PTSD in the Armed Forces: The Bomb Disposal Officer’s Tale

Chris Hunter Operating in Iraq in 2020

by guest author Major Chris Hunter QGM

Lord Moran, the much-celebrated physician of Winston Churchill’s, talked of soldiers having a stock of courage. Essentially, his theory was that people can be subjected to stress and trauma for a certain amount of time, but that each of us has a set ‘level’ of tolerance; and, crucially, once that level runs down to a dangerous level, if we are withdrawn from the stressful environment immediately we can replenish it, but if we fail to do so in time, it reaches a critical level after which permanent damage sets in.

Throughout my career I’ve witnessed countless traumatic incidents but, in 1995, as a young officer serving in Bosnia, I reached that critical level. Ten thousand Muslims were massacred during our tour and my troop and I experienced genocide at first hand.

Within months of returning home I found myself suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. I’d begun to fall off the rails and was really starting to lose my way and question whether I was really making a difference and if I was worthy of leading soldiers at all.

Chris neutralising a mock-up of a Remote Controlled Improvised Explosive Device

Brummie, my Troop Sergeant, gave me some amazing advice; he was a tough man who was no stranger to hardship. He’d spent time in both a young offenders’ institute and the elite French Foreign Legion before joining the British Army’s Pioneers but, despite his tough exterior, I soon realised that he was an extremely sensitive man who showed compassion and humility in abundance.

He sat and calmly listened to me as I struggled to articulate my anxieties and then, having listened and taken in every word, he gave me some advice that has sustained me through every challenge I’ve ever faced since. He told me that I’d never be able to solve all the world’s problems in one go, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to solve them one at a time. ‘A lot of good men fail because they try too hard to be perfect,’ he said, ‘and you know what? It’s all right just to be good. You can be a good enough husband, father, soldier, and still be a success.’

I’ll never forget those inspirational moments with him as he tried to shape me into a leader. Moreover, he taught all of us that worked with him that even in the macho culture of the Army that it’s OK to be scared. Through him we learned the true meaning of courage; namely that courage isn’t about never being scared, it’s about having the ability to muster up the inner strength to overcome your fears when you are. He was a very wise man, and pretty soon I learned, amongst other things, to rationalise the traumatic experiences I’d witnessed and, in doing so, I learned to overcome fear and stress.

Chris is also a motivational speaker

Six months after my Bosnia tour ended, I was driving into the British Army’s headquarters in Northern Ireland and witnessed two deadly IRA car bombs explode in a packed car park inside the barracks. It was rush hour, so as you can imagine, the first bomb caused numerous injuries; the second exploded a few minutes later, this time outside the medical centre. It had been placed there deliberately to target the wounded. I was truly sickened by the callousness of the attacks, but hugely inspired by the bravery of the bomb disposal operators who searched the remaining hundreds of parked cars by hand while those at risk were busy being evacuated. That was the moment I decided I was going to be a bomb technician. That moment was my calling.

Walking up to a terrorist bomb and neutralising it is one of the most terrifying yet gratifying experiences imaginable. When you and your team witness the truly terrible effects of a terrorist bomb and the devastating effect it has on people’s lives it really is heart-breaking. But when one is found and you are able to make it safe, and prevent that scene of carnage from re-occurring, there’s no feeling like it. It’s also one of the most exciting and adrenalin fuelled ‘rushes’ I’ve ever experienced, and those two aspects combined make it a potent and very addictive vocation.

Chris operating as an Army Bomb Disposal Operator in Iraq in 2004

On May 8th, 2004 we’d neutralised three bombs in Southern Iraq over the course of the day and had been out on the ground for over 16 hours without a break. Just as we were entering the City, looking forward to climbing into our beds, my team and I were ambushed in one of the most terrifying incidents I’d ever experienced. But as the bullets and grenades exploded into life around us, and in spite of our natural instinct to want to curl up in the foot-wells of our vehicles, we realised that the only way we’d stand any chance of survival was to overcome the paralysing fear and take the fight back to the enemy. I was convinced that my team and I would probably all be killed, but when you’re staring death in the face, it’s amazing how natural the body’s desire to survive really is. We took a deep breath, summed up a deep dark fury from the pits of our stomachs and violently fought fire with fire. 

Miraculously, we all managed to come out of it alive. But the next morning we had to go straight back out to deal with more bombs - and had to drive through the ambush site again. There wasn’t time to get over the shock; it was truly unsettling. On reflection, not only did I realize that life is finite, I also realised the true importance of staying focused and keeping your sense of humour when things go pear-shaped.

