Saddam's Secrets Page 13

  By the time we got to Baghdad, the sun was going down and I saw a huge column of black smoke rising in the east. I thought, Oh, no, we’re too late. He has already destroyed the refinery. But as I got closer, I could see the refinery, and it was untouched. But beyond that there was an electrical generating plant that was fueled by oil stored in several large tanks. This was what the Iranian pilot had hit. He had made a big mistake. Hitting those tanks may have created a lot of smoke and flames, but the power plant was untouched, and replacing the oil tanks would be no problem at all.

  But once I realized what had happened, I looked to the east and could just see that pilot trying to make his escape. So I checked my gauges and the fuel level was very low. Still, I only needed to complete one turn and I could go after him and I would have been able to lock on with no problem at all. But before I could turn around, I got a call from the command center: “Sir,” they said, “you can return to base. Our ground unit just got the Phantom; we hit him with a SAM-3 missile, and he’s on the ground.”

  I said, “God bless you! I’m landing.” So I checked in quickly with the other pilots in my flight and we returned to base. Just as we were landing, I saw the helicopter coming in with the captured Iranian pilot. Then, as I was beginning to taxi to the shelter, the tower called again and said, “Sir, Gen. Khairallah called and gave orders that he wants you to talk to the Iranian pilot, and no one else is to speak to him until you’ve interviewed him.”

  I said, “Okay. Keep him in the station commander’s office until I get there.”

  The Face of All Islam

  When I exited the aircraft, there was a car waiting for me. They drove me straight to the commander’s office, and that’s where I found the pilot. He was just a boy, a young captain, and he was trembling, obviously scared to death. So I said, “Okay, boy, relax.” I spoke to him in English because I knew that, as a pilot, he would speak English. Actually, this is common when an Iraqi speaks to an Iranian. The Iraqis speak Arabic and Iranians speak Farsi (or Persian), so we can’t understand each other very well unless we speak English or French or some other common language.

  “Nobody’s going to hurt you now,” I said. “But I’ll tell you something. If I had caught you up there, I would have shot you down in a heartbeat. No doubt about that. But you’re here now and you’re a prisoner of war. Fifteen minutes ago I could have killed you without blinking an eye. But I have nothing against you personally. You’re a pilot, and you can be sure you will be treated fairly, according to the Geneva Convention.”

  At that time we had some nice peaches that had been imported from Europe, so I took one of them and handed it to the boy and I said, “Go ahead, son. Relax. Here, have a peach.” But he wouldn’t take it. So I brought him a cup of the traditional Iraqi tea, but he didn’t want to drink it. Maybe he thought it was poisoned, or maybe he was just following orders not to accept hospitality from his captors. In any event, I said, “Okay, I’ll drink your tea and you drink mine.”

  When I asked him where he was from and where he learned to fly, he told me he had gone to the Air Academy in Iran, and then he went to Lackland Air Force Base in Texas where he learned to be a fighter pilot. Well, this was a surprise, since I had also done part of my training at Lackland. So we had something in common. We talked for a while and he eventually believed that we weren’t going to torture him, so he relaxed.

  I told him, “Young man, you are now a guest in the land of Ali ibn Abi Talib.” The Shia sect of Islam is the dominant sect in Iran, and they say that Ali, who was the cousin and successor of Mohammed, had died in Iraq. So I wanted this pilot to know that he was in a safe country. He was not in danger and his life had been spared. After a few moments he looked up at me and said, “Sir, can I say something?” And I said, “Yes, of course. Anything you like.” He said, “Sir, when I look at you, I see the whole of Islam in your face.” I had to smile at that. Because I had been nice to him, this young pilot thought he could see all of Islam in my face.

  Well, Col. Al-Hakim, who was close to Saddam, was the commander of that base and he didn’t miss the irony of that boy’s words. So he said in Arabic, “You stupid jerk! You’re so stupid that you’ve decided you see the whole face of Islam in the only guy in this room who isn’t a Muslim!” We all had a good laugh at that, but since I outranked Col. Hakim, and since he was a former student of mine, I said, “Okay, Hakim, will you please shut up?! This boy isn’t talking about Christians and Muslims. He just feels that he sees the spirit of Islam in the way I’ve been treating him!”

  So Hakim said, “Okay, I’m taking him downstairs right now to the intelligence officers. Do you know what I’m going to tell him? I’m going to say, ‘Okay, kid, until now you’ve been in the hands of Islam. But now I’m going to put you into the hands of the Christians, and just wait till you see how they treat you!”

  What he meant, of course, was that the intelligence officers were going to beat him to get more information out of him, and that would teach him what Christians would do to a good Muslim boy. So again we all laughed, and I said, “Shut up, Hakim! Don’t tell him that!”

  The Last Line of Defense

  The truth is, when I was responsible for interrogating prisoners—both in that war and in the Gulf War years later—I wasn’t the least concerned whether the pilots were Christians or Muslims or anything else. I only wanted to do my job, to find out any information that might help our side achieve its objectives, but in the process to treat the prisoners fairly. I was cautious to follow the Geneva Convention, and, more importantly, the even more basic laws of human decency.

