Why does a wholesome travel guide like DP dabble in the shadowy world of the military and contract soldiering?

Well first of all, a lot of our readers took their first big trip paid for by Uncle Sam. Secondly, for those who view signing up as a short cut to adventure, you should be informed that soldiering is probably the most glamorized but least adventurous profession out there. There is also the overly glamorized world of contract soldiering (also known as mercenaries) where people with military skills can work overseas protecting, training, and fighting.

There is a romantic side to contract soldiering, probably best typified by Rudyard Kipling's The Man Who Would Be King. It's a simple tale about ex-soldiers deciding to make themselves rulers in a remote northwest Indian backwater. The results are predictable, but the moral is timeless. The world is changed by men who step outside the boundaries of law and convention and take matters into their own hands. They force change. That is why you will find sedate countries both vilifying and hiring soldiers. Most people think mercenaries are cartoon characters or figments of scriptwriter's imaginations. The truth is Hollywood hires real mercenaries to consult on their action-packed feature films. Even Uncle Sam sells its expertise to Angola, Colombia and Uganda and other tin-pot countries to train local troops and indulge in close support on missions.

Adventure stirs deep in the loins of youth and there is little that a well-trained soldier can do in civilian life that matches the intensity and focus of combat. What else can well-trained adventurers do to make this world a better place and tell stories to their grandkids? In the old days, you could ride off to the Crusades, discover the New World or just raise hell in some wealthy potentate's army. Since then, there have been few noble wars to occupy the heroic and romantic. Between our great and not-so-great wars (when Uncle Sam made you volunteer), poets, thugs and the bloodthirsty have volunteered for a variety of romantic causes, from the Russian Revolution to the Spanish Civil War. Today, those who seek to make a difference by direct action can choose to join an army or group that is actively fighting for independence, freedom or any other cause. Keep in mind that you can lose your American citizenship if you choose to be a mercenary (although no U.S. contract soldier or mercenary has to date) and your chances of being summarily executed by the side of the road if captured are high. So let's start out with the PC version of military adventure The Army.

Today's armed forces look pretty good to the hordes of young men and women who can't find jobs.

Despite the dire warnings of the State Department and foreign rumblings, there is little chance for an all-out good versus evil showdown in today's globo-cop environment. The world's businesses are just too tightly interwoven and politics too fractured to allow another Axis versus Allied confrontation. A quick look at where Uncle Sam gets to fire guns would result in firing blanks. Sure there is the quick dash to a Third World wasteland so our soldiers don't get rusty, but most of the current activity of the U.S. military consists of sitting on their behinds overseas or polishing their guns back home.

Sure, the U.S military has officially seen action in Bosnia, Korea, Vietnam, Lebanon, Iraq, Grenada, Panama, Libya, Somalia and Haiti; however, none of these have been official wars. Rather, they were primarily police actions or gun boat diplomacy. That said, there has been covert military action in Angola, Cuba, Cambodia, Laos, Nicaragua, Iran, El Salvador and numerous other areas, and training missions in Uganda, Colombia and dozens of other "which end does the bullet come out" armies we call allies. For the most part, you will see America's finest sitting on their duffs calculating their retirement income.

In the past, America had a big enemy to unleash its big army on. No more. Today's military is killing time instead of bad guys. In places like Bosnia, Lebanon and Somalia, America's finest are impotent, politically correct, overtrained and underpaid cops. With today's lack of clear objectives, simple villains or even positive role models, it is no surprise that the U.S. military is having trouble attracting the caliber of soldier it had with the draft. It's also not surprising that these gung ho soldiers want to do something meaningful with their skills when they get out. Meanwhile, our current all-volunteer army has lower scores, lower average IQ levels, and gender modified achievement levels as equipment and technology become more advanced and complicated. Just what would our well fed, by-the-book, bed-at-night, politically-correct, Geneva Convention style military do against barefoot mujahedin or female suicide bombers? Unlike the days of the Rough Riders when bar fighters, intellectuals, noblemen and cowboys joined up to fight the good fight, today's army attracts a totally different crowd. It could be said that today's military, with its Clintonesque desire to be PC, does about all it can do to take the adventure out of military service.

What can you expect if you sign up in today's army? The Army's nine-week basic training program at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, transforms civilians to soldiers 60 raw recruits at a time. At bases like Fort Jackson, 70,000 military personnel are trained annually, 3 million since the base's opening in 1917.

Upon arrival, you can expect to fill out horrendous amounts of paperwork. You spend the first six days at the Reception Battalion, where you pick up your uniforms, have your head shaved and are given 16-hour doses of KP, or kitchen patrol. The second week is filled with 12-hour days (with reveille at 4 a.m.), drill and ceremony movements, classroom work, land and navigation courses, bayonet assault training and an obstacle course centered around the Victory Tower.

The second month begins with basic rifle marksmanship. You will learn to understand and care for your M-16 like no other physical object you own. You will learn to fire at targets as far as 300 meters away. Based on your performance, you will be called a marksman, sharpshooter or expert. Toward the end of the second month, the weaponry gets serious, with the M-60 machine gun, AT4 antitank weapon and hand grenades. Instead of firing your weapon, you get a taste of what it will be like on the receiving end, as you learn how to move around under fire complete with barbwired obstacles, exploding dynamite and M-60 rounds being fired over your head as you crawl 300 meters on your belly.

The last week of training intensifies with PT testing and working with explosives. The climax is a three-day field exercise, where trainees get to play war by digging foxholes and taking eight-mile hikes with full packs. The last few days are spent cleaning barracks in preparation for the next cadets. How tough is it? New recruits will say very; the old salts will say not as tough as it used to be. Corporal punishment was banned in the mid-1970s, and sexual harassment has been added to the list of subjects taught. Minor punishment is confined to "smoke sessions," for the less than motivated. These semipunitive periods of intense physical training are designed to remind the errant soldier who is in charge. Soldiers are chewed out using the entire spectrum of profanity.

The front-leaning rest position (a push-up that is never completed) is also used as punishment. There is no form of entertainment, since there technically is no rest time. Television, newspapers and radios are taboo. Mail and occasional phone calls are allowed. Three washing machines and five showerheads are considered enough to keep 60 active men clean.

Once out of basic training, you can expect to be posted to an area in line with your specialty. The military is still using technology about 10-20 years behind what you find on the outside. The main focus in the military is changing from'40s style ground wars to'70s style rapid-deployment tactics. The Army provides lousy pay, good benefits, excellent training and a chance to pack in two careers in a lifetime. As for furthering a cause or making the world a better place, one only has to look at Lebanon, Kuwait, Somalia and Vietnam to see the results of gunboat diplomacy.

The more romantic and politically insensitive might want to consider joining the Legion. The Legion is, more or less, France's colonial houseworker, oppressing minorities, liberating missionaries and generally keeping the natives from getting too restless. The Legion knows it does France's dirty work and recruits accordingly. They will take all comers, preferably foreigners and men who will not draw too big a funeral procession. The Legion is tough and disposable.

The best example of the Legion's mindset is the single most revered object in their possession-the wooden hand of Captain Jean Danjou on display in the museum in Aubagne. Danjou lost his hand when his musket misfired and blew up. He then died with the 59 worn-out survivors defending a hacienda on April 30, 1864, in a small hamlet called Camerone in Mexico. His men, exhausted after a long forced march to evade the 2000-strong Mexican army, decided to die rather than surrender. His wooden hand was found by the tardy relief column and enshrined to commemorate his courage. Over 10,000 legionnaires died at Dien Bien Phu in 1954 in a similar debacle. One unit suffered a 90 percent loss at Cao Bang, only to have 576 out of 700 killed four years later at Dien Bien Phu.

A normal army would frown upon the lack of reinforcement, bad strategies and resulting waste of manpower. The Legion (like all of French Military history) myopically elevates folly into legend and attracts thousands of eager recruits every year. The basic lesson is that with only 75 percent of the Legion being French, they are considered disposable.

Despite its notoriety, the Legion is still the army of choice when young men dream of adventure. The Legion is the tough guy's army, tailor-made for Hollywood film scripts, home for intellectuals, criminals and outcasts. It's a close-knit band of hardy, brutal men who are either escaping misguided pasts or seeking adventure in exotic places and doing heroic deeds. The lure of the Legion is communicated to us via simplistic movies like Beau Geste, or simplistic books that romanticize its violence and bloodshed. What they don't tell you is that the Legion has always been brutal and ill-equipped. But you get to learn to be a professional killer and chances are high that you will use those skills on other people.

The Legion was created in 1831 by King Louis Phillipe to assist in the conquest of Algeria. The king correctly assumed that paid mercenaries would not complain about the conditions or political correctness in carrying out his orders. Since then, the Legion has been used to fight France's dirty little wars in Algeria, Indochina, Africa and the Middle East. Although there have been many heroic battles fought in some of the world's most remote and hostile regions, you are better served by reading the multitudes of books about the Legion. The reality today is that the Legion has been downsized and specialized.

The Legion is one of the few action outfits (like the former Selous Scouts of Rhodesia or Oman's mostly British army) which offers the professional adventurer a steady diet of hardship broken up by short bursts of excitement and danger. This format has attracted many of the world's best-trained soldiers, like the SS after WWII or Special Forces vets from Vietnam. The world of adventure is shrinking, however. Today the French Foreign Legion is made up of 8500 officers and men from more than 100 countries. They no longer have any ongoing wars that require constant replacements. They now focus on picking and choosing from amongst the world's tough guys to enable them to field soldiers who are fluent in many languages and specialities without the religious, political or ethnic barriers that hamper other peacekeeping or expedition forces.

