by Neryl Joyce
Not every mission I did with the team was ‘sanctioned’ by the company. I’d be lying if I said we never conducted ‘black ops’ or rogue operations that ran contrary to our duty statement. While we never did anything iniquitous, we did go on one or two unauthorised operations.
Operation Ice-Cream was one of our most desperate missions. It was 9.15 p.m. We were sitting in the common room of our house, with the clients fast asleep, or at least done for the day. We were having a bit of a team get-together, which involved teasing each other, chatting about other teams and talking about home. Out of the blue, the subject of ice-cream came up. I remarked on how I could really do with an ice-cream just then, and one of the team leaders piped up that there was an ice-cream shop down the road.
Now ‘down the road’ meant outside of our safe compound, onto the main road, and down a bit further than that. One minute we were talking about ice-cream, and then the next, we were planning an ad hoc mission. I won’t mention any of the names associated with this rogue outfit – after all, it was black ops – but we filled two cars. We got dressed in all our kit, and headed out into the night.
The road was mainly empty. Only a few cars were travelling this late at night, but people were still roaming the streets. As we approached the ice-cream store, we noticed several patrons were wandering around outside. It was the place to be at night! We pulled up right in front of the shop and exited our vehicles, just as we’d planned.
The drivers remained in the vehicles, with the engines on and the cars in gear, while the rest of us got into diamond formation around the guy doing the ordering. I remained close to him, as his bodyguard, as he proceeded to order banana, strawberry and chocolate waffles. The local people standing around were shocked and amused by what they saw. A team of big, tough Western security contractors, out and about after dark, ordering ice-cream.
An Iraqi policeman was sitting down on a nearby bench, watching with glee. After the orders had been placed and paid for, we left immediately. We tear-arsed our way back home, and found ourselves sitting in the common room eating ice-cream within fifteen minutes of leaving.
While the identities of my black ops team will always remain a secret, I will confirm that the ice-cream was absolutely delicious. The honeycomb waffles, covered in rich chocolate ice-cream, were to die for. Hey, what’s wrong with a little black humour? Okay, it wouldn’t have been so funny if I had actually been killed getting it, but surely it’s a little bit funny now? No?
My life on the team was going great. I was considered a valuable and good team member. That was all I’d ever wanted. I just wanted to be accepted for my skills. I was no one special, but I was competent enough to do my job well. I was fitting in and my teammates were accepting of me. Life was good. I could last another rotation if these were my working conditions. I didn’t have to deal with any of the crap I experienced with my last team. These guys were professional.
But all good things come to an end. Just when I thought my life was back on track, it was as if fate noticed and wanted to bring me down a peg or two. It started the day my company decided to move me to a more ‘female-friendly’ environment. Not long after that my worst nightmare came true.
AFTER A MONTH of my working with my team, it was decided I should be moved into the Green Zone. We had clients living there who also required protection. I would be responsible for coordinating their moves and ensuring their security at certain venues. The project manager, K2, believed it would be the best option for me as they would be able to provide me with my own trailer. I would no longer be required to share a room or bathroom facilities.
I was disappointed. I would miss working with the rest of the team. I would still see them when they came into the Green Zone for missions, but it wouldn’t be the same. I would now be working more as a bodyguard/personal assistant than as a team member. It would be great having my own room, but I would miss the friends I’d made.
I packed up all my kit and said goodbye to my teammates. They proceeded to tell me about the other two guys from their project who were already in the Green Zone working with the clients. The first man was named Spoon. He had arrived on the team telling everyone he wanted to be called ‘Blade’ (because he loved knives and had a huge collection). Being so full of himself, Church promptly gave him the call sign ‘Spoon’ instead.
The other man on the team was named Wingnut. They didn’t like him at all. He had only worked on their team for a short period of time, but he did not fit in. They sent him over to the Green Zone to work in the same position as mine so they wouldn’t have to deal with him. I asked them what was wrong with him, and the response was that he was a loser. I kept their observations in the back of my mind, as I always like to come to my own conclusions about a person.
My team drove me over to the Green Zone and dropped me off in a heavily fortified compound. I grabbed my kit, said my goodbyes and introduced myself to the two other guys. Spoon was in charge at the time, and he showed me to my trailer. He was a tall, friendly Native American. His claim to fame was that he’d had a bit part in the 1994 Stargate movie with Kurt Russell and James Spader. Spoon made sure I had everything I needed, and then took me on a tour of the compound. He explained that we shared the compound with another company named Unity Resources Group (URG), but that they lived in a separate section to us.
He told me our job was mainly concerned with transporting our clients around the Green Zone. Sometimes we would be required to escort them to certain places, but, for the most part, we were able to just drop them off at a secure building for their meetings. It was a pretty good job with lots of spare time, he said. We had to be on-call all the time, but when we weren’t driving the clients around, our time was our own. It sounded like a good gig to me.
A few hours later, I was introduced to Wingnut. He was short, stocky and had hair protruding from his shirt collar. He smoked like a chimney, drank coffee like it was water and sweated profusely. Once he started talking, he didn’t stop. He seemed friendly enough and proceeded to fill me in on all the gossip about the clients, the company and its new projects. I mentioned that I was into running so he organised for us to go to the gym in the mornings before work.
