The Iceman. Jeff Edwards
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I would have taken the matter further, but it was important that we pick up our VIPs at a precise time and so I was stuck with the assembled crew.
Cursing under my breath I climbed aboard my carrier and ordered the driver to start the motor while at the same time I made a visual check to ensure that all was in readiness. It was just as well that I did so because one of the men had his Kevlar helmet resting on the floor at his feet and his bulletproof jacket was draped casually over his shoulder, exposing his chest.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re dressed for?’ I thundered at him.
‘Sorry, Sarge.’ He grinned. ‘We’re still inside the compound, so I thought I’d leave the helmet off till we get outside.’
‘Friggin idiot! Get yourself squared away. There are plenty of Iraqis inside the Green Zone that given half the chance would love to blow your head off your shoulders.’
The other men smirked at the young man’s discomfort as he hurried to don his helmet and secure his jacket. I turned to glare at them as well. ‘I want every one of you on guard every second. You don’t have the luxury of sitting around giggling like schoolgirls. Get your faces up against your windows, your weapons at the ready. Check every face that you see outside. I want to know the instant you see anything unusual.’
‘What are we looking for?’ asked the most junior man. He had joined the company the day before and his previous military experience had been as an aircraftman in the RAF.
‘Shit!’ I swore. ‘Haven’t you even looked at the information sheets you were given?’
‘Sorry, Sarge. I haven’t had time.’
I took a deep breath to calm myself down and began to speak slowly. ‘The faces, watch the faces in the crowds as we pass. We have guns and they know we’d like the least excuse to use them. They should be afraid of us. They will look in our direction, but they won’t look us in the eye. If you do catch them looking straight at us without flinching, or if they stand too confidently, it could mean that they know something we don’t.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like they’re about to meet Allah and don’t care how many guns we have. Like they have a bomb strapped to their body or the trigger to a bomb planted in the middle of the road and are about to press it. Trust no one out there and keep alert.’
My speech was interrupted by a radio call from the leader. ‘I’ve opened our orders and we’re proceeding on route six to pick up our VIPs. Then we’ll be heading to Basra. I’ll radio further instructions when we reach our departure point. Move out.’
We picked up our VIP passengers from one of the lesser palaces in the Green Zone and I was advised by the leader that these three men were Iraqi officials from the newly formed Department of Education who were on their way to Basra to inspect a newly opened non-religious and coeducational high school.
The commander’s vehicle led the way, followed by the second vehicle holding the VIPs and my vehicle fell in at the rear to make sure the VIPs’ vehicle was not attacked from behind.
Our shortened convoy threaded its way through the Green Zone and was slowly passed through the numerous checkpoints.
They’re not important enough to be assigned a plane to fly them down to Basra, but important enough for us to have to risk our lives to get them to their destination, I thought grimly. Just the sort of decision a politician would make. I hope they’re making it worth our while to indulge their stupid choices.
I was still feeling very uncomfortable about the size of our convoy but knew there was little or nothing that I could do, so I spent the major part of the ensuing journey overseeing my men to keep their minds on the job of watching our flanks and rear while praying that the troopers in the lieutenant’s vehicle were doing the same to our front. There was no way to predict when or where an attack could come. It might be in the form of an ambush or a bomb planted in the road and waiting for an unsuspecting target; however, by the time we were approaching Basra my constant warnings were beginning to fall on deaf ears. I had to physically kick the back of one soldier’s seat because he had nodded off with his forehead pressed against his window and was a perfect target for a sniper.
While I was doing this I noted that there was a large petrol tanker in the distance behind us.
‘Have you been watching that tanker?’ I asked our RAF recruit.
‘I’ve been checking it through my binoculars every now and then. They haven’t made up any ground on us for a long time. They’re not a threat.’
‘Shit!’ I muttered, my guts turning over in dread. ‘How long has that tanker been out there?’
The young man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I think I first saw it after we passed through the last big village and that was a couple of hours ago.’
‘They’ve been out there all that time?’
‘Yeah.’
I grabbed my binoculars and trained them on the suspect vehicle. ‘What’s our speed?’ I called to the driver.
‘The road’s clear and there aren’t too many potholes, so we’re maintaining our normal convoy speed of one hundred kilometres per hour.’
‘So that tanker has been back there doing the same speed as us and has been doing so for about two hours. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?’ I asked the airman.
The young man swallowed hard. He now saw the inconsistency. There was no logical reason for the driver behind us to be doing what he was doing. Either he had an empty tanker and was in a hurry to return to his depot, in which case he could have closed the distance between himself and our convoy, or he already had fuel aboard and was heading for a delivery point, in which case there was no need for him to push his rig as hard as he was doing. He should have been dropping further and further behind us, not maintaining the gap. If he had a full load, he was pushing his rig to its limit without caring what damage he was doing to its motor.
I radioed the lead vehicle. ‘Lieutenant, we have a suspicious vehicle about two clicks behinds us. Radio the information back to base and warn your boys to keep an eye out for any trouble. We’ll monitor the tanker and keep you updated.’
‘Okay, Sergeant, but I think it’s a little premature to get headquarters brought into this just yet.’
I cursed under my breath at the young officer’s casualness.
For the next half hour I kept my glasses trained on the pursuing vehicle. It was hard to see under its thick coat of dust, but there did not appear to be any company logo on either the cab or its tank, so I assumed it was privately owned.
Through my binoculars I could make out the figure of a second figure in the truck’s cabin and this also made me feel uneasy because I knew how much it took out of a driver to maintain a rig at that speed for that length of time. If the vehicle was going about its innocent business and had an extra driver why hadn’t they pulled over at some point in time to allow the second man to relieve him at the wheel?
We rounded a bend in the road and I became aware that the convoy was slowing.
‘What’s going on?’ I called to our driver.
‘I don’t know. The carriers in front are slowing.’
Becoming more anxious by the second I radioed the commander. ‘Lieutenant, what’s happening?’
‘There’s an accident ahead. Two trucks have collided and there’s a wounded person lying in the road.’
‘Don’t slow down, Sir! It could be a trap! Keep going!’
‘Nonsense, Sergeant. It looks like a young boy. He’s covered in blood and he’s calling out for help. I’m going to see what I can do.’
‘Radio it in to headquarters! They can organise someone to send help! Keep the convoy moving!