We Were Invincible: Testimony of an Ex-Commando

By Denis Morisset and Claude Coulombe

Nobody really knows who these men are- men in black dropped off by a helicopter on the outskirts of a small Afghan village; wading through swamps in Croatia, intent on killing a war criminal; who ensure the protection of a Canadian General in Rwanda; who subdue hostage takers in Peru; and who prove, on-site, the Serbian disarmament lies told by President Milosevic.

DENIS MORISSET was part of the initial sixteen-member Joint Task Force 2 (JTF 2) unit from 1993-2001. His extensive and rigorous training and hardships will make more than one reader realize that his being alive today is nothing short of a miracle. Seven members of his unit have not lived to tell the tale.

Canada, for good reason, will never render justice to these anonymous combatants whose only medals of bravery are the numerous scars still visible on their bullet-proof vests.

Unlike the British SAS and the United States’ Delta Force, this special Canadian intervention unit was, according to David Rudd of the Canadian Institute of Strategic Studies, trained “to infiltrate into dangerous areas behind enemy lines, look for key targets and take them out. They don't go out to arrest people. They don't go out there to hand out food parcels. They go out to kill targets.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Éditions JCL
• Release date: Feb 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9782894317983

Denis Morisset

Denis Morisset was born on April 28, 1963 in Québec City and was adopted by a musician father and stay-at-home mother. He attended Holland Elementary School, Quebec High School and St. Lawrence College after which he enrolled in the Canadian Armed Forces with the intention of becoming a recruiting officer. Mr. Morisset eventually became a non-commissioned officer working in communications. Based at Valcartier, he was transferred to a counter-terrorist unit in Ottawa in the early 1990s where he was mandated as a specialist in radio communications and computers and selected to be a member of the special assault units. He took part in numerous missions throughout the world, but once his unit was dismantled, returned to Valcartier. A civilian once again, Mr. Morisset held various different positions in the Quebec region. Denis Morisset is married and has three children. His book We Were Invincible, written in collaboration with Claude Coulombe and published in 2008, delivers an emotional and detailed account of an exciting yet brutal life that the majority of us do not even know exists.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Recruit School

Québec, 2005

Him too! I put down the phone. My throat was dry; I could feel the trickle of ice cold water running down my back. Unable to think, I felt myself slip into a deep and dark abyss.

Denis?

I was unable to answer.

Denis Morisset?

I still didn’t react. When my wife, Julie, found me sitting in the living room in the dark, she knew that something had happened.

Denis, what’s the matter?

A sixth one, Julie.

No! Oh, no! Not another one!

Her voice trembled. She knew exactly what I was talking about. That was the sixth of my old teammates from the Canadian Army counter-terrorism unit who had found no other solution to ending profound internal suffering than that of taking his own life. What we experienced had left wounds so deep that my six buddies had not found any other way out. I fully understand them; more than once, I also thought of taking that path. My family’s love is the only thing that prevented me from doing so.

I held on to Julie’s hand. I talk about it now. I go back to when I was young, years ago. A time of carefree living, when everything was incredibly easy. Unravelling the threads of my life helps ground me. Every moment remembered represents a brick in the demolished wall of my life.

In the beginning, my journey was a rather typical one. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Disco fever swept through North America in 1980. Discos opened in every city and Québec was no exception. Eden, Balzac, and vendredi 13 were the hot spots for young people who moved to the beat on the dance floor, mimicking John Travolta, the hottest star at the time. I was part of that youth. At the time, I was 17 and, like many kids my age, had no idea what to do with my life. Academics, sports, and girls were my priority, but not necessarily in that order. Somewhat discouraged, my father watched me. The direction his son was heading seemed questionable to him. He wanted to talk to me and bring me back on what he considered to be the ‘right path’, but he was extremely aware that kids my age did not heed parental advice until only much later in life. He had to therefore be cunning. He knew about my keen interest in well-organized groups – I had successively been a member of the scouts, pioneers and army cadets. One day when I stopped by my parents’ house for a quick bite to eat before running off, he showed me an army reserve form.