I would finally get some regular exercise in each day, and have a fairly easy job of escorting clients around the area. It was certainly not as dangerous as driving around the Red Zone or doing BIAP trips. Things were looking up. Wingnut asked me to accompany him on several security trips that day so that he could introduce me to the clients.
The first client I was met was Jar Jar, a tall, blond, athletic American. He loved to talk too, and was extremely friendly and courteous. He understood the security constraints he was bound by, and did his best to inform us of his daily itinerary. The other client, Olive, was a mess. She was scatterbrained, oblivious to the security situation and condescending towards all the security staff. She was the main reason I had been brought onto the project.
The next two days passed relatively quickly. I drove my clients around to various venues, and began settling into my new way of life. On day three of my new job, Wingnut and I went to the gym for a work-out. He was really perky. I asked him why he was so jolly, and he replied that he was just feeling good from all the gym work. I shrugged, thinking he was overdosing on endorphins, and went and trashed myself on the treadmill for thirty minutes. After a short weights session, we returned to our compound.
We were walking back to our trailers just as Spoon was getting up. He was on the lookout for coffee, and Wingnut had the freshest, hottest stuff available. So my gym buddy went to his room to turn on the coffee percolator, while I had a quick shower. A short time later, Spoon and I knocked on his door, with our coffee cups in hand. We needed caffeine. Wingnut answered the door with the steaming coffee pot in hand. He poured us our coffees, and we sat down to chat.
Wingnut lit up a cigarette and started sucking down the tar. Spoon told me that there was a barbecue on later that night and that we were required to attend. T
he barbecue was just around the corner from our trailers, so at least we didn’t have to travel too far. We would be allowed to have a couple of drinks that night, and I thought it might be good to meet some of the other security people working in the area. I thought back to the advice about networking Spitfire had given me, what seemed like a lifetime ago: you never knew when you might need to change jobs.
Wingnut was still really full of beans. He continued to sweat buckets, even as we sat on the stairs of our trailers. I had never seen anything like it. As soon as he’d wipe his brow, more beads of sweat would magically appear on his forehead. It didn’t take long for his shirt to soak through, but he didn’t seem too concerned. I asked him again why he was so happy. He was talkative, bouncy and just seemed so pleased with himself. He said it was the endorphins from working out, but did allude to having found the right combination of ‘uppers’. I didn’t really know what he meant by that, but the last thing I wanted was to find out that another team member was taking drugs. I left him to himself and went to look after my clients.
I finished working late in the afternoon. I rang up Bee and told her to come around to my trailer. She lived a short distance away from where I was staying, and knew my compound well. There was a restaurant located there, and it was quite popular. The food wasn’t that good, but it was a place people could go to have a few drinks together.
Bee came over about 7.30 p.m. I introduced her to Spoon, and then took her into my room. I took off my pistol and ammunition and placed them on my cupboard. I poured some drinks for Bee and me, and then gave the gifts I’d brought her from home. I gave her an ‘Australia’ hat, a sloppy joe, a bracelet and a mood ring. We chatted about everything we’d been up to since I’d left the country, and gossiped about our old team. The company had ended up losing their contract, and so all the guys were sent home. It was a relief to know that there was no chance I’d be bumping into Jeep, Ghost or any of the other leaders.
Some of the ‘good’ team members had gone on to other jobs, and I’d even run into a few of them. Mr Happy was on a new contract, as was Spitfire and Horse. I didn’t know what had happened to everyone else, but I doubted I’d see their faces again. As we were chatting, Wingnut came into my room and made himself a drink. I had plenty of ice in my freezer and was the only person who had any Coke to mix with the drinks. I introduced the two, and then Wingnut left.
Bee hung around for a while before she also had to go, but we made plans to catch up later on in the week. The barbecue had still not been cooked so I poured myself another drink. I sat out on the stairs of my trailer and joined in the conversation with Spoon and Wingnut. We sat there for the next forty minutes, chatting about our jobs, about security matters, and how different it was having a woman on the team. It was a conversation I enjoyed, as it gave me the opportunity to enlighten them about all the things a woman could offer the team.
I must have dribbled on for quite some time, because at 9 p.m. we were called over to get some food. I poured myself one last drink before heading over. With my drink in hand, I walked to the barbecue with Spoon and Wingnut. I was introduced to quite a few people before I was finally able to grab myself a steak sandwich. Skippy was in charge of the barbecue. He was our contact for all issues concerning our trailers. He was the team leader of the other security team, but he was also responsible for the accommodation we were renting.
Skippy had white-blond hair, a terrific sense of humour and, most importantly, he was Aussie. It was great to chat to someone from home, as most of the guys I worked with were Americans. It was good to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t constantly asking me to ‘translate’ what I was saying. You’d be surprised at how often I would have to explain myself to my American buddies. Often my old teammate Scooter would say to me, “I see your lips moving, and I can hear your voice talking, but I have no idea what you are saying.”
