On the run in Sierra Leone
by Maj Phil Ashby RM
Photos by Lt Cdr Paul Rowlands

From January until April I was a member of a team based in Makeni, a town of some 15,000 inhabitants in the North East of the country, the military headquarters of the Revolutionary United Front (RUF), a brutal militia that had violently opposed the democratically elected government. We estimated that around 2,000 rebels were based there. Technically the RUF was part of a 'Government of National Unity' that had invited the UN into their war- ravaged country to help oversee a peace process.

Maj Ashby with friendly villiagers: their guide, alusayne is writing, 
and the local CDF Cdr, Ibrahim is in the foreground

Although the disarmament process was painfully slow, we felt optimistic about our chances of success: I had personally disarmed 150 child soldiers, whilst 25,000 weapons had been handed in as part of a Disarmament, Demobilisation & Reintegration (DDR) process. It was never the intention of the UN to confront the RUF militarily and as an UNMO, I was unarmed. This was difficult, but it was felt that being unarmed was a positive advantage: we were respected as soldiers but not seen as a threat. Had we been armed, the rebels would not have allowed us to operate within their territory.

Our role was twofold: to monitor the ceasef ire and to oversee the DDR process. We were assisted by a 500- strong battalion of Kenyan infantry who provided logistics and security in the DDR camps. The Kenyans were armed, to protect their own bases and prevent acts of revenge by civilians against those rebels who voluntarily chose to disarm. The Kenyans Area of Responsibility was around 10,000 square miles and contained, we estimated, 10,000 rebels.

Unfortunately, during the last week of April, our relationship with the RUF deteriorated rapidly. Some RUE soldiers voluntarily disarmed without the permission of their commanders, who now saw them as deserters and the surrendered weapons as their stolen property. The situation came to a head on 1 May when a group of around 300 rebels surrounded the DDR Camp which was about 10km outside Makeni, containing members of my team and a platoon of Kenyan soldiers. The rebels demanded that their deserters' be handed back. Morally and legally, we were obliged not do this, as the RUE were signatories to the DDR Process which guaranteed the rights of all combatants who chose to disarm. And, in practice, it was impossible as the ex-combatants had, understandably, made themselves scarce. There was always the possibility that they had been sent by the RUE to trigger a confrontation with the UN but, having processed them, I believed them to be genuine. We hoped they would set a precedent for their colleagues.

My team leader was then taken hostage along with some of the Kenyans after they failed to defuse the volatile situation through dialogue. Overnight, the Kenyans stood to, nervously, surrounded by a much larger and ever increasing force. The next morning, after the Kenyan platoon commander refused to hand over the remaining (Bangladeshi) UNMO, the rebels attacked.

Both sides took heavy casualties and eventually the Kenyans were forced to flee, moving on foot for 60 km to UN controlled territory. One individual, Sgt Nyamohanga, chose courageously to remain with a seriously wounded colleague, risking his life to save him. Whilst avoiding the RUE follow-up, he administered life saving first aid to his comrade, who had been shot through the upper thigh and lost most of his right arm after being struck by an RPG. They hid until last light and overnight he carried his wounded companion 15km through rebel-held jungle, eventually breaking through an RUE cordon to reach our position. Both survived.

Back in our team house in Makeni, we knew that hostages had been taken. Several attempts were made by my team and the Kenyan battalion to negotiate with the local RUE hierarchy but all negotiating parties had failed to return. One of them, a Norwegian Naval Commander, had had the presence of mind to press 'transmit' on a radio as he was being taken, so we had a disturbing preview of what treatment we might expect.

Taking advantage of an apparent lull in the battle and on a tip-off from friendly civilians that the rebels on our side of town were preoccupied elsewhere (as a lynch mob for Kenyans captured at the DDR camp it later transpired) we made a dash to the nearest Kenyan position. Ten minutes after we abandoned our house (and kit) our compound was overrun and looted by approximately 300 rebels. We had moved just in time.

