This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2013/mar/10/fred-nerac-disappeared-warzone-iraq
The article has changed 6 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 0 | Version 1 |
|---|---|
| Fred Nérac, my ITN colleague, disappeared in a warzone. The joke we shared still haunts me | Fred Nérac, my ITN colleague, disappeared in a warzone. The joke we shared still haunts me |
| (30 days later) | |
| It all seemed so unreal. We'd been lectured by military officers about our "conduct after capture" and about "dry land drowning", the effect on the body of exposure to chemical weapons. We'd flown through sandstorms to join British troops who were poised on Iraq's desert border to invade. We'd been told the entire battle plan because we were embedded, trusted journalists and now the war was about to begin. | It all seemed so unreal. We'd been lectured by military officers about our "conduct after capture" and about "dry land drowning", the effect on the body of exposure to chemical weapons. We'd flown through sandstorms to join British troops who were poised on Iraq's desert border to invade. We'd been told the entire battle plan because we were embedded, trusted journalists and now the war was about to begin. |
| In March 2003 I was with 42 Commando Royal Marines at what they called "the tip of the spear" and they were about to lose men in the first hours of the war. But waiting, too, were the unembedded journalists: reporters and cameramen who were to be the "independent" witnesses on the battlefield, free of any military constraint, able to move wherever they could. | In March 2003 I was with 42 Commando Royal Marines at what they called "the tip of the spear" and they were about to lose men in the first hours of the war. But waiting, too, were the unembedded journalists: reporters and cameramen who were to be the "independent" witnesses on the battlefield, free of any military constraint, able to move wherever they could. |
| A single, three-man team was chosen from ITN, later to be joined by a translator. I had hired two of them. We'd been through two previous wars together. One of those two men is alive today; one is dead. The third member of that team, the best known and ITN's most experienced war correspondent, was Terry Lloyd. He, too, is dead. The interpreter they hired in Kuwait, Hussein Osman, was also killed. Only one man, cameraman Daniel Demoustier, survived. The fate of the fourth man is one of the cruellest a war can deal. We know Fred Nérac was killed, but we have no idea how, or exactly where or when – or who killed him. Fred's body has never been found. | A single, three-man team was chosen from ITN, later to be joined by a translator. I had hired two of them. We'd been through two previous wars together. One of those two men is alive today; one is dead. The third member of that team, the best known and ITN's most experienced war correspondent, was Terry Lloyd. He, too, is dead. The interpreter they hired in Kuwait, Hussein Osman, was also killed. Only one man, cameraman Daniel Demoustier, survived. The fate of the fourth man is one of the cruellest a war can deal. We know Fred Nérac was killed, but we have no idea how, or exactly where or when – or who killed him. Fred's body has never been found. |
| The ITN men who died with him were mourned at funerals and have graves. Fred has no resting place where his wife and two children can mourn, no stone inscription to mark his life. His initial disappearance brought them weeks of torture. Then months of dying hope and desperate frustration. Then, finally, years of nagging questions and terrible sadness. In a computerised world, where so many trivial questions can be answered in an instant, they accept that they cannot, and perhaps never will, answer the questions that haunt them: how did Fred die? Where does he lie? | The ITN men who died with him were mourned at funerals and have graves. Fred has no resting place where his wife and two children can mourn, no stone inscription to mark his life. His initial disappearance brought them weeks of torture. Then months of dying hope and desperate frustration. Then, finally, years of nagging questions and terrible sadness. In a computerised world, where so many trivial questions can be answered in an instant, they accept that they cannot, and perhaps never will, answer the questions that haunt them: how did Fred die? Where does he lie? |
