Dirty Deeds Done Cheap Read Online Free PDF Page A

shocking sight, showing what can go wrong if you get complacent or unlucky.
    Baghdad – and Iraq in general – is such a volatile place. With danger lurking around every corner you must always have your wits about you. Every precaution must be taken to avoid getting ambushed or, even worse, getting trapped and boxed in down some side street. This is why route selection is so very important on jobs. To be captured would be just unimaginable.
    We were based at Baghdad Airport near to Triple Canopy, and we often used to go over and visit, just for a coffee or a tea, or in the evening something stronger maybe. Early one morning Mike and I were on our way over to meet up with some of the guys from TC to go for a run. Being ex-US Special Forces, most of them are pretty fit. We set off for our run, carrying just our pistols. We were just building up a sweat and getting a pace going when we heard the familiar whine of incoming mortars. We had no cover to get behind! We were in the shit – big time. All we could do was hit the deck and hope for the best.
    The first round struck some buildings nearby, shattering some of the glass and doors. When a mortar lands it is designed to explode as effectively as possible – it sends small shards of razor-sharp shrapnel in every direction and they can be lethal up to 100 metres. These things were doing just that, so we had to lie low and hope for the best.
    Two more rounds dropped, roughly on the same location. We looked at each other nervously at first, then everyone got the giggles! Why is it that in situations like these you tend to laugh? When we thought that it was all clear and relatively safe, we made our move. We needed to get back to our compounds, and fast, since we weren’t sure whether any more of these things were going to come down on us. I don’t think any one of us had ever run so fast in his life. When we got back to the safety of our compounds, we were all knackered! I had a shower. That had been one close escape and it was certain that we’d have quite a few more to come in the future, but hopefully not when we were out for a run.
     
    Life travelling along Route Irish and bumming around camp soon began to wear thin. I started to look around different companies for different jobs, but I soon decided it was time to go home on some leave. I was due some, so I put in a leave request and was soon off. Leave was nice and chilled, but for some weird reason it was good to come back.
    When I arrived back off leave, everything workwise was pretty uneventful. I got back into camp and fell back into the routine, the normal rigmarole. I went to have a coffee with my boss and asked him if the French guy (Phillipe) had gone up north yet. He said he had. Don’t ask me why, but I immediately asked for a job change. The boss gave me a frown and a slightly shifty look. ‘You don’t want to go up there, not unless you’re not arsed about coming back in one piece or at all.’ After a week of pestering I got my job change. My boss was extremely reluctant to let me go and kept asking me why I wanted to go. I couldn’t tell him why I wanted to go – I just knew that I did. He eventually relented and I got ready for the off. Good move or bad move I didn’t know.
    I turned up at 05.00 the next morning, handed in my M16 and Glock in the stores and proceeded to the main terminal at Baghdad International Airport. At 06.30 a civilian Russian plane landed and we all proceeded to get on board. There were around thirty of us, mainly Fijians, all travelling up to Mosul. I couldn’t believe it when we boarded – the plane had two pretty Russian air stewardesses on board, and after takeoff we were served with an orange juice. Here we were, flying into the most dangerous place in Iraq in a civilian airliner.
    After a great takeoff and once the seat-belt signs went off, I went into the cockpit to talk to the pilots. They were both Russian and I asked them if they knew that they were flying into