BASRA/KUWAIT CITY, 1 April 2003 — We drove from Basra to the British Armored Transport Division’s encampment at a location I cannot reveal. After showing our unilateral media identification and being searched, we were allowed into the camp and welcomed by the security officer, who explained the conditions of our stay. If we violated any of the rules, he stated we would be endangering the lives of his troops and would be asked to leave.
The main rule was not to use any lights at night except red lights, as he was worried about Iraqi planes flying over and more generally giving away the location of the camp. He drilled us on such things as “scud alerts” and “gas, gas, gas”. At the announcement of a scud alert, we were to grab our gas masks and dive underneath our SUV’s — or, if we had bothered to dig a trench, to dive into it. In the event of a gas attack, we were to put on our gas masks and await further instructions.
The conversation grew more ominous as he told us we were surrounded by Iraqis and that we should not leave or return to the camp at night as the situation was unpredictable. Then he proceeded to tell us of the risk of “friendly fire”.
I had to have that one explained to me. How can anyone firing at me be considered friendly?
“The Americans have a policy of shoot first and ask questions later. Since the Americans use different codes and call signs and different radio communications methods, there is often a lapse in communication between both sides. Three times since the camp was set up, US troops traveled along the road running alongside the camp and mistook this encampment for an Iraqi one and opened fire. No one has been hurt.”
I was amused at the fact that he tried to make this seem less dangerous than Iraqi fire. To me, fire is fire.
Anyhow, we settled in for the night as we had not really slept well the night before in Basra. Mohammed and I had no sleeping bags, nor a decent blanket; so we kept waking up every 20 minutes or so to turn on the heater in the two-door Pajero in which we were sleeping.
The following morning when we woke up, we decided we wanted to try to enter Basra. In our minds, we thought if the situation were as dangerous as the night before there would be no way the British would let us in. With that in mind we prepared our convoy of five vehicles manned by seven Italian journalists, three French, three Argentinians — and, of course, two Saudis.
As we drove to Basra, the scene was exactly as it had been the day before, except that there were more things burning there. We stopped at the checkpoint before the bridge which, once crossed, led straight into Basra. There were around 20 people waiting to get into Basra on foot.
We asked the soldier there if it was all right for us to proceed. He advised us that the situation was not yet entirely in control, but we were free to walk in at our own risk.
Mohammed Al-Deleami and I left our truck at the checkpoint and started on foot, taking pictures and shooting video as we went. After crossing the bridge that led into Basra, Sabine — a video editor from France TV2 — drove by and asked if we had seen her cameraman, who apparently had gone missing.
She explained that the soldiers said it was all right for us to take our cars into Basra. We told her we weren’t sure where her cameraman was and asked her for a ride into the city. I got in the front seat and started shooting some video, and Mohammed got in the back.
As we entered Basra, we noticed that the gas station was open and running, an indication that they had electricity. Some stores appeared to be open, and customers were walking in and out of them. Everyone seemed to be getting on with their business.
Then, suddenly, we heard a series of four loud explosions, the unmistakable sound of tanks opening fire. We couldn’t see where it was coming from. Sabine had already donned her bulletproof vest and helmet. Mohammed and I looked at her for some reassurance.
“Don’t worry, it is far away from us. Trust me, I was in Kosovo and Afghanistan. I’ll let you know if we are in real danger.”
Then a machine gun let rip. It was closer and louder than the other night in Umm Qasr. Sabine jerked the SUV to the left very hard, jumped the median and started going back toward the bridge — leaving Basra behind.
As we approached the bridge, a British tank blocked the road and our passage to safety. Sabine tried to go around it, but the operator turned his turret in our direction, blocking our escape. We were in open ground and there was no cover. Sabine turned the SUV around and headed back into town where we might be able to seek cover between the buildings. Mohammed sat in the back crouched down looking at me, while I tried my best to put on a brave face.
As we approached the first intersection in Basra, two kilometers past the bridge, we saw a statue of Saddam that had not been defaced, riddled with bullets or torn down. An indication that the US/UK troops had not gotten to it yet. Next to it were four uniformed Iraqi police officers directing traffic through the intersection. In the SUVs in front of us were the seven Italian journalists and the Argentinians. As the Italians made a U-turn at the intersection to try to leave Basra, unaware that the road was blocked by British tanks, the Iraqi policemen pointed their AK47s at them and ordered them to pull over. As they complied, the Argentinians in front of us did a U-turn and started driving against traffic. Sabine followed suit.
As we accelerated away, I shot some video of the police stopping the Italians. Sabine, accelerated to 120 km/h against traffic and made in to the bridge within a few seconds. The sound of machine gun fire again erupted and was accompanied by the sounds of tanks firing.
To our left, Sabine’s side of the SUV, mortars were landing and exploding, Sabine later told me. The tank that had initially blocked our exit was accelerating toward us at a high rate of speed. The driver swerved around us and headed toward Basra, clearing the path for the Argentinians and us to make an exit.
As we approached the check point for those leaving Basra, a British soldier told us that someone had used a satellite phone and that had alerted the Iraqis to our presence, and had opened fire on our position as a result. To date, none of the journalists have owned up to making the phone call that almost killed us.
We felt relatively safe at the checkpoint and decided to wait for the Italians expecting them to join us any moment. That was when Sabine saw her cameraman and sound engineer. They were extremely upset at Sabine, thinking she had intentionally gone in without them.
The sound engineer was in excruciating pain, clutching at his knee. He told us that a mortar had gone off near the checkpoint and had exploded near him. When the medics arrived, they said he had broken his knee and that he needed to be driven to the hospital by his crew.
We informed the same soldier who had earlier allowed us in to Basra that the Iraqis had seven of our journalists. He said it was not his problem.
We waited an hour for the Italians to show up, but they never did. We decided to drive to Umm Qasr to use our Kuwaiti mobiles to report their disappearance as the network reached there. Satellite phones were a bad idea at this point.
While we waited, we witnessed three Iraqis surrender to the British. They were made to show their Iraqi Army IDs to make sure that they were not just wanting to be taken away to the shelter and food and water that was provided to POWs, as the POWs were being treated better than the regular citizens fleeing Basra seeking food and water and safety.
As we left Basra, I looked around at the area and people on the outskirts and they were going about their lives as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. A small child was picking crops from the soil, either oblivious — or accustomed — to what was going on. When we arrived back at our encampment, we had to check in with the security officer to let him know we were back but had lost seven journalists to the Iraqis and one journalist had broken his knee.
An hour later as we rested and pondered the events of the day in Basra, the security officer for the camp explained that since we were not embedded and did not have Iraqi visas we would not be allowed to stay at his camp after the night had passed. We were told that in the morning, we would have to pack our equipment and we would be escorted by armed soldiers to Kuwait. Iraq was too dangerous for unilateral journalists, he explained.
And that is exactly what happened the next day. We were made to pack and we were escorted to Kuwait. After three days in Iraq, wearing the same clothes, socks and underwear without showering or having a good night’s rest, I walked into my hotel room in Kuwait City, had a hot shower, ordered smoked salmon and grilled meat and started planning to get back into Iraq.
(Last of a three-part series)