How to Get in

There are 16 Legion recruiting centers in France, the most popular being Fort de Nogent in Paris. Just ask at the police station for the Legion Etrangere. The more focused head straight for Aubagne, just outside of the dirty Mediterranean port of Marseille. You will be competing with over 8000 other eager Legionnaire wannabe's for the 1500 slots available. East Europeans make up about 50 percent of the eager candidates these days. Candidates are tested for their intelligence and physical fitness, and special skills are a definite plus. If you just murdered your wife's boyfriend the week before, be forewarned that all candidates are run through Interpol's data banks and the Legion cooperates with them to weed out murderers. If you just want to escape the IRS or alimony payments, the Legion could care less. After all, what better inducement is there to staying after your third year in Djibouti than the thought of spending that same time in jail Stateside.

You won't be required to bring an ID or proof of anything; when you sign up, you will be assigned a nom de guerre and a nationality. Being Canadian is popular, and calling yourself Rambo is definitely an old joke.

You must pass the same general standards as the French Army, but then the Legion takes over. You will learn to march like a mule in hell-long forced marches with heavy packs; jungle, mountain and desert training. You can bail out during the first four months of training, but from then on, you will speak the thick, crude French of the Legionnaire and learn to be completely self-sufficient in the world's worst regions.

There is basic training in Castelnaudary (between Carcassone and Toulouse, just off the A61), commando training in St. Louis near Andorra, and mountain training in Corsica. Four weeks into your training, you will be given the Kepi blanc, the white pillbox hat of the Legionnaire. Unlike the Navy SEALs or Western elite forces, the accommodations are simple and the discipline is swift, and other than special prostitutes who service the legion, there is little to look forward to in the mandatory five years of service. Legionnaires can get married after 10 years of service.

Once you pass basic training, you will be trained in a specialized category: mountain warfare, explosives or any number of trades that make you virtually unemployable upon discharge (except in another mercenary army). French citizens cannot serve, except as officers. Those French officers who sign on do so for a taste of adventure. In troubled times, the Legionnaires are always the first to be deployed to protect French citizens in uprisings or civil wars.

With this international makeup, it is not surprising that Legionnaires today find themselves as peacekeepers, stationed in the tattered shreds of the French empire or with the U.N. You may be assigned to protect the European space program in Kourou, in the steamy jungles of French Guiana, or to patrol the desert from Quartier Gaboce, in the hot baked salt pan of Djibouti. When it hits the fan as in Kolwezi or Chad, you can expect some excitement, a quick briefing, an air drop into a confused and bloody scene, followed by years of tedium, training and patrol.

Since the Legion attracts loners and misfits, and because many of them spend their time in godforsaken outposts, it is not hard to understand that the Legion becomes more than a job. In fact, the motto of the Legion is "Legio Patria Nostra," or "The Legion Is Our Homeland," which describes the mindset and purpose. Many men serve out their full 20 years, since they are unable to find equally stimulating work on the outside.

When you get out, you don't get much other than a small pension, and the opportunity to become a Frenchman (Legionnaires are automatically granted French citizenship after five years). After a lifetime of adventure, and divorced from their homeland, the men of the Legion can look forward to retirement at Domaine Danjou, a ch,teau near Puyloubier (12 miles west of St. Maxim, north of the A7) in southern France, where close to 200 Legionnaires spend their last years. This is where the Legion looks after its own, its elderly, wounded and infirm. Here, the men have small jobs, ranging from bookbinding to working in the vineyards. Later, they will join their comrades in the stony ground of the country that never claimed them but for which they gave their lives. Remember, the Legion has always been disposable.

I joined the French Foreign Legion at Fort de Nogent on June 17, 1982. I joined for all the stereotypical reasons that young men do. Bored and dissatisfied in the British Army, I had read Simon Murray's book, Legionnaire, and decided I wanted to be the best-an elite soldier. Most of all, I wanted to fight. To a certain extent, I achieved that goal. Actually, I went AWOL from the British Army to join the Legion. The first thing my father knew about it was when the M.P.s turned up at his house and started chasing my little brother down the road thinking he was me. (My father was a civil servant, so the whole incident was very embarrassing to him and he was really angry with me, to put it mildly.)

I spent seven months in Beirut in 1983 and two years in Djibouti from 1986-1988. What I didn't realize when I signed up for the first five years was that 99.5 percent of the time I would be bored shitless, and 0.25 percent of the time I would be looking for clean underpants. My experiences in the Legion included work as a parachutist, sniper instructor, cold weather commando, long range reconnaissance patrol, combat diver, amphibious assault, unarmed combat and military skier. I completed my tour of duty as an infantry corporal in charge of nine infantry Legionnaires.

Life in the Legion was like a clip from a recruitment film. Everything I did was regimented. We marched at 66 paces a minute, singing marching songs in French and German. I worked from reveille until almost lights out five days a week and again most of the day on Saturday. Sunday was my day off unless I had guard duty, exercise duty, a course to study or had managed to land in prison. (Speaking of prison, the platoon commander can have you sent to prison for seven days for poor humor and if you're not smiling when you come out, you'll get another 15 days for a permanent bad attitude).

I wasn't permitted to wear civilian clothes for the first five years unless I had a leave pass for 72 hours or more. (I learned you don't get those unless you've spent a tour of four months or more abroad.) My salary in the Legion ranged from UK$2500 to UK$18,000 depending on risk/country. Most of the guys end up spending their wages on knives, cameras, booze, drugs and whores.

Fights are common, not only between Legionnaires but also between Legionnaires and NCOs. So, it's very much a case of survival of the fittest. (Only recently have deaths on Legion bases begun to be investigated). Rules are strictly enforced. It is not cool to drink a bottle of whisky, smoke an ounce of grass with your mates, then hit the town. It is definitely uncool to beat up a gendarme in Marseille, throw his sidearm in the water and then run away. If he catches up with you and you're arrested, it can take years before you're free.

Life in the Legion is simple, brutal, and seems surprisingly normal because of the indoctrination recruits undergo. The Legion is a politician's dream; the indoctrination is such that, unlike a normal army, where it might be glorious to fall in combat, many Legionnaires think they are already dead. I only began to see it as abnormal after I left.

I left the Legion after my two year tour of Djibouti, moved to England and married the Ethiopian bar girl I had lived with in Djibouti. I had met her at the Hotel Menelek when I was a corporal in the Legion. (Some psychoanalysts might say that I was keeping the Legion with me after I left.) I may have left the Legion physically, but mentally I was, for all intents and purposes, still a Legionnaire. I was tough, arrogant, abrasive, sexist and violent. The first civilian job I took was as a shelf stocker in a supermarket. There was little demand for snipers in Southeastern England. Because I was uncompromising and ruthlessly efficient, I swiftly became shift manager. Most people who knew me before would admit to a grudging respect...but in reality they were frightened by something they could never comprehend.

My marriage broke up and my desire to "get away" led me to Mogadishu in 1993 where I worked for the Save the Children Fund. I ended up doing aid work because I was so desperate to get away from my Ethiopian wife and I thought I could manage logistics better than most (in a war zone!). There are many opportunities for ex-military guys both in the U.N. and in N.G.O.s. For the first time, I started to appreciate people for what and who they are. But I was still a "cowboy" at heart, death and risk were not cognitive thoughts for me.

I met my wife Isabella when she was a nurse working for the Save the Children Fund in Mogadishu. She's a Kiwi and I traveled to New Zealand with her on Christmas Day in 1993. It wasn't until I was racing around Rwanda as team leader for an international rescue committee in 1994, six years after leaving the Legion, that I thought about being killed and realized I had too much to live for. I didn't want to get killed in Rwanda because my wife was four months pregnant. I had finally broken away from the Legion. I was lucky and met the right person. We now have a daughter and live in New Zealand. I love them both very much. They have given me the sense of belonging that I was searching for when I joined the Legion. I'm a very private sort of a guy (as you'd expect from an ex-sniper), I have no close friends other than my wife and daughter. Maybe someday I'll write a novel about my experiences I'll call it "the Humanitarian Combat Warrior."

All right, you do your two, five or 20 years and you're out. Because McDonald's doesn't currently need any Green Berets or Navy SEALs to take down Burger Kings, just who is hiring military experts? Well technically, nobody. Although many countries like Brunei (which uses Ghurkas), the Vatican (which has about 100 Swiss guards) and Oman have armies staffed by paid foreigners (about 360 British officers were "seconded" to the Sultan to fight rebels), you will have to be hired out of an existing army (typically the British Army) to be considered. Many foreign armies are happy to enlist your services and the Canadian, British or Australian armed forces will even give you citizenship when you are finished. Times are tough, so there are plenty of people who like the idea of paid housing and training. You can expect stringent entry requirements and a thorough check of your background.

So now that you've realized that late night 7-Eleven clerks and bank tellers see more firefights than a U.S. Marine, just where can adventurers find some action?

If the Legion seems a little too Euro or confining, you can try the next level down: an Afghan rebel. The qualifications are that you be a Muslim, don't mind being completely disposable and hate infidels more than the IRS. The most volunteering folks on this planet are the Afghans, or veterans of the war in Afghanistan against Russia. Being an Afghan means getting smack-dab in the middle of the Superbowl of religious wars: Jihad. There is always Jihad, or the Holy War, being exported by Iran against Russia, the Great Satan (us) and all its allies. Think of it as the Crusades of the 21st century.

