Road warriors

Ancient history: The Ziggurat of Ur, in southeast Iraq, is believed to be 4000 years old. It was built by the order of Ur- Nammu as a temple for the moon god Nanna. Ur is also the birthplace of Abraham, father of the Hebrews.

Mobile homes: Many Iraqis live a nomadic existence in tents, herding goats, sheep or cattle. This tented home was located in the province of An Nasiriyah.

Ships of the desert: The modern freighter of the Iraqi desert bypasses more traditional forms of transport.

Acknowledged: An Iraqi woman waves to a passing convoy of ASLAVs.

Patrols by Australian soldiers through southern Iraq are an everyday occurrence. Roadie Cpl Cameron Jamieson joins the ASLAVs crews and spends a day rumbling through the desert.

The line of dusty ASLAVs stretches back for more than 50m, the crews either seated on the steel hulls of their cavalry chargers or clustered around the vehicle’s tail ramp, waiting for the order to go.

Today I have been granted permission to travel with an Australian convoy from Camp Smitty to a major coalition base where we will collect more troops for the AMTG and some semi-trailers laden with rations.

I am riding in the lead vehicle so I can get the best opportunity for photographs as we travel through the Iraqi countryside, but that also means we could be the fi rst to fi nd trouble.

Such thoughts are quickly forgotten as the vehicle commander, Sgt Jeffery Rolfe, strides up to the ASLAV calling “start up, ramp up”.

There is a flurry of activity as helmets are donned and dust goggles are fixed in place, followed by the roar of the engine and the gentle jarring that tells us the ramp is closed.

With a slight lurch and a plume of exhaust smoke our vehicle powers into motion and we leave Camp Smitty behind we drive into the Al Muthanna landscape.

As we turn from the dirt entry track on to the tarred provincial road I look across at our operator, Tpr Dan Flynn. Tall and thin, he is normally a driver, but today he got lucky.

His vehicle is down for maintenance, but instead of being left behind he was tasked with being our operator, the soldier who watches out for any threat that may be approaching from the side or rear of the vehicle.

He was in the queue for breakfast when he found out about the job.

“I jumped up and down and called out ‘yee-haa’,” he says. “I like being an operator – it’s a job that needs to be done well. You just can’t sit there and not do your job – that’s when bad stuff will happen.”

During the course of the day I will learn that when things are slack he is a typical Australian teenager – relaxed and always joking. But when he is on the job he is transformed into a typical Australian soldier – focused, quiet and professional.

That’s what I see now, and that’s how he will stay for the next two hours.

Only when we are safe within the coalition base will he start to smile and joke again.

Sgt Jeffery Rolfe looks like he’s been a vehicle commander forever. Tanned and athletic, he has the air of a career soldier about him.

At 34, the East Timor veteran is younger than me, but I wouldn’t hesitate to take orders from him.

In his crew helmet and shaded goggles he looks menacing, but he doesn’t stop to look at me.

He is keeping an eye on his surroundings, and although can’t hear his voice over the roar of the engine I can see by the way he speaks into his microphone that he is keeping his crew on the ball, his short sentences used only for instructions that will keep them alive.

I turn to look at the countryside, and for a moment I am transported back in time to the farming plains north of Moree in NSW. Childhood memories of working on my aunt’s farm return as the smell of groundwater, sheep and crops reaches out to me.

The surrounding countryside is flat and almost treeless, but there is some greenery thanks to the complex of irrigation canals that feed water from the Euphrates River and other waterways.

Children run out to wave at us while adults stand and smile as they also wave, clear signs that we are welcome.

It strikes me that no one is making them wave, and more importantly, nobody is stopping them from waving. The Iraqis genuinely want to be friendly with us.

Ready to move: Vehicle commander LCpl Matthew Davis and gunner Tpr Rhys Minton wait in the turret of their ASLAV for the order to move out. Photos by Cpl Cameron Jamieson

Watching: Sgt Jeffery Rolfe waits atop his ASLAV for the order to move out as the sun begins to set over a coalition base in southern Iraq.

