185 Days: The Diary of a Combat Carpenter in Iraq

By S. A. Mcmanus

The book, 185 Days, is a biography. It is written from a diary that a RAAF Soldier kept while serving a 6 month tour in Iraq in 2004.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796005226

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by S. A. Mcmanus. 800089

ISBN:         Softcover           978-1-7960-0523-3

                   EBook                978-1-7960-0522-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 08/02/2019

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.xlibris.com.au

Contents

The Arrival

Welcome To Camp Sather

Settling In

Making Boomerangs

Commencing The Deception Plan

Happy Birthday To Me

Life’s Challenges

Kuwait

Back To Biap

Secdet Again

The Week Before Easter

Good Friday

Ninety Seconds

Moving To The Palace.

More Construction

Anzac Day 25th April 2004. Lest We Forget

The Conflict Continues

More Intel

Mothers Day Sunday 9th May 2004

Magic Mountain

Decpetion Plan Undone

ROCL- Amsterdam, Paris And Germany

Welcome Back To Biap

State Of Origin Game II

The War Continues

Group Psych Briefs

Handover

My Last Day. Monday 26th July 2004

Homecoming

Shit I felt crook.

I’d spent the last week catching up and saying goodbye to family and friends. Most of the last few days had been spent with Mum, my little brother Jake and Grandad at Mum’s place. Lots of goodbyes meant lots of goodbye drinks. Now I’m thinking all the drinks probably weren’t such a good idea.

The whole past month had been a big one. I came down to Windsor from Townsville and had some final training to do in Watson’s Bay before we deployed. It gave me a chance to spend some time with mum. Living up at Townsville meant that I didn’t get to see my family that much. I was at mum’s place for a week or so before today. We didn’t talk much about me going. She just said that she knew they wouldn’t be sending me if I wasn’t properly trained. That was about all we had said about it.

Two nights ago, while everyone was sleeping, I quickly wrote out a letter to mum. Us guys in the defence force called these ‘dead letters’. In the letter I told her I loved her and explained why I was doing this and no matter what happened that everything would be ok. Apart from the fact that it was my job to do it, I didn’t want my brother growing up in a bad world. I guess you could say I was doing it for Jake. Besides, I had no wife, no kids. Sure, I had mum and Jake and Grandad, but I’ll just say it- if someone didn’t come back better it be me that didn’t come home then one of the guys who had kids.

Yesterday I gave the letter to mum’s best friend and neighbour, Jo. She looked shocked when I handed her the envelope with ‘Mum’ written on the front. I gave her strict instructions too- she wasn’t to mention the letter to anyone and she was only to give it to mum if I didn’t come back.

Jo took the envelope from me and said she’d give it to me when I got back. She said nothing was going to happen to me. I had replied with You never know.

Writing that letter had been hard, but not as hard as it was saying goodbye to mum.

Shit it sucked.

I’ll never forget just how hard that had been. We hadn’t talked that much. She just cried and held onto me, really tight, like she never wanted to let me go.

Saying goodbye to dad and nanny had been hard, just as it had been hard with grandad and Jake. But mum, well mum was the hardest.

I had organised for a Holden Statesman to pick me up from mums at 0430hrs. The driver arrived looking very professional, dressed in a suit and everything. I didn’t want the messy goodbye at the airport. The wait at the airport would have drawn it all out and it would have made leaving so much worse. I had said my farewells to Mum, Jake and Grandad here at Mum’s last night before they all went to bed. Then I had my bags packed and had them ready to go at the front door before I went to sleep.

When I had gotten up this morning, I had a quick shower then I woke up mum, I had to say another quick goodbye, I just had to give her another hug. What if the worst did happen? What if Jo did have to give mum that letter?

Walking down the hallway I stopped in at Jakes room. I tiptoed through the mess of a typical eleven year old boy’s room and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The little bugger kept sleeping, which was probably good. It was hard to say goodbye. I had no reassurance that I would be coming home.

Mum hugged me at the front door. She held onto me so tight. She was crying silently. Even in the dim light I could see through the tears to the fear and sadness on her face. Still, better to do it here than at the airport. I was pretty sure I could find a bar there to help pass the time while I waited to board my flight.

The first leg of my flight was to Singapore. It was going to be a big trip and I was planning on sleeping most of the way. There wouldn’t be much else to do and I was buggered. The past couple of weeks had been pretty big with the final training and catching up with mates and saying my goodbyes.

I walked away from Mum and got into the waiting car without looking back. I couldn’t look back. I was heading off to the unknown. My heart felt like lead as it thudded hard in my chest, my stomach clenched, my jaw was closed tight and I looked straight ahead.

