Mercenary Mum: My Journey from Young Mother to Baghdad Bodyguard

by Neryl Joyce

  Merlin agreed that the terminology was wrong, but told me not to worry about it: it was “just the way things were done”. He wasn’t exactly interested in taking the issue up with the other team leaders, as it was such a small issue. Well, he was right: it was a minor issue, but it still irked me. It wasn’t about using the incorrect terminology. It seemed symbolic of a ‘near enough is good enough’ approach that pervaded the way the team was run.

  After passing ‘RV five’, we made it to Baghdad airport to drop off our client. We couldn’t leave the area until we received confirmation that Number Two was on board his plane. Airlines in Iraq were notorious for overbooking passengers. You may have had a ticket for a flight, but until you were in your seat, there was no guarantee you would be leaving on a jet plane. Even if you did manage to snare a seat, there was no guarantee that the plane would take off on time, if at all. It was common for planes not only to leave several hours late, but also several hours early.

  The upshot was that we might have to spend a whole day at the airport. We decided to drive over to another team site, which was located in the BIAP–Camp Victory area. That team, which was also part of our company, was tasked with providing security to communications personnel. Once we arrived, I had a quick look around, and peeked inside one of the buildings. There were two rooms to each building, with a shared toilet–bathroom area. Each room had a cushy-looking double bed, a bedside table and gigantic comfy chair. Only two people to a bathroom! Pure luxury!

  I was introduced to some of the team members, two of them being a husband–wife team. Maria was a tall and slender woman and her husband, Leon, was short and muscular. Maria was a really good operator: she knew her drills backwards, and was a very good shooter – better than her husband, and most of her team for that matter. She was one of only a tiny number of female security contractors in Iraq. Maria was about to head out on a mission so I didn’t get much more than a curt “Hello” from her. It was a shame; I would have loved to talk to her about her experiences in Iraq. I was surprised that the company had hired both her and her husband. Normally these kinds of relationships were frowned on. So many issues and complications can occur when working on the same team as your partner, some of which may ultimately interfere with your ability to do your job.

  We hung around for another three hours until we got the call that the client had left. On the route back, Spitfire would travel in the client vehicle, which now had a spare seat. This would allow for better security and extra firepower in the middle car.

  It was also a welcome relief for me: I would now have more room to spread out my kit. I could turn and move as freely as I liked. I set myself up comfortably and prepared for the journey home. Swamp, Merlin and I were still in the advance vehicle and would head out first. Jeep, Ronin and Spitfire would go next in the client vehicle, and then Ghost, Dr Evil, Tomahawk, Wolf and Blade would follow behind in the CAT wagon.

  The plan was simple: make it back alive.

  WE DROVE OUT HARD and fast. We swerved and weaved our way around the traffic, reaching speeds of up to 100 kilometres an hour. Swamp was a great driver and knew just where all the potholes were. Potholes – or, more accurately, roadside bomb holes – were scattered all along Route Irish. There was one near an overpass so huge that you could almost lose a vehicle in it.

  As our car reached each bridge or overpass, I heard Merlin call over the radio that it was clear: there were no suspicious vehicles, persons or animals nearby. Traffic was banked up in front of us, and Merlin slowed down. Our convoy began to close up, ready to take a detour if necessary. We were approaching the final overpass when Swamp spotted several figures on top. We didn’t know whether they were innocent people out for a walk or insurgents ready to drop a bomb on us.

  Merlin alerted the others. We were all to proceed with caution. As the advance vehicle, we had to go under the overpass first. Traffic was heavy so we could only travel very slowly. I looked up and to the rear as best I could, hoping not to see anyone dangling a grenade. We cleared the underpass without incident but only got another 50 metres before we were stopped in traffic.

  Behind us, the client vehicle was being closely followed by the CAT wagon. As the vehicles began driving through the underpass, Ronin in the client vehicle and Dr Evil in the CAT wagon thought they saw a person holding something. Both drivers sped up and switched lanes – a good drill for avoiding explosive devices being dropped from above.