Our new position, a compound defended by 70 lightly-armed Kenyan infantry, was only marginally safer. The other 30 members of the company, including the company commander, were missing, presumed dead. Erom my team of 10, four were now missing. We were heavily outnumbered and had very little food, water or medicine and no heavy weapons. The small compound was protected only by a six-foot mud brick wall. Civilian houses surrounded our compound, making it easy for any attackers to approach the perimeter. The Kenyan soldiers were 100% stood to and becoming increasingly nervous. Taking refuge in the same compound was another team of UNMOs, with two other Brits, Lt Cdr Paul Rowland and Maj Andy Samsanoff and a New Zealander, Maj David Lingard. We agreed to stick together whatever happened and, determined not to succumb to the terror- induced lethargy of our fellow UNMOs, we began planning escape options.

As darkness fell, the rebels began to attack with a combination of small arms, heavy machine guns, rocket propelled grenades and terror. The Kenyans showed remarkable discipline in standing their ground. Only their alertness and accurate shooting prevented the rebels from overrunning our position.

From radio sitreps we knew the security situation was deteriorating: the UN had been attacked in numerous locations and we were clearly running out of options. A battalion of Zambian troops was tasked to relieve our siege but, unfortunately, were tricked into splitting up and, in small groups, were lured into a series of ambushes and captured. We could only watch as the prisoners were transported past our position. There seemed to be no other contingency plan: we were on our own. Worse, the RUE now had 500 new weapons captured from the Zambians, including 20 armoured cars which were paraded past our position. The Zambians were stripped of their uniforms which were donned by the RUE. In Freetown, civilian militias were remobilising, the UN HO was evacuating to the Gambia and the whole country was descending into chaos.

We were now in a difficult situation - many miles from friendly lines, heavily outnumbered, surrounded by a brutal enemy with the stated intention of 'doing a Somalia'. The RUE are expert in psychological warfare, and proceeded (successfully) to intimidate us, repeatedly threatening to butcher us if we did not surrender. Luckily, the arrival of Sgt Nyamohanga with news of the unprovoked attack at the DDR Camp graphically illustrated RUE intentions and strengthened our resolve not to give in. To further intimidate us, the RUE encircled the position, beating drums and chanting before firing into our position. They carried out mock and real executions right outside the perimeter wall, throwing blood stained uniforms and body parts into the compound. Although we all suffered moments of weakness, somebody was always feeling tough enough to bolster morale.

I did my best to offer advice to the Kenyan Company 21C (the OC had been captured) but did not want to interfere with their established chain of command. Being unarmed was very frustrating. We asked the Kenyan Sergeant Major for weapons but there were none spare. We considered our 'unarmed observer status'. It was very unlikely that the rebels would differentiate between unarmed observers and armed troops, and we were painfully aware that as white Westerners we would be singled out for special treatment. Friendly civilians confirmed that RUE intentions were to carry out an act of brutality against us, hoping that fear of casualties would prevent further Western intervention.

The longer we stayed in the compound, the more we were degrading physically and mentally. There was almost nothing to drink, little food and sleep was impossible because of constant sniping. I discussed break-out options with the Kenyan officers, but they felt unable to take the initiative without formal orders. The UN hierarchy seemed paralysed by indecision and we felt we were increasingly likely to become sacrificial lambs. Meanwhile, the town of Makeni descended into anarchy: rebels ran amok, testing their new weapons, mostly on us but also on each other. Some incidents were farcical: a captured mortar was set up under a tree near our position, killing the rebel crew when the round hit the branches above. Another 'own goal' involved a dispute over a stolen UN vehicle, which turned into a shoot-out between rival commanders. The winners piled into the vehicle, dangerously overloading it with enthusiastic supporters, drove off at breakneck speed and crashed at the first corner, killing many of them. Other incidents were just nasty: raping the women in the houses outside our compound before shooting them.