Jihad started with Mohamed a century and a half ago and was really cooking during the crusades. It died down for five centuries, and then, an almost retro enthusiasm hit the big time twenty years ago. But the big J restarted in 1979, when the Soviets decided to install a puppet ruler backed by the Soviet Army. As with all foreign countries who decided to roll armies into Afghanistan, they forgot that the tribes of Afghanistan love a good fight. In fact, when there is no occupying power, they love to fight amongst themselves.

The "Afghans," or outsiders who fought in Afghanistan, are the direct effect of too much money, training and weapons being funneled into one of the world's poorest regions-Pakistan and Afghanistan. The U.S. decided this would be a great time to give the Russians a bloody nose, prompting them to send in massive amounts of money to support every tiny tribal religious or political group that hated the Russians. All the Afghan groups had to do was provide a head count, a list of weapons, an area of operations, and they were in business. Naturally, the real mujahedin looked upon the money from the infidels warily.

The result is that the U.S. and the Gulf States (through the CIA, through Pakistan) created a new "franchise" of warrior clans armed to the teeth with the common goal of causing the Russians grief. Simple gun-happy tribesmen were trained in everything from how to make explosives out of fertilizer to how to use Stinger missiles. The CIA not only provided more than enough money; they created an unholy network where these factions could swap war stories and business cards.

Over 10,000 volunteers traveled to Afghanistan to fight the Russians, most of them lured by money and a chance to poke the bear in the nose. Many more people, after hearing of the plight of the Afghan people, sent funds and were predisposed to the total annihilation of the Russian soldiers in Afghanistan. Recruits and funding were actively sought in 28 states in America, but the number of U.S. volunteers was minuscule.

The war in Afghanistan was the largest covert operation of the Reagan era. Over the course of the war, Western countries pumped in from $25 million to several billion dollars a year. The CIA, Saudi government and Gulf States signed most of the checks, with 70 percent of the U.S. aid going to training and arming the Islamic radicals. Pakistan was hired to provide training to the volunteers, and nobody ever thought about what these people were going to do after the war. The Russian people simply went bankrupt and flushed the Communist Party down the drain; the Russian army went into business for itself, renting and selling weapons to any social or political group that wanted them, and the well-trained and ideologically infused Afghans became terrorists for hire. Keep in mind that the term "Afghan" refers to fighters who traveled or were trained in Pakistan to fight Russians. They are typically young Muslim men (now in their thirties) turned on by clerical haranguing and with little financial incentive to remain in their home country. Their home countries are usually Muslim, have high birth rates, high unemployment and strong representation by Iranian-backed political and religious groups (usually from Egypt, Sudan, Algeria, Libya or Pakistan).

It is no coincidence that all the men arrested in the World Trade Center bombing were trained or involved in the war in Afghanistan.

It is no coincidence that all these men have links to Afghan Prime Minister Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, who was the most entrepreneurial and most dedicated anti-Soviet. He allegedly blew over $1 billion of U.S. aid during the war against the Soviets, but the truth is he squirreled away enough weapons to fight a civil war after the Russians left. That Hekmatyar hated the West didn't seem to bother Ronald Reagan. In the mid-'80s Hekmatyar set up an Afghan refugee center to coordinate and support the works of fundamentalist activities in America. The taliban recently told DP that when they took control of Hekmatyar's stockpile of arms, they acquired enough weapons and ammunition to fight a war for 20 years.

Most of the Afghan volunteers whom Hekmatyar recruited and trained did not come from America but ended up in America as refugees from Afghanistan. The CIA facilitated the handing out of visas and green cards, and many of these recent transplants can be found driving taxis in New York City. Using the funds supplied by the CIA, Hekmatyar set up a center in Brooklyn to raise funds for the mujahedin in Afghanistan and to send volunteers to fight in Afghanistan. The center also organized paramilitary training in the United States for Muslims.

Today mujahedin can be found in the refugee camps and mosques of Algeria, Morocco, France, Iran, Pakistan, Sudan, Egypt and other poor Muslim countries. There is not much paying work for the surplus of fighters, but they gladly accept infidels if they have special skills.

How to Get in

If you are a traditional Westerner, forget it. You are the enemy. If you accept Islam or want to provide training or skills, you may be considered. If you are from Sudan, Pakistan, India, Egypt, Turkey, Syria, The Philippines, Saudi Arabia or the Middle East, you stand a good chance. Currently there are mini Jihads in Algeria, The Philippines, Iraq, Iran, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Chechnya, Kashmir, China, Morocco, Egypt, Sudan, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, America, Lebanon, Turkey, and many more places. If you fought in the war against Russia and have contacts, you are in like Flynn. The problem is now finding an employer or a cause. Peshawar is still the major clearinghouse for Afghans. The taliban will take any Muslim willing to fight, and there are numerous insurgencies that will take volunteers.

"If there is ever another war in Europe, it will come out of some damn silly thing in the Balkans."

Prince Bismarck
1815-1898

September 1992

New to the war, we watched silently as the backhoe dug into the garbage dump. When the story began to appear, one journalist backed away in horror, then turned to retch. Eventually, almost 90 rotting corpses lay next to the pit. All Muslims or Croats and many in their eighties, their throats had been cut by Serbs. Had we done our homework properly, of course, we would have known it was a Balkan story already centuries old. Any of those shrunken faces could have been captioned with the same line from Joyce: "History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."

At a Serb checkpoint, I'm ordered out of the car by five drunken soldiers. One begins slapping me playfully while another burns holes in my jacket with his cigarette, all breaking into sly, superior smiles at my sudden efforts to brush out the embers. At their brigade headquarters a white Land Rover bearing the BBC logo and ÎTV' in tall, black letters is proudly displayed as a war trophy. Resting on blocks, both doors mark the flight of the missile that tore the cameraman-driver to pieces. Serbs 1, media 0 on this front, though just one of the 78 journalists who would eventually die in the Balkans. Today the front lines are blanketed under freezing fog, the white opaqueness pierced with speculative bursts of automatic weapons fire. In a farmhouse-cellar-turned-bunker, the inevitable bottle of slivovitz appears and a tank commander asks if I will take a letter to a Croatian friend wounded on the other side. I agree and he writes quickly, translating as he goes along.

To Mat» Jozaku:

Mat», I'm sending you this letter with wishes for a speedy recovery. When I heard you had been injured I took the news very hard. Your old friend, Jovan Jokanovic the shopkeeper, is writing this letter. Your driver's license is still with me; I hope I can personally return it eventually. Both your homes are intact, as are your brothers' homes. Please accept greetings from all your old friends on Vlasic.

Jovan Jokanovic

Outside old friends fire into the fog in hope of killing each other.

February 3, 1993

From the Muslim village a Serbian tank has been spotted 3 km to the west and the defenders race to position their state-of-the-art, anti-armor missile supplied by Iran with CIA connivance. I'm checking my cameras in the command bunker when three bearded soldiers enter and order me out. But these are not from the Muslim Bosnian army, they're mujahedin, avowed enemies of Serbs, Croats and the infidel West. In a nearby farmhouse eight expressionless faces regard me silently. A feeling of malevolence hangs in a room strung with Arabic banners.

Will I accept Allah? The Prophet, I answer carefully, said that those of the Book are exempt from forced conversion. An acne-scarred thug in the corner hisses to his fellow fanatics, "I want to kill him." Why? The thug speaks again, fingers fluttering as his eyes lift toward the ceiling. "So you can greet Allah." But the Prophet directed all good Muslims to protect the defenseless. He snaps the safety down. "I'm going to kill you now," he smiles. "Are you afraid to die?" Their Fundamentalism demands my humiliation, that I beg before the bullet in the head. Deeply frightened, I hold my executioner's eyes and whisper, "Inshallah." Frustrated, the leader grabs my cameras. "You are not welcome here. You will leave these and go." My secular Muslim guide, equally frightened, nods imperceptibly and we walk out alive.

Minutes later I hear the launch of a missile, then an explosion as the tank bursts into flames across the valley. There's an orange flash near the burning tank. I turn to my guide to see him diving for cover. I'm at the bottom of the frozen ditch with him when the Serb artillery shell lands short of us. Rising cautiously, we brush the snow off and step out again. There's a second flash. Back into the ditch. An hour later I'm in army headquarters in Turbe, relating what I've just been through. The Muslim commander pours us each a slivovitz. "Extremists," he shrugs helplessly. Outside, the Serbs are shelling the village. There's a lull and I run for the car just as a rocket slams into the road not more than 50 meters away. When I look up people are running, limping, crawling out of the smoke and dust. I think of the next one on its way. Fuck this for a job, I decide, jumping into Li'l Sue and screeching away in the opposite direction. (The next day the mujahedin kidnapped two British mercenaries serving as instructors in the Muslim army. They were taken to the same village, tortured and murdered. I'll never know why I lived and they died.)

