The Raid

In the thunder, lightning, and torrential rain, army trucks and police vehicles converged on our campsite with sirens blazing and lights flashing. My first thought was that they were some sort of rescue operation, coming to evacuate us from the7 beach. Those thoughts quickly evaporated when I saw their tactical gear and the rifles and side arms they were carrying. Shouting orders in Turkish they surrounded us and began tearing apart our camp and searching through our belongings. They were intentionally destroying property under the guise of carrying out their searches, but we were too shocked to resist. Someone yelled out that it was a drug bust and everyone scattered A few of the airmen were thrown to the ground and handcuffed and we knew it was real.

 

I ran to my tent confused, dazed, and scared. I was reaching for my belongings when the tent collapsed around me and it was my turn to be violently tossed around. They tore through my stuff and quickly found the stash. I could see the excitement in their faces and hear it in their voices as they handcuffed me and half- dragged me over to the rest of the group. The Americans were cuffed in pairs and huddled in the pouring rain in differing states of clothing. There were thirty-one airmen and our Turkish bus driver/guide in the group. In keeping with their pairing practice, they handcuffed me to the driver. I was already scared half out of my wits but when I saw the look on the driver’s face, my fear went to a whole different level. They stood us up and motioned for us to head towards the bus. The rain was really coming down and we were having to walk up a quickly eroding embankment to get to the road. The driver slipped and fell, and the cuff tore into my flesh as I tried to get him back on his feet. Finally, I was able to stop his slide and we were able to continue up the hill. The police and soldiers continued to scream out orders and prod with their nightsticks and rifles as they loaded us onto the bus. We were instructed in broken English to remain seated and to not speak. None of us knew what was happening but it was apparent the man attached to me knew what we were in store for, and that it was not going to be pleasant. He cried and whimpered as the bus raced down the dirt road and whipped onto the main highway with its police escort. The man was shaking violently next to me and the constant jerking on my wrist drew blood. I grabbed my wrist with my free hand to try and keep it steady however the rough roads and miserable weather conditions made it difficult to do so.

 

The rain began to subside and looking out the dingy window, I could see that the countryside was changing and soon we entered the small town of Mersin, Turkey. Our bus was the only vehicle on the road and it swiftly navigated through the city streets before stopping at a foreboding dark structure. We drove around the corner to an alley that was blocked off with armored vehicles and trucks. It was the police station. There were police officers stationed at every corner and we were directed to stop outside of a small doorway halfway down the alley. The driver shut off the engine and scrambled out the door as officers boarded behind him. The drizzling rain made it impossible to see if there were armed guards on the roof, but we assumed the worse.

Still shackled, we were led inside through the side door and directed to a large hallway with benches. My fellow prisoner was screaming in Turkish, and tears streamed down his face. The guards and police officers were rough as they pushed and shoved us to separate benches. Other officers were unloading our gear from the campsite into a separate room. We sat in silence as we waited to see what was going to happen. I looked around the small holding area we were in and tried to get in a more comfortable position. It was a futile effort as every time someone spoke or there was movement in the room, the man attached to me would jerk his head and torso around and force me to move. Whatever he was hearing in the steady stream of conversations was not making him feel any better. I had no idea what to expect and refused to let my mind wander. Nothing in my short lifetime was anything close to this and so I had no reference to compare it to. Three days in country and I had messed up big time. A commotion on the other side of the room brought my thoughts back to the present. A squad of burly, rough looking men marched across the room and took up positions on both sides of a closed door. After receiving instructions, the interrogations started.

Two airmen were released from their cuffs, one was cuffed to a chair by the door and the other was led into the room. The door banged shut behind him and the rest of us turned nervous glances, wondering what was in store. The answer came moments later as loud noises, including screams, could be heard through the closed door. Fifteen minutes later they brought the first guy out and shoved the next one through the door. The first airman was hustled away from the communal area and it was apparent that the questioning had become physical. It took thirty minutes for the second airman to come out, his face was bruised, and he leaned on the guards for support. They continued the process and slowly made their way through the group. Some sessions were over in minutes, while others took longer, and it was clear that there had been resistance.