  But not everyone appreciated this, and some of the officers in my unit in Baghdad at the beginning of the first Gulf War apparently wrote a report saying that I was treating some of the coalition prisoners better than others because they were Christians. They said it reached the point that it was just a big joke. But that was not true.

  The reason for the report was something that happened after we captured the American pilot, Lieutenant Jeffrey Zaun, on the first day of the war. Zaun was very young. He was a nice boy but very outspoken—and much too much so for a POW. But he noticed from my uniform that I was both a general and a pilot, so he asked me about that. He said, “Are you a general?” and I said, “Yes, that’s right.”

  After that, he asked, “Are you a pilot?” Again, I said yes. Then he said, “Sir, may I ask you what kind of aircraft you fly?” At that point I laughed and said, “Look, Lieutenant, you’re a prisoner of war, and you’re in no position to be asking me about my rank or what kind of aircraft I fly!”

  That was it. But that was the basis of the negative report they wrote against me. They thought I was joking with the pilots, which was not what I was doing. I believed that if I could get the prisoners to relax, they would be much more willing to speak freely to me when I began asking them important questions about military matters.

  An Inevitable Conclusion

  The air force and military commanders never stopped asking me to join the Baath Party, but every now and then someone would tell me it was going to hurt my career if I didn’t agree to join. And then in 1986 I found out what they meant. I was called to a meeting with the chief of the intelligence service, the head of the Baath Party in the military, and two other pilots who were also general officers and friends of mine. They said, “Georges, this time we’re not asking you to join the party, but we want to know why you won’t join.”

  I said, “Okay, I’ll tell you again. But do you want me to tell you the truth or do you just want me to tell you what you want to hear?” They said, “By all means, tell the truth.” I said, “I’ve told you this before, but let me simplify. You say the body of the party is Arab and the spirit is Islam, and I don’t fit either qualification. I’m not Arab; I’m Assyrian. I’m not a Muslim; I’m a Christian. That’s it. I’m not trying to fool anyone, and I’m not lying. This is the real reason I can’t join the party.”

  They understood what I was saying, and they k
new that I was right. I was the second-highest ranking officer in the Iraqi Air Force at that time, and they were deciding who was going to be promoted to become the next commanding general. What they were telling me was that, since I had repeatedly refused to join the party, there was no way I was going to be chosen for that job. And furthermore, this also meant that the only place for me to go, since I could rise no higher, was retirement.

  So this is what they said, “Georges, you can go no higher in the air force, so you may as well retire now and save everybody a lot of trouble.”

  “Okay, if that’s what you want,” I said. “You know I’m a young general, only forty-six, and you’ve told me many times that I’m the best pilot in the air force. There’s no airplane I can’t fly. There’s still a lot I can do, but if you say I must retire, then that’s what I will do.”

  They were embarrassed and said, “Look, we’re not angry with you, Georges. You’ve been a faithful soldier and you’ve served in every war and every struggle since 1963. You have an excellent record of service, but surely you realized that you were going to be retired early.”

  I said, “Yes, I’ve thought about that, and it’s okay. I’ve had a wonderful career, gone to the Air Academy, and learned to fly the best and fastest fighter jets in the world. So I’m satisfied.”

  And it’s true, I’d had a wonderful career—aside from the obvious problems of being in a country troubled by one coup after another and ending up with a tyrant like Saddam Hussein as my commander in chief! But in what other career could I have traveled for advanced training in Russia, America, England, Italy, and France, and gone on assignment to so many other places? I’ve known kings and princes, and I’ve had a part in making history. I’ve been recognized and respected as a pilot, and even achieved the rank of general by age forty.

  How could I complain? This is how the military works: you work hard, you earn rank, you serve your country faithfully, and then you retire. I wasn’t surprised or terribly disappointed, but at least I understood why they were asking me to retire. I still didn’t believe that the military should be involved in politics, but I accepted the decision and went back to my unit. One month later I received my final orders saying I was officially released from active duty and retired with my full military pension.

  A Gentleman Farmer

  At that time, officers were able to retire with their full salary. So whatever I was earning on my last day of service would be the amount I would receive in retirement. The only thing that really changed was that I didn’t have to go to the post exchange (PX) to do my shopping anymore. Active duty generals have to go to the PX themselves if they want to buy something, but once they retire the PX comes to them. A van comes to the house and the general or his wife can buy almost anything they need—food, clothing, magazines, sporting goods, or most anything else—without leaving home. It was a convenient perk in retirement.

  I told myself I wasn’t losing anything. I hadn’t joined the air force to steal from the people or enrich myself. I wasn’t interested in gaining political power or being appointed to some high public office; I was there to serve. If they didn’t want my service, then I would retire. So I took retirement, and frankly, I was excited because I already knew what I was going to do.

  For the past couple of years I’d been reading about scientific farming methods. The idea of using modern technology and production techniques to maximize the yield of a harvest was fascinating. It was a wonderful cooperation between nature and science: only God can make the crops grow, but if we understand how the process works, we can participate in that process in a very creative way, and that was something I wanted very much to try.

