“Now
that we all know what’s happening in Iraq, we’ll move onto the why. Quite
simply, America wants Osama Bin Laden and from the reports written following
interrogations of his high ranking officers, they seem to think he would have
either fled to Somalia or Iraq. “America as you know from CNN moved into
Somalia with force some weeks ago.
“So
the hunt began, spearheaded by the extremely motivated Kurdish Peshmerga
Forces.
Having
said that, the Iraqi Army has pretty much been decimated. That’s how the
country started falling apart. So your mission is basically one of propaganda.
There is an Iraqi officer, General Muhammad Al-Hazareen, who has been responsible
for Kurdish atrocities for almost twenty years. If you can observe him, move in
and then capture him, the UN can put him on trial for crimes against humanity
in a very public court appearance. The UN is hoping this will quell the Kurdish
uprising somewhat and give them some room to move. The next mission for the
United Nations will obviously be to try and establish a good relationship
between the Kurds and Iraqis. Your mission is going to be hard and incredibly
dangerous, which is why you have been allotted ten days of planning time before
you depart.”
“Ten
days!” blurted Scott. “Fuck’s sake, my arse has already gone to sleep and it’s
only been about ten minutes!”
“I’m
afraid it’s ten days or you don’t go,” Ben said, “Colonel Bracker, the man who
will be helping you to plan your mission does not want, in his words, ‘a fuck
up’.”
“That’s
a very basic run down on your mission. I’ll leave the planning of the mission
to yourselves and Colonel Bracker, who’ll be here,” Ben looked at his watch,
“in about half an hour.”
The
room was silent. They had only met Colonel Bracker briefly on a handful of
occasions. An SASR trooper during Vietnam, Bracker had worked his way up the
ranks, before applying for, and receiving, his commission as an officer in the
Special Air Service Regiment. He had seen an unbelievable amount of action and
the men were honoured that such a man would take time out to help them with
their mission.
“Bloody
hell, so we finally get to meet the big man,” said Will softly.
It
had not been a question and the others remained silent, still stubbed that they
were about to meet the most highly decorated soldier in the history of the
SASR. The man had seen operational service in Vietnam, Korea, Borneo and a
two-year attachment to the British SAS meant he had seen service in The
Falklands War. Once he had returned to the Australian SASR, Bracker saw action
in the First Gulf War, Somalia, Cambodia, East Timor, Afghanistan and the
Second Gulf War. He was literally a living legend, and when he retired would probably
have enough travel experience to work as CEO of Lonely Planet.
“Righto,”
Ben stood up. “I’m off, if anyone wants to contact me for any reason, my number
and extension is up on that board over there.” He pointed to a pin board behind
Steve, which had various pieces of paper attached to it, one with two phone
numbers circled in red ink pen.
“Not
a problem mate,” said Steve. “Thanks for straightening everything out.”
Ben
left and the guys started shooting the shit, catching up on each other’s lives.
What they had missed, what they had heard and what they thought about each
other. After a while and a light hearted argument between Matt and Scott, the
powerful hum of a V8 was heard outside, before the engine fell silent. They
could hear someone walk up the stairs and move into the foyer. Steve stood as
the door opened.
“Glad
you could make it, Sir,” he said by means of welcome to
Colonel
Bracker.
Bracker
was a tall, fit looking man. The sandy coloured beret, a famous trademark of
the SASR sat on his head like it had been designed for him. His pale blue eyes
were cold and penetrating, his face seemed hard and unforgiving.
“Thank
you Sergeant Golburn,” said Bracker. His voice was deep and authoritative. He
sat in the seat where Ben had been sitting and looked at each soldier in turn.
“So
you’re
the usual suspects they all talk about!” The Colonel said.
“Let’s
start shall we?”
CHAPTER
2
“I’m
not going to take too long here today,” said Colonel Bracker leaning back in
his chair.
Fuck’n
hope not, Scott thought, playing with a pen.
“Now
before we start, we need to determine our worst case scenarios. It’s always the
smart soldier who plans with the worst in mind. It might sound negative and
defeatist, but if the shit hits the fan, he can act instinctively and
immediately. As you know, if he doesn’t plan in this way then he’ll probably
find himself sitting on his arse trying to work out what he should do now that
the chances of going home in a wooden box have multiplied. I don’t need to tell
you that it’s not a good situation to be in.”
Colonel
Bracker leaned down and pulled five books out of a bag at his feet. He began to
distribute them to each of the men. Steve was not familiar with the title. On
the cover of the book was a colour photograph of the sun rising up over the
flat, arid plain of the Iraqi desert. Above the image were the dark yellow
words Iraq: The Forgotten Land.
“Every
man is to read this book,” the Colonel said as he passed a copy to Scott.
“Not
a problem, Sir,” replied Scott as he began flicking through the pages. “It
might be for Will though. Too many words and not enough pictures!”
The
Colonel jumped in before Will could manage a response. “Let me just say that
this is not a fucking book club! We’re not going to sit around with cups of
herbal tea arguing about each other’s opinions regarding paragraph two-hundred
and twelve.” He paused for a moment shooting a couple of well-aimed glances at
Scott and Will. “This is a very dangerous time of year to be working in Iraq.