Obviously, being ambushed and shot at was extremely traumatic but every bomb I walked up to was also highly stressful. As you take that long walk up to the Improvised Explosive Device (IED), often carrying in excess of 150 lbs of equipment, your pulse is racing and every sense is on full alert. You clear your mind of all the day to day nonsense like what you’re going to have for dinner that night; what bills have to be paid; and how your team is doing in the league, and instead you focus solely on the bomb. Where it is, how it might be constructed, and what the bomb-maker who designed that attack is trying to achieve. Is he trying to kill innocent civilians; is he trying to kill the police or members of the security forces; or is he trying to kill me?! The device might just be an obvious come-on that’s been placed to lure me into the area so that I can be killed by something more sinister. In essence, you’re playing a game of extreme chess with the bomber every time you take that long walk. But while you never fixate on death or failure – ever – in the back of your mind you have to maintain a healthy measure of paranoia... because at any moment you know that your time or luck could run out.

Total failure or complete success... 

Chris cuts the detonator out of an Improvised Explosive Device in Iraq in February 2020

People often ask why we do it; I know some do it for the ­ adrenalin rush, others to seek atonement for darker episodes in their lives. But I think most do it out of a good old-fashioned sense of duty – just because they want to make a difference. For me, I guess it was a bit of all three.

I suppose the real question is what makes us stay? There’s something immensely gratifying about neutralising a weapon designed to kill and maim large numbers of people. Everybody I know who does it is absolutely hooked. It has to be one of the most interesting jobs on the planet. It didn’t just challenge and motivate me mentally; the fact that we got to save the lives of thousands of people we didn’t know and would more than likely never meet, was massively inspiring on a ­ spiritual level too. Not a single day goes by now when somebody isn’t killed by an IED. Every device I could neutralise took me one step closer to tracing and bringing down the groups responsible.

But I guess that, if I put my hand on my heart, the biggest, most powerful incentive is the buzz. Rendering safe a terrorist bomb is probably the most exciting thing I’ve ever done without getting arrested. The rush I get from dealing with a device is fearsome. Like all aspects of soldiering, it’s truly elemental; a world where everything is often black and white; a world of straightforward choices. Life and death... both yours and the people you’re trying to save.

It comes at a cost, of course. One minute you’re standing at the cliff’s edge, just you and the bomb, pushing it to the max; the next you’re at home with your wife and kids, trying to come down and be normal again. And if you’re living on the edge, eventually you’re going to go all the way over. If you’re lucky, you see the signs and decide it’s time to pull back and step away. But maybe by then it’s already too late.

Major Chris Hunter the author

It’s worth noting that the number of soldiers who died through suicide, or who received open verdicts after returning home from the Falklands, is more than a third of the 237 who were lost there in action. An investigation by the BBC's ‘Panorama’ also revealed that 21 serving soldiers and 29 veterans were thought to have committed suicide in 2012, a number that exceeds the 40 soldiers who died fighting over in Afghanistan during the same period. And in the final year of the Afghan conflict there were more ex-military in prison, on parole or serving community sentences than were deployed in the country. Post-traumatic stress disorder is a very real phenomenon.

But on the plus side our servicemen also become more resilient in time. The more we are exposed to stress and trauma, the more resilience we build up, and the higher our tolerance – or stock of courage – to it, becomes. That is what happened with me, I believe. I definitely witnessed far more traumatic experiences after Bosnia, in places such as Iraq, Afghanistan and during the 7/7 bombings. But, by recognising my critical levels of tolerance to stress, and by learning to rationalise what I witnessed and experienced, I seem to have learned to cope with virtually any traumatic experience that has come my way so far.

When I watch the news, return from a war-zone or indeed speak with other friends who’ve recently returned from conflict, I realize that little changes. The world continues to be dangerous and un­predictable and, for the members of our armed forces still operating, the switch continues to flick rapidly and repeatedly from full-off to full-on. And yet despite the risks and the trauma, they love what they do. It’s a vocation, a way of life. And if you asked a veteran if he or she would do it all over again, you’d get the same answer every time:

“…in a heartbeat!”

Chris Hunter is a broadcaster, motivational speaker and former British Army bomb disposal operator. He is the best-selling author of the non-fiction titles: Eight Lives Down and Extreme Risk and is a regular contributor to television & radio news and current affairs programmes. For his actions during his Iraq tour Chris was awarded the Queen’s Gallantry Medal by HM Queen Elizabeth II.

This Saturday 27 June is Armed Forces Day, a chance to show support for the men and women who make up the Armed Forces community.

There are many organisations providing support to the Armed Forces community. 

The PAVO mental health team has pulled together a list:

Support for Service Personnel & their families

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