February 1993

From an editor's ivory tower came the suggestion that a story might be found in Pale, the Bosnian Serb headquarters. When I mentioned it to the BBC, their first question was: "Soft-skinned or hardcar?" My sotto voice "Softskinned" drew sympathetic tsks from those whose hardcars carried a ton of protective steel and Kevlar. You'll have to run the airport and its Serb and Muslim snipers, they explained, then right at the end. Not left towards Sarajevo, because that's Sniper Alley, the most dangerous stretch of road in the world. I cross to the Serb side, where a soldier hitchhiking to Pale knows a way that misses the airport altogether. We turn onto a narrow country road, then a two-lane highway, where a Serb checkpoint sends us north to a mountain track that skirts Sarajevo. Story done, I retrace the route from Pale: rocky track, then the highway, where I look for the checkpoint. But heavy fighting earlier in the day has sent the Serb military policemen into their bunkers, and I miss the crucial turn.

Come round a curve where a 10 ton truck, tires flat, hulks across the road. I brake to a stop, sure that I've gone too far. Turn the tape player down and look around, seeing fresh debris from mortar shells. A careful six-point turn to avoid the mined shoulders and I'm heading back when a Serb leaps from his bunker, firing from the hip. Out of range and heart pounding, I stop at the first farmhouse to check the way. Straight back the way you came. Are you sure? The door closes. Body armor and helmet snugged, I slash through the gears, eyes switching from road to bunker and back again. No fire when I come abreast of the position, but immediately it's behind shots snap past. I duck my head and floor it, screaming around the truck blocking the road.

And things go from bad to very bad: steel barriers and anti-tank mines. Another AK opens up from the other side. Trapped, I slam to a stop and slowly step out, hands raised as stories of journalists executed by the Serbs flash through my mind. Fifty feet away a soldier curtly motions me forward while another stares down the sights of a Kalashnikov. Unable to think of a better opener than to suggest a solidarity against their enemy, I ask with unfeigned terror: "Where are the Muslims?" He jabs a thumb into his chest and growls, "We're the Muslims. I've just busted two front lines. Dokumenti!" He demands for my papers, and I pass them over reluctantly, for nestled opposite my UN press card is-oh joy, oh joy-my Serbian accreditation. I'm soon surrounded by scowling combatants who, when I finally explain that I'm lost, think it's the funniest thing they've heard all day. All save one, whose slivovitz breath curls my nostril hairs as he wails, "But I almost killed you!" Meanwhile, my Suzuki jeep, Li'l Sue, is idling happily in the middle of the road, Nat King Cole crooning `Unforgettable' on the tape deck. I'm sent out to move her, but "keep low" they motion, pointing across the road and saying, "sniper, sniper." A sprint and dive through the open door and whip into the side road, skirting another line of mines, then into Sarajevo and a four hour interrogation as a possible Serb spy.

Awake in the freezing Holiday Inn to Serb artillery. In the dining room the warries from the world's heavies are gathering for breakfast. Long silences when shells land close enough to rattle coffee cups. Two Spanish journalists say they're driving out in a few minutes. Please, can I follow? "Si, but you must go very fast." I'm right behind you, amigo. Wrapped in flak jackets and helmets, we blast out of the underground carpark in tandem, squealing up the winding drive and racing flat out through the city, cutting across pavements where the road is blocked by rubble, hammer shifts on the corners to the sound of incoming fire. Skid into the sandbagged UN compound and tag on to the end of a French armored patrol to the Serb lines. A crumbling wall bears WELCOME TO HELL in angry brush strokes, and then it's down Sniper Alley, waiting for the sudden hole in the windshield and praying that if it happens someone will come back for me. Arrive at last Serb checkpoint, hold breath until across, then on to Kiseljak and the BBC, telling yesterday's story between gulps of scalding tea.

You're one lucky bloke. Day you went over a French photographer was hit in the throat and a Reuters chap in the foot as they were crossing the airport in softskins. Yesterday a French soldier was killed and three wounded by an RPG. I wonder suddenly at my luck in missing the airport, of going through an active front under fire from both sides, of facing the mujahedin in Bijelo Bucje. And the times under tank, mortar, rocket or artillery fire and not a scratch. How much luck are we given? Anyone know the situation between here and Travnik? Pretty nasty because of fighting between Muslims and Croats. Dutch aid driver wounded this morning, and a French TV crew took some hits, but hardcar, so no-one hurt. I try to ignore that sixth sense whispering "Don't do it," and head for Travnik.

Pass through successive checkpoints, Muslim, Croat, Muslim again. At each hastily rigged blockade fingers slip inside trigger guards and muzzles swing towards me. Approach each slowly, hoping they can see PRESS on the hood. Through the last one and the empty road winds along a narrow valley where gutted farmhouses still smolder. I pass a freshly burned out VW. Five minutes later an Opel, windows starred by bullets, blocks half the road. Below the open door something darker than the gray asphalt is congealing in the cold air. My knuckles whiten at the sound of a shot. At me? At someone else? What the fuck am I doing here? Outside Kacuni a British light tank blocks the narrow bridge. What's the situation ahead? Some automatic stuff, and there's a sniper just over there. Firing starts beyond the bridge and the hatch slams shut. Go on, or turn back? Open Li'l Sue's door and rap it twice to hear the tinny ring. She's brought me through 10,000 miles in this lunatic asylum. Probably take me 10,000 more. But not today, and I pull back.

March 1993

From the dark hills a tracer streaks over the snow-covered road and burns into the gathering dusk. Below its path more than a thousand Muslims stagger under the weight of suitcases and bags, the last of a lifetime's possessions. A father draws a small sled, his crippled daughter and her crutches balanced atop what they have been allowed to keep. A second tracer splits the air. It's a reminder of the Serbs' promise to mortar the road if their unarmed victims have not completed the three mile journey by nightfall.

Land Rovers move up and down the road collecting those who have begun collapsing in the snow. In the back of Li'l Sue five people clutch suitcases. In front an old man holds his grandson, a son and daughter-in-law sit on the hood as I edge past a British light tank and its 30mm cannon aimed toward the Serb lines. At the edge of Turbe my passengers step back into the snow. "Where will we go?" one old woman sobs. Another tracer flashes above us, scoring its way into the dark. A convoy of British army trucks looms out of the night to begin collecting the hundreds of refugees still struggling towards safety. Li'l Sue and I are no longer needed. I nose through the mass of dazed and bewildered people, surprised by my tears of anger and relief. My last story, I keep thinking, my last story from this madhouse. I'm alive and I'm going home.

So you did your time in the army and can field strip everything from a Makarov to a Chinese nuclear missile, you can fly an Apache helo or an F117 blindfolded, you could parachute directly into Saddam Hussein's Jacuzzi without tripping the disco light alarms and can speak 145 languages (including tribal dialects) and swear in 89 of them. You have been trained to kill a man just by twitching your ears, can make explosives out of Rice Krispies and list every LIC and Tango group by acronym alphabetically in Russian. You're under 40, fit and ready to go private. Congratulations, you can now work at Home Depot in the plumbing department or seek employment as a mercenary.

Well, we may be getting a little carried away but the bottom line is it won't take long before you start discovering that international security companies are forking over $10,000-$15,000 a month for high level contract soldiering these days. You only have one problem. Uncle Sam would rather see you work as a Burger King manager than sell your precious skills to the highest bidder. Yes, there are U.S. groups like MPRI and DSL who have dull-as-dishwater brochures and who do equally dull things like train foreign armies or write operational manuals in Serbo Croatian.

Any U.S. citizen entering a foreign army without prior approval (in writing) from both the Secretary of State and the Secretary of Defense will forfeit U.S. citizenship, although Congress has ruled that enlistment in a foreign army is not a clear enough declaration of intent to voluntarily renounce citizenship.

The Hague 1907 Convention banned operation on the territory of neutral states of offices for recruitment of soldiers (volunteers or mercenaries) to fight in a country at war. In 1977, part of a supplementary protocol to the 1949 Geneva Convention on the Protection of Civilian Population in Time of War made freelancers liable to court trial as criminals if they are taken POW. If found guilty, they can be simply shot on the spot as criminals.

The U.N. General Assembly reached a consensus in 1989 on recruiting, training, use and financing of mercenaries. If you are interested in volunteering, make sure you understand the laws and penalties that will suddenly apply to you. If you think fighting for money will make you popular and chicks will dig you, think again. On the other hand, if Uncle Sam has spent five years and about half a million dollars turning you into all that you can be, there are employment choices other than flipping burgers or working at Jiffy Lube.

Americans have not always been the ideal volunteers. In fact, the last two great wars showed that the majority of Americans held back until they were pushed into it, But once they were in it, they finished the job. There are two major developments you have to come to terms with.

Gringos? No me gustan.

First, most foreign armies don't want American volunteers. Americans have an image of wanting too much money, complaining too much, and creating too many political overtones when captured or killed. Recently, American mercenaries have fought in Angola, Rhodesia, Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Sierra Leone, Myanmar, the Congo, Lebanon, Bosnia and Russia. Many are motivated by religion (black Muslims in the Middle East), background (Croats in Yugoslavia), money (Central America) or a misguided sense of adventure (Angola). The U.S. is not adverse to hiring or supplying mercenaries, starting back when Benjamin Franklin hired the Prussian officer Friedrich von Steuben to instill discipline into the Continental Army, or when Claire Chennault was hired to give China grief with his Flying Tigers. And Americans are not adverse to being mercenaries (we are capitalists after all). In modern times U.S.-hired mercenaries have been as diverse as the Ray-Banned pilots that flew for Air America, the advisors who trained Nung or Montagnard tribes in Vietnam or the doomed Contras in Nicaragua. There have been Americans in the Congo, Sierra Leone, Rhodesia, Myanmar, Israel and as far back as fliers in WWI, advisors to Haile Selaisse in Ethiopia and dozens that fought and died in the Spanish Civil War.