During the drive the driver didn’t talk too much, which suited me just fine.

I was lost in my own thoughts about where I was going and what I was doing.

What I was doing was my job. I’d been doing this work now for four years. Our Prime Minister had inspired me. He ignited an interest in politics within me, which lead to me wanting to join the defence force and help to serve and protect our great country. I was a chippy, a carpenter, by trade but I had needed to bulk up my physique a little before joining so I got a job as a builder’s labourer. I then joined the RAAF in the first enlistment of the new millennium.

I knew what I was in for. We had all seen the news and read the newspapers. We were all well trained. Our troops were already over there. Even though I had a pretty good idea of what was happening, there was still that tiny little niggle in the back of my head that there was a possibility that I wouldn’t come back.

The driver dropped me off at Sydney Airport International terminal. You could feel the air changing as dawn was starting. The world around me was coming alive. The sky was filing with different shades of pinks, oranges and blues as the summer sun rose. Even in the early hour of the day there were people hustling and bustling everywhere. Hundreds of people coming from a holiday or going to one. Their only worry was finding their ride to where they were going. Lucky bastards.

I wasn’t too scared. I wasn’t too worried.

Not really.

I was only going for six months.

I just wasn’t looking forward to it a lot either. It was my job. I had to go and do my job.

I grabbed my bag out of the boot of the Statesman and paid the driver with the cab charge the defence force had given me. I shook his hand, said Thanks mate and went to find the check in for Gulf Air.

Even though most of my things had been sent over through the defence force a couple of weeks earlier, getting through customs took a while. There was a lot of stuffing around. All I wanted to do was get into my seat on the plane and go to sleep. It was going to be a long trip.

I ran my hand over my head as I looked for a bar. I didn’t care that it was early in the morning. I wanted a drink.

Fuck my hair felt weird. No wonder the customs guys had looked at me funny.

Last night I shaved my head. Stupid move, smart move. Who knew? I figured it could be a while before I got a haircut so I took care of it. Just shaved it all off. I’m sure it looked pretty dicky.

I found a bar and sat down for a quick drink or two. I rubbed my hands over my head again. It didn’t feel even. I didn’t care. It would grow back. I had bigger things to think about than what my hair looked like.

The boarding call for my flight to Singapore was announced.

Here I go.

My first trip outside of Australia.

I was off to war.

THE ARRIVAL

Day Three

182 Days to Go

Here I was sitting in the middle of the herc airplane near the engines with my back to the wall flying from Kuwait to Baghdad. There were two rows of seats along the edge of the plane, from the middle then along towards the cockpit. In between the outside rows was a row in the middle where people sat back to back. Their knees came close to touching the knees of the personnel sitting with their backs against the wall. The rest of the plane was for cargo. There were plenty of sashes and loops that hung from the roof to hold onto but generally you don’t get thrown around enough to need to use them. The seats were made out of webbing, similar to what the old sun chairs of the 1980’s used to be made from. Those of us that had back-packs tucked the bags underneath our seats. The flight wasn’t as comfortable as the flights I was on from Sydney to Kuwait, but then again, I wasn’t flying into a war zone as soon as I left Sydney.

Instead of being on a passenger aircraft I was now on a C-130 Hercules.

From Sydney, I had flown to Singapore, then to Bahrain, on to Kuwait and now we were flying to Baghdad. I had met up with a few of the other people that were on this herc with me at the Bahrain stop over. We missed our connecting flight and had to stay there until the next one, which meant we had a delay of about eight hours and that suited me just fine. We were given hotel rooms so we had the option of having a shower and a sleep and we also had access to a massive buffet and the bar. Most of us chose the buffet and bar over the option of a room and enjoyed the food and some beers. That had given me a chance to meet some of the others on this rotation. I met Reidy, Shonie and Georgie. We were mixed bunch and seemed to get along well. We’d had a few laughs over the rest of the trip up until this point but now the noise of the hercs engines stopped us from talking. It was too loud to hear. We all just sat there with our ear plugs in our ears trying to not look at each other as reality began to set in.

Before we left Kuwait we were issued with our ammo, a helmet and our CBA (Combat body armour) vest. The CBA is a light body armour vest designed for added protection, similar to a bullet proof vest. It was our chest protection. We each had a mag (magazine) for our weapon and each mag held thirty rounds, but we only ever put twenty-eight rounds in it. By leaving two rounds out of the mag it would help prevent it from jamming. The last thing you would want to happen when in warfare is for the weapon to jam up- if it did that then you’d be fucked.