  Unfortunately, neither of them was in a hurry to drive out of the underpass, certain a grenade would be waiting for them on the other side. I was looking out the rear of our vehicle, and saw how it went down. Ronin slammed on the brakes and there wasn’t time for Dr Evil to react. The CAT wagon rammed straight into the back of the client vehicle.

  “CAT wagon down. CAT wagon down,” I heard Ghost squawk over the radio. “Client vehicle is still up,” said Jeep after a prolonged pause. Merlin and I leapt out of our car straightaway. I ran to the side of the road and took up a fire position facing outwards. The wagon was cactus: its front was completely crushed. Merlin and Jeep coordinated a very quick cross-load of stores and equipment from the CAT vehicle.

  The client vehicle had only sustained minor damage to its rear, and it was still operable. Within minutes we had cross-loaded everything and were back on the road. We managed to squeeze the extra five people and all their equipment into the two remaining vehicles, but things were very tight. The CAT wagon was left abandoned in the middle of the road, and we took off in a hurry. Route Irish was not a place to dilly-dally.

  Back at the team house we quickly offloaded our stores and equipment. Ronin and Jeep were taken to the military hospital. Dr Evil had also hurt himself, but swore he didn’t need a doctor. Ronin had injured his shoulder, and Dr Evil had banged up his knee and knocked his head on the steering wheel.

  It was Jeep who I was worried about. He’d blacked out for a few seconds, which was why there had been such a long pause over the radio before he gave us a situation report. His head had hit the dashboard: his cheek was cut and there was bruising all around his eye. Jeep was fast becoming a close friend of mine. He was the second-in-command of all the team leaders and would take over missions when Stu had other things to attend to. He was a big, loud American who had me in stitches a lot. He was rude, tactless and completely obnoxious to the local staff, yet I got on famously with him. He felt sort of like a big brother to me. Later, when he arrived back from the hospital, he was cursing and ranting about having to wear an eye patch. I was happy to see that his humour (and temper) had returned to normal.

  While the guys were at the hospital, Stu – our overall team leader – and Smokey busily devised a plan to recover the abandoned CAT wagon. Stu was an ex–British clearance diver and also a combat engineer. He was well educated, had managerial qualifications, and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. Even so, the plan took them all of about five minutes to devise. Six of us were to go back out to the crash site in two vehicles. Once we got there, we’d hook the disabled wagon onto one of the vehicles, and then tow it back to the Green Zone. The second vehicle would provide security.

  Dr Evil drove the first vehicle, with Stu and me as the passengers. The brothers, Wolf and Blade, and Smokey travelled in the rear vehicle. We slowly went through the US checkpoint, informing the guards that we were going to recover our disabled vehicle on Route Irish and bring it back to the Green Zone. They thought we were bonkers.

  I could see the traffic chaos that the CAT wagon had created from quite a distance away. Cars were banked up as vehicles tried to merge into one lane. Panicked drivers were doing some pretty crazy stuff in order to get off the road. It was bedlam.

  We pulled up in front of the wagon. I jumped out to provide observation in front, just as I had been ordered to. Dr Evil had to concentrate on positioning his car so the wagon could be attached for towing. Stu and Smokey were busy searching for bombs that might have been planted on the wagon while we were gone. The two brothers, Wolf and Blade, ha
lted traffic to the rear and provided firepower in that direction. To say the situation was hairy is an understatement.

  I spotted a man walking nearby with an AK-47. He wasn’t pointing it at us or behaving in a threatening manner, but he was packing and that was threat enough. I alerted the team that I had identified a possible hostile person and to be ready if anything happened. In the meantime, Stu completed the improvised explosive device (IED) check and hooked up the wagon to our vehicle. Once that was done, Stu and Smokey got into the wagon to steer it, stopping it from veering off the side of the road. I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard Stu call for us to withdraw.

