WE WERE INVINCIBLE Translation : Jennifer Makarewicz © Les éditions JCL Inc., 2011 Les éditions JCL Inc. 930, Jacques-Cartier Street East, Chicoutimi, Quebec G7H 7K9 Phone : (418) 696-0536 – Fax : (418) 696-3132 – www.jcl.qc.ca ISBN 978-2-89431-799-0 WARNING This is a true story. The events in this book have been reconstructed from the memo- ries of a soldier who was a member of the Canadian Forces Elite Special Operations Unit : Joint Task Force 2, from 1993 to 2001. For obvious reasons, most names have been changed in order to preserve the ano- nymity of those involved. To all soldiers who returned wounded, psychologically bruised and battered from missions… and virtually abandoned! NOTE A list of the abbreviations and acronyms used in this book is found on page 281. All words in this list are highlighted in grey in the text. CHAPTER 1 Recruit School Québec, 2005 Him too! I put down the phone. My throat was dry; I could feel the trickle of ice cold water running down my back. Unable to think, I felt myself slip into a deep and dark abyss. “Denis?” I was unable to answer. “Denis Morisset?” I still didn’t react. When my wife, Julie, found me sit- ting in the living room in the dark, she knew that some- thing had happened. “Denis, what’s the matter?” “A sixth one, Julie.” “No! Oh, no! Not another one!” Her voice trembled. She knew exactly what I was 7 talking about. That was the sixth of my old teammates from the Canadian Army counter-terrorism unit who had found no other solution to ending profound internal suffering than that of taking his own life. What we expe- rienced had left wounds so deep that my six buddies had not found any other way out. I fully understand them; more than once, I also thought of taking that path. My family’s love is the only thing that prevented me from doing so. I held on to Julie’s hand. I talk about it now. I go back to when I was young, years ago. A time of carefree liv- ing, when everything was incredibly easy. Unravelling the threads of my life helps ground me. Every moment remembered represents a brick in the demolished wall of my life. In the beginning, my journey was a rather typical one. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Disco fever swept through North America in 1980. Discos opened in every city and Québec was no exception. Eden, Balzac, and vendredi 13 were the hot spots for young people who moved to the beat on the dance floor, mimicking John Travolta, the hottest star at the time. I was part of that youth. At the time, I was 17 and, like many kids my age, had no idea what to do with my life. Academics, sports, and girls were my priority, but not necessarily in that order. Somewhat discouraged, my father watched me. The direction his son was heading seemed ques- tionable to him. He wanted to talk to me and bring me back on what he considered to be the ‘right path’, but he was extremely aware that kids my age did not heed 8 parental advice until only much later in life. He had to therefore be cunning. He knew about my keen interest in well-organized groups – I had successively been a member of the scouts, pioneers and army cadets. One day when I stopped by my parents’ house for a quick bite to eat before running off, he showed me an army reserve form. “You should try this,” he suggested. “Uh huh,” I answered. “It’s a job like any other; you’d be well paid.” That caught my attention. He knew that, like all teens, I constantly needed money. I took the form say- ing I would look at it. It was only some days later that I finally picked up the piece of paper and realized that it was actually a job offer for the Québec Voltigeurs. I applied for the job without really thinking anything of it and, to my sur- prise, was promptly accepted. That is how I ended up in the army. I can’t claim that it was my vocation or a well thought-out and planned career project… had my father not handed me that form, I wonder where I would be today. Whatever it was, it was the beginning of a rigorous training period. I followed the drill, the very foundation of any army. They say that it develops the body and mind. Walking and filing by in perfect unison is no easy task. I picked up a number of survival tricks and was 9 also introduced to weapons handling. Mostly, I made many friends with whom I partied more often than not. I was rather content with that lifestyle. One of our reservist group’s tasks was to serve as a training unit for the Royal 22e Régiment, nicknamed the Vandoos. We were the bad guys. I quickly realized that I grasped military strategy with surprising ease. During one particular exercise, I tried something that would not only earn me a great deal of respect but some serious problems as well. Along with two other reservists, I had to plan an ambush on an entire 22nd platoon. We set up some straight branches covered with leaves and twigs, simulating weapons pointed at them. When the platoon arrived, one of us leapt forward and aimed his rifle at the highest in command, Warrant Officer Pronovost. “Surrender, you’re surrounded!” Thirty metres away and hidden behind a tree, I then fired a shot in the air. The third member of our trio also fired a shot. We wanted to create the impression of many men surrounding the platoon. Baffled and con- fused, the soldiers hesitated before eventually surren- dering. I requisitioned a transport vehicle at gunpoint and ordered everyone to climb aboard. When Warrant Officer Pronovost realized that there were only three of us, he turned beet red. Humiliated, he remained silent and sat apart from his men. Because of that battle exploit, I immediately became quite popular; it helped me have some good times in 10 the Army Reserve. I begin to seriously think about a military career. In my naiveté as a teenager, I decided I would be an army recruiter. I wasn’t aware that the job did not exist. Recruiters are actually enlisted person- nel from different military occupations who, on a rota- tional basis, are sent throughout the country to recruit new members. I submitted my application and was accepted at the Canadian Forces Recruit School. The tone was set on the very first day of train- ing. What an unpleasant surprise when I realized that our instructor was none other than Warrant Officer Pronovost. As I recognized him, he wasted no time showing that he had not forgotten me either. He headed straight towards me and made me stand to attention. With his face only inches from mine, he spoke in a low voice. “You, son, have just committed the worst mis- take of your life. You will pay unlike anything you can possibly imagine. I am going to break you, humiliate you. I swear you will drop out before the end of training.” Charming program up ahead. I questioned my decision in taking that path. I went through hell over the next six weeks. When most recruits were given special permissions after their fourth week, I had to wait for the eighth before finally being allowed out for a few hours. I was named Supervisor for Assistance in Safety and Security (SASS) for the program’s ten weekends. As if that weren’t enough, Pronovost kept me on as Platoon Senior, or recruit in charge of the platoon, for nine weeks out of the ten. Because of that, 11 I was given all the administrative tasks and was over- whelmed with work during most of my training. I was not given any break whatsoever. During the gas chamber exercise, the Warrant Officer made me, as Senior, go through with the platoon’s three sections. After the third time in the chamber, I couldn’t see a thing – my eyes were swollen, my nose runny, and I threw up repeatedly. Despite it all, I refused to quit the program. I held the unenviable record of 29 charges laid against me, with every reason more absurd than the last. But I watched and I learned. I told myself that the day would come when someone would realize it. The Warrant Officer was blinded by his obsession to make me quit. Of the 29 offenses, the most com- mon one was that of leaving my locker open. And yet, I knew for a fact that I locked it every morning. The only possible explanation was that somebody unlocked and opened it after I left. One morning, I made all 20 guys from my section check my locker to see for them- selves that it was indeed closed and locked. When a new charge was laid against me at the end of the day, I knew that Pronovost had just committed a huge mis- take. I lodged a complaint and had all 20 of my bunk mates testify. The Warrant Officer was reprimanded and fined for having lied. He was furious but I had it easy for the last seven days. Those ten weeks taught me a few things. First – I had leadership qualities. Second – although I was bold and provocative (something I realize even more 12 so today), I was also revolted by injustice and always ready to fight it.