by David Hearne
“I am going to give you a quick sketch of the plan, but not so much that you could give it away later. We are going to transport you into Iraq probably tomorrow morning. Ahmed and I are going to be heroes and claim we helped you escape and hid you in Basra. When we heard the Americans were nearby, we searched out friendly units and turned you over to the troops operating in that area. It will probably be the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force or some British unit. Once you are back with an American unit, you will be transported to Kuwait and Agent Anderson will be the debriefing officer.”
“Before we leave here, we need to prepare you for your repatriation. Ahmed has had a lot of medical training and needs to now put your right arm in a cast and put a brace on your left leg so you will limp effectively. That cast needs to look pretty nasty by tomorrow, so we will be rubbing dirt on it and in general making it as nasty as we can. It has to look like you have been in it for a few days without proper care.”
“While we talk let’s get going on the cast.” Ahmed interjected.
Ahmed went over to a trunk and took out a box full of bandages, gauze, plaster of Paris and other medical supplies.
“While we talk, we are going to get you physically prepared. Once the cast is on, and you are fitted with a brace on your leg, you need to get some sleep because we will be leaving early, and you have to be mentally alert to do your part.”
“Sleep in your burka and no shower for you tonight. You need to stay secluded with us, and we need you a little rank when we turn you over to a military unit.”
Katherine felt a keen anticipation of the impending operation and an overriding sense of the here and now. She was also tired, but her adrenaline level was so high that she knew it would be impossible to sleep. She wanted sleep. She knew that tomorrow could be very trying and perhaps dangerous. Being rested would make her feel more secure that the operation would go well. She asked Ahmed if he had any sleeping pills, and he handed her an Ambien.
Six hours later, Senator Laforge was awakened by Ahmed. She was confused at first from the cast on her arm, her reduced mobility, and the darkness of this strange room.
She sat up and asked, “Are we ready to go?”
“No” Ahmed said.
“We must wait until we know we have a secure location near Basra to move into. Things are pretty hectic this morning. A Ch-46 chopper went down a little north of us and 16 on board are dead. Don’t know what caused the crash, but 4 Americans and 12 British soldiers were killed in the crash. Saddam has also been lobbing a few missiles our way. None have hurt anybody, but the day is not over.”
Dawood entered the room with a tray of food for Katherine. It contained some potent thick coffee and a few early morning bakery breads accompanied with a small jar of apricot jam.
“Thank you,” Katherine replied smiling broadly.
“While you eat breakfast, we would like to give you a status report of operations going on.”
“Yes, please do.” Katherine said.
“First thing you need to know is that we have military forces now in Iraq. We crossed over the border early this morning. The battle strategy was changed a bit based on information that Iraqi forces had begun to threaten four oil facilities in southern Iraq. We soften the resistance along the border with very heavy artillery barrages that lasted all night and into the morning. British troops moved into the Al Faw Peninsula and are trying to secure the town of Umm Qasr. The 1st Marine Expeditionary Force is also involved in the fight for Umm Qasr. Basically all is too much in flux for us to really start our mission. So we will stay put here for a few more hours.”
“When we get into position, we need it safe for you; we need confusion, but not a terribly dangerous situation where we have zero control.”
Katherine could feel a new force emerging from deep inside of her consciousness. It was fear. The sounds of the tanks, APC’s, trucks and jeeps rumbling about, outside her quarters heighten the reality of what she was now involved in. She could hear the chaotic racket of soldiers yelling commands and the drone of helicopters flaying the air as they sped off toward the Iraq border. This was a real war zone she was going into. A place where people kill each other and no one is really safe. The report of the morning helicopter crash, with 12 dead made it clear that death was busy this hot March morning. Imperceptibly, the tentacles of fear tighten their grip on her mind. But her fear of failing, was even more frightening to her and countered the bout of panic gnawing at her psyche.
