wondering what the hell was going on.
“Saleh will see me destroyed, whatever that takes,” Hussein Ali explained in Arabic. “He and I were rivals in the old Army, before the invasion.” That pretty well confirmed my suspicions about just how long Hussein Ali had been at this game. “I am also too much of a political liability to the Mullah. While the Iranians might accept an accord with him, because of the circumstances of the war with the Salafists, I have killed too many of them, and my name is known to the Pasdaran.” The Pasdaran was another name for the IRGC. “I would disappear, quietly. Maybe I would be found with my throat cut. I am not interested in dying on their terms. You have been friends to us, and have fought for a cause not your own.” He raised a hand. “Yes, you fought for money. But you did not have to take this contract. You did not have to sacrifice your men for Basra, or stay on to help us after they died. Considering that we are about to be men without a country, I cannot think of a better course of action than to join your company.”
It took a second for that to sink in. He wasn’t just talking about joining forces to get out of Basra; he was talking about signing on as Praetorian personnel.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” I said slowly. “You want to join the company? You want to be Praetorian Security contractors?”
“Yes,” Hussein Ali said. “That is what we wish.”
Mike, Eddie, Jim, and I all looked at each other for a moment. “We’ve never hired anybody on the fly before,” Eddie pointed out.
“And with good reason,” I replied. “But under the circumstances…” I turned back to Hussein Ali. “Ordinarily we are extremely selective about who we hire. This maintains a standard and is what makes us effective enough that you and the Mullah hired us to help you purge the Qods Force officers from the PPF. However, in this situation, I think we can take some of you on a probationary basis. Once we get out, you’d have to pass our screening and training course to stay, but for now, I’d say we can use all the guns and local expertise we can get. How many of you want to come with us?”
“Twenty-five to thirty,” was the reply.
“And they’re all al Khazraji?” I asked.
Hussein Ali nodded even while Hassan was translating. “They are all family, yes.”
I nodded. That would make things simpler. A major problem with Arab militaries is that Arabs tend to be “amoral familialists.” That means that to them, anyone outside the family—and families can get pretty big—isn’t worth their time, help, or blood. So, when surrounded by soldiers of other families and tribes, they tend not to fight so hard for the outsiders around them. The exceptions have always been units made up of one tribe or family.
“They’ll be your team,” I told him. “I know they’re going to be larger than one of our teams, but under the circumstances, I only want one point of contact; it’ll simplify communications, and with the language barrier, simplicity is going to be key.”
I realized that that kind of separation had the potential to cause rifts in a situation where we’d have to trust each other just to stay alive, but frankly, it wasn’t too different from what we’d been doing with the militia-turned-PPF for the last couple of months. We’d managed to build a decent rapport with most of these guys, and I hoped that it would hold. Shared hardship and danger would go a good ways toward ensuring that it did.
“How much time do we have?” I asked quietly.
Hussein Ali shook his head. “Perhaps a day.”
“If he has any idea that we’re on to him, Daoud will move faster,” Mike said. “He’s a slimy little fucker, but he’s clever.”
“Think of it as a dress rehearsal for Baghdad,” I said. “Start getting everybody ready to move.” I looked Hussein Ali in the eye.
“Saleh will see me destroyed, whatever that takes,” Hussein Ali explained in Arabic. “He and I were rivals in the old Army, before the invasion.” That pretty well confirmed my suspicions about just how long Hussein Ali had been at this game. “I am also too much of a political liability to the Mullah. While the Iranians might accept an accord with him, because of the circumstances of the war with the Salafists, I have killed too many of them, and my name is known to the Pasdaran.” The Pasdaran was another name for the IRGC. “I would disappear, quietly. Maybe I would be found with my throat cut. I am not interested in dying on their terms. You have been friends to us, and have fought for a cause not your own.” He raised a hand. “Yes, you fought for money. But you did not have to take this contract. You did not have to sacrifice your men for Basra, or stay on to help us after they died. Considering that we are about to be men without a country, I cannot think of a better course of action than to join your company.”
It took a second for that to sink in. He wasn’t just talking about joining forces to get out of Basra; he was talking about signing on as Praetorian personnel.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” I said slowly. “You want to join the company? You want to be Praetorian Security contractors?”
“Yes,” Hussein Ali said. “That is what we wish.”
Mike, Eddie, Jim, and I all looked at each other for a moment. “We’ve never hired anybody on the fly before,” Eddie pointed out.
“And with good reason,” I replied. “But under the circumstances…” I turned back to Hussein Ali. “Ordinarily we are extremely selective about who we hire. This maintains a standard and is what makes us effective enough that you and the Mullah hired us to help you purge the Qods Force officers from the PPF. However, in this situation, I think we can take some of you on a probationary basis. Once we get out, you’d have to pass our screening and training course to stay, but for now, I’d say we can use all the guns and local expertise we can get. How many of you want to come with us?”
“Twenty-five to thirty,” was the reply.
“And they’re all al Khazraji?” I asked.
Hussein Ali nodded even while Hassan was translating. “They are all family, yes.”
I nodded. That would make things simpler. A major problem with Arab militaries is that Arabs tend to be “amoral familialists.” That means that to them, anyone outside the family—and families can get pretty big—isn’t worth their time, help, or blood. So, when surrounded by soldiers of other families and tribes, they tend not to fight so hard for the outsiders around them. The exceptions have always been units made up of one tribe or family.
“They’ll be your team,” I told him. “I know they’re going to be larger than one of our teams, but under the circumstances, I only want one point of contact; it’ll simplify communications, and with the language barrier, simplicity is going to be key.”
I realized that that kind of separation had the potential to cause rifts in a situation where we’d have to trust each other just to stay alive, but frankly, it wasn’t too different from what we’d been doing with the militia-turned-PPF for the last couple of months. We’d managed to build a decent rapport with most of these guys, and I hoped that it would hold. Shared hardship and danger would go a good ways toward ensuring that it did.
“How much time do we have?” I asked quietly.
Hussein Ali shook his head. “Perhaps a day.”
“If he has any idea that we’re on to him, Daoud will move faster,” Mike said. “He’s a slimy little fucker, but he’s clever.”
“Think of it as a dress rehearsal for Baghdad,” I said. “Start getting everybody ready to move.” I looked Hussein Ali in the eye.
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