The temperature can range from blisteringly hot to extremely cold within a few
short hours. Understanding the terrain and the winter weather conditions will
help you before you disembark.”
Bracker
tapped one of the books on the table. “One thing that is not mentioned in here
is the town of Barzan itself. There are a lot of strange stories and a hell of
a lot of mythology that surround the town and indeed that particular area of
Iraq. Something about strong magic imbued in the land. If what the stories say
is based on fact, then a group of Gods took mortal form in, or near, Barzan.”
Scott
sniggered. “Yeah I know it’s a bit hard to swallow and we all know it’s a lot
of bullshit, but if you ever mingle with the locals, just bear in mind that the
land to them is sacred, so don’t offend them!”
“How
long have we got to read it?” asked Steve.
“Three
days,” the Colonel answered. “I am being extremely generous because I don’t
want you buggers skimming through it.” Stretching down once more, Colonel
Bracker produced five notebooks, each with a pen. He dropped them onto the
centre of the table and gestured towards them. “I am telling you to suck eggs
because being good soldiers, I’m sure you all have a notebook and pen on you
already. However, with a second notebook and pen there is no excuse. Take notes
about the terrain, the weather, what customs or traditions the various locals
hold dear or anything else you might think is pertinent to the upcoming
mission.”
“So
it is a fuck’n book club then!” muttered Scott quietly.
“Except
that your exam is a practical exercise and not a fucking
essay,
soldier!” Bracker retorted. Bracker stared at Scott sternly. “Any questions?”
The
men collectively indicated the negative. Colonel Bracker stood up. “Right,” he
said, walking towards the door holding his bag. “I’ll see you all back here in
three days, ten hundred hours sharp. Make sure you’re here,” he said over his
shoulder. His footsteps faded as he strode away.
Steve
stayed on base that night and began reading Iraq: The Forgotten Land. The author,
Simon Nite, was a British freelance journalist based in Iraq who had reported
for most of the major media organisations in the West over a number of decades.
The book was acclaimed by many as one of the definitive works documenting both
the country and its people, and was on the recommended textbook lists at many
universities and institutes across the world. Nite was also a well known
anti-war activist who would be shocked to learn that his work would have a
military application. There was certainly more to Iraq than Steve had
previously thought. It seemed most lived in a society that possessed technology
that rivalled that in western countries. It was the locals and their history,
however, that interested Steve most of all. Living in small communities out in
the country, keeping to themselves and owning no real high-tech items were the
Bedouin. Steve learned that a Bedouin was obliged to accept, feed and water any
man or woman who approached their dwelling, even if they were a sworn enemy. If
they were a sworn enemy, the Bedouin were unable to pursue them until the food
and water they had given their guest had passed through their system.
Eight
hours was usually the agreed time. A visitor was permitted to stay with the
Bedouin for three days before they could even ask the visitor’s name. They had
some strange customs, but they sounded like a tough but relatively friendly
people. Amongst the Bedouin were several groups of bandits who attacked, stole
from and at times killed members of Bedouin encampments.
Steve
also discovered that the Kurds, an Aboriginal-like people who lived mostly to
the north of the country, had been persecuted by the Iraqi military from time
immemorial. In fact, during the eight year Iran- Iraq war, thousands of them
had been herded together by Saddam Hussein’s military and gassed, Hitler style.
Other Kurdish villages had been subject to the testing of Iraqi long-range
chemical assaults, their populace exterminated by scud missiles attached with
chemical warheads. It was little wonder that the Kurds were so angry and
vengeful towards the Iraqi people. The book went on to cover tourist
attractions within Iraq, as well as the culture, history and religion that
could be found within the borders of the country.
Steve
did not sleep that night. He continued to read and take notes. By midday the
next day he had read the book, taken pages of notes and was bone weary. He
drove home and spent the rest of the next two days with his family. As was the
policy within the regiment, he was not to tell his family where he was being
deployed. But the families of members of the SASR were not stupid, they watched
the seven o’clock news and were acutely aware of which hellhole their partners
were about to be sent.
The
day before he was to deploy Steve took his family to Cottesloe beach. The sky
was a deep blue, made more so by the thin wisps of cloud that stretched to the
horizon. The ocean surged and swelled, waves breaking onto the shore, the
seawater advancing across the sand with a soothing hiss before it fled back
into the ocean, ready for the next wave that sent it spilling forward again. He
loved the beach, and so did the kids. He smiled as he watched them frolicking
in the shallows. Judy sat on a beach towel watching them, their picnic lunch
safely stowed away in an esky beside her.
“Careful,”
Steve chuckled as Brent was bowled over by a wave. He leaned down and picked
his son up out of the water.
The
toddler wiped his face and giggled. Steve walked out further so the ocean
crashed about his thighs, Brent tucked under one arm giggling and squirming.