As the process continued the driver handcuffed to me became more animated and his cries were more insistent. A guard came over to our bench, leather strap in hand, and began to yell at him in Turkish. The man screamed hysterically as the guard beat him with the heavy strap around his neck and shoulders. I leaned away as far as the wrist chain would allow and protected myself with my free hand. His cries turned to whimpers and then soft moans, so the guard returned to his post. The interviews had now lasted over three hours and then it was our turn. I assumed they would take me first since I was the last American, instead they uncuffed the driver. The man had to be dragged by two burly guards who beat him with rubber hoses as they carried him into the interrogation room. The loud noises and screams intensified as they tortured the driver. It seemed like his interrogation lasted for hours. I was chained to the bench in an almost empty room. terror. The noise from the interview room stopped. The door opened slowly, and the two guards carried him out unconscious, and the bottoms of both feet were bruised and bloodied. It was my turn. While waiting on the bench, I had rehearsed this moment in my mind. Should I be brave and refuse to answer their questions? How much pain was I willing to suffer knowing in the end I would do as the others had? I finally convinced myself that the best course of action would be to cooperate with them and plead the case that it was my third day in country. I entered the room and noticed the presence of USAF security police. Any sense of relief dissipated as I saw they hardly glanced in my direction. The Turkish officers were sweating from their exertions and it was dark except for the bright lights shining in my eyes. The officers came towards me, straps in hand and took me to a small wooden desk in the middle of the room. They placed a statement written in Turkish, in front of me. I looked up at them sadly and said, “Where do I sign”?

I was the last person to be interrogated. Since the driver was no longer present, I was handcuffed to the bench we had been sitting on. The rest of the airmen had returned but everyone was silent. Between the coerced confessions and the evidence gathered during their searches, the Turks determined that fourteen Americans and the Turkish driver would be bound over for trial. I never heard what happened to the driver and one airman whose trial was separated from the rest of us. Rumor had it that he was a big- time drug supplier to the air base and that he was the prime subject for the raid. It was midnight by the time things were wrapped up by the investigators. This was important and numerous government officials, and police brass were awakened and summoned to the small police station. The USAF was present along with personnel from the US Embassy. It was decided that the 17 Airmen not charged in the incident would be released to US officials as soon as they could retrieve their belongings. After they boarded the transport to return to the base, most of the government officials and top brass left also. 

 

Then the strangest thing happened. All the food and alcohol salvaged from our campsite was brought into the large dayroom we were huddled in. We could retrieve our personal items and then the party started. Guards and police officials joined us in feasting on the food and drinking the alcohol. Some of the Turkish officers pulled out small packets of Ezra (the Turkish word for hashish) from their wallets and while flashing it, laughed at the stupid Americans. I realized I had not eaten since a hurried lunch earlier in the day. We were all scared but hungry and everyone ate till filled. We also drank ourselves to sleep.

​It was still dark when we were loaded back onto another bus and headed away from the police station. I was in a state of shock, the raid, the interrogations, the drunken food orgy and now a trip to who knows where. The bus stopped and parked on the intersection of two narrow streets (names). A single bulb illuminated the solid door that faced the entrance of the bus.

​The door opened and two guards came out and entered the bus. They motioned for our handlers to release the nearest prisoner and then escorted him through the door. They slowly repeated the process. As the bus emptied, I saw that once again I was going to be last. I feared that the questioning I was about to face was not going to be as easy as what took place at the jail. I was shoved through the small door and led down a narrow hallway; the hard, cold stone of the masonry walls barely reflected the dim lights. We went into an office where I was instructed to empty my pockets and place the contents on the desk. The man seated at the desk collected the items and placed them in a large yellow envelope.

​The man seated at the desk was the jail commandant. In broken English he explained that my possessions would be carefully safeguarded. He did not ask about the raid at the campsite, nor did he mention the charges against me. After signing the paperwork, the guards led me out of the office and down a narrow hall that again was dimly lit. I was terrified. We were told that possession of insignificant amounts of narcotics was a life sentence. My head was spinning, and my thoughts turned again to the interrogations from earlier and I was filled with dread. I cringed as the door opened slowly in response to the guard’s knock. I was pushed inside. 

​I was not prepared for what I saw. The room held wooden bunk beds, double stacked. The beds were occupied by Turks in various stages of undress. Seated on the floor were the twelve Americans who had gone before me. They were sitting with their legs crossed and they were all drinking coffee and snacking on small cakes. One of them spoke pretty good French and he was conversing with a young Turkish prisoner who was fluent in the language. Introductions were performed and I joined my fellow airmen on the floor mats. A small cup was placed in front of me, filled with a thick, dark coffee. I took a sip and almost gagged. It tasted like I was eating coffee grounds but notwanting to embarrass our hosts I swallowed it and smiled and joined the conversation as best I could. I was leery of the Turks and had barely met my fellow campers during the trip to the beach. 

There was a knock on the door and a jailer entered with a bottle of red pills about the size of aspirin. It was a sedative of some type, and we were all encouraged to take one, I quickly fell asleep.