You should try this, he suggested.

Uh huh, I answered.

It’s a job like any other; you’d be well paid.

That caught my attention. He knew that, like all teens, I constantly needed money. I took the form saying I would look at it.

It was only some days later that I finally picked up the piece of paper and realized that it was actually a job offer for the Québec Voltigeurs. I applied for the job without really thinking anything of it and, to my surprise, was promptly accepted.

That is how I ended up in the army. I can’t claim that it was my vocation or a well thought-out and planned career project… had my father not handed me that form, I wonder where I would be today.

Whatever it was, it was the beginning of a rigorous training period. I followed the drill, the very foundation of any army. They say that it develops the body and mind. Walking and filing by in perfect unison is no easy task. I picked up a number of survival tricks and was also introduced to weapons handling. Mostly, I made many friends with whom I partied more often than not. I was rather content with that lifestyle.

One of our reservist group’s tasks was to serve as a training unit for the Royal 22e Régiment, nicknamed the Vandoos. We were the bad guys. I quickly realized that I grasped military strategy with surprising ease. During one particular exercise, I tried something that would not only earn me a great deal of respect but some serious problems as well. Along with two other reservists, I had to plan an ambush on an entire 22nd platoon. We set up some straight branches covered with leaves and twigs, simulating weapons pointed at them. When the platoon arrived, one of us leapt forward and aimed his rifle at the highest in command, Warrant Officer Pronovost.

Surrender, you’re surrounded!

Thirty metres away and hidden behind a tree, I then fired a shot in the air. The third member of our trio also fired a shot. We wanted to create the impression of many men surrounding the platoon. Baffled and confused, the soldiers hesitated before eventually surrendering. I requisitioned a transport vehicle at gunpoint and ordered everyone to climb aboard. When Warrant Officer Pronovost realized that there were only three of us, he turned beet red. Humiliated, he remained silent and sat apart from his men.

Because of that battle exploit, I immediately became quite popular; it helped me have some good times in the Army Reserve. I begin to seriously think about a military career. In my naiveté as a teenager, I decided I would be an army recruiter. I wasn’t aware that the job did not exist. Recruiters are actually enlisted personnel from different military occupations who, on a rotational basis, are sent throughout the country to recruit new members. I submitted my application and was accepted at the Canadian Forces Recruit School.

The tone was set on the very first day of training. What an unpleasant surprise when I realized that our instructor was none other than Warrant Officer Pronovost. As I recognized him, he wasted no time showing that he had not forgotten me either. He headed straight towards me and made me stand to attention.

With his face only inches from mine, he spoke in a low voice. You, son, have just committed the worst mistake of your life. You will pay unlike anything you can possibly imagine. I am going to break you, humiliate you. I swear you will drop out before the end of training.

Charming program up ahead. I questioned my decision in taking that path. I went through hell over the next six weeks. When most recruits were given special permissions after their fourth week, I had to wait for the eighth before finally being allowed out for a few hours. I was named Supervisor for Assistance in Safety and Security (SASS) for the program’s ten weekends. As if that weren’t enough, Pronovost kept me on as Platoon Senior, or recruit in charge of the platoon, for nine weeks out of the ten. Because of that, I was given all the administrative tasks and was overwhelmed with work during most of my training.

I was not given any break whatsoever. During the gas chamber exercise, the Warrant Officer made me, as Senior, go through with the platoon’s three sections. After the third time in the chamber, I couldn’t see a thing – my eyes were swollen, my nose runny, and I threw up repeatedly. Despite it all, I refused to quit the program. I held the unenviable record of 29 charges laid against me, with every reason more absurd than the last. But I watched and I learned. I told myself that the day would come when someone would realize it.

The Warrant Officer was blinded by his obsession to make me quit. Of the 29 offenses, the most common one was that of leaving my locker open. And yet, I knew for a fact that I locked it every morning. The only possible explanation was that somebody unlocked and opened it after I left. One morning, I made all 20 guys from my section check my locker to see for themselves that it was indeed closed and locked. When a new charge was laid against me at the end of the day, I knew that Pronovost had just committed a huge mistake. I lodged a complaint and had all 20 of my bunk mates testify. The Warrant Officer was reprimanded and fined for having lied. He was furious but I had it easy for the last seven days.