Mercenaries continue to do our dirty, or covert work, but our government does not like the idea of you running off to fight in other people's wars.

The second development is the creation of the International Security Firm. Companies like MPRI, Sandlines and EO are doing a lot of the clean and dirty work countries can't or won't do themselves. For example, Executive Outcomes brochure promises:

• To provide a highly professional and confidential Military Advisory Service to legitimate governments.
• To provide sound military and strategic advice.
• To provide the most professional military training packages currently available to Armed Forces, covering aspects related to sea, air and land warfare.
• To provide advice to Armed Forces on weapon and weapon platform selection.
• To provide a total a-political service based on confidentiality, professionalism and dedication.

Today, those who wish to be wild geese or soldiers of fortune will find few clear career paths. You will need the minimum service and training provided by a Western military power. Special forces members, explosives experts, pilots, and officers with training experience and other specialized skills are in demand.

Although the need for foreign volunteers cannot be predicted, there are certain starting points for employment. The main centers for recruitment of mercenaries (almost always ex-soldiers) are Pretoria, Johannesburg, Istanbul, Bangkok, London, Brussels, Marseille, Washington and Beirut. High level security employers have offices in Washington, New York, Pretoria, London or Paris. They supply men to train troops, provide security and generally do what the local military can't or won't do. Make sure you have a contract and remember even the best laid plans go awry as they did for EO in PNG.

Employment with a Difference

Getting a job in the merc world is a long way from the "Employment with a difference" classified ad placed by Mike Hoare in South Africa when he set out to recruit mercenaries to fight in the Belgian Congo. Having neither the budget nor the time to train men, he put together what he called his "Wild Geese," the name of an ancient Irish band of soldiers for hire. He managed to defeat the Simbas, rescue white women and embarrass the UN. And, he received a book and movie deal later.

Remember, if you find a recruiter in a bar who is looking for "a few good men," they are usually filling grunt and junior-officer levels only for second tier gigs. The players have already cut their deal up at the top, and they need to fill in the holes to get paid. Top level giggers like Executive Outcomes got $20 million for supplying 2000 soldiers and another $20 million for arms and supplies. Not bad, but don't forget they still paid their ground pounders about $2000 a month.

There are also horror stories about hucksters preying on the gullible, as in Angola in the '70s. The U.S. government paid to hire mercenaries out of London in their bid to oust the Cuban supported MPLA. Four groups of 185 men were sent in to fight with the FNLA. It was a disaster from the start. Psychotic officers (like 25-year-old Costas Georgiou, aka "Colonel Callan") executed their own people, few skirmishes were won and when it was over, 13 mercenaries were put on trial and four were executed by a firing squad (one had to propped up on his stretcher to be shot properly). The high hopes, empty talk and wasted time continue today (see IADP: The Wild Goose Chase). Even if you do find someone who has a gig for you, remember that they get paid by the head count, and once in that country you can be turned down, arrested or sent into action on your first day without training, weapons, gear or ammo. The reality is that most experienced mercenaries either use the old boy network or simply fly to the capital city of an emerging war zone and offer their services directly to the military advisors for whichever side they feel is the most desperate. Their services usually include rounding up cannon fodder like you.

There are also a lot of home-grown soldiering that usually leads nowhere. Some like the Falangists and Chamounists in Beirut in the '80s brought in eager French Falangist Party students, but most look for trained, hardened professionals with special skills. Your paycheck is an occasional bad meal and a place in heaven for fighting the good fight. Young Kashmiris are given a few weeks training and humped off across the mountains to Indian Kashmir to raise hell and end up dead in shootouts.There seems to be no age limit. In Africa young Ugandan school boys are rounded up and used as porters for rebel groups, kidnapped young girls become part time pillows and cooks. Isn't war fun?

Death From Behind a Desk

Because of the old-boy network and need for inside contacts, many soldiers of fortune do not make their money fighting on the ground, but make themselves available for higher level training and transportation contracts. They might source leased aircraft, arrange weapons transfers, organize rescue attempts, or train eager recruits to shoot guns and blow things up. All the while living in air-conditioned comfort complete with CNN.

Today's mercenary is not a cigar-chomping, muscle-bound adventurer with a bandolier of 50mm bullets and grenades hung like Christmas ornaments. He is more likely to be an unemployed soldier 30-35 who can't find work with his specialized skills. The pay is good when you have skills and tepid if you don't (mercenaries make between $2000 and $15,500 a month, depending on skills, rank and type of job, and the benefits), EO takes great pains to provide medivac, health and life insurance as well as long term treatment for wounded. And the chances of getting killed depend on which side you pick. If you are fighting a bush war, your enemy will take great pleasure in torturing you and parading you around like a three headed goat. Americans can also lose their passport or citizenship if they fight in the service of a foreign army. Others will most definitely be jailed and tried for war crimes. Mercs are not accorded prisoner of war status under the Geneva Conventions.

Are there any loopholes? If you are hired to invade another country, destroy property, kill or hurt people, or even to destabilize a democratic or undemocratic government, you are breaking the law. If you do not live in the attacked country, have a foreign citizenship, are on a mission to rescue someone, or you're just hanging around a war zone, you can be shot as a spy or foreign agent. If you are in a country that has declared a state of war, remember it is much easier and cheaper to shoot questionable characters than to fill out the paperwork.

If you want to truly be a volunteer like the German Steiner (the Sudan) or Argentinian Che Guevara (Uganda, Cuba, Bolivia), remember that Steiner was tried, imprisoned and tortured, and Guevera was ventilated by CIA operatives and dumped in a hastily dug Bolivian grave.

There are some gray areas that afford some (but little) protection. Make sure you enlist in a recognized foreign army. Join a foreign legion like the French Foreign Legion; have a civilian work contract for a recognized government. You could fight with a recognized army in a foreign territory (like our army in the Gulf or Vietnam) that is not technically at war but helping someone else win a war.

The skinniest loophole is offering your services for a higher pay rate in a foreign army where you are seconded to another army. Technically, you can join as a regular service member if there are no local troops with comparable experience. Will that stop the opposing side from parading you around like a zoo animal, then doing a flamenco dance on your testicles? No.

Soldiers of Misfortune

Be warned that there are plenty of cheap movies and bad books attempting to add the luster of righteousness and adventure to the mercenary life. These books tend to be short on facts and long on gun talk. They provide hard-to-find tips like "never handle explosives carelessly" (from the Mercenary's Tactical Handbook by Sid Campbell) to "take no unnecessary risks" (from the African Merc Combat Manual from Paladin Press).

There are some good books on this nasty business, most long out of print: The Brother's War by John St. Jorre, Legionnaire by Simon Murray, Mercenary by Mike Hoare, The Last Adventurer by Rolf Steiner, Mercenary Commander by Jerry Puren, and probably the most accurate, well-written and depressing of the bunch, the Whores of War, Mercenaries Today by Wilfred Burchett and Derek Roebuck. Whores, published in 1977, chronicles the misfortunes of 13 American and British mercs in Angola who were captured, tried and executed or imprisoned. Sobering stuff for wannabe's.

Movies like the Dogs of War and The Wild Geese, and TV shows like Soldier of Fortune have some credible origins in real events, and real mercenaries were used as resources to create the scripts as well advise the filmmakers on location. But somehow once the cameras rolled, it all turned into pure gun love complete with sweat, bulging muscles, babes, hand held machine guns and chomping cigars.

Some would-be mercs and real mercs read Soldier of Fortune magazine. To be fair, writers, like yours truly and DP contributors Rob Krott, Jim Hooper and Roddy Scott, have been published in SOF. But in our opinion, SOF adds a little too much macho gun-love salsa to what are typically skanky, sweaty low budget guerilla tours with complicated political backgrounds. So what separates the "pass the cigars and keep feeding me ammo" publications from the real thing? Well we at DP like to think that the real litmus test of a publication's readership is always the quality of the ads. Yes, SOF is read religiously by a large military readership but there are those ads that make you wonder just who is really reading this adventure mag. Here, the terminally tough can order "Combat Babe" posters for $10, buy military medals they never won, learn how to be a private eye and even correspond with "gorgeous" and obviously lonely Russian, Asian and Latin ladies. For those who can read without the need for large pictures, there are articles on "Screw the Bitch, Divorce Tactics," secrets on how to hit a man 11 times in one second or less, or help on where to buy steroids. If you're less of a lover and more of a handyman you can learn how to convert your SKS to full auto or buy a Ferret armored vehicle.

The bottom line is the merc business is about 99 percent bullshit and one percent reality, and the reality part usually sucks. Despite having to buy your own beret, cigars and big knife, you will end up spending time in the most godawful parts of the world, and if a land mine doesn't get you, then the bugs will. If the bugs don't get you, the long arm of the law will.

Any time you leave the apron strings of Uncle Sam's army, you are on your own, and even if you are not in violation of any laws, you will be accused of being a criminal (actually, a criminal has rights-you won't) without any rights and dealt with accordingly.

