CHOMAN, IRAQ – If Grmandil mountain were a ship, it might have sunk under its weight of land mines.
Big ones, small ones, tank killers, and devices designed to maim not murder, they dot the steep, rocky flanks like deadly toadstools. High up, near the cloud-covered summit, tons of munitions lie dormant under the snow, ready to strike again come spring.
No one hikes here. Few animals roam. It’s such a perfect death trap that even seasoned mine disposal specialists, no shrinking violets, give the peak a wide berth.
“Mines here, mines there, and probably more mines there,” said Mam Rasool, gesturing left, right, and straight ahead. “It’s not a good place.”
He should know. He’s down to one leg and only part of
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