The hours inched by as she sat there with Ahmed listening to the status updates on the command radio and mentally rehearsing what she would say to the troops when she was united with them. Noon came and went. Her anxiety seemed to increase with each second slowly ticking by. For some strange reason, her thoughts turned to ComDefC1, and she wondered if the vehicle that it had used could still be located. She contemplated the courage that her twin must have demonstrated in its escape. She wondered if ComDefC1 had begun to consider itself one of God’s children or was God totally ignored.
She heard other voices in the adjoining room and a split second later Dawood stuck his head in and announced, “We are ready to go.”
Those simple words and the moment triggered an incapacitating fear, but Ahmed’s powerful hands helped her up and calmed her.
* * * *
Katherine looked out of the helicopter as it slowly descended into a clearing within a small date orchard near Basra, Iraq. After the chopper dropped them off, Senator Laforge, Ahmed and Dawood quickly joined a large group of refugees heading for a British checkpoint. The procession consisted of men in white shoulder-to-ankle gowns and skullcaps, men in western garb, veiled women, and children of all ages. Interspersed among them was smoke spewing dilapidated cars that inched through the crowd. Some hauled carts full of furniture, appliances, clothing, and food to support their family. Even loaded down camels, mules, and horses were scattered among the exodus from Basra.
The sights, chatter of people, the sound of the vehicles, animals and distant explosions created the semblance of some exotic movie set. The reality of where she was and what was happening almost eluded her as she melted into the scene like some movie extra quietly hobbling along. Beside her Ahmed and Dawood chatted among their selves and with other refugees in Arabic.
After about ten minutes of limping along, a heavily armed British patrol appeared moving down the road in their direction. Ahmed squeezed Katherine’s hand and then suddenly released it as he darted out of line and ran toward the startled soldiers. They quickly trained their weapons on Ahmed, but he threw up his hands and yelled in English “I have a hostage for you. I can show you where Senator Laforge is.” The soldiers were yelling, “Get down, get down.” Ahmed fell forward on the ground and held his arms out in front of him. Two soldiers quickly moved toward him with weapons drawn. They stood over him with the muzzle of the gun just inches from his head.
“Who the bloody fuck is Senator Laforge?” one soldier yelled at him. Before Ahmed could answer, a Corporal yelled. “Where is Senator Laforge?”
Without looking up at them, Ahmed shouted, “She is in the line of
refugees.”
The corporal looked over at the wall of refugees just as Katherine and Dawood left it and approached them. Rifles now were pointed at them and Katherine felt a wave of fear washing over her. Dawood told Katherine. “Tell them who you are.”
Katherine looked at the confused soldiers and shouted. “I am Senator Katherine Laforge. I was a prisoner here in Iraq and these two men saved my life.”
In less than an hour Katherine found herself back in Ali Al Salem Air Base. This time she was given a hero’s welcome. Military brass, reporters and photographers awaited her landing. As she alighted from the helicopter, a barrage of flashes warped the welcoming crowd into an eerie stuttering scene of erratic images. Behind the welcoming officers and NCOs were newsgroups shot gunning her with incessant questions. Their voices blended into the cacophony of congratulations and well wishes. Katherine slo
wly shuffled through the crowd shaking the out stretched hands that appeared disembodied from their owner by the blinding explosions of light from the reporter’s flash. The gauntlet of well-wishers triggered sudden panic in Katherine. The crowd was more unnerving than her sojourn into Iraq had been. Part of it was her awareness that she again was Senator Katherine Laforge with a future resting on her ability to perpetuate the hoax that she had been the one hospitalized in Baghdad. The disorienting noise surrounding her enveloped her in almost a physical way. Her chest felt constricted and beads of sweat trickled down her cheeks as she smiled tiredly at those congratulating her. Through the din of noise, she could hear a man yelling at the crowd to make way for Senator Laforge. Finally, a man in civilian clothes flashed his badge and blocked the well-wishers from her as he extricated her from the partying crowd. Her savior was Jim Anderson, her primary CIA handler who was now escorting her to his office to start the debriefing process.
Katherine had rehearsed many times this debriefing back in Houston, Texas with agent Anderson. So she knew what to expect and what the right answers should be. She knew when to cry, and when to say nothing. The debriefing went as predicted and then plans were announced to the press about her return back to the states.
