James Ashcroft - Making a Killing - The Explosive Story of a Hired Gun in Iraq

Outside, Colonel Faisal was giving orders to the guards to set up cordons around the plant and keep civilians away until the Amerrikee came and defused the bomb. I understood the last word, Y’allah , let’s go. The guards shuffled off in groups to their places around the plant and I slipped out of the office and shuffled off with them. I headed inwards towards the pump with another three guards. We split up as we approached the part of the plant where the bomb had been placed.

I dawdled along with sloping shoulders across the open area where the bad guys would have a clear shot if they didn’t think much of my acting and spotted me as one of the white-eyes. I paused to scratch my arse and continued, dragging my feet in the flip-flops as I followed the pipes along the ground to the pump. I became nervous as I drew closer, imagining for a moment that the bomb was on a timer and was about to go off.

I turned the corner and, when I saw the device, the first thought in my mind was: Jesus Christ, Krista, I am so sorry . The possibility that I wasn’t coming home from Iraq and that Krista would have to bring up Natalie on her own suddenly, in that second, seemed very real. I had told her lie upon lie and she would never understand how I had put myself in this position of extreme danger. At least she’ll get £250,000, I thought, and with all the money sloshing around Baghdad it suddenly didn’t seem very much.

There was at least a wall protecting the position. I ducked down behind it and checked to see whether the bomb location was overlooked by windows or high points from the surrounding buildings. It is said that a fault is deliberately woven into every carpet made in the Arab world since only Allah is perfect. The fault in this plan was that, having set the bomb, the insurgents didn’t have a clear view of the location. It was late afternoon, the sun still high. I could feel the sweat running down my back. I took deep breaths to get my adrenaline under control, pushed Krista out of my mind and went to have a look at the device.

I was reasonably certain that I couldn’t be seen. Always double-check, then check again. I scanned my surroundings, concentrating on everything I could see and from where I might be seen. OK. I was secure. I sat down with my back to the wall and spent a few minutes just looking around.

In Yugoslavia the Croats had been cunning bastards and if you came across a mine or an IED you could bet that there were half a dozen traps around it ready to go off at the slightest provocation. I had been looking out for wires, pressure pads and infrared projectors on the way up to the site and seen none. The bare concrete at the centre of the filtration plant provided no nooks and crannies for these little devices to be tucked into. Still, it pays to be safe and I waited a full five minutes until I was sure that my eyes had run down every wall top, side and bottom; I counted the corners to make sure I did not miss any. It appeared to be clear.

I pulled the camera out, opened the view screen and aimed the lens. I zoomed into the pump so that I could see as much as possible on the camera before I went any closer.

On top of the bomb there was a mobile phone connected to a circuit board about half the size of a cigarette packet with tape holding the whole mess together. Five lines of detonating cord ran along the pipes to five lumps of C4 or PE4 plastic explosive. This spider-like arrangement was the ‘thousand wires’ Sammy had described.

I couldn’t at first work out why a mobile phone was being used to trigger the device. If you wanted to sabotage the plant, why not just set a timer and run, as they normally did when blowing up pipelines? Mobile phones were expensive, prestige items in Iraq, too valuable to waste without good reason. The only explanation was that whoever had set the device wanted the ability to detonate at a time of their choosing. Our suspicions back in the site office had been correct, they were going to wait until the EOD team turned up to try and kill them as well as blow the pump. The more bomb squad officers they killed, the more bombs they could set without interference.

I wondered if I could defuse it myself?

I had another quick look around to make sure that I really was in dead ground and then slowly approached the IED. Then I realised something else that had been bothering me. Calling this an IED was a misnomer. It wasn’t improvised at all, it was a professionally laid demolition charge. A sense of familiarity had been nagging at me as I looked at the charges and realised that it had been set up exactly as I would have done it on my demolitions course in the army; a single detonator clipped to det cord, an explosive in itself, and then det cord running out to the PE (plastic explosive). An amateur might have used five different detonators, or stuck the dets straight into the PE, but whoever had set this up had done it by the text book.

I thought about Krista and little Natalie for a second and then wondered about the American EOD technician who was going to turn up later. At the end of the day, I had to be able to look myself in the mirror and I knew that if I let a man walk to his death when I could have done something about it, then I would always regret it.

There was probably an hour of light left in the day. Let’s do it . I placed my rifle against a pipe and pulled the shemagh off my face. I don’t know how Arabs wear those things all the time. They’re restricting somehow. I couldn’t see any better taking it off, but it was like I was back in my own skin. On camera I said what I intended to do. I thought about leaving a message to Krista but couldn’t think what to say. I placed the camera around the corner so that if the bomb went off it might be protected by the wall. At least the tape might be found in one piece, so they would know what I had tried to do.

What I needed to do first was to get the detonator away from the det cord. If I could do that then I was in the clear. My main concern was whether there was something on the detonator that would initiate the device when I tried to remove it. I was unfamiliar with the mobile phone setup. But it appeared pretty basic. There were wires running from the circuit board to the mobile phone. This appeared to be the only electronic interface between the phone and the detonator, which was clamped to the det cord. I could see the chip clearly from both sides. There didn’t seem to be any anti-tremble devices attached. I didn’t want to touch the phone in case there was something unpleasant inside it.

What often kills members of the bomb squad isn’t the device, but something placed nearby to catch anyone who tries to disarm it. I studied the floor around the pump. I was standing on solid concrete. There was nothing. No trip wires. I checked again. I was certain I couldn’t be seen by a sniper. I checked the det cord as closely as I could, looking for anything that might indicate it was anything other than what it appeared to be. There were no threads, hairs, fibreoptic cables, discolorations. Nothing. Then I checked it again.

This is it. I’m going to do it .

I stilled myself, took a breath and unclipped the detonator from the det cord. Christ , I thought to myself, that’s how by the book this guy is, he even had the correct clip to join the two together . Even back in the army I had often had to make do with tape.

Not this time, you tossers!

I still didn’t want to touch the mobile phone. I also wasn’t sure how far away the detonator had to be from the det cord and the device before it was safe. I was able to stretch the thin wire connected to the detonator about twelve inches from the nearest bit of det cord. Was this far enough away or not? I wracked my brain but if I’d ever been told this vital piece of information, I couldn’t remember.