I didn’t set out that morning with the intention of killing anyone but these are big boys’ rules
“WHENEVER a ship approached us we’d fire a flare to say we’d seen them – and if they kept coming after that we’d let off a few warning shots.”
Ormskirk-born Dom Mee is running me through the procedure when facing down Somali pirates on the vast emptiness of the Indian Ocean.
“We’d use tracer bullets that lit up red when fired, so there was no doubt about whether they’d clocked them or not.
“And, if they continued to proceed toward us after that, then it was probably safe to assume they weren’t collecting for the Red Cross.”
Needless to say, the former Royal Marine commando’s method of dealing with any hijackers who refused to take a hint always ended the same way.
“Cross that line and you’re giving us no choice,” he added.
“It becomes a matter of self-defence, pure and simple. So, while I may not have set out that morning with the intention of killing anyone, these are big boys’ rules.
“It’s the middle of the ocean, the middle of nowhere – and, if it comes down to me and my crew or them... well, then it really isn’t going to end well for them.”
It was a perilous existence, fighting on the high seas against brutal thugs funded by shady criminal empires, all the while regarded – along with his crack team of former military buddies – as little more than a mere mercenary by international governments.
Certainly a world away from his idyllic formative years spent climbing mountains and exploring woodland around Denbigh and Flint in North Wales, having moved there from West Lancashire.
“My parents split up when I was little and years later my mum saw the light and married a Welshman,” laughed the 47-year-old.
“So we moved there and it really tuned me in to the wonder of the Great Outdoors, not to mention the Welsh language and culture – in fact, my first day at school there turned out to be on St David’s Day, with daffodils everywhere and singing. “I was like, ‘Wow’.” But like his mother, who ran off to join the Merchant Navy as a girl, Dom signed up for service, enlisting at the Army recruitment office in Wrexham.
He became a Green Beret at 17 and, for the next 15 years, travelled the globe.
“It taught me things I never thought possible; it taught me compassion and brotherhood and set me up with lads from all over, of all colours – watching each other’s backs was all that mattered.”
It also nurtured in him the ability to stay alive, even in the face of huge adversity, as he would find out in his later guise of intrepid explorer.
“Coming out of the Royal Marines I found it hard to adjust, to find my place in the world – as, indeed, so many do,” said Dom. “So I went on a voyage of discovery.”
Make that several – like that solo trip to the Arctic where he sustained four broken ribs from a charging musk ox, or that shipwreck in the Pacific where his boat got broadsided by a trawler.
But it was his solo quest across the north Atlantic in 2005 that saw him unflinchingly stare death in the face.
Attempting to break the sailing world record by traversing the 2,000-mile stretch of the Atlantic Ocean between Newfoundland, Canada and Devon within five weeks, Dom ended up going head-to-head with Hurricane Rita – the fourth most intense tropical cyclone in history.
Stranded in the water for 30 hours and clutching the upturned keel of his boat, Little Murka, as 95mph winds and 60fthigh swells lashed him, Dom recalls an odd feeling of calm.
“I’d given up waiting for someone to come and rescue me and was ready to die, so I let go of the side of the boat and slowly went under just as this huge wave came crashing down.
“I thought it would kill me for sure, but instead it brought the boat back up the right way and I was saved.”
He was eventually picked up by the Canadian Coast Guard, while Little Murka was recovered off the coast of Ireland by local fishermen a year later, having been left to drift rudderless along the Gulf Stream.
After that he utilised all of his experience in taking risks and teamwork, calling up old pals from the forces and founding a maritime security company called Protection Vessels International Ltd, which specialised in escorting super-yachts through dangerous waters.
“I was broke at the time and behind on the mortgage on my place in Somerset, while a lot of my mates from the Royal Marines were stumbling too,” said Dom.
“So when I got the call from one yacht owner wanting to throw work my way down the Gulf of Aden I went for it.”
After he procured an 80ft Swedish gun boat, news of Dom’s services spread and the demand quickly grew.
“I was annoyed at what was happening in that region – boats were being hijacked and massive amounts of ransom paid out, as was the official protocol in such situations.
“Meanwhile, the EU Navy’s directive was catch and release – meaning that if they apprehended hijackers all they’d do is confiscate their weapons and send them on their way, giving them enough fuel to get home,” said Dom, shaking his head in disbelief.
“That’s like two guys doing a drive-by shooting in Pontypridd and the police taking their guns, slapping their wrist and gifting them a McDonald’s voucher each.”
Dom and his team’s presence would prove a game-changer – despite initial reluctance from certain flag states to allow armed guards on board ships.
“We got called cowboys by some, but nothing could be further from the truth,” says Dom.
“We were proud ex-Marines and wanted to make a difference.
“Far from inflaming the piracy problem, our involvement was tackling it head-on – and not a moment too soon, as organised crime syndicates from the mainland were starting to get involved as there was clearly a lot of money to be made.”
Chief among them were Mohamed Abdi Hassan, aka Big Mouth, a Somali entrepreneur and diplomat who bankrolled a pirate fleet from behind the