Neryl Joyce - Mercenary Mum: My Journey from Young Mother to Baghdad Bodyguard

The names of certain individuals in this book have been changed for privacy reasons.

Published by Nero,

an imprint of Schwartz Publishing Pty Ltd 3739 Langridge Street

Collingwood VIC 3066, Australia

email:

www.nerobooks.com.au

Copyright Neryl Joyce 2014

Neryl Joyce asserts her right to be known as the author of this work.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior consent of the publishers.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

Joyce, Neryl, author.

Mercenary mum: my journey from young mother to Baghdad bodyguard / Neryl Joyce.

9781863956918 (paperback)

9781922231765 (ebook)

Joyce, Neryl. Australia. ArmyWomenBiography. Women soldiersAustraliaBiography. SoldiersAustraliaBiography. Private security servicesEmployeesBiography. Iraq War, 20032011Participation, AustralianBiography. AustraliaArmed ForcesWomenBiography.

355.00820994

Cover design by Peter Long.

Cover photograph by Frances Andrijich.

Make my enemy brave and strong so that if defeated, I will not be ashamed. Coyote is always out there waiting, and Coyote is always hungry. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.

NATIVE AMERICAN PROVERBS

RIP my warrior mates Jay Hunt, Stef Surette, Chris Ahmelman and Rod Richardson

PROLOGUE

Everything happens for a reason, so Id been told. Well, there would want to be a good reason behind all the shit Id been through in the past twenty-four hours: Id been fired, burnt and in a car accident. When I arrived back at the team house from the hospital, the guys had already left for Baghdad International Airport (BIAP). I was supposed to have gone with them. Bee, the only other woman on the team, and I hung around our room, talking about how messed up it was working for the company. Jeep, our team leader, was downstairs flipping out. I was certain he was currently plotting yet more ways to make my life a living hell.

As I lay on my bed listing my grievances, Horse, one of our colleagues, suddenly appeared at the doorway. He was deathly white: The team has been hit.

I felt as though Id been punched in the stomach. How did it happen? Is everyone okay?

Horse told us the team had been stationary on the airport road when it was hit from the side by insurgents. Two of our guys were dead: one died instantly after being shot in the head; the other had been hit in the femoral artery and bled out. A third was fighting for his life. Horse said it could go either way.

I felt dizzy. The first thing that came into my head was that Jeep and Ghost, who led our counter assault team, had killed my mates. They had sent them to their deaths. Id told everyone it would happen, but no one had listened. My country manager had ignored me. The whole company had ignored me. What did I know? I was only a woman. I had quit working on Red Zone missions a few weeks beforehand, believing my team leaders would get me killed.

I had been right, but I felt no satisfaction. Two precious lives had been snuffed out, and another was hanging in the balance. I suddenly thought of my son, waiting for me at home. If not for the series of freak accidents Id had that morning, I would have been out on the airport road with those guys. I ran to the toilet to be sick.

I returned to my room. Bee and I analysed and re-analysed exactly how the team must have been hit. No matter how we looked at it, nothing made sense. What had happened out there? Why hadnt they been moving? It was suicide to be stationary on that road. Bee and I cried together. We cried for our fallen mates and we cried for our friend who was fighting for survival in the hospital.

Hold on , I intoned silently. Hold on for dear life .

MY EARLIEST MEMORY is of having my ears pierced at the tender age of three. I remember sitting on this huge stool in the middle of a crowded shopping centre, and then feeling an intense pain in my earlobe. God dammit, it hurt. I screamed so loudly that my younger sister ran away. I didnt blame her; it was her turn next.

My dad was an army infantry officer and the epitome of organisation and order. My upbringing was very strict. Dad held himself to a high standard, and he expected the same of those around him. He rarely showed emotion and always kept a cool exterior. Id never know exactly how he was feeling unless, of course, I was in trouble. Then Id be left in no doubt.

I loved to him death, though. He used to read bedtime stories to me every night. He was terrific at it, and did all the voices. I would imagine Shep, the doggie hero of one of my storybooks, and me going on some fantastic adventures together. It wasnt often that Dad showed me his loving side, but somehow I always knew I was loved.

Mum was the complete opposite: she was openly emotional and had no problem with showering me in love and kisses. Equally, she had no problem expressing her anger when I had done the wrong thing. Mum had worked as an enrolled nurse, but was a devoted housewife and mother for the best part of her life. She was the most beautiful person Id ever known. My brother, Ced, was a year older than me, and my little sister, Lil, was a year younger.

Ced was the perfect son. He could do no wrong. He was quieter and more reserved than most boys, and that helped to foster his angelic image in my mums eyes. I worshipped the ground he walked on too: he was always doing really cool boy stuff. Together we played fighting games, built cubbyhouses, went looking for new species of bugs and ate Milo straight from the tin. I dont think he liked being the only boy. It certainly didnt help that he had a pushy younger sister who followed him everywhere, demanding that he play with her.

While I was very young, my family lived in Papua New Guinea (PNG). My dad had been posted to an army unit in Wewak, on the northern coast. I remember it being very warm and tropical there. I loved being able to swim every day and play in the narrow slice of jungle that was right behind our house.

One day, when Ced was about seven years old, he said he was going exploring in the jungle with a few boys from next door. It sounded like a lot of fun so I decided that I would go too. Well, that didnt go down well with Ced. My brother was so angry. I didnt know why. I wasnt going to annoy him by talking to him or any of his friends. I just wanted to be part of the adventure.

So I followed them. I pushed through dense foliage and undergrowth a few metres behind Ced and his mates. It was exciting to be exploring the jungle like a real adventurer. I fell down in a shallow creek and was caked in mud, but I didnt care: I was having the time of my life. But my brother didnt want some little girl following him around while he played with his friends. He walked faster and faster until I could no longer see or hear him in front of me.

It was a while before I realised that I was alone. All I could see around me was the thick vegetation of the jungle. I burst into tears. I was so upset that my brother had left me behind. It hurt so much to think that I had been rejected being lost in the middle of the jungle paled in comparison. I stumbled around for ages until finally I could hear voices: Yaah!

I came upon a clearing. There was Ced. He didnt look too pleased to see me. His friends were cross too. He told me to go home and leave them alone. He didnt want me poking around in their business. I started bawling, then turned and ran blindly into the jungle, trying to find my way home.