| Fred Nérac was my friend. Born in 1960, he was the same age as me and was remarkable by any measure. He'd been a soldier with the United Nations peacekeeping force in Lebanon, then a painter, creating huge murals in restaurants. He was an accomplished jazz drummer and, as a son of Chambéry in the French Alps, a wonderful skier. He joined ITN, where he filmed memorable footage of war in Kosovo and Afghanistan, that millions watched on ITV News at Ten. | Fred Nérac was my friend. Born in 1960, he was the same age as me and was remarkable by any measure. He'd been a soldier with the United Nations peacekeeping force in Lebanon, then a painter, creating huge murals in restaurants. He was an accomplished jazz drummer and, as a son of Chambéry in the French Alps, a wonderful skier. He joined ITN, where he filmed memorable footage of war in Kosovo and Afghanistan, that millions watched on ITV News at Ten. |
| Fred, Daniel and I had been in and out of scrapes together for five years; but as we waited on Iraq's border I wasn't with either of them. Terry Lloyd had been chosen as their reporter and in Kuwait they hired their interpreter Hussein, two vehicles and headed for the front line. My last words to them days before the war began were that old journalists' cliché, "Keep your head down". We hugged and parted. | Fred, Daniel and I had been in and out of scrapes together for five years; but as we waited on Iraq's border I wasn't with either of them. Terry Lloyd had been chosen as their reporter and in Kuwait they hired their interpreter Hussein, two vehicles and headed for the front line. My last words to them days before the war began were that old journalists' cliché, "Keep your head down". We hugged and parted. |
| On the second day of the invasion, with Terry and Daniel in one car and Fred and Hussein following behind, they drove north on the main road to Basra, believing they might just get to the city before anyone else. Soldiers waved them through. They were excited, laughing, though beneath it all a little anxious. They reached an Iraqi checkpoint near Bridge Seven faster than they'd planned, Daniel and Terry realising too late how far they'd gone and executing a U-turn which they hoped would save them from capture or save their lives. | On the second day of the invasion, with Terry and Daniel in one car and Fred and Hussein following behind, they drove north on the main road to Basra, believing they might just get to the city before anyone else. Soldiers waved them through. They were excited, laughing, though beneath it all a little anxious. They reached an Iraqi checkpoint near Bridge Seven faster than they'd planned, Daniel and Terry realising too late how far they'd gone and executing a U-turn which they hoped would save them from capture or save their lives. |
| But by the time the second car did the same, the Iraqis were already giving chase in vehicles with mounted guns. They stopped the two cars and questioned the team; Hussein translating and reassuring; "Sahafa, sahafa…journalists, journalists", Fred laughing to try to put the nervous Iraqis at their ease. Minutes later, Fred was ushered into the rear seat of a pick-up truck mounted with a gun. Typically, he hadn't let go of his camera and was last seen smiling, with the militia men beside him. | But by the time the second car did the same, the Iraqis were already giving chase in vehicles with mounted guns. They stopped the two cars and questioned the team; Hussein translating and reassuring; "Sahafa, sahafa…journalists, journalists", Fred laughing to try to put the nervous Iraqis at their ease. Minutes later, Fred was ushered into the rear seat of a pick-up truck mounted with a gun. Typically, he hadn't let go of his camera and was last seen smiling, with the militia men beside him. |
| Daniel drove the car containing Terry; both were marked "TV" in large black letters. The vehicles, now joined by several others, began driving back towards Allied lines on the main road. There were US tanks beside the road, US marines ahead. As the convoy approached at speed, the shooting started. | Daniel drove the car containing Terry; both were marked "TV" in large black letters. The vehicles, now joined by several others, began driving back towards Allied lines on the main road. There were US tanks beside the road, US marines ahead. As the convoy approached at speed, the shooting started. |
| It's not clear who fired first, but both sides were soon shooting furiously. At this point we lose contact with Fred. Daniel says he thought he saw him, near a ditch, but by then Daniel was himself in the dirt. His car had been hit by multiple bullets, the door flung open and Terry pitched out onto the road. | It's not clear who fired first, but both sides were soon shooting furiously. At this point we lose contact with Fred. Daniel says he thought he saw him, near a ditch, but by then Daniel was himself in the dirt. His car had been hit by multiple bullets, the door flung open and Terry pitched out onto the road. |