To be fair, we should inject a little romance and adventure into this much maligned avocation. The true movers and shakers in the mercenary world are the classic megalomaniacs; vicious self-promoters and verbose ex-soldiers who see their role beyond that of a short-term gun toter-as a potential ruler of faraway kingdoms. So our advice, if you are going to get into this nasty business (the retirement program sucks), is to think big, don't take any checks and make sure you remember your hat size when you order your crown.

The Kingdom-making business has been around for a long time. Men like Englishman (and eventually Rajah) Brooke of Sarawak bought a fast ship with a few naval guns. He used them to chase off pirates in exchange for giant chunks of Borneo. William Walker and a bunch of ne'er do wells ran Nicaragua with a Gatling gun and a few Colt Navy pistols. Hell, even I was offered in on a deal to take over a Caribbean island, so there still must be opportunities for adventurers out there.

The late '60s and early '70s were the glory years for mercenaries like "Mad" Mike Hoare, "Black" Jacques Schramme, and Bob Denard. They weren't bright or avaricious enough to grab the main bedroom in the royal palace instead of the barracks the first time around, but it didn't take them long to figure things out. Why support a tin pot ruler so they could continue to loot the national treasury to shop in Paris when you could loot the treasury and go shopping in Paris yourself? So if you want to join "The men who would be king club," here is a short list of the folks who thought big:

The Comoros 1978

One of the more successful attempts was made by Bordeaux native Bob Denard who actually managed to run the Comoros Islands between 1978 and 1989. The Comoros are an Indian Ocean island group just northwest of Madagascar. The major export of the long forgotten islands is ylang-ylang, a rare flower used in the production of aromatic oils. On May 13, 1978, 49-year-old Denard landed with 46 men in a converted trawler named the Massiwa. He had sailed from Europe with his black uniformed crew to claim ownership of this tiny but idyllic group of islands.

Denard had been here before to train the soldiers of Marxist ruler Ali Soilih. Soilih was busy kicking out Ahmed Abdallah. Abdallah fled to Paris and later, short on funds but high on ambition, offered to cut Denard in on the deal if he would return him to power. The deal was rumored to be worth $6 million. Denard enjoyed his new role as "man who would be king." Soilih was a young despot who appointed a 15 year old to run the police department, burnt all government records, and after a witch doctor told him he would be killed by a white man with a black dog, he killed every black dog on the island. Abdallah took all the political heat as his puppet. Denard, a former vacuum cleaner salesman and policeman, had seen what a few trained soldiers could do in his various adventures as a mercenary in Katanga, Yemen and Benin. This time he was in charge. He landed quietly at night and proceeded to the palace to find Soilih in bed with three girls watching a pornographic movie. He shot him, and the next morning drove through town with Soilih's body draped over the hood. Denard had with him a black Alsatian. The crowds cheered and Denard became an able leader of the Comoros for 11 years with 12 other white mercenaries. He took a Comoran wife, bought a villa, converted to Islam and became Said Mustapha Madjoub.

During his reign, South Africa used the Comoros to ship arms to Iraq and monitor ANC training camps in Tanzania, the French used his islands to ship arms to the right wing Renamo guerillas. Finally after he (or someone else) shot the puppet ruler Abdallah in a heated argument, the tide turned against Denard. His presence angered the other African states to such a degree that the French arranged for Denard's resignation in 1989. Denard, disappointed and back in South Africa, spent his evenings planning his return to paradise. Sounds like a great premise for a sequel (See "The Man Who Would Be King Part V.")

Equatorial Guinea 1972

The Dogs of War, by Frederick Forsyth, was published in 1974. Forsyth is said to have modeled the lead character in the book after Denard. In the book and in the film, a group of white mercenaries are hired to take over a West African country on behalf of an industrialist who finds it cheaper to take over the country rather than pay for its mineral resources. The movie ends with the mercenaries suddenly having a change of heart and installing an idealistic and honest leader. Naturally, the book and the film are fiction. Well, not completely, said an investigative report by London's Sunday Times. They claimed that The Dogs of War was based on a real incident instigated by the author. The Times claimed that in 1972 Forsyth allegedly put up just under a quarter of a million dollars ($240,000) to overthrow President Francisco Macias Nguema of Equatorial Guinea. Forsyth was no stranger to the murky world of mercenaries, since he had spent considerable time in Nigeria covering the Biafran civil war. While he was there, he met a Scottish mercenary named Alexander Ramsay Gay. Gay was only too happy to train and equip a small group of men who would set up a homeland for the defeated Biafrans. It is reputed that Gay was able to purchase automatic weapons, bazookas and mortars from a Hamburg arms dealer, then hire 13 other mercenaries along with 50 black soldiers from Biafra. They then purchased a ship called the Albatross out of the Spanish port of Fuengirola. The plot was blown when one of the British mercs shot himself after a gunfight with London police. The mercenaries were denied an export permit for their weapons and ammunition, and the ship and crew were arrested in the Canary Islands en route to their target.

Forsyth denies the story or any participation in the plot and admits to nothing more than writing a solidly researched book.

The Seychelles 1981

Dublin-born "Mad" Mike Hoare was hired by persons unknown (most say former premier Mancham in cahoots with South Africa) to take over the Seychelles, a nation of 92 islands 1000 miles off East Africa. Hoare served in the Royal Armored Corps in World War II and left with the rank of Major. He emigrated to South Africa after the war and made ends meet by being a safari guide, car dealer and accountant, until he was hired by Moise Tshombe in 1964 to help him defeat rebels. Hoare put together about 200 male white mercenaries and led probably the last efficient use of a mercenary army in Africa-to save lives and put down a revolt in the Belgian Congo.

Hoare's last big gig (Major Hoare does not work too often due to his high price tag) was a Keystone cops affair that would seem to be the result of a bad scriptwriter rather than real political intrigue. They were supposed to overthrow the socialist government of President Albert Rene of the Seychelles and to take control of the idyllic Indian Ocean archipelago. In December of 1981 their plan of flying in as a visiting rugby team quickly unraveled when customs inspectors found heavy weapons in the bottom of their gym bags. A brief shoot-out between the 52 raiders and police ensued on the tarmac with the mercenaries' transportation being quickly hijacked and flown back to safety in South Africa. It was not known for whom or why this was done, but suspicion falls on the South African government. Some analysts believe that Hoare backers were South African businessmen looking for a tax haven. A Durban newspaper charged that several of the mercenaries were South African policemen.

The leniency with which the mercenaries were treated back in South Africa adds to that suspicion. The 44 mercenaries who made it back were put on trial (wearing beach shirts and khakis) not for hijacking the Air India aircraft, which would have meant a mandatory five to 30 years in jail; they were charged with kidnapping which requires no mandatory penalty.

The South African Cabinet also approved the freeing on bail of 39 of the 44 mercenaries on the condition they keep a low profile and not discuss the coup attempt. Five mercenaries were arrested in the Seychelles and it is assumed that three others are dead or hiding in the hills.

Others blame ousted Seychelles President James Mancham, who was exiled after Rene's successful 1977 coup. Although Mancham denied the accusation, one of the captured mercenaries had a tape recording of Mancham's victory speech intended for broadcast after the coup. Oops. The soldiers for hire were paid $1000 each and were promised $10,000 if the coup was successful.

The Sudan 1975

Rolf Steiner was a member of Hitler's Youth (Hitler Jugend). He joined the French Foreign Legion at the age of 17 in 1950. He fought at Dien Bien Phu and in Algeria and made the mistake of joining the anti-De Gaulle OAS-finding himself a drummed out corporal chief and a civilian.

In the fall of 1967, Biafra was busy spending oil money and French secret service funds on hiring mercenaries from Swedish pilot Count von Rosen (pilots were paid between $8000 and $10,000 per month in cash to fly in supplies) and paying Swiss public relations firms to publicize their plight. Money flowed freely; grisly battle-scarred veterans like Roger Faulques were paid 100,000 British pounds to hire 100 men for six months but only delivered 49. He was asked to leave, but Steiner, one of the mercenaries he had hired, chose to stay.

In July of 1968 Steiner asked for and was given a group of commando-style soldiers and had great successes against the Russian-backed Nigerians. He was later given the rank of colonel and given command of thousands of soldiers. This created an instant Napoleon complex and Steiner experienced a series of military defeats and routs. He was reigned in by removal of his Steiner Commando Division and after an angry confrontation with the Biafran leader, Sandhurst-educated General Emeka Ojukwa, he was shipped out of the country in handcuffs.

Steiner then showed up in the Southern Sudan among the Anya Na fighting the Islamic North. He taught agriculture, defense, education and other essential civic skills to the animist tribes. For a brief shining moment, he was their de facto leader, until he was captured by the Ugandans and put on trial in Sudan in the mid-'70s. He was released after spending three years in a Sudanese prison where he was tortured and beaten. His captors' favorite tortures were hanging Steiner by his feet and stuffing peppers up (down?) his anus. Some say he was a crazed megalomanic; other say he tried to apply his skills to aid a tiny struggling nation. He died in South Africa of a kidney ailment.

The Comoros 1995

They say sequels are never as interesting as the originals, and, in this case, they're right. Remember Bob Denard (see "The Man Who Would be King: Part I"). It seems that staring out the window got to be too much for him, so at the crusty old age of 66, Denard decided to give it one more go. On October 4, 1995, Denard and a group of 33 mercenaries (mostly French) rented a creaking fishing trawler and sailed back to the Comoros to recapture his little Garden of Eden where he had been King (actually, head of the Presidential Guard, watching over a puppet ruler) from 1978-1989.