Relax: Tpr Steven Maxwell relaxes outside of the confines of his driver’s station in his ASLAV.

On the road: A convoy of ASLAVs manoeuvres through a chicane at a checkpoint.

We move away from the greener irrigated areas into the drier plains of the south-east.

The countryside is arid and bleak, yet people still live here. There are the tents of nomads and flocks of sheep and goats with children and women in attendance.

The rural road gives way to a major highway, and suddenly we meet the unreal convoys of Iraq.

A seemingly endless line of petrol tankers cruises along the road, their drivers smiling at us as we speed by.

I am enjoying the smoothness of the road when Tpr Flynn suddenly swings around, his rifle pointed at the bridge ahead. As we pass under he swings back, watching for any gunman or a terrorist armed with a grenade.

It’s just routine for Tpr Flynn, but for me it’s a good reminder that you can’t let your guard down in Iraq.

We pass the Ziggurat of Ur, the 4000-year-old mud-brick stepped pyramid that was built for the Sumerian moon god Nanna.

The ancient city of Ur is also the birthplace of Abraham, the patriarch of the Hebrews.

Then we trek past more open and dusty plains until we arrive at our destination, where we can unload our weapons and relax.

I speak to our driver, Tpr Steven Maxwell, who has spent the whole trip shut inside his driver’s cockpit, watching the world around him through his array of periscopes.

The friendly driver is all smiles as he offers me a lukewarm can of Coke and we chat about his job.

“You have to keep very alert, always scanning for possible vehicle and roadside bombs and suspicious people,” he says.

“But the people here seem to be happy to see us here, and hopefully they realise we are here to help them by providing security. But you always have to be alert for that one person who wants to cause us grief.”

I also get to talk to Sgt Rolfe, who turns out to be very polite and friendly.

“I really enjoy convoys,” he says. “I can’t say there’s anything I don’t like about them. It gets you out and about, you’re always covering new ground and seeing new faces.”

He, too, is taken by the warm reception the Australians are receiving from Iraqi children.

“Kids are very influential, and they’ll do what other people are doing,” he says.

There has been a delay in gathering the passengers and trucks, and the sun is low in the sky before we leave the base for the return journey to Camp Smitty.

I offer my hatch to our passengers so they can see Iraq first-hand, but none of them stays crouched for long in the hatchway.

“There’s not much to see,” is the usual comment. I resume my watch but the light is failing so I exchange my camera for my rifle.

As we pass the darkened villages the men are gathered by the dusty coffee shops to talk about the day’s events while the women finish outside chores.

Soon it is dark and I can see Sgt Rolfe is keeping an eye on the targeting monitor of his remote weapon station, which allows him to see far ahead of the convoy for any dangers.

Suddenly he stiffens and I see Tpr Flynn point his rifle towards an object looming in the dark.

Up ahead I see a car parked on my side of the otherwise deserted road, sitting at an odd angle and facing us.

I can see two small points of light in the car like the lights of a CD player, but these seem far more sinister.

Tpr Maxwell takes evasive action and we speed safely past the vehicle without incident.

The entire convoy passes harmlessly and we continue to Camp Smitty through the moonless night.

Finally we arrive at the camp and unload our passengers. The RSM is there to meet us, and later in the mess hall the CO AMTG, Lt-Col Roger Noble, checks on the welfare of his soldiers. Like a shepherd he wants to make sure his entire flock is safe.

It is late when I return to my bunk, and I can see the look of relief on the faces of my tent-mates.

I strip off my body armour and stow away my equipment and reflect on the day’s convoy duty.

There were so many positive things, but they were always shadowed by the menace of the few who want to make life a misery in Iraq.

But it is with the help of organisations such as the AMTG that the Iraqi Army will be trained to protect their country independent of foreign help.

Slowly I ease myself onto my sleeping bag, and I ask myself was today’s trip worth the danger.

“You bet,” I say to myself.

Just like Tpr Flynn, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.