About an hour and twenty minutes into the fight, when we were about fifteen minutes out of landing at BIAP (Baghdad International Air Port), the Loady (The Load Master) walked through us and told us to kit up. I had worn the CBA before in training exercises but today was different. Today it was kitted out for war. Now shit was getting real.

The Loady went up to talk to the pilots in the cockpit. We stayed in our seats. It was part of the Loady’s job to keep us informed on what was happening. He came back and told us to load our guns but not put them to action as we were flying in a safe area. We loaded our guns and kept the safety on as instructed.

When we were at Kuwait the mood amongst the group was normal. A lot of joking around. The usual conversation stuff you get from a group of people who don’t know each other too well. We also talked about what we’d bought at the PX (Personal Exchange Store) in Kuwait. That PX was huge. It made me think that that is what a Walmart in America would be like. It had everything you could want, absolutely everything. Clothes, shoes, food, smokes, books, DVD’s, CD’s and electronics- it had it all. Anything you could imagine buying. If it wasn’t on the shop floor and you wanted it then someone there knew how to get it for you. It even had its own food court with lots of different eateries. A few hours ago, we were stocking up on cheap smokes and other shit. Now here we were donning helmets and armed with our steyr and ammo. The steyr is a semi-automatic to automatic rifle, it’s our weapon. I hoped I would never have to use it.

We were all just sitting there, unsure, anxious and quiet. Nerves were starting to fire up. The atmosphere got real tense really quick.

The pilot had started the descent and we were about 10km’s away from the airstrip when I smelt it.

I looked at Reidy. He was looking back at me. He smelt it too.

Chaff.

Shit.

Being a Raafy I knew the smell of chaff. I knew that it was a spray of sparks that are emitted from the plane to deter missiles when under attack and I could smell it now. There was no mistaking it. We started flying low, the plane was going from side to side. The pilot had started tactical manoeuvres.

Fuck.

The Loady yelled out to us, Pilots going to be tact flying! Sit still and hang on!

I felt like saying No shit.

We all knew what was going on.

We were under attack. Safe area my fucking arse. We were being shot at.

I did as most of the others did and put my hands up over my head and grabbed onto the netting and loops that hung down above our heads. That was all I could do to make sure I stayed in my seat. We just hung on. Sitting sideways on the plane with my back to the cabin wall was ok for normal flying or for turbulence, but for tact flying I had to hold on real tight. Our hands were above our heads and our elbows and knees were knocking into each other’s as the plane tilted from side to side.

We all kept looking straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone else.

We were flying low and Iraq didn’t have an air force. We were being shot at from the ground.

I looked at the others. There were about twenty-five, maybe thirty of us, mostly Aussies. There were a few Americans on board. Most of us were flying into Baghdad for the first time. Some were coming back from ROCL (Relief out of Country Leave), some were just flying back to Baghdad from Kuwait.

For whatever the reason each of us were flying into BIAP on that herc, we all knew what was going on.

We could feel the plane swerving from side to side. We could smell the chaff. We couldn’t see a damn thing except each other’s faces trying to not show the fear we were feeling. I could think of better ways to welcome us to Baghdad than to shoot at us. A flight straight home perhaps? I knew we were in a warzone but couldn’t they at least let the pilots land the god damned plane and let us get off before they tried to kill us?

A zinging pop sound came from the left wing, just on the other side of the cabin wall of the plane where I was sitting.

Shit, they got us.

We’d been hit. It was too bloody close for comfort. The engines on the left that I was sitting near didn’t sound too good. I knew what these engines were meant to sound like and the one on the left wasn’t sounding like the engine on the right was. I hoped the engine sounded crook cause we were flying so low. God I hoped we were close to landing. I tried to stay clam on the outside, but my insides were all over the place.

We all stayed as still as we could to stop from knocking each other’s elbows and knees and kept looking straight ahead and nothing and no one.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The plane tilted to the left. I could see blue sky appear in the porthole on the right side of the herc.

The plane tilted to the right. I could see the land below us come into view in the porthole on the left. Sky, land, sky, land. The view changed as the pilot continued tact flying into BIAP. The left engines still didn’t sound right.

I couldn’t wait to land. I wanted to get to my knees and kiss the fucking ground, not crash land and be thrown across the tarmac.

After some bumps the pilot landed the plane and we all safely got out. I’m not sure how many of us needed to change our jocks after that welcoming but I know I was pretty close to needing to.

Walking away from the herc, I said to Reidy, We just got shot at.

