covering his arc of fire. I put my thumb on the safety catch of my M16 and popped a 40mm grenade into the breach of my M203 grenade launcher.

  We were now approaching the edge of the city and my concentration was honed. Everyone started hard-targeting (moving the weapon in the direction you are looking), scanning for likely ambush positions. The main road coming into town was actually really quiet. As our convoy approached we were fired upon from quite a distance – nothing serious as of yet, but we couldn’t afford to take any chances. Any way you looked at it, it was incoming fire and a 7.62mm round can be effective up to 1,600 metres. That’s not too far off a mile. Even if they couldn’t see us properly and they just sprayed a burst of automatic gunfire in our direction, there was a very real chance that a stray round could hit one of us.

  There were wadis (valleys or dry river beds) either side of the road which we could drive the vehicles into, if needs be, and turn around if we had to, or take cover in if things were to get too serious. The insurgents’ fire at this time wasn’t effective, though, and we weren’t 100 per cent sure it was even aimed at us, as there were American patrols in the area and they (the insurgents) could be having a pop at the Yanks rather than at us. But it made it more difficult for us to be sure if we were the targets, because we couldn’t identify where the insurgents’ fire was coming from. We carried on regardless. In the next moment the vehicle in front of us swerved. Hmm, this was not at all normal.

  It was etched on my consciousness how badly and rapidly situations could deteriorate in Iraq. My worst fear of all was capture, for this would surely mean days or weeks of horrific torture followed, almost certainly, by beheading. I’d rather top myself. For any contractor working in Iraq this would be the absolute worst-case scenario and it was just totally unthinkable.

  The front vehicle came to a stop on the side of the road. The front right-hand-side wheel and tyre had been shot out. We had a choice: torch and blow up the vehicle and leave it for dead, or assess how effective the insurgent attack was and then stay and fix the tyre. We were quite a way from the enemy fire point, which we’d assessed was a block of flats to our right (a good 1,000 metres away). We didn’t want to let rip with the M19 grenade launcher or the .50-cal and take the complex totally out because, knowing the insurgents, that block of flats could be populated by women and children and we always did all we could to avoid collateral damage. Killing innocent civilians was not in our code. While we were deciding what to do for the best, the Gurkhas, cool as cucumbers, just calmly got out of the truck and started changing the wheel. One Gurkha had the jack and another had the wheel brace and they carried on as if they didn’t have a care in the world. We started putting down covering fire for them. Mad little fuckers!

  We were pretty much pinned down, though, and there was no way we would be able to get through this town safely; and, as we got closer, the firing would almost certainly become more intense. We were in trouble. Best thing we could hope to achieve was to fix the wheel, then turn around to get the fuck out of Dodge. I was shouting to the Gurkhas to keep their heads down, but they didn’t seem to care. They’d been through a lot of firefights in Iraq and a lot of them were religious and believed in fate and karma: what will be will be. They didn’t seem scared of death. I just thought they were little nutters but we were all on the same page when it came to the tasks and missions we were given – we all just wanted to get out of there in one piece. These guys were priceless.

  The road right next to where the mad Gurkhas were changing the wheel was now littered with hundreds of empty bullet cases and I did my best to control the rate of fire from our guys. When you’re not taking casualties and you’ve got the upper hand and superior firepower, you can find these situations quite exhilarating. My senses were sharp but, in the back of my mind, I was always thinking that to try to take the fight to the insurgents was suicide.

  It could easily have been a come-on – a trap. Insurgents had used this tactic very usefully and cleverly with American troops in the past. The insurgents would start off with a very small force, and then often retreat. The Yanks would then do a follow-up, and then there would be loads of insurgents waiting in ambush with explosives and all kinds of ordnance to take them out. This was certainly one situation we would never purposely get into. Our job was simple: get from A to B with as little hassle as possible. At the end of the day, all we wanted was to get home in one piece. Although I did wonder about one or two of the guys!