“Ready,
Son?” grinned Steve, as he lowered Brent into the water, but keeping a firm
grip on him. When the next wave was almost upon them he threw his son into the
air and caught him. The boy screamed with excitement.
“Ready?”
he chuckled as Brent waved his arms in the air happily. He lowered his son into
the water so that only his head was above water. The wave coming towards them
must have looked huge from Brent’s perspective. At the last moment Steve threw
him up into the air again. After fifteen minutes of this game and growing
tired, Brent asked to join his mum. Carrying him up to Judy, he placed his son
onto his mother’s lap, before heading back into the water to join Kathy.
“Race
ya, Dad!” called Kathy, readying herself to catch an incoming wave.
“You’re
on!” Steve smiled. He waited until the wave was almost
upon
him then threw himself into the water and began swimming freestyle until he
felt the surge of the water around him. Increasing his speed he could feel his
body being swept along by the wave and kicking forward, thrust his arm out in
front of him. With the power of the wave behind him, it felt like he was flying
through the water at incredible speed. As he neared the beach the power of the
wave subsided and he felt the sand beneath his feet. Standing up he noticed
Kathy had easily beaten him.
“You’ll
have to do better than that, Dad!”
“I
was just warming up,” he replied, pretending to stretch his arms.
“Yeah
right!” Kathy said.
“Now
I’ll try again, for real this time,” he said, with a wink.
Kathy
beat him again.
“Takes
us oldies a few goes to warm up,” grinned Steve, “give me a few more waves and
I’ll put you to shame!” “Okay, you’re on, Dad!”
Again
Kathy won.
Steve
came spluttering to the surface and climbed to his feet.
“At
least I don’t cheat!” said Steve with a grin.
Kathy
gasped. “I didn’t cheat,” she called, throwing a piece of
seaweed
at him. The seaweed splattered across his head, giving him instant dreadlocks.
Kathy burst into laughter. He threw the seaweed aside with a grin.
They
caught waves together for another half an hour, Steve winning only a handful of
times, his daughter beating him hands down. After they had tired of the game,
they walked hand in hand up the beach to where Brent and Judy waited.
As
the water dried upon his skin, Steve could feel the salt crystals forming, and
rubbed them from his shoulders. He accepted a ham, tomato and cheese sandwich
from Judy with a smile.
The
family ate together in silence, watching as the waves crashed against the beach
with soothing rhythm. The tide was coming in, and within twenty minutes the
sound of the ocean escalated as the water reached closer.
“Want
to go back in?” asked Steve.
“No
thanks, Dad,” said Kathy. She was lying back on a towel, a hat covering her
face from the sun. Brent was asleep on a towel. Judy had covered him with a
thin blanket.
“What
time are you leaving?” Judy asked.
“Early,”
replied Steve. “Probably five.”
“Going
to say goodbye to the kids this time?” Judy asked.
Steve
sighed gently. Here we go again, he thought.
“I
do every time. Just because they are asleep most times doesn’t mean I don’t say
goodbye.”
“Then
I have to deal with their questions in the morning, trying to explain where
their dad has gone and for how long, when I don’t even know?”
“Bloody
hell Judy, do you want me to shake them awake and tell them I’m going away for
seven months and that they might not ever see me again? How does a child
process that? Very badly is my guess.”
“You
could at least wake them up and tell them you’ll see them soon!”
“I
kiss them on the head and tell them I hope to see them soon,” said Steve
looking out to sea.
“That’s
not the same thing!”
“Isn’t
it?” Steve asked, turning to face her. “Are you sure about that? Because where
I’m going the best I can do is hope to see you again. If I promise more than
that it’s nothing but a lie!”
Judy
turned away. Her shoulders shuddered as the tears came. She cried silently,
trying not to disturb her children.
“I’m
sorry babe,” Steve said pulling her to him. “I’m sorry,” he said again, kissing
her hair.
The
family drove home in silence.
That
night they watched Shrek together, and although Kathy had seen it several times
before, it was the first time Brent had seen the film. Whilst the kids and
Steve giggled together, Judy huddled quietly against her husband.
In
the morning, he woke early and walked quietly into the kitchen to make himself
breakfast. Judy appeared in her nightgown bleary eyed.
“I’ll
be ready shortly,” she said.
“Okay,”
he said with a smile.
At
06:30 hours, Judy drove Steve into the base. He leaned down next to the
driver’s side window, an overnight bag containing some belongings slung over
his shoulder. “We’ll be here for another six or seven days before we leave.
I’ll see if I can get home again soon,” he said reassuringly. Judy nodded her
head but didn’t reply. She was too busy trying to hold back tears. Steve smiled
and kissed her before turning and walking in the direction of the briefing
room.
“Take
care Steve, I love you,” she called, her voice shaking. He did not hear her. As
it was each time this scene played out, her whole body was numb and the
familiar, doubtful feeling of whether she’d ever see Steve again filled her
mind.
He
turned back and waved as he continued walking backwards.
“Love
you babe,” he said as the doors to the building swallowed him up. He stopped to
watch Judy through the small window in the door as she turned the car around
and drove out towards the front gate.