The events of the day had exhausted Katherine and since agent Anderson was finished with the debriefing he suggested that she take advantage of the situation and get some well needed rest before she talked to anyone else.
On the morning after her return Katherine awoke with a renewed sense of purpose. Anderson, too, had not been idle. He had assembled both a wardrobe and makeup crew to make her presentable for the morning press conference. The ordeal of her last couple days showed in the lines and hollows of her face as she addressed the waiting reporters and journalists.
“Members of the press, I am so glad to be here standing free in front of you,” she began. “Just days ago I was a political prisoner in Ibn Sina Hospital.” She scanned the crowd, making eye contact here and there. “I had no idea of when, or even if I would ever see my family and friends again. But at my lowest moment two brave Iraqi men came into my life.” She smiled radiantly. “They became my white knights….”
Half a world away, the live coverage of Senator Laforge’s news conference from Iraq was carried by all the American networks.
“I cannot thank them or put into words the gratitude I have for these two Iraqi gentlemen who risked their life for mine,” Katherine’s voice cracked, and she paused to regain her composure. “But their bravery and perseverance made it possible for my appearance here today.” She sighed, offered an apologetic head shake. “As much as I would like to provide details behind my escape, they must remain secret to protect the lives of those who assisted in my escape and still remain a part of Saddam’s regime.”
“One day…,” Katherine cleared her throat, “after the defeat of the current regime and the successful formation of a new government, perhaps then the details can be revealed.” One television camera tracked in on Senator Laforge, and her eyes glistened with tears. “It is unfortunate that the savagery of Saddam’s regime prevents me from naming these true heroes, the brave ones who saved my life.” Katherine’s tired face grew sad. “But they know who they are, and how grateful I am to them.”
On the podium, Katherine paused again. “Originally I went to Iraq in an attempt to negotiate a diplomatic solution to the problems facing two great nations.” Her face hardened. “Instead I ended up in a hospital. My inability to alter the course of the war leaves me with a terrible nagging feeling of failure. But I cannot change what has already happened.”
“What I can do is learn what war is like by experiencing it firsthand. When I return to the States and my Texas hometown, I want to be able to provide the citizens a real understanding of what is going on in Iraq. To that end, I have elected to return to Iraq on a fact-finding mission for a short duration. I will be embedded with the First Marine Division and members of my staff will soon join me.”
“Tomorrow I will fly to Basra to link up with the Marines.” Her eyes scanned the suddenly-quiet room. “This decision has been made with my family’s knowledge, and we have agreed it is a sacrifice I should make.” She sighed heavily, gripped the podium with both hands. “I hope this experience will give me the wisdom needed to wisely make those difficult decisions of sending troops into armed conflict against people who seek our destruction.”
A smattering of applause answered her, but Katherine went on unperturbed. “I further hope that you all will focus on this war and contribute in whatever way you can to try and win it as soon as possible.” With a ghost of a smile, she stepped away from the podium. “I regret time permits only a few questions.”
In the sudden bedlam, she pointed at the first of the journalists, and then raised her hands for silence. From the back of the room Anderson offered a grudging smile. “She’s good,” he mumbled to himself in spite of his bias against women politicians. “She could make a decent President … if she lives that long.”
The next morning she was introduced to Bakr, an Iraqi translator and CIA operative. He had operated in Iraq for almost a decade and was very versed in the culture and tribal rivalry that was so much a part of Iraq’s political fabric. Around his neck he wore a silver Allah pendent and a piece of Bedouin jewelry with a cylindrical “du’a” containing tiny paper prayers believed to ward off misfortune, sickness and death.
On March 21, 2003 Katherine was back in Iraq viewing a convulsing dark cloud crawling across the afternoon sky. It appeared supported by columns of black smoke and flickering red flames roiling up from burning oil fields. Even the sun hid behind this evil tapestry, blocking its view of hell’s specters spreading death and misery across the besieged city of Basra.