I suggested that we at least plan some sort of armed break-out. Initially we were advised by our superiors to stay put, as it was still hoped that political pressure on the RUF leader, Foday Sankoh, would be enough to resolve the situation. This hope died when, during a peaceful demonstration in Freetown, Sankohs bodyguards opened fire on the unarmed crowd, killing 25 protesters. During the confusion, Sankoh escaped into the bush. Whilst Makeni was in anarchy, I felt that a break-out had a reasonable chance of success. I asked permission to lead a group out, which was initially denied by the UK chain of command. After three days the local RUF commander, the self-styled General Issa, imposed a curfew on all movement after dark in Makeni. We watched as he personally oversaw the positioning of a more organised cordon around our position, with standing patrols watching our perimeter. The chances of a small group breaking out of the siege were now reduced.

Ironically, the advice from our superiors now changed: 'attempt to escape'. Political negotiations had broken down and it appeared likely that the UN Mission was going to abandon Sierra Leone, as the rebels were fast advancing on Freetown. We began to feel that remaining in the compound would mean certain death. This was confirmed by a friendly civilian, whom I trusted completely, and who, risking summary execution by the RUF, came to warn us of their plans for the Brits (Dave's insistence that he was nothing to do with Britain, being a Kiwi, was unlikely to cut much ice with the rebels - he looked and talked like a Brit, wore British-style uniform and the NZ flag on his shoulder contained a Union Flag). On the satphone, I asked my immediate boss, a tough man with a MC from the Falklands, for his advice: 'If I estimated that we had a 20% chance of breaking out without being killed, what would your advice be.'

An RUF MP in Makeni, the avaerage
age of rebles in Makeni was 13!

The next night, we bottled out. The weather was clear, with a full moon and no wind. I prayed for a rainstorm and spent most of the night crawling around the perimeter looking for blind spots, but could see no likely escape routes. We could not bring ourselves to abandon the immediate security of the compound, unarmed, and move towards armed rebels. Although, as Brits, we had agreed it would be better to be shot trying to escape than to be taken alive, at the last minute we cracked. If we stayed put, maybe things would improve - at least we would at least prolong our lives by a few more hours or even days.

Tensions continued to rise the following day. A rebel 'delegation' sent messages to the Kenyans that their safety would be guaranteed if they handed us over. The Kenyans had already proved that they were prepared to fight and die to protect Military Observers but we felt that, morally, this put unreasonable pressure on the Kenyans. If I had been the Kenyan commander, would I have sacrificed my own men to save others? In practice, the rebels were unlikely to honour any promises, so the Kenyan commander refused to negotiate. That day I made three phone calls to UK. To my father ('Don't tell Mum'), to a fellow Bootneck, and to my wife. I tried to be upbeat, but had to admit that it might be 'goodbye'. Not saying farewell would have been much worse.

Again, I approached the CSM for a weapon, but to arm us he would have had to have disarmed one of his men. I did not press the point. Our bosses would have backed us if we chose to steal weapons from the Kenyans but I thought it would be a bad idea, both morally and practically. We decided not to tell the Kenyans what we intended to do as I think they would have tried to stop us. I suspect the CSM knew what our intentions were, but kept silent. We decided that it would be that night or never. Again we prayed for rain. As subtly as possible we checked and rechecked our kit, talked through numerous actions on, rehearsed hand signals

and did our best to rest. We gave our UK chain of command our proposed route but not the UN (we expected the compound to fall to the RUE, and did not want to risk our UN colleagues being forced to say where we intended to go). Having already abandoned nearly all our kit, admin was easy. We would take one litre of water each, no food (having none, adrenaline would see us through), basic navigation kit (1 :500,000 map, compass and luckily GPS) and a small first aid kit. Paul was adamant he would take his camera. In addition, I was carrying a satphone. Our best means of self-preservation was likely to be outrunning any pursuers and we did not want to be weighed down.