They landed at night and quickly sprung their old buddies out of the islands' main jail; then they captured the two airports, the radio station and the barracks. After that, they rousted the doddering, 80-something Said Mohamed Djohar out of bed. By morning, Denard was on top and Djohar was a criminal charged with misrule and stealing government funds.

Two days later, the French government landed 600 troops and after a brief but halfhearted fight, the mercenaries were rounded up and Denard was shipped to France where he will be tried and jailed to keep him from island hopping again.

Papua New Guinea 1996

Papua New Guinea has had a dirty little bush war (as they are called in the trade) festering on the island on Bougainville. A large copper mine owned by Rio Tinto now called (RTZ-CRA) provided 45 percent of PNG's income, and now it was in the hand of a rag tag group of rebels who had the gall to just shut it down. The PNG Defense Force has been trained by the Aussies and the U.S. Special Forces since 1975. Enter Colonel (retired) Tim Spicer, the CEO of Sandlines, a U.K. based security, and Executive Outcomes (run by Chairman Nick van der Berg). Now it seems that EO had invented the equivalent of a Visa card for cash-strapped Third World countries that had rebel problems. He would take your collateral and get a piece of the mining action (or be paid by the mining company direct) in exchange for training and liberation services. In PNG's case about $46 million worth. Now, PNG would have been placed in a dire predicament if the rebels had captured a university or public broadcasting radio station, but luckily they grabbed a gold and copper mine instead that could be put back into business in a jiffy.

Well, this didn't sit well with the PNG military commander who was having a hard time getting bullets and uniforms for his men, let alone fair haired mercenaries complete with Russian gunships. He was a little riled that all this newly found dough was being spent on military tourists and proceeded to lock up the EO mercs and even invited fair haired Colonel Tim to stay behind to answer a few questions. Hell, EO was even going to fly their wounded to Brisbane, Australia, for medical care while the PNG ground pounders had to make do with local quacks. To make a long story short somebody cashed the 50 percent deposit, all the killer boys went back to SA and the rebels on Bougainville had a whoop up to celebrate the easiest victory they ever won. It seems the government figured it might be cheaper to sign a peace deal instead of killing all the islanders with high priced mercenaries. Well, good DP reader, was this a triple layer black op with a positive political spin or a Keystone Kontract Killer escapade? To find out contact:

The Players

These days, the old Dogs of War business is drying up like blood on a Kinshasa backstreet. Gone are the skull and cross bones patches of Steiner, gone are the nicknames like Black Jack and Mad Mike. The Che Guevaras, Abu Nidals' and Carlos the Jackals are now nothing but memories. The last attempt at putting together an old fashioned merc army was with 300 or so drunken army of Serbs and Europeans shipped in to fight off Kabila. The French put together a motley crew of 300 South Africans, Brits, French, Serbs, Angolans and other nationalities. The new merc scene (or should we say the international security scene) is taking advantage of thousands of laid off, well trained soldiers and the need of oil and mining companies to keep things flowing in Colombia, Angola, the Sudan, Congo, Papua New Guinea and other unstable regions. For those who like their action raw and gritty there is no shortage of unpaid volunteer work in Afghanistan, the southern Philippines and Latin America. For now, it seems the job opportunities for scarred, tattooed mercenaries looking through the classified section for "Make Big Money Killing Insurgents" ads are over.

But wait. If you are a trained security consultant, there is hope. Believe it or not, you can see many of the major recruiters listed under "Corporate Security" in phone books in Joburg, London, Washington, Miami and Paris. You'll find these euphemistically or acronymicly named companies in any big mining or oil center towns. These are really the only places where ex- (and current) soldiers are actively recruited for "security" and "training" work overseas. Some times you actually will end up staring at a video monitor in an air conditioned trailer at an African oil refinery or teaching 18 year olds how to clean a Makarov. With the right credentials, the right background and the right questions you'll get work. Even if you do plug into this world there are no shortage of experienced people.

Other groups, such as the Ghurkas, the Swiss Guards, and the French Foreign Legions, are not your classic "Dogs of War" type of mercenaries but vanishing anachronisms. Small but oil rich countries like Oman, Brunei need outside help to keep things quiet, but usually with the Queen's troops army on hire, the Ghurkas and SAS. Even the Pope hires mercenaries to keep the Holy See nice and safe. The good news is that right now, stinking rich, but "security asset" poor, flyspeck states are eager employers but usually by contract through their biggest mineral resource company (which of course is blessed by the appropriate ex-colonial country). Other countries like Myanmar, Angola, Croatia, Namibia, Guatemala, El Salvador, Afghanistan and other war-torn regions use foreign advisors (with spooky assistance) supplied by other countries like Iran, Cuba, Libya, Syria, Pakistan, Britain and of course the U.S. to keep their army trained. But in the days of rapid-reaction forces, the U.N., and political correctness, the days of the Wild Geese are long gone. These days a mercenary is more likely to be hired by a oil company than a slobbering dictator.

For now, South Africa is the major supplier of mercenaries for work around Africa. By the year 2000, it is estimated that the South African government will lay off 60,000 soldiers. Here's just a peek at some of the players.

Executive Outcomes

Nick van der Bergh and Eeben Barlow run Executive Outcomes, based in Pretoria, South Africa. Executive Outcomes was founded in 1989 by the 17-year veteran and former long-range recon soldier from South Africa's 32nd battalion. They began the new trend for corporate mercenaries in March, 1993 when UNITA captured a oil storage area in Soya owned by Heritage Oil and Sonangol. The Forcas Armadas Angolanas (FAA) didn't quite know how to oust the rebels without blowing up the precious oil and drilling equipment. The State owned oil company approached Barlow, who despite the impressive sounding name, was a one man band training the South African army and advising a mining company on security. He put together a group of 50 men and ousted the rebels. When UNITA screamed that white mercenaries were fighting in Angola, the oil company mentioned they were just security guards. UNITA had no idea they were actually white and black ex-South African Defense Force men who had fought for UNITA during the 1976-1988 war in Angola. Money changes everything in the merc business.

The oil company's representations that EO's men were security guards was curious considering that the men who were securing the oil facility were the UNITA rebels.

EO's men attacked with 600 FAA troops and only ended up with three South Africans wounded. The facility was retaken and as soon as EO's men left UNITA retook the facility back. It was an important event because it showed that outside "security" forces could be used because they were politically sterile and provided military skills without jeopardizing the stability of tottering regimes.

A $140,000 contract in September of 1993 was to protect a diamond mine in Canfunfo in Lunda Norte, Angola. EO considers themselves a security service that stabilize mining operations allowing governments to write checks based on the smooth flow of raw resources. For example, Angola's diamond fields generate $350-$450 million dollars a month. Estimates put EO's former Angola contract at $40 million (about half for soldiers and half for equipment and supplies). Soldiers of UNITA (National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) finally overran the mine, leaving 36 people dead, most of them from the security firm. The men were provided as military trainers but were allowed to carry out preemptive strikes against UNITA if they felt they or the mine were threatened. Since things have quieted down in Angola, they are training MPLA soldiers to handle the upcoming peace.

EO's strength is "using enough gun," creating detailed plans, acquiring and coordinating air support and paying close attention to the real sources of money: the mine owners and not the Ray-Banned dictators.

After their success in Angola, Barlow made a sales call with his unusual wares in March of 1995 to the beleaguered Valentine Strasser and got busy shortly thereafter. The deal is supposedly worth between $500,000 and $1.5 million a month. It could be the latter figure, since the payment was based on EO securing the diamond fields from the rebels and part of the payment was made by giving Branch Energy the concession to the Koidu diamond field (the Sierra Leone government still holds a 60 percent ownership). Branch Energy is owned by Strategic Resources Group, a British company based in the Bahamas, that in turn owns Executive Outcomes. True to form, EO captured the Kono diamond district from the rebels in two days, instead of the nine they estimated. Other reports say that Bahamas-based but British-owned Heritage Oil and Gas (part of the same group that owns EO) financed the EO intervention in exchange for diamond concessions and that the fee was 1.5 million pounds per month. Branch Energy is reputed to be the largest shareholder in Heritage (which also owns Branch Mining) to develop the diamond fields (worth an estimated 180 million pounds). Because of the sale of EO parent company, Dogs of War Inc., is now Canadian owned, which puts an entirely new light on any contracts they sign.

It gets even more confusing when the alleged links of the Heritage Board of Directors are explored, revealing vague but interesting connections to British liberal newspapers and a former Liberal leader. There are also direct connections between South African military intelligence officers and officers of Heritage Oil and Gas. Far too shady for DP, but a good story for "60 Minutes."

Troops were in-country by April, and they quickly managed to push back the rebels from 36 km to 126 km from the capital in just nine days. They then pushed the rebels out of the Kono diamonds fields (about 216 km east of Freetown) in just two days using helicopter gunships. Shortly after leaving Sierra Leone, about 3000 rebels were invited back in to Freetown by coup leader Johnny Koroma.

EO says they are supplying men and expertise to seven countries in Africa, among them Kenya, Angola and Uganda. They are discussing deals with customers in Malawi, Mozambique, Sudan, and even a client in Southeast Asia.