I know, did you smell the chaff too? he replied.

I nodded as I thought to myself, ‘Oh well, here I am. Welcome to six months of hell.’

It was a weird feeling. As good as it was to be on land, it was weird to be walking on the tarmac at BIAP. I looked around at everything. It was all so different to being at home. The surroundings around us were all flat, except for the odd tall building here and there. Those buildings really stood out as the areas around them were predominantly flat. There were very few trees around, apart from some palm trees. A lot of dirt. A lot of sand. A lot of brown. It was very flat, very plain, very big. Completely different to being back at home in Australia.

I felt a little disorientated, like I was a tourist but I wasn’t a tourist- I was here for a job. I was here to work and serve my country.

Later on, we found out that pretty much all the planes get shot at when they were coming into land at BIAP and it really wasn’t that big a deal. It was nice to know that it wasn’t a special show that was put on just for us but it might have been good to have been told that before I shit myself. Tact flying, chaff and hearing the wing get hit just on the other side of the cabin wall from me was scary as all hell. Some warning would have nice. Just a simple, By the way, there might be gunfire when the herc comes in to land. Don’t worry about it. It happens all the time. The pilots are used to it would have been great.

Apparently most of the civilians here have guns. There is a tradition here that at a wedding ceremony, once the bride and groom were pronounced husband and wife, the guests would fire their guns into the air. Sometimes the local villagers would just shoot their guns at the planes. But nope. Nothing. No warning at all. I bet the more experienced guys that had been here a while got a chuckle out of how shit scared we got.

We walked off of the tarmac then got on board a bus and we were transported in a convoy to Camp Victory. We were told we would need an armed LAV (Light Armoured Vehicles) escort whenever we travelled outside of our compound, which would mostly be when we travelled into Baghdad or other surrounding areas. For the moment, we were staying within the compounded area and didn’t need the LAV escort. The LAV escorts are comprised of a LAV at the front and at the back with the other convoy vehicles in between. The LAV at the front of the convoy had a 50mm calibre gun out the top of the vehicle. The LAV at the back had a small 25mm cannon pointing out of the turret.

Once off the bus we went into an office straight to get some briefs. This is where we found out that Camp Victory had many names. Camp Victory was also referred to by Australian Island, the palace and PPN (Palace Presidential North). The palace grounds, where we were, was one of Saddam’s palaces. This one was where his son’s, Uday and Qusay, had lived before they had been killed. I don’t know how many Palaces Saddam had owned in total. We simply called this one ‘The Palace’. The palace itself was surrounded by water on three sides with a gated road leading into the island it sat on. There were a few different buildings around the property. One of the buildings was a roundhouse. This is where the maids had lived during Saddam’s reign, but now the Australian officers and visiting officers of Camp Victory stayed here. Front the from the front doors of the palace there was a bridge, about one hundred meters long, that lead out to a structure that stood on its own separate square, surrounded completed by the lake and joined to the long bridge by a smaller bridge. It was three stories tall and was constructed in an octagon shape with arched windows looking out from each side. The design made it appear to be constructed on its own little island, which I guess it actually did. This is where the other Australian troops stationed at Camp Victory would stay, and also where we were going to stay tonight. It was the building where Saddam’s sons would house their scarlet women. The Australian personnel that had been here prior to us had nick named the building ‘The Three Floors of Whores’. The official name for it though was Australia Island.

We were being given a little bit of a tour of the grounds. The corporal giving us the tour told us a bit of a story about the lake that surrounded the palace. The story was that when the Americans first moved in here, they had to dredge the lake. There were multiple dead bodies found in there. It was said that the sons of Saddam, Uday and Qusay, would kill people and throw their bodies in the lake or they would tie their hands behind their backs and put weights around their ankles and toss them in the water to drown. We were also told that the chains had been removed from the walls.

Chains? someone asked.

The chains in question had been attached to the walls of the exterior of the palace and the sons would hang people up by the chains until they died from starvation, dehydration and exposure. Then their bodies would be thrown into the lake.

Now in the defence force you hear some stories, just as you would anywhere else. It was up to you if you believed them or not. They were either true or they were false. More than likely there was an element of truth in the story that we had just been told, I just didn’t know how much of it had been exaggerated over time, much like what happens in Chinese Whispers. Either way, there was no way I would be swimming in that lake.

The story just added to the intensity of what was happening right now.

Shit. I was standing inside one of Saddam Hussein’s palaces.

Inside the palace itself was very surreal. The whole place was huge. It was the biggest building I had ever seen. To say it was extravagant was an understatement. The archway for the front doors of the