I had seen rebel positions overlooking three corners of the compound but had seen relatively little activity in a wooded area by the fourth. The house nearest to this corner was occupied by a family that I knew detested the RUE and I felt the owner would have indicated if there were any rebels there. That night, I spent three hours with the sentry at this corner, watching the RUE routines. Apart from the occasional pot shot, all seemed quiet. I also hoped that by spending time with the sentry he might be more willing to cooperate later and give us covering fire.

First we had to find a way past the rebel positions and out of Makeni. From early morning runs during the preceding months, I knew the back streets. and footpaths in the outskirts of the town, and had mentally rehearsed the first, crucial few hundred metres. We had decided that a fast walking pace would offer the best combination between speed and stealth, but it was difficult to resist the temptation to run. I regretted this as I rounded the first building and ran face-first into a barbed wire fence cutting my eye and mouth. I tasted blood. I had asked the sentries to give us covering fire if they saw any movement outside the arc that we occupied. I saw movement at one of the rebel positions, and tensed, expecting incoming fire. None came.

We made best possible speed and I led us as quickly as possible towards agricultural land. At every corner and behind every building as we weaved through the town, I expected to run into a rebel ambush. On a number of occasions we saw rebels and were forced to detour. I could hear my own heart beating, indeed, all my senses felt highly tuned, and with every step I could feel fear turning to exhilaration. I felt more alive than I ever had before. After 2km on a deception bearing, we swung onto a rough heading towards safety. We hoped any RUE follow-up or search would be thwarted by this, and were confident that the RUE lacked the skills to track us properly.

The next hurdle was a main road the rebels used day and night and patrolled regularly. We had planned to stop short, look and listen before crossing, but ended up crashing through the thick vegetation to find ourselves on the road. We continued without even pausing, aware that every step was a step away from the worst danger. After an hour of scrambling and stumbling around the side of a steep hill (by following difficult terrain we hoped to avoid any people, friendly or otherwise), we stopped for a quick drink. We were drenched in sweat and very thirsty, but knew there would be no water to replace our meagre supplies for many miles. We kept up a forced march pace as best we could through thick bush. Dave started to struggle, dangerously overheating. Just before first light we found a particularly dense thicket in which to lie up. As the crow flies, we were about 6km from Makeni, but had expended considerable energy to get there. We sent a sitrep on the satphone and settled down as best we could. Despite some shade it was very hot and, with no food or drink, the hours dragged. As we started to relax, we heard voices, we were hidden about 20 metres from a mango tree, which the locals were harvesting. We could do nothing else apart from keep quiet and hidden. Despite desperate tiredness, I couldn't sleep and spent the day with a short-wave pocket radio pressed to my ear, listening to the World Service and the UN command net.

We originally intended not to move before midnight, but by 2000hrs (an hour after last light) we were so thirsty that we did not want to wait any longer and risk being unable to move through dehydration. Our 1:500,000 aviation map showed a dotted blue line 'river seasonal' about 5km away. Although it was still the dry season, there had been occasional rain in the preceding weeks and we hoped there would be some water. We continued on a bearing towards it, but soon found ourselves in almost impenetrable vegetation. Progress slowed to about 100 metres per hour. The safe haven we were aiming for, still 50 miles away, seemed impossibly far away. I climbed trees locking for easier terrain but in the dark it was near impossible to find any. Morale was low. Worryingly, Andy had started stumbling, moaning and fainting and Dave began to follow suit. Eventually, we stumbled across a narrow footpath, heading in vaguely the right direction. Despite the risk, we had no option but to follow it if we were to make any meaningful progress. As point man I felt dangerously exposed; we knew the RUE controlled territory by establishing checkpoints on all the paths in an area and it seemed a matter of time before we bumped into one. Our luck held. We saw a number of probable checkpoints but were able to detour round them unseen. Andy began to collapse more and more. I did my best to bully him to continue, but we were all on our last legs. Eventually, we reached the 'river', which was dry, but we took a bearing on the sound of croaking frogs and managed to find some unpleasant-smelling pools containing more decaying plants, mud, frogs and insect larvae than water, but it was better than nothing. With triple doses of puritabs, we started drinking.