It seems that Executive Outcomes is just one of 80 companies. For example, the company that owns EO is Strategic Resources, based in Pretoria. [27] 12 3-481-352. That company owns a percentage of Branch Mining, which has been given mining concessions as partial payment for EO providing security in Sierra Leone. Now this is either a great yarn, a fantastic movie plot or an indication of how wars may be fought in the future. You decide. De Beers the giant diamond consortium has called EO "a bunch of bandits." As for founder Barlow he says "as long as our clients are happy with our workwe will continue doing our work as best we can."

Executive Outcomes

P.O. Box 75255
Lynwood Ridge
Pretoria, 0040 South Africa
(27) 12 473 789

Gurkha Security Guards (GSG)

Reputedly, GSG is a front for the British Government set up to facilitate sending Ghurkas to Sierra Leone to defend the diamond mines. Nick Bell, a former officer in the Gurkha regiment of the British army managed to provide a few good men. The salary is as high as $8000 a month. Not bad for the wages of war.

GSG mainly consist of Brits who have had service with Her Majesty's Forces or other security work. Obviously, they lean toward hiring men from Nick's old outfit. His last client was the government of Sierra Leone, which was fighting an all-out war against RUF, a rebel faction. Nick does his recruiting out of hotel rooms in places like Banbury, Oxfordshire, according to the New African.

Job security is a little dicey since the leader of the GSG contingent in Sierra Leone, American Bob MacKenzie, was killed in the Malal Hills in February of 1995. He was also reportedly eaten by the rebels. After MacKenzie was killed, the Ghurkas returned to Nepal. There are a number of companies that provide security to outside countries based in St. Helior like Frank E. Basil Inc. and Allmakes (Jersey) Ltd.

GSG

Suite 11, Queensway House
St. Helior, Jersey JE4 81Y
Channel Islands, U.K.
[44] (1) 534-74-707

Military Professional Resources, Inc.

There is an option for those with a little silver around the temples and a spare tire around the middle. Billed as the "greatest corporate assemblage or Military Expertise in the World," Military Professional Resources, Inc. (MPRI) is a group of former military professionals who train armies and do what retired generals do. They are based in Alexandria, Virginia, and claim to pull in about $12 million a year in assignments. Not bad for an eight-year-old company with 160 employees and about 2000 top kicks on call. Although their brochure copy would not get them much ink in Soldier of Fortune, their terminology sounds ominously like the doublespeak of Executive Outcomes. What does MPRI offer their well-heeled but disorganized customers? Their brochure offers Doctrine Development, Military Training, War Game Support, and even Democracy Transition. DP could not find Advanced Medal Polishing, Golf 101 or Cocktail Party Banter in the list, so we are somewhat suspect of their credentials. However, they are credited with training the Croat army who smacked the bejeezuz out of the Serbs in Krajina province back in August of '95. If you are tired of wearing your medals at home contact:

Military Professional Resources Inc.

1201 East Abingdon Drive, Suite 425
Alexandria, Virginia 22314
(703) 684-0853
FAX: (703) 684-3528
e-mail info@mpri.com
http://www.mpri.com/

 

Books International

69B Lynchford Road
Farnborough
Hampshire, England GU14 6EJ
(01252) 376564
FAX (01252) 370181

Books International specializes in military reference books for the modeler, collector, researcher or curious. You won't find too many cerebral products here but plenty of hard-to-find illustrated books on past wars, equipment, history and military reference works. Where else would you find an illustrated reference guide to Polish military helicopters or a real life photo book of the Navy SEALS?

Brassey's Inc.

8000 Westpark Drive
First Floor
McLean, Virginia 22102
(703) 442-4535
FAX: (703) 790-9063

Brassey's is the publisher of choice when British military men want to fill their mahogany bookcases. They are known for their annual Defence yearbook that keeps the Brits up to date on the rest of the world. Each issue has essays and intros on the leading political and military topics. If you want to be the model of a modern major general, you should look into their books on biological, nuclear, naval, historical and military warfare. Their annual update of The World in Conflict is a must-read for professional adventurers. There are drier books on ammunition, land force logistics and radar and other technical reference manuals. It is no surprise that their U.S. rep is based in McLean, Virginia.

Covert Action

1500 Massachusetts Ave., N.W., #732
Washington, D.C. 20005
(202) 331-9763
FAX: (202) 331-9751

A magazine written by some ex-company folks who have no qualms about telling it like it is. Plenty of facts, numbers, dates, photos and other material to back their statements up.

For Your Eyes Only

Tiger Publications
Post Office Box 8759
Amarillo, Texas 79114
(805) 655-2009

Billed as an open intelligence summary of current military affairs. Editor Stephan Cole puts together the biweekly eight-page newsletter to provide an excellent update on military, political and diplomatic events around the world. Somewhat right-wing and hardware-oriented, it still provides a balanced global view of breaking events. An annual subscription costs $65 (26 issues). Sample copies are $3 each. Back issues are available for $1.25-$2, depending on how many you order. FYEO is also available on NewsNet, (800) 952-0122 or (215) 527-8030.

Jane's Information Group

1340 Braddock, Suite 300
Alexandra Virginia 22314
(703) 683-3700
FAX: (703) 836-1593

Jane's is the undisputed leader in military intelligence for the world's armies. About a quarter of a million people subscribe to their annual guide on aircraft, but only about 11,000 need to know what's new in nuclear, biological and chemical protection clothing. Just as teenagers await the new car catalogs in the fall, the world's generals eagerly await the new Jane's reports on weapon systems, aircraft, ships, avionics, strategic weapons and other hardware. Esoteric fans thumb through their yearbooks on "Electro-optics, Image Intensifier Systems" (not to be confused with their guide to thermal imaging systems) or Air Launched Weapons. Arms dealers never travel without their World Markets for Armoured and Military Logistics Vehicles. Prices for the books or CD-ROMS run between $400 and $9000. If you are buying an update of an existing book or CD-ROM, the price drops about 25 percent. For your money, you get one annual guide, 11 monthly updates and a summary report. Jane's also publishes a monthly intelligence review, Jane's Intelligence Review, that provides background on global conflicts, terrorist groups and arsenals.

Jane's Security and Counterintelligence
Equipment Yearbook

A new service is Jane's Sentinel, a series of regional security assessments with monthly updates and a broadcast fax service. Sentinel breaks down the world into six regions and provides reports on physical features, infrastructure, defense and security, as well as general information like maps and graphs.

In case the world is smitten with a bad case of peacefulness, Jane's also dabbles in the mundane. They have guides to airports, the container business and railways.

If you have ever have been torn between buying a Vigiland Surveillance Robot or a Magnavox Thermal Sniper Scope, Jane's makes it as easy as shopping at Victoria's Secret. The book contains an overview and listing of all major equipment used by security, antiterrorist and civil defence organizations.

The New Press

450 West 41st Street
New York, New York 10036
(212) 629-8802
FAX: (212) 268-6349

This publisher of "serious books" can be counted on for interesting new books. Their titles include Civil Wars: From L.A. to Bosnia by Hans Magnus Enzensberger, a book that helps readers understand the new forces that shape conflicts, and two books by Gabriel Kolko-Century of War, a new view of wars since 1914 with some excellent insights to war after WWII, and Anatomy of a War, the story of the Vietnam conflict from the Vietnamese, U.S. and Communist Party viewpoints.

Paladin Books

Post Office Box 1307
Boulder, Colorado 80306

Your best source for militaria, gung-ho adventure books and such classics as Advanced Weapons Tactics for Hostage Rescue Teams. Send for a listing or catalog. Much of the material is flatulent diction, tough guy fantasies from military manuals or bizarre "get even" tomes. But there are some gems among the stones.

Soldier of Fortune

5735 Arapahoe Avenue
Boulder, Colorado 80303
(800) 877-5207 (subscriptions)
(303) 449-3750 (editorial)

The political left imagines the SOF reader as a gun-polishing, beer-drinking closet Rambo who actually cleaned latrines in Nam. Well, they are probably half right. It's the other half of the readership and content that is impressive. For every three articles on self-defense, gun control or new fighting knives, there is a good firsthand description of one of the world's dirty little wars. SOF does provide some very interesting on-the-ground reporting from countries undergoing Third World turmoil. Their editorial position is somewhat to the right of Ronald Reagan and Wyatt Earp, but the magazine is still an important source for information on weapons and little-known conflicts. Subscriptions are $28 a year with newsstand issues going for $4.75

Soldier of Fortune Expo

P.O. Box 693
Boulder, Colorado 80306
(303) 449-3750
(800) 800-7630

Alone in your room, dreaming of foreign adventure and glory? Why not get those army surplus fatigues cleaned and pressed, get a suitable buzz cut, suck in your gut, and hang out with thousands of other "military/survivalist" enthusiasts? Every Fall this Expo is more than just row after row of guns and survival equipment; it's also a chance to see real men fire off real machine guns. You get to see things blow up and watch real men fight with pugil sticks; worship real mercenaries, tough guys and heroes up close, as you strut around the convention center terrified that people might think you are actually a wimp; hear speakers tell you why our government can't be trusted and learn what you can do to maintain your God-given right to own metal tubes that propel projectiles.

The Stockholm International Peace
Research Institute

FAX: [46] (8) 655-97-33

This group publishes an 870-page annual on the world's military expenditures, arms production and trade.

Behind the Lines

P.O. Box 456 Festus Missouri 63028
(314) 937-7204

The journal of U.S. Military Special Operations is a bimonthly, 80 page magazine featuring articles on theory, history, development and first hand accounts of actual missions. $24 per year.