PHOTOGRAPHER Terry Richards, 52, has been with The Sun since 1980 and has previously covered the Afghan war.
This time Terry, of Essendon, Herts, joined 40 Commando Royal Marines on HMS Ocean and followed their attack on Al Faw in Southern Iraq. Here is his amazing report and pictures.
IRAQI troops shot their own commanders with Kalashnikov rifles — so they could surrender.
I overheard a Marine reporting to an officer what the captives had admitted to him. And I don’t blame them for it.
Not when you have just witnessed the awesome sight of 40 Commando Royal Marines capturing a key oil refinery — and seen doomed Iraqi fighters crumble at their gunposts.
Faced with the astonishing firepower and determination of these elite Marines, even hardened soldiers would crack.
As for this poorly-equipped Iraqi force, it takes just two hours for Our Boys to blast a devastating hole through their shattered morale.
Scores of demoralised men with fear in their eyes and white flags waving above their heads capitulate under a barrage of bullets at the Al Faw refinery.
They look a beaten, bloodied and bedraggled bunch. Some have suffered life-threatening wounds in the two-hour firefight with the Marines.
The injured are patched up by the British troops, while all prisoners are searched for concealed weapons.
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| Surrender ... captive waves white flag |
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A captive waves a white flag with his face obscured in accordance with advice from the MoD. Under the Geneva Convention PoWs must be shielded from public curiosity. |
Those fit enough are ordered to put their hands on their heads. Others are commanded to lie spread-eagled in the dust as they are checked over.
The Iraqis desperately try to give their captors money but, of course, none take it.
They keep repeating: “It’s your money, it’s your money.” The Marines’ superior skill, will and firepower has simply overwhelmed the Iraqis.
I am lucky enough to be the first photographer into enemy territory and it is a genuine privilege to work with this highly-trained elite troop.
I had a place on an assault helicopter as we took the 45-minute midnight flight to swoop on Al Faw from our Camp Viking desert base on the Kuwaiti/Iraq border.
It was delayed due to bad weather and because the landing site was not quite as it first appeared from the satellite photos.
The objective was simple — to secure the oilfield so Iraqis could not blow it up.
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| Hold it there ... Marine searches Iraqi prisoner |
There was a tangible sense of fear among the men that the Iraqis would deliberately unleash an ecological disaster.
Our assault helicopters landed inside the giant oil installation in pitch dark.
The Marines hit the ground running, forming a perfect arc and setting off light sticks to guide a path through the blackness.
That allowed me to make a 200-metre dash to a building pinpointed as a safe haven from which to watch the action unfold.
I took pictures of the landing using hi-tech infrared night vision equipment.
When the firefight broke out I was kept at a safe distance — but still felt the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.
The sound of crackling gunfire filled the air for two hours as the enemy faced the full awesome force of belt-fed GP machine guns and SA80 assault rifles.
Even after the refinery had been secured and I could join the Commandos, there was still mortar fire trained on us.
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| Still a threat ... Our Boys check for hidden weapons |
It was taken out shortly afterwards, but there were dangerous skirmishes well after the main firefight was won.
My heart was in my mouth because I knew we were inside enemy territory. I just kept my head down and concentrated on the job in hand — the only way in a combat situation.
I saw how the Commandos handled the prisoners and can report their treatment was exceptionally good.
Before the Al Faw operation I had spent a week with the Marines on HMS Ocean.
We were going to be lifted off the ship by helicopter but there was a change of plan.
Instead, we landed on a stretch of coastline known as Green Beach — and we were completely unopposed.
We were then transported by lorries for half an hour into a secret desert location called Camp Viking.
We were told we were within striking distance of the Iraqi border.
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| Help at hand ... medic treats a prisoner's wounds |
Living conditions were basic. For three days we survived on minimal army rations and lived in tiny foxholes — just holes in the sand.
I was well looked after by Sergeant Major Greg Fenton. He is a great bloke and made sure I coped.
The foxholes had to be at least three feet deep to give protection from mortar fire.
On the second day a fierce sandstorm blew up out of nowhere. It was unbelievable — the sand gets in your mouth, up your nose, everywhere.
On the last day there we received about eight gas and Scud alerts.
I had to wear my protective chemical suit and was ordered to keep my gas mask within a metre’s reach at all times.
At times it felt like the Scud warnings were coming every five minutes. Luckily no missile landed near us.
At the end of the third day we were flown into Al Faw — and an experience that will never leave me.