  Whenever I’d been around farming as a young man, I thought it was very interesting. The idea of preparing the land, planting the crops, feeding and watering them, and then bringing in the harvest in the fall was something that captured my imagination. But of course I also knew that in many places in my country the land is poor and there isn’t always enough rain; so it’s important to have a plan for fertilization and irrigation, and this really interested me.

  As I was getting ready to begin my new life outside the military, I wrote to my sister who lives in Chicago, and I asked her to send me some literature on certain types of crops that would do well in our part of the world. And I especially wanted information on how to grow them scientifically. I also wrote to my brother who is a chief engineer in Kuwait. He also loves agriculture and is very well informed about modern farming methods, so I asked him to send me the best books he could find, and he sent me four large volumes.

  I spent the next few months reading things like: How to Grow American Corn; How to Grow Sunflowers; How to Grow Summer Wheat; and even How to Grow Barley and Malt. So I had everything I needed. It was all there—step-by-step instructions, almost like a baker’s recipe. As soon as my retirement was official, I went down to the government offices and applied for a farm. I needed a good piece of land to begin such a project. Because the government of Iraq was socialized, the government owned all the land and people like me had to apply for the kind of property they wanted. But sure enough, they gave me a large farm of more than 10,000 acres near the town of Aziziya, about sixty-five miles south of Baghdad on the Tigris River, which was just what I was hoping for.

  Fortunately, that farm had once been a government farm and had been developed with concrete irrigation canals connected directly to the Tigris River. It had metal storage sheds, fertilizer tanks, and everything I’d need to begin my project. So I hired some farm workers from Egypt to come and help me with the work, and I ordered seeds and fertilizer and everything else I thought we would need. Frankly, it was a lot of fun getting organized and planning the work and then going out to the fields in the spring and planting the first season’s crops.

  I can honestly say that within the first year, I became an expert in scientific farming. I read those books cover to cover. I devoured those and others, and I learned that the best crops for the soil and climate in that part of the world were the things I wanted to grow—sunflowers, corn, wheat, and barley. Those crops thrive in warm, dry climates. So that’s what I did. I had sunflowers, nine types of American corn, summer wheat, and a type of barley commonly used for making beer. And these turned out to be the perfect crops. We have a lot of sunshine in Iraq and not much rain, but I had a first-class irrigation system and large open fields for planting. So everything worked out very well.

  Tending to Business

  All that first year I worked the crops. I prepared the soil and planted the seeds, and it was exciting when the first sprouts began to appear. I used the best organic materials and natural insect repellents, and I made sure there was plenty of water at the right time of day. Then, when the time came for our first harvest, I suddenly realized that we were going to have to prepare in a big way. It was going to be a huge harvest, bigger than I had ever imagined, so I had two new tractors shipped in by Volvo. I got two new pickup trucks and three beautiful Class forage harvesters from Germany. Everything came from Europe, and it was magnificent. They were all brand-new machines, and they were just what I needed to bring in the crops.

  All that equipment and machinery was very expensive, as you can imagine. And even with the farm subsidy from the government, I had to spend a lot of my own money. Most large farms in my country were supported by the government, but I had to pay a large portion of the costs from my own funds. But then, when we brought in that first harvest, I realized I had discovered the secret of wealth. I made arrangements to sell the crops, and on the day my first big check arrived, I said, “So this is how you get to be a millionaire!”

  We worked very hard, from morning to night most days, all by modern scientific methods. When I started the farm, I learned that the typical corn crop from an Iraqi farm produced about 250 kilos per acre. The first crop from my farm was 1,250 kilos per acre—five times the normal yield. That’s because I did it the right way. I tested the soil and used chemicals to enrich the soil
before we planted. The first time I did it, the other farmers all laughed at me. They said, “Look at this crazy Christian! He’s throwing chemicals in the ground.”

  Other farmers would plant the seeds, then when the crops began to sprout, they would add chemicals to the soil. But the books my brother and sister had sent me said I should enrich the soil first and then plant the seeds. If the seeds had plenty of food and water at the beginning, they would grow very well. When they reached a certain height, I was to give them a second feeding, and they would grow much stronger and bigger that way and produce a much larger harvest. So that’s what I did. And I had the finest crop in the country.

  Each mature head of corn had exactly 1,460 grains. They were huge, and each stalk produced two large heads. Just imagine what kind of production we were getting. For the sunflower crop, I had planted American hybrid seeds, and each seed produced one stalk with one enormous flower, nine inches across. From every one hundred kilograms of sunflowers we extracted thirty-seven kilograms of oil, compared to the typical sunflower crop which produced only about twelve kilograms of oil per one hundred kilograms of seeds.

  So that’s how I made my living for the next four years. I was a gentleman farmer, and I really loved it. I didn’t need to follow the headlines anymore. I wasn’t watching the political situation as much as I had done as a military officer, but I was aware of what was happening in the world, and I knew that we were on the verge of yet another war. Saddam was moving the army and air force to the south; clearly he was up to something dangerous and stupid. But this was none of my concern. It was peripheral to my interests now. Summer would soon be over, and I was preparing for the largest harvest of my new career.