I chatted to a few other people that night, including Jar Jar and a woman named April. She was very curious about women working in the security field and, in particular, this environment. She was a client on Skippy’s contract and was fascinated by the whole thing. By 10 p.m. we were ready to leave.
Wingnut, Spoon and I returned to our trailers and sat on the stairs, continuing our conversation. I’d had three drinks by now and was feeling quite chatty. It was at this point that I made the worst mistake of my life. Over the past few days I had grown to trust my new teammates. In this job, trusting your teammate was essential to being able to perform your job. If you couldn’t trust the person you worked with, how could you work together to fight the enemy?
Well, I made the mistake of trusting my teammate enough to allow him to pour me another drink. Wingnut went into his room to get another cup, or so I thought, and then into my room to make another drink. He returned a short time later and handed it to me. I had no reason to think he was up to no good. I had no reason not to trust him. But after my first sip of that drink, things suddenly became hazy.
I TOOK A SIP from the drink Wingnut handed me, and then my life changed forever. I remember Spoon saying goodnight and going to bed at some point. I know I sat on the stairs for quite some time, talking, gossiping and calling Wingnut “my mate”. He handed me another drink. I swallowed one mouthful and that was enough. I told Wingnut I was feeling sick, and that I was going to bed. Four drinks that night were ample for me. I got up and walked into my trailer. I closed the door and went to the bathroom.
The next thing I knew, I was vomiting in the toilet. I couldn’t understand why I was so sick. I hadn’t drunk that much. Wingnut must have come into my room because I heard him call out to me through the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I told him. “I’m just a little sick.” By the time I came out of the bathroom, Wingnut had left my room.
Feeling totally out of it, I collapsed on my bed. Passing out was the last thing I remembered, before waking up in pain. It was dark. Something was hurting me deep inside. Oh my God. There is someone in my bed with me. My mind was muddled. I could feel a deep scratching along the left-hand side of my insides. Something was penetrating me. It was hurting. I winced in pain and moved my body. I couldn’t see anything. It was dark, my mind was fuzzy and I was fighting hard to stay conscious.
Suddenly the pain stopped and I blacked out again. The dark netherworld took hold and delivered me into sweet oblivion. But it was not for long. I awoke at some later stage, and this time I could see a dark figure on top of me. I froze. I tried not to breathe. I didn’t who it was. The figure put his hand under my shirt and pulled up my bra. His face, his hands, they were all over me. He crept higher up me until his chest was covering me, smothering me, overpowering me. I turned my head, afraid he’d kiss my face, afraid of the closeness, and incapable of getting away.
His arms were suffocating me; his foul stench was invading my senses. I began to cry as I realised what was happening. The dark figure pulled my underwear to the side, and then he raped me. I couldn’t do anything. I was frozen. I couldn’t move. Why can’t I move? Does he have a gun? Where is mine? Who is this person? I tried to stay awake. I had to focus on who this person was. The black oblivion was calling me; it was pulling me into the world of sleep. I had to fight the urge to black out. I had to fight.
He stopped. He must have noticed my tears and quiet sniffling. He rose up onto his elbows and looked down at me. It was then I realised who he was. Small rays of moonlight filtered through the window, and I could see that the person was Wingnut. Wingnut was on top of me. He was infecting me: his hairy chest, his sweaty body, his foul, cigarette-smelling breath. He was hurting me. He was raping me. He was stripping away my dignity. I blacked out again: the sweet escape from reality.
I FELT THE BED MOVING. I opened my eyes. The light was on and Wingnut was getting off my bed.
“Don’t tell anyone what happened,” I heard him say. Then he left my room.
I grabbed my phone and got back under the covers. I tried to ri
ng someone. Anyone. The phone wasn’t working. Each time I dialled a number, the phone would send a message saying that the network was down. Fuck Iraq and its unreliable communications system.
As I was dialling, Wingnut re-entered my room: “Are you trying to ring someone?”
“No! Go away!” I yelled. I could feel my bed move. I panicked and jumped off my bed and raced straight into my bathroom. I slammed the door shut and quickly locked it behind me. Fuck! My gun was back in my room somewhere. Fuck! Did he have his gun? I crouched down in the shower recess, in case he decided to shoot me through the wall.
I tapped away at my phone. Why the fuck wasn’t it working? My mind was still jumbled. I was crying and cursing, as I hurriedly tried to ring somebody. It seemed like an eternity before I finally got through to 86. God knows how long I sat, curled up on the floor of my shower, trying to ring someone.
“Thank God I got you, 86.” He was a member of my Red Zone team. “I need help,” I stuttered. “I’ve been raped.” I broke down and cried; 86 tried to get as much information as possible from me, but it was difficult due to my emotional state.
“Who did it?” he asked.
“It was Wingnut,” I told him.
I told him I was locked in my bathroom and too afraid to leave. My gun was out on the cupboard and I didn’t know if he was outside, waiting to shoot me. I still wasn’t thinking clearly. My mind was still scrambled. I was a mess. I cried into the phone and didn’t stop until I heard a knock at my door.
“There’s someone at my door,” I told 86.
“It should be K2 and Judas. We’ve contacted them and told them to get to you straightaway.”