We stayed for about two hours, and drank until we felt bloated. I dreaded to think what might now be living in my guts and hoped any side-effects would wait until we reached safety. The human body is pretty resilient, and as we rehydrated, our strength returned. We continued as best we could in the darkness, struggling through terrain that made a Sennybridge forestry block seem easy going. It was impossible to progress without falling, our hands and legs felt on fire with numerous scratches and cuts but we were thankful not to twist our ankles or fall, eye socket first, onto the numerous tree-stumps where the jungle had been burnt. Every time we saw signs of habitation, we were forced to backtrack and move off on a dog-leg before continuing. Yomping was not pleasant that night.

By this stage, I don't think I had slept for a week, and my mind was playing tricks. My hallucinations became more real and harder to ignore, and I had to have several reality checks with my companions to ensure the assortment of ghosts surrounding me were not real. The others were having similar experiences. Before first light, we took another bearing on some croaking frogs and made our way back to the 'river', looking for a lie-up position close to water. A map check revealed we were now about 15 km from Makeni; 'only' 65km to go. The water here was even worse, and I suspected drinking it would do us more harm than good. We needed to reassess our options. We had reason to believe that other UK assets would be arriving in country, and reckoned we were now far enough from known rebel positions to make helicopter pickup feasible. Agreed on this, at first light we set up the satphone, only to find it had switched itself on as I struggled through the bush and the battery had drained. No pick up: morale plummeted. Two nights of yomping had taken us less than a quarter of the distance. We were only likely to get slower as our bodies became more exhausted, and our mental faculties were beginning to go. In the short term, though, we were too tired to do anything more and all fell into dreamless sleep.

We were woken after a couple of hours by gentle rain, and felt a little more human. Another team talk. The others thought that progress at night was too hard and that we should consider moving by day. I disagreed, but conceded the point when it occurred to me that there was a very real danger, if we took too long to reach our destination, that the 'safe haven' might have fallen to the rebels. I felt if we were to move during daylight, we should take a gamble and attempt to procure the help of friendly civilians; it would be impossible to avoid contact, so why not find a guide who knew the jungle paths and would be able to steer us clear of known rebel-controlled villages? This seemed a reasonable plan, and with nothing to be gained by staying where we were, we donned our UN headgear, and carefully approached a local farmer. Language difficulties aside, he successfully directed us to a larger settlement. There, we used sign language to ask where we might be able to find a village large enough to have a good chance of having an English speaker but not controlled by the rebels. By reading out place names from the map and giving either 'thumbs up', meaning no rebels, or 'thumbs down', meaning rebels present, we hoped we had identified such a village. One of the farmer's kids led us to this larger village.

Attempting to enlist the help of friendly locals,
despite not sharing a language

There, we found an English-speaking teenager, Alusayne, who, despite a nasty open wound on his abdomen and a malarial attack, agreed to guide us. He felt confident that he knew how to lead us around rebel positions. Although we couldn't be entirely sure that we wouldn't be led into a trap, we thought it unlikely for several reasons, most importantly we all had the same gut feeling that the villagers were genuinely trying to help. In addition, we knew that the Kenyans had come through this village, and the villagers had helped by carrying some of their casualties for over 40km. Lastly, we tipped the village chief well, and promised more of the same when we reached safety but we swore that if they tricked us we (or our countrymen) would have their village destroyed. How we were to achieve this, I don't know, but it seemed to do the trick.

After several more litres of water and the most delicious mangos I had ever eaten, we continued on our way. Alusayne had only one pace (fast) and he clearly knew the bush paths well. We tried to avoid all habitation, but when this was impossible, we lay low while Alusayne scouted ahead. The RUE do not enjoy the support of the local population so we received a very friendly welcome every time we passed through a village. We filled our water bottles whilst Alusayne shared a smoke with the locals. With the benefits of daylight and a guide, we now made fast progress and covered nearly 40km before dusk, arriving at a village we knew to be controlled by a friendly militia. I suggested to Alusayne that he spend the night with us before returning to his village, but he wanted to return home straight away, unfazed by the thought of walking another 40km in his flip-flops that night. We paid him generously, enough we hoped, to pay for surgery for his wound, and more for his village.