  Still keeping my eyes on the man with the AK-47, I walked backwards towards my vehicle. Dr Evil had already started the engine and was inching away from the site. He bloody well made me jump into the car while it was moving so I wouldn’t be left behind. It must have been quite a sight: this Western chick, armed and kitted up to the max, sprinting after and leaping on board a car rolling away at 5 kilometres an hour. I’m not the most graceful at the best of times, but throw body armour and webbing on me, and there are baby giraffes that move more elegantly.

  Dr Evil towed Stu and Smokey in the broken CAT wagon. Wolf and Blade trailed behind us in the rear vehicle. The vehicle recovery had not been ideal. The plan was put together hastily in order to get the vehicle back quickly. There were no contingency plans for if we were attacked on the road or if the CAT wagon detonated while we were recovering it. It was very much a ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ mission. Fortunately, we arrived back at the team house safely. Dr Evil and I dropped the wagon off at the company’s headquarters, where we’d had the barbecue all those weeks ago. Back then, I’d felt so confident about my team. Now I was starting to have my doubts.

  I WAS BEING ROSTERED on at the Convention Center nearly every day. Between the occasional client moves, we watched movies and mucked around on the internet. The days were a strange mix of being on intense alert, looking out for threats, and being profoundly bored. One evening, after a long day at the office, Merlin informed me that I was needed for a major mission. Our female client, Number Three, was giving a lecture at the University of Baghdad, and I would be her personal bodyguard. I was ecstatic: at last, I’d be used in a real close protection role and not just on some cowboy security task. This was what I had trained for.

  The University of Baghdad was located a few kilometres into the Red Zone. I would join a reconnaissance party first thing the next morning. Number Three would be giving her speech in what was known unnervingly as ‘the Red Room’. We needed to make sure we were familiar with the site in order to make all the security arrangements for the mission.

  As I was learning, things in my team never seemed to go smoothly. That night, I was told I would be used as the bodyguard who handled ‘female’ issues and that Smokey would be used as the ‘real’ bodyguard. If anything were to happen, it would be up to Smokey to step in and rescue the client.

  What kind of bullshit is this? What do ‘female’ issues even mean? I asked myself. Either I was used as the bodyguard or I was not. If I was only there to deal with ‘lady problems’, they should have just kept me as a normal team member. I was a fully trained bodyguard and my training was far superior to anyone else’s on the team. I was done biting my tongue.

  I walked up to Merlin and told him that ‘job sharing’ the bodyguard duty was not on. Merlin argued that I would do everything a normal bodyguard would, except that Smokey would take over if anything untoward happened to the client. I told him that not only was it insulting to me, it was also unprofessional and potentially dangerous. What if I made the call that the client should be moved and Smokey disagreed? Whose assessment would take precedence? That sort of ambiguity in a dicey situation could prove fatal. No matter how I phrased it, Merlin just couldn’t see what my problem was – why I would take issue with not being trusted to do my job, despite the indisputable fact I was the best qualified person on the team to do it. I had to fall into line in the end, as unhappy about the decision as I was.

  The next morning, seven of us trekked out to the University of Baghdad. Merlin and I were in the advance vehicle with a couple of other guys, and the CAT followed close behind. Being but a humble shooter in the rear of the vehicle, I was not given a map. Apparently, they were in short supply; it seemed an odd thing to skimp on. I had my personal GPS (a device used for navigating), so if I somehow got lost on the ground, at least I’d be able to find my way back to the Green Zone. Although, I’d been warned that the signal in this area was often patchy or completely unavailable.

  Having trust in your team members is a big deal when they are navigating. In this case, Merlin was the man with the map. In the beginning, Merlin appeared to know where he was going, but it didn’t take long to realise that he was lost. Actually, ‘lost’ is too harsh a word. He wasn’t lost; he just couldn’t find the place we were looking for. He was trying to locate the security team that was providing protection to the International Republican Institute (IRI) members. Their site was in the Red Zone, a short distance away from the university.