| The inquest into his death concluded that Terry had been killed unlawfully by US forces. He was shot twice by a platoon of marines, the second bullet in the head as he was driven away for medical treatment. The Crown Prosecution Service said later that, although he had been injured by shots from Iraqi forces and killed by American fire, there was insufficient evidence to bring charges against any individuals. | The inquest into his death concluded that Terry had been killed unlawfully by US forces. He was shot twice by a platoon of marines, the second bullet in the head as he was driven away for medical treatment. The Crown Prosecution Service said later that, although he had been injured by shots from Iraqi forces and killed by American fire, there was insufficient evidence to bring charges against any individuals. |
| Fred's family would love to have such detail, however hard it would be to hear. They have simply no idea how he was killed. It's not as if they haven't tried to find out. Fred's widow, Fabienne, has lobbied the US and French governments. "I believe and hope there must still be people in Iraq who have vital information about what happened to Fred," she says. "It's of great importance to me and our children to find him. We think about Fred and miss him every day." | Fred's family would love to have such detail, however hard it would be to hear. They have simply no idea how he was killed. It's not as if they haven't tried to find out. Fred's widow, Fabienne, has lobbied the US and French governments. "I believe and hope there must still be people in Iraq who have vital information about what happened to Fred," she says. "It's of great importance to me and our children to find him. We think about Fred and miss him every day." |
| Not a fragment of Fred's body or bones has been found, even though his identity card was recovered. Like many ITN journalists who have been back to the scene, I have asked questions at hospitals and police stations and come up with nothing. Terry's death was big news in Britain, Fred's disappearance less so. But it haunts his friends and family still. After accepting his death, I found it hard to strap on a flak jacket again and report war. | Not a fragment of Fred's body or bones has been found, even though his identity card was recovered. Like many ITN journalists who have been back to the scene, I have asked questions at hospitals and police stations and come up with nothing. Terry's death was big news in Britain, Fred's disappearance less so. But it haunts his friends and family still. After accepting his death, I found it hard to strap on a flak jacket again and report war. |
| I've been back to Iraq several times with Daniel Demoustier. We filmed firefights and a football match in Basra and toasted Fred at a restaurant in the city he never reached. | I've been back to Iraq several times with Daniel Demoustier. We filmed firefights and a football match in Basra and toasted Fred at a restaurant in the city he never reached. |
| I can still hear his wonderful French accent, telling me why he was attracted by warzones. "I want to test myself," he said. "I don't want to die in a shithole but I feel alive when I'm doing this." I can still hear him on the phone from Kosovo and Afghanistan to his children; sweet words to his little daughter Camille, now a grown woman, and to his son Alex, now a news cameraman, following in his father's footsteps. | I can still hear his wonderful French accent, telling me why he was attracted by warzones. "I want to test myself," he said. "I don't want to die in a shithole but I feel alive when I'm doing this." I can still hear him on the phone from Kosovo and Afghanistan to his children; sweet words to his little daughter Camille, now a grown woman, and to his son Alex, now a news cameraman, following in his father's footsteps. |
| I'm also haunted by a joke I used to make to Fred. I told him that the only Nérac I'd ever heard of was a man who disappeared and was never heard of again. Captain Robert Nairac, I said, was a British soldier who had almost certainly been shot and his body buried in Northern Ireland. I warned him that he'd better be careful in warzones. | I'm also haunted by a joke I used to make to Fred. I told him that the only Nérac I'd ever heard of was a man who disappeared and was never heard of again. Captain Robert Nairac, I said, was a British soldier who had almost certainly been shot and his body buried in Northern Ireland. I warned him that he'd better be careful in warzones. |
| Little did I know. Little did any of us. It all seems so unreal. | Little did I know. Little did any of us. It all seems so unreal. |
| guardian.co.uk today is our daily snapshot of the top news stories, sent to your inbox at 8am |