Meet Neryl Joyce: Woman. Mother. Wife. Soldier.

Neryl Joyce went from single mum to highly trained Baghdad bodyguard. But her journey from working at Woolies to protecting innocents in the battlefields of Iraq exposed her to more than threats of ambush and assassination – she had to battle with her own teammates as well. In Mercenary Mum Neryl reveals what she had to overcome in order to succeed as a woman, and a mother, in the dangerous world of high-risk security.

With a career in the military police (MP) in my sights, I moved to Cairns to start a university degree. I got a part-time job at Woolworths and moved into a tiny unit. During my uni breaks, I would fly down to Brisbane for my MP training. I had to work hard to balance the demands of my studies with those of my job but I passed the MP course with flying colours. I was the top student and the only woman in the platoon.

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It was around this time that I met Bruce, who was also in the army. We got engaged and, in due course, I became pregnant. I couldn’t wait to be a mum. We were going to be the perfect little family.

As the months went by, I no longer fitted into my camouflage army uniform and had to start wearing a maternity dress. I worked right up until I went into labour and when our baby was born we named him Kane – ‘son of the warrior’.

I really took to motherhood. There were nappies to be washed, feedings at all hours and limited sleep. But it was glorious. My maternity leave was all too short. I took extra leave without pay. That’s when things started to get tough financially. With great reluctance, I returned to work.

At the start of the new millennium, we moved to Canberra so that I could undertake officer training at the Royal Military College (RMC). I didn’t want to give up the chance to become an officer or give up being a mum. Somehow I juggled the two roles.

Officer training was definitely one of the most challenging times of my life. The days were long, and the nights longer. I’d escape the rigid training institution and return home to my son. I didn’t want Kane to forget who I was. Each night I bathed him, fed him and put him to sleep. As I lay with him to settle him down, I’d often fall asleep from exhaustion.

My alarm was set so I could work on my assignments before Kane woke up. At four in the morning it is hard to focus on the weapon characteristics of an Abrams tank as compared to those of a Leopard tank.

The hard work paid off and eighteen months later I received my commissioned rank of lieutenant. It’s funny how when you’re on a good run you don’t stop to think that things can go wrong.

My relationship with Bruce had been put under considerable strain during my time at RMC and eventually Bruce opened up: “I’m leaving. I don’t love you anymore.” I was devastated – completely and utterly devastated. To top things off, I had to march into my new unit the very next morning.

The next day I dropped Kane off at day care, reported for duty, did my job, and then came home. That became my life: work, look after Kane, work, sleep. For the next year and a half, I struggled along. Bruce was hardly ever around as he was either deployed on operations or attending courses. I had no life outside of Kane. I wasn’t interested in going out and meeting anyone new. I wanted to concentrate on my son and make things the best I could for him.

In January 2003, I was given the opportunity to try out for the elite MP close personal protection (CPP) course. It was physically demanding, mentally draining, but a hell of a lot of fun! I was ecstatic when I learnt I had passed. I had worked hard and was extremely proud to be the first female officer qualified to command CPP teams on military operations.

As a female leader in the army, I found that I had to be above average in all areas of the job in order to be thought of as equal to my male counterparts. I needed to be ‘special’ in order to be accepted. Completing the CPP course bolstered my reputation as a female leader, and I hoped it would propel my career within the MP.

However, as my relationship with Bruce continued to deteriorate, work went off the rails. My soldiers and sergeants were being deployed on operations, and I found myself left with an understaffed platoon for most of the year.

At first I relished all these challenges, but after twelve high-tempo months it just got plain hard. I loved my job, but being a single mum was tough. All too often I found myself driving Kane to my mum’s house at the weekend (a twenty-hour round trip), so I could attend mandatory army field exercises. I’d then have to repeat that trip the following weekend to pick him up.

I had got so much from being a soldier and an officer, but things had changed. At work, I wanted to invest all my time and effort in my job. When I was at home, I wanted to immerse myself in Kane’s life. As things stood, I wasn’t doing either to my satisfaction: my mind was always in two places. I also had a deep sense that I wanted something more out of life. So I began to think about other options.

I’d heard about the emerging security contractor scene in Iraq. My whole adult life I’d trained to work in a war zone, and yet I couldn’t do so as a female officer. But, in the security sector, the possibilities were limitless.

I wrestled with how it would affect my son, and ruminated torturously on the ‘what if’ scenarios. How would Kane cope without me for six months – the length of the typical contract? What if something happened to me while I was over there? These were difficult, soul-searching questions.

After lengthy discussions with Bruce, we decided Kane would live with his dad for the six months I’d be away, and when I returned on leave I would be a stay-at-home mum. Apprehensively, I resigned from the army and, before I knew it, I had a job lined up as part of a private security detail (PSD). This was a life-changing decision, and making it felt electric.

It was strange how quickly living in a war zone in Iraq became ordinary. The days were a strange mix of being on intense alert, looking out for threats, and being profoundly bored. But death was never far from my mind.

Life as the only woman in a security team isn’t without its challenges. Threats from attack were one thing but I also had to fight just to be recognized by my own team. In one instance I was told I would be used as the bodyguard who handled ‘female’ issues and that my fellow security contractor Smokey would be used as the ‘real’ bodyguard.

I was getting really frustrated. I was used to the Australian Army. There, we worked as a team; we communicated and we helped each other out. This was not how they rolled here. No one was being trained properly, people were stepping into jobs they weren’t qualified to perform, and there was no group solidarity. I felt my professionalism was being compromised. How sad that my concerns would reveal themselves to be very well founded.

One morning my team headed out for Baghdad airport to pick up a client. I had injured myself and was unable to go with them. I think sometimes things happen for a reason.

On the way to their airport my team was ambushed on Route Irish, one of the deadliest roads in the world. My colleagues Tomahawk, Camel and Ronin were all shot and killed by insurgents and there was nothing I could do.

Insurgents were to blame for the deaths of my mates, but the team’s safety was the responsibility of my leaders and my company. Their failure has left me bitter and angry to this day.

After that I couldn’t wait to leave the country. A few days later I arranged to leave with another team. As we flew out of Iraq everything felt different. I didn’t have to watch my back anymore. Gone were the guns, the armoured vehicles and the tang of testosterone in the air. I was heading back to my little boy Kane who I loved and missed so much. It felt like I had lived a lifetime away from him. Now, I was returning to my son, and to being a mother.

This is an edited extract of Mercenary Mum by Neryl Joyce, published by Nero. Buy a full copy of the book here.