  The IRI security team was also attending Number Three’s lecture, and Merlin wanted to liaise with them on a few issues. Merlin frantically made phone calls to his contact, trying to work out where we were in relation to him. The contact guided us to their team site. There, Merlin spoke to the IRI guys for several minutes before we left for the university. This time there were no problems finding the place. We drove through the front gates and, following a few directions from local security staff, we found at the Red Room.

  Merlin and Mr Happy, an Irish guy on the team, got out of the car to do a quick recon of the place. The rest of us were told to stay outside with the vehicles and be ready in case anything happened. While we waited, an Iraqi man came up to us. I tensed for a moment but he just wanted to talk. Although I didn’t understand much of what he was saying, it was clear he was making friendly conversation.

  We told him we had to go when we spied Merlin and Mr Happy exiting the building. Our new mate gestured excitedly and seemed to ask us to wait a few minutes. The man raced off towards a nearby building, while Mr Happy took a few photos of the outside area. Not everyone goes on the reconnaissance trip so photos and film footage need to be brought back in order to brief the rest of the team. The more comprehensive the photos and the brief, the better prepared the whole team will be for the security task.

  Back in our vehicles, we slowly began to drive away. The Iraqi man we had been speaking to rushed out of the building and tried to flag us down. He was holding two piles of what looked like roughly cut paper. Merlin rolled down his window a few inches and instantly we were overcome with the aroma of freshly baked bread. Merlin rolled his window down lower, and the man handed him two loaves.

  We thanked him sincerely, our mouths watering. We stuffed the crusty warm bread into our mouths as we drove out of the university. It was difficult to look fierce and threatening with chipmunk cheeks full of delicious bread. The taste was too divine for me to care very much.

  We arrived back at the team house and Merlin and Ghost went off to talk to Jeep, Smokey, Stu and Cat about the mission. As I took my kit off, I thought about just how top-heavy this team was. The command staff nearly outnumbered us proles. At orders, we were told our company headquarters was so excited about the task that the country manager had decided he wanted to be a part of team too. He was to be used as a sniper. I thought his sniper days were well and truly behind him, and that he’d be better off in his air-conditioned office, working on getting us some armoured vehicles.

  It was getting late. Orders had finished and I was gearing up for my first major mission. The next day I would finally put my hard-earnt skills to the test: I was going to protect my female client on a real mission. I went to bed early, as I wanted to get a good night’s rest. As I was settling into bed, my phone beeped a couple of times: it was Ghost sending a few saucy text messages. I still didn’t know if I liked it
or not. It was flattering, but dangerous. He was a team leader, and he struck me as the sort of man who didn’t like it when things didn’t go his way. I texted Ghost back but kept my response breezy.

  I was playing with fire.

  The next morning, while still lying in bed, I carefully went through a million different scenarios in my head.

  Some deep insecurities surfaced, but I had to push them aside. This was no time for self-doubt. I told myself that I was good enough for the job – that, in fact, I was the most qualified, most experienced and best suited person for this particular job. It was my opportunity to show the guys on my team that I was their equal. I was not some pathetic little girl just there as a token. I was going to prove beyond doubt that I was a valuable member of the team; I’d show them my worth.

  I stared blankly into my wardrobe. My teammates were going to be dressed in highly visible combat gear: webbing, rifles and their usual ‘war fighting’ rig. Whereas it had been decided that I would go low profile. Openly armed security personnel would not be allowed inside the auditorium while Number Three was delivering her lecture, as such an aggressive display would send the wrong message. That meant that my teammates – and all their kit – would have to remain outside the building.

  I pulled out a pair of black suit pants and a conservative blouse. I concealed my pistol in my waistband and wore thick body armour over my torso. If the shit hit the fan, at least I would be able to shield Number Three with my body. My pistol provided only limited weapon capability, but it would hold me over until my teammates stormed the building and evacuated us.