Pity the men in uniform

Published 05 June 2006

British soldiers have been reduced to force protection, defending their own and making sorties on to the streets to collect their comrades' bodies

One of the untold stories of the Iraq war has been the depth of unease among those in charge of Britain's armed forces. From 2002, senior de-fence officials were, in their inimitably careful way, sounding the alarm over the lack of kit and the inadequate diplomatic underpinning for the planned invasion. These men know their history; they need few lectures about patriotism. They can also spot military charlatans hurtling them towards a disaster.

Tony Blair, in his recent "say sorry" summit with George W Bush, once again dusted off the five principles for modern warfare set out in his Chicago speech of April 1999. In fact, these rules were hastily drawn up by the academic Lawrence Freedman, at the request of Downing Street, during a walk around a park in Wimbledon. The Iraq war did not fulfil any of the principles, but the one that was most egregiously violated was the requirement to plan for the long term.

It has been the foot soldiers who have had to sort out the mess left to them not just by Donald Rumsfeld, in his arrogance, but by his British counterparts, who not once stood up to the Americans in those crucial first months of the invasion. As the situation deteriorated, as the soft caps and the football-game photo opportunities were replaced by the full metal jacket, so the questioning among the top brass increased. By 2004 senior serving officers, worried about plunging morale among their men, could barely conceal their disdain for the political handling of the operation. Soldiers themselves mock the propaganda pouring out of the Ministry of Defence, such as the notion, posted resplendently on its dangerously politicised website, that "the political process in Iraq continues to develop at an encouraging pace".

Over the past month, the picture has become bleaker still. The number of UK service personnel who have died in Iraq has risen sharply to 113. In May alone 11 were killed, including British journalists who were embedded with troops while working for an American network. This may be a fraction of the 1,100 average monthly death toll among Iraqis, but the 7,200 British soldiers know they are sitting ducks every time they leave their heavily reinforced bases. Their sole reason for being there has been reduced to force protection - to defend themselves and their infrastructure, to make urgent sorties on to the streets to collect the bodies of their comrades.

The timing of force withdrawal has to be separated from the original case for war. Whatever the folly of the invasion, a reasonable argument could be made for preserving a military presence if it contributed to the stability of Iraq. It has long been clear, however, that the presence of foreign troops is galvanising, rather than stemming, the violent resistance.

Supporters of the invasion might argue that now a new government has been installed, the job is done. Iraq's prime minister, Nouri al-Maliki, has suggested he wants an orderly, but speedy, departure of UK and US forces. Blair's resistance, as ever in common with Bush, suggests that the motive for keeping their forces in harm's way is political. Both men are desperate for a nugget of good news before they send the troops home. The record suggests that this will not happen, that desertion rates will increase, and that, as the generals know, morale will sink further.

Darwinian struggle on the lawn

Croquet calls itself a game, even a sport, but anyone who has played it knows that it has qualities which set it apart from, say, tennis, golf or bowls. On the surface it is about the amiable skill of knocking wooden balls through hoops with large mallets. That is how it looks to outsiders, and it looks jolly nice. The superficial charm is only enhanced by the associations: country houses, well-tended lawns, summer afternoons, Pimm's and so forth. Say what you like about the Victorian gentry who passed such things down to us, they knew a thing or two about the good life.

In practice, however, very few sports or games offer more scope than croquet for the exercise of malice and one-upmanship. Bullies love it. People harbouring grudges savour every moment. Those who see the whole of life as a ruthless Darwinian struggle can hardly wait to drag the box outside and hammer the hoops into the ground. For the truth is that negotiating the six hoops, twice, is the least of the thing.

As an innocent beginner, you will probably struggle to do even that, but your real trouble begins when the more polished performer behind "makes a roquet", or clacks his ball against yours. He does this deliberately, because the rules then grant him the right to "take croquet", that is, place his ball against yours and bash yours into oblivion, or some other location from which it will be impossible to approach your next hoop in the appropriate direction. Worse, the rules then entitle him to a "continuation stroke" - in other words, an extra chance to advance his own circuit of the hoops. It follows, as night follows day, that you will expend three strokes getting back to where you were, by which time he will be out of sight with a mean-spirited grin on his face. And remember, strength and physical fitness avail you nothing here. Truly, this is a game for the Macchiavellis among us, so should we be surprised that our political masters like to play it when they get the chance, even at 4.15 on a Thursday afternoon?

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