An exodus of soot smeared refugees inched along the ruptured highway leading from Sinbad’s fabled birthplace. Snaking past them was Senator Laforge’s entourage. She had just returned from the carnage unfolding on the thousand-yard bridge spanning the Shatt Al Arab waterway. Iraqi militiamen and Baath Party loyalists hiding in mud huts on the far side of the bridge were firing indiscriminately at the escaping Iraqis. Bloated bodies of men, women and children littered the bridge, a macabre warning to those still attempting flight from the city. In an attempt to hinder the attacks, British troops would sporadically fire at buildings on the opposite side suspected of harboring snipers.
Senator Laforge’s caravan of Humvees came to a stop at the security checkpoint manned by Irish Guards. They parked near the makeshift checkpoint providing her the advantage of being able to observe the unending task of searching the stream of refugees fleeing the carnage in Basra. The conditions in the city were bad. Water and food was scarce, and electricity unavailable. No one was starving yet, but supplies were running very low.”
From behind a wall of crates an Irish officer accompanied by a Sergeant appeared and strolled up to her vehicle. The officer saluted Major Holland, the Senator’s escort and introduced himself, “Captain Finnegan, Desert Rats, Seventh Armored Division.”
“How is the situation here, Captain?” Katherine asked.
“It is a nightmare, Senator. We don’t know who’s a bloody fighter and who’s a civilian. They all look the same.”
Peering over a pile of sandbags, a young Irish soldier excitedly shouted to a comrade. “It’s a bleedin’ diplomat!”
“If you please, Private,” Captain Finnegan snapped at the soldier.
The Captain resumed, “Senator, We are happy to have you here, and I will be glad to answer any questions you have.”
Katherine smiled and said, “Captain, I am just here to observe, not to interfere with your mission.”
A woman in a drab gray burka was next in line at the checkpoint. She looked tired, tense and frightened. Her face, streaked with dust and dirt, belied her real age. She balanced a baby on her hip as two female guards quickly frisked her for weapons and other contraband.
The renewed thud of artillery exploding som
ewhere off in the distance and blaring sirens from the city reminded Kat of the real danger she faced. Her left arm was still in a cast and a metal brace was taped to her left leg. She could not allow her disabilities to impair her ability to move about or burden those traveling with her. Even with these handicaps, she was still quite agile. Getting in and out of the Humvee was a minor challenge, but was diminished because the doors had been removed to make escape easier if the vehicle came under fire. Her ability to adapt to a combat environment was very important. She had never been in a real war environment. How would she comport herself? Could she deal with the gore of war? Could she cope with the lack of privacy and the hygiene challenge?
Suddenly there was a flurry of movement as a staff sergeant, near the Humvee yelled, “Scud attack.” A collective frenzy of hands and arms flailed about as marines held their breath and grabbed for their alien-looking chemical mask. The chaotic spectacle emanating from this unseen evil force locked faces in rigidity as all struggled to find refuge within their mask before touched by this invisible force of death. Within seconds Katherine had secured her mask and had pulled up her chemical protection suit.
Katherine’s baptism of wearing the protective gear was harrowing. It was like some smothering dream. She felt she was suffocating and feared it was from being exposed to the deadly gas. Through the misty panes of the mask, she searched the smoke filled sky for falling birds and the ground for any mist floating about. The stifling Iraqi heat added to the terrifying experience. Inside the mask perspiration drenched her face and fear gripped her as she tried to assure herself that it was the heat and not some deadly gas that caused the flood of dampness and the panic she felt. She fought this ghostly menace that seemed to invade her mind with confusion and sap strength from her body. This was war and even the air became a weapon that could kill with paralyzing suddenness. She felt her entire existence focused on making it to the All Clear.
Peering from the protective mask, Kat observed the huddled troops, all waiting for that all-important “All Clear.” There was an attempt of false bravado as muffled jokes and nervous laughs resonated from behind the façade of the mask. War quickly teaches a somber awareness of our mortality. Most who have descended into the world of death and carnage emerge scarred, and perpetually haunted by memories of those swallowed by the vortex of destruction. Some, however, find combat an elixir and relish the battlefield and its stimulation of the senses.
