Code Name: Johnny Walker: The Extraordinary Story of the Iraqi Who Risked Everything to Fight with the U.S. Navy SEALs Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Jim DeFelice
in the past, I could claim to be a quasi-relative, which makes seeing someone from the other sex a little easier. And in theory, I was only interested in being Soheila’s friend. But of course friendship wasn’t what I was after, and I couldn’t keep up that pretense very long.
Soheila was a true beauty, and there were plenty of men in Mosul who wanted to marry her. Most were older and more accomplished than I was, with better prospects for giving her a happy and comfortable life in Saddam’s Iraq. But while it had taken her a little longer to love me the way I loved her, I think the more she knew me, the more she saw that we were made for each other.
Ordinarily, I would have gone to Soheila’s father and told him that I wanted to marry his daughter. But Soheila’s mother and father had divorced when she was young. Her father had gone back down south; Soheila lived with her mother. So it was her mother I really had to persuade.
After some months, I decided to tell my mother that I wanted to marry her. My mother agreed to tell Soheila’s mom.
Soheila’s mother said no.
No!
“Soheila is the smartest one in our family,” said her mother. “I want her to be a doctor. I want her to be a famous woman. I am sure that she will be something special.”
I thought she was already someone special, but that didn’t seem to count for much.
Soheila found out about my proposal and argued with her mother, saying that she would continue going to school and become a doctor after she was married. But that didn’t change her mother’s mind. Part of my offense may have been my boldness—it wasn’t considered proper to be obviously in love—but I also had lesser prospects and accomplishments than other suitors. In any event, the love of my life was forbidden to me. I went into the army a bachelor, though not a committed one.
IF YOU WERE rich in Iraq, you could pay money to avoid having to serve in the military. It was one of the many things that helped make the society unfair. Needless to say, I didn’t have the money to pay, and since I had not done well enough on my tests to be admitted to college, the army was my future—at least for two years, the mandatory enlistment. I reported for duty in early 1988.
By accident, my timing happened to be perfect. The war with Iran, which had been going on since 1980, was petering out and would soon be officially over. Though inconclusive, the war claimed the lives of untold thousands of Iraqis; casualty estimates range as high as half a million. Countless civilians on both sides died, and the war caused considerable financial hardship in Iraq. It was my great fortune to miss having to fight in the conflict.
If you’re thinking that my experience as a soldier was anything like joining the American military, you’re greatly mistaken. The Iraqi army was about as similar to the U.S. Army as a plastic toy tank is to the real thing.
Say, instead, a broken toy tank.
Basic training wasn’t very arduous. Nor did anyone make much of an effort to figure out what I was good at, let alone ask what I wanted to do. I was “volunteered” to become a radioman, then assigned to an anti-aircraft unit.
It worked like this: There were a bunch of us in a room. An officer divided us up with an arbitrary wave of his hand.
“You men over here,” he said, “you are now going to become communications specialists.” And a similar process decided I was working in an anti-aircraft unit.
It didn’t make all that much difference to me. I looked at my service just as an obligation, something to get through before real life began. I did manage to make a few friends; some of them remained quite close after our service. We slept in barracks, a dozen or so of us together. Our equipment was ancient, laughable by American standards. Much of it was Russian, though its age was a bigger drawback than who had manufactured it.
My anti-aircraft artillery group was stationed in Baiji, 160 kilometers or
Soheila was a true beauty, and there were plenty of men in Mosul who wanted to marry her. Most were older and more accomplished than I was, with better prospects for giving her a happy and comfortable life in Saddam’s Iraq. But while it had taken her a little longer to love me the way I loved her, I think the more she knew me, the more she saw that we were made for each other.
Ordinarily, I would have gone to Soheila’s father and told him that I wanted to marry his daughter. But Soheila’s mother and father had divorced when she was young. Her father had gone back down south; Soheila lived with her mother. So it was her mother I really had to persuade.
After some months, I decided to tell my mother that I wanted to marry her. My mother agreed to tell Soheila’s mom.
Soheila’s mother said no.
No!
“Soheila is the smartest one in our family,” said her mother. “I want her to be a doctor. I want her to be a famous woman. I am sure that she will be something special.”
I thought she was already someone special, but that didn’t seem to count for much.
Soheila found out about my proposal and argued with her mother, saying that she would continue going to school and become a doctor after she was married. But that didn’t change her mother’s mind. Part of my offense may have been my boldness—it wasn’t considered proper to be obviously in love—but I also had lesser prospects and accomplishments than other suitors. In any event, the love of my life was forbidden to me. I went into the army a bachelor, though not a committed one.
IF YOU WERE rich in Iraq, you could pay money to avoid having to serve in the military. It was one of the many things that helped make the society unfair. Needless to say, I didn’t have the money to pay, and since I had not done well enough on my tests to be admitted to college, the army was my future—at least for two years, the mandatory enlistment. I reported for duty in early 1988.
By accident, my timing happened to be perfect. The war with Iran, which had been going on since 1980, was petering out and would soon be officially over. Though inconclusive, the war claimed the lives of untold thousands of Iraqis; casualty estimates range as high as half a million. Countless civilians on both sides died, and the war caused considerable financial hardship in Iraq. It was my great fortune to miss having to fight in the conflict.
If you’re thinking that my experience as a soldier was anything like joining the American military, you’re greatly mistaken. The Iraqi army was about as similar to the U.S. Army as a plastic toy tank is to the real thing.
Say, instead, a broken toy tank.
Basic training wasn’t very arduous. Nor did anyone make much of an effort to figure out what I was good at, let alone ask what I wanted to do. I was “volunteered” to become a radioman, then assigned to an anti-aircraft unit.
It worked like this: There were a bunch of us in a room. An officer divided us up with an arbitrary wave of his hand.
“You men over here,” he said, “you are now going to become communications specialists.” And a similar process decided I was working in an anti-aircraft unit.
It didn’t make all that much difference to me. I looked at my service just as an obligation, something to get through before real life began. I did manage to make a few friends; some of them remained quite close after our service. We slept in barracks, a dozen or so of us together. Our equipment was ancient, laughable by American standards. Much of it was Russian, though its age was a bigger drawback than who had manufactured it.
My anti-aircraft artillery group was stationed in Baiji, 160 kilometers or
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