That night we slept in the hut of the commander of the local Civilian Defence Force (CDF) who assured us we would be safe with him and deployed some of his men, armed only with machetes, to protect us. Although now at the end of a dirt road, we were still 25km from the nearest UN position, a town called Mile 91, occupied by a company of Guinean troops. Our feet were not in good condition, so we sent a messenger on the village bicycle with a letter, asking for a patrol to to pick us up. If Mile 91 had fallen to the RUE, we were probably safer with the CDF than on our own in the bush. While we waited we ate, drank and tried to improvise a battery for the dead satphone, by scrounging as many torch batteries as we could lay our hands on and wiring them up in series.

This was partially successful, as although the battery died again before we managed to speak to anyone, the phone connected briefly with the satellite and UK assets had managed to get a fix on our position. Eventually, a Guinean patrol arrived, and having rewarded the village with our remaining cash and given the CDF commander my pocketknife, we stormed off towards Mile 91. In my best pidgin French, we asked what was happening in their area. Mile 91 was still, notionally, in UN hands, but it was now an isolated pocket as the surrounding area had fallen to the RUE. Re-mobilising Sierra Leone soldiers and an assortment of pro-government militias (including the infamous West Side Boys) were piling into Mile 91. The Guinean commander expected imminent attack, and tensions were high. To exacerbate the problem, tens of thousands of civilian refugees were seeking to refuge in the area, some of whom, inevitably, would have been RUE infiltrators.

We now managed more successfully to jury-rig a power supply for the satphone using a car battery, and it partially recharged. The battery indicator indicated 1 minute 20 seconds of talk time. I phoned the UN HO in Freetown: no-one answered. Our spirits sank. We surmised (wrongly) that Freetown had fallen to the rebels and that the UN had surrendered or evacuated. Who to phone next? I didn't know any numbers for PJHQ or any potential rescuers so I rang my wife. I hoped (correctly) that she would be near the phone and trusted her to pass on the necessary information. In reality, it was academic to whom we spoke as all calls were being intercepted and monitored by UK assets now in theatre. We had no idea that they would be able to respond to the crisis so quickly and effectively and were amazed when a helicopter arrived within minutes. I spent a frenzied quarter of an hour before the helicopter arrived, cajoling and bribing with cigarettes as many trigger-happy factions as possible not to shoot the helicopter. Within an hour we were at the International Airport near Freetown, where the newly arriving British forces were a welcome sight.

Two days after we made a break for it, the Kenyans brokered a deal with the local RUE commanders for their casualties to be allowed to evacuate by helicopter. When the casevac helicopter (an Indian Mi-8) landed, some of the other UNMOs managed to jump aboard. The rebels did not honour their agreement and attacked the helicopter as it was on the ground. The Kenyans did their best to protect the landing site, but the helicopter was hit. It managed to take off but crashed just outside Makeni. Luckily, a second Indian helicopter was providing top cover and managed to pick up the survivors before the rebels reached them.

Two days after this, the Kenyan Commanding Officer, whose men had not drunk for a week, ordered his forces to attempt to break out. During a heavy rainstorm, they linked up with their colleagues based on the other side of the town and, in a convoy, forced their way North out of Makeni, driving 100km to a town still held by the Sierra Leone Army. They were ambushed 11 times and took heavy casualties.

Out of my team of UNMOs, the three who were held hostage were eventually released as part of a deal brokered by, among others, Libya's Colonel Gaddafi and Liberia's President Charles Taylor. All three had received brutal treatment: one has lost a leg. Other than scratches and blisters, we were unharmed, though I'm currently awaiting the results of blood tests.