  The wheel on the Hilux was now done and there was no more damage to the vehicle. It was now decided to do a fighting withdrawal and come back the way we’d come. Tal Afar seemed too fucking risky to go through at this time. If the insurgents in the meantime had managed to circle us we would then be in the desert and could let rip with everything we had: M19s, M203s, M240s, M249s and .50-cals. I had a strong feeling the insurgents also knew this and, as I said before, they’re not stupid. It was an acceptable risk for us to attempt; plus, we had little or no choice: to try to pass their fire position was suicide, because they were fortified and well armed. We were in a no-win situation.

  As we mounted up and prepared to get out of the area, we put down more suppressing fire on the flats, when an American Stryker patrol showed up and we all took cover behind these huge armoured vehicles. The Stryker commander, a captain, jumped down. ‘You guys OK? We heard a lot of shooting so we came to investigate. You guys need a hand?’ We explained in detail about our predicament. After discussing our options the American captain said, ‘Why don’t I just fire some missiles at that goddamned block of flats, then you can drive right on through?’ We explained about not wanting to injure or kill civilians and our aim to minimise collateral damage. He told us that the apartments were still under construction and no one lived there. The insurgents used them quite frequently to ambush American troops. I think he just wanted an excuse to flatten them. That was all the information we needed. ‘Flatten the fuckers,’ our boss said. The Yank smiled and jumped back into his big fuck-off machine of destruction and gave the order.

  We all watched with anticipation as the three Strykers trundled off down the main road until they were level with the apartments. We could all hear the AK-47 rounds, fired by the insurgents, just bouncing off their armour. That was fucking ace! The twats in the flats were going to get one hell of a shock. You could see the missiles’ homing system targeting the flats, and then, in an instant, there were two whooshes and we followed the trail of smoke from the missiles hurtling towards the apartments. These missiles were awesome and in a split second three floors of the block were no longer there – just dust and rubble. Lo and behold – no more incoming firing! Fucking excellent!

  It was pure poetry in motion. Killing another human being is not something to relish, but the fact was that these insurgents were trying and doing their damnedest to send us to a better place (or worse) – that made them fair game. I laughed my head off. I definitely have my own set of morals.

  The apartments were no more – just dust. Our wheel was fixed and there were not so many insurgents left – none who could fight anyway. Life was peachy. Now that the Yanks had done our dirty work for us, there was pretty much no resistance left. We were all on a bit of a buzz now and all of us were laughing our heads off at what a bizarre situation we’d just been part of.

  It was lovely to see the guys smile. They were always in the thick of it and, although they were tough bastards, a bit of relief never came amiss. Now this was something that could have come right out of a movie (a crap one, admittedly) – little guys fixing a wheel while under quite intense enemy fire. Even some of the hardened, veteran ex-SAS/SBS found it hysterical. It added
a whole giggle factor to the totally fucked-up situation we had just survived; but, on the other hand, we were all deadly serious – we had to be.

  In hindsight we should have just blown the damaged Toyota to pieces, left it for dead and carried on; but, as I said, the energy in the area was ugly and violent. However, there was no bloodshed this time apart from the bad guys. When those missiles hit they wouldn’t have known anything about it. They would have just been taken out. There would have been nothing left.

  In situations like this you have to think on your feet and, as I’ve said, at the end of the day I was responsible for four of these brave little fuckers in my truck. If one of them had died or been maimed … Well, does anyone know how to write in Nepalese to one of their loved ones to say sorry? Because I fucking don’t. The British forces in these war zones have to be in these danger areas. I have the utmost admiration for these people and, time and time again, they are bound by duty to be there getting their arses shot off, but we, as private contractors, were are all there by choice. Sometimes not the smartest thing to do.

  Now, back to those wheel-changing nutters. After taking stock of our tactical miscalculation (fuck-up, basically) we decided to get the hell out of Dodge ASAP and, because of the kind support of the Yanks, we had little resistance. We screeched off with the Gurkhas. The one driving us in our vehicle was using a booster cushion. I’m not kidding you, this guy was tiny, only about 5-foot-nothing, but he had balls as big as an elephant. Because of the intensity of the situation, he ended up driving like Lewis Hamilton, so we were now going through Tal Afar pretty fast. This little Gurkha could drive like the wind (I was, personally, bricking it) even if he could hardly touch the pedals.