Those ten weeks taught me a few things. First – I had leadership qualities. Second – although I was bold and provocative (something I realize even more so today), I was also revolted by injustice and always ready to fight it. Throughout my career, my rather unconventional behaviour would prove to be as detrimental to me as it would be helpful.

I could put up with a lot simply to prove that I could hold my own and face challenges, but I was not made of steel. Although I did make it through to the end of my training, I was exhausted both physically and morally. Since I was Platoon Senior for nine weeks, all the guys came to me with whatever problems they had. Admittedly, I was incapable of listening to them as well near the end as in the beginning. I was carrying too much weight on my shoulders. When one guy named Bédard came to me one day saying he couldn’t take it anymore, I could not stand the whining.

You can’t take it Bédard? In that case, open the window and jump out, I answered dryly.

I didn’t think that we were on the tenth floor and that Bédard was probably as morally exhausted as I was. As I turned away to address the next person, Bédard went to the window and opened it. I swivelled around in my chair just in time to see him jump out. Horrified, I ran to look outside. By some miracle, he had slid down along a ridge of snow to the fourth floor where he then fell into a bank of soft snow. He did not have a single scratch. When I asked if he was hurt, he looked at me in a daze and gave me the thumbs up. We had both never been so scared in our lives. I will never again make the mistake of not listening to someone in need.

*

The recruit program ended and I was promoted along with the others. I had held on to the very end. On graduation day, my father went to see the school’s Chief Warrant Officer, a man named Groulx, a distant acquaintance. He asked how everything had gone with the new recruits. Proud as a peacock, Groulx looked at my father. He didn’t make the connection between him and me.

"I can tell you they were treated like shit. You can’t imagine to what extent."

He pointed his finger at me.

Especially him there, young Morisset.

I know, he’s my son. But despite all of your underhanded crap, he made it.

My father turned sharply on his heels, leaving the Chief Warrant Officer dumbstruck.

*

On my eighteenth birthday, and without quite realizing everything it entailed, I became an active member of the Canadian Army. Since I was bilingual, I had decided to become a Radio Operator during Recruit School. I found myself at the Kingston School of Communications, the shortest path, I was told, to becoming a recruiter. I was so gullible. Once in Kingston, I quickly learned that there was no such job as recruiter. I made the most of it and attacked my studies of Morse code and HF, VHF and UHF communications with enthusiasm. I became familiar with cryptography in all its forms.

While studying communications, I pursued military training. I took pride upon realizing that I was a good soldier- tough and resilient. Not to mention my unbridled enthusiasm. However, my arrogance irritated a number of people… in particular my career manager, Warrant Officer Chamberlain. Luckily, I would not have to meet with him often since he believed that all Francophones were pathetic losers.

I couldn’t help it; in spite of myself, I was always the one who had to add that extra word. During a parade in front of the Lieutenant Governor, we had to sing O Canada. At the end of our national anthem, I couldn’t resist loudly saying, And now, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy the game!

Naturally, everyone cracked up and that caused the Commanding Officer in charge of the platoon to lose his composure.

After that, even though I was not dear to the hearts of most officers, I progressed nonetheless. I was soon sent on my first peacekeeping mission in the Golan Heights in Israel. There, like in Syria, I discovered different cultures. Unlike many of my comrades who preferred staying among themselves, I enjoyed meeting the locals, sharing their knowledge and learning from them. To this day, I still don’t understand why people are wary of strangers. I see it differently – as an opportunity to learn something new.

In fact, life will teach me that most problems come from people we know.

In Cyprus, I figured out for the first time that, in the army, promotions are not necessarily based on merit. Escorted by a captain, I patrolled the border between the Turkish and Greek parts of the island. Everything seemed fine; soldiers saluted us and we responded in kind. One day, a Turkish soldier who thought he was pretty funny waited until we came up close to him before aiming his weapon at us. Taken by surprise, the captain soiled his pants. He babbled a few incoherent words, cleared his throat and ended up telling me to stay calm and step back. His attitude emboldened the Turk who began threatening us more overtly. Rather than step back, I stood squarely in front of him, calmly removed the magazine from my machine gun and showed him that it was loaded with real ammunition. I reloaded my weapon and this time, I took aim at the Turk. I yelled at him to back up and drop his weapon, something he obviously did not understand. I took a step forward, yelling even louder. He started backing up. Realizing that I was not going to back down, he eventually gave up his little game.

That should have earned me congratulations or at the very least some form of recognition, but no – the captain was furious with me. He said I could have created a diplomatic incident, that he would file a report on my behaviour, blah, blah, blah. What must have really gotten to him was losing face. I would have most probably forgotten about the incident but he was afraid I would talk about his cowardice and ended up digging himself in even deeper. I met many courageous men during my career, whereas others did not deserve the stripes they flaunted on their uniforms.

Amidst my comings and goings all over the world, I was based at Valcartier. In 1986, the Canadian Army wanted to computerize its operations and launched project ECAC. The Commanders of different units throughout Canada, who knew nothing about computers, delegated officers who were at the end of their careers or on the very verge of retirement. My commander at the time, Colonel Roméo Dallaire, was quite the visionary and, instead, he sent two young guys. I was one of them. I discovered a fascinating world. My comrade and I returned from the program totally captivated, our minds filled with a variety of different projects. We immediately asked the Colonel for permission to go follow a number of other courses, most of which were in the United States. The very moment we would return from our courses, we wasted no time putting into practice what we had learned. With our help, Valcartier Base became a pioneer in computerizing the military. For years, I did not count the number of hours I worked. I was crazy about computers. Two years before leaving my job at Valcartier, I implemented the Metropolitan Area Network (MAN) with Banyan Vines in Unix platform network. Street-Talk, a user-naming method, would be bought by different companies, allowing them to use @ as an address element. It is the basis of the Internet. Under Colonel Dallaire’s instigation, we went from 1 server on the base to 17 in less than 12 months.

When, after 12 months, I received my first evaluation, I was deeply disappointed! I was still with my regular unit since there was no computer unit, and I was evaluated according to regular, ordinary criteria and yet, I had just spent a year which was anything but ordinary! I decided to object in my own way in order for them to correct the situation. Using my computer, I went through the base network and crashed the colonel’s computer. In a matter of minutes I was called to his office.

Hello, Colonel. What’s up?

It’s my computer, chief; I can’t do a thing with it.

Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.

As I worked on the keyboard, the colonel noticed that I was not my usual self.

Chief, is something the matter?

No, no… everything’s all right.

Don’t take me for an idiot; it’s written all over your face.

I stopped typing and looked up. I then innocently took my evaluation from my pocket.

This is what’s bothering me, Colonel.

He took the paper and read it. He grabbed his phone, called my immediate superior and reprimanded him. That very afternoon my evaluation was reviewed and I was promoted.

It was during that period that I met the woman of my life. As is often the case, fate seemed to play a great role in it. A friend of mine met a girl he asked out but she told him that she was already doing something with a girlfriend. He asked me if I wanted to take care of her friend. I was more than willing to offer my friendship. But when I met both girls, the one I was interested in was not the one originally meant for me.

Luckily, the object of my affection felt the same. I didn’t waste any time – I invited her to the movies… alone! The first movie we saw together was Rambo… Was it prophetic?

We quickly bonded, so much so that we soon couldn’t leave one another. We both tried seeing other people at one time or another, but we ended up back together, realizing it was in each other’s company that we were happy.

Although surprised when Julie told me she was pregnant, I can’t say I hadn’t wished it. On the contrary! In addition, I had a good job that allowed me to provide for a family. What else could I ask for?

We married shortly after the birth of our child. That was the beginning of a wonderful period for us.

I worked like crazy but I knew that the