Should he cut the green wire or the red one? Taking a break in Malta after defusing bombs in Libya, explosive ordnance disposal technician Fred Pavey talks down the drama but tells Herman Grech his job is pure adrenaline.

Fred Pavey inflates his rubber chicken and pops it into his rucksack, leaving its bright red head popping out. Armed with a few tools and raw courage, the Briton puts on his cap, ready for another day on possibly the most dangerous job in the world.

“I make sure the chicken’s head is sticking out of my little backpack to remind me to be a bit of a chicken... Better to be a live chicken than a dead lion,” he smiles.

The rubber chicken was a lucky charm present from Pavey’s Maltese wife and he religiously carries it around with him whenever he is in the field.

The 55-year-old explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) technician is one of the unsung heroes who risk life and limb to clear minefields, unexploded bombs and any explosive remnants of war.

His work with Danish NGO Church Aid has recently seen him plying his trade in one of the world’s most dangerous spots – the Libyan city of Misurata – which has come under intense shelling.

But sitting at The Times offices, Pavey constantly downplays the risks involved and even humbly rejects the title of “expert”.

“My job is slightly outside the norm but in life you have to follow rules, and if you follow them you’re going to be OK,” he says.

The life of an EOD technician was told in gripping and graphic detail in the film The Hurt Locker, which opens with a statement presented as fact: “War is a drug.” But for Pavey, who admits he has not watched the Oscar-winning film, it is his job, and not war, which has become a drug.

“The more I experience it, the more I want to do it,” he says.

Like many bomb disposal technicians, Pavey’s background is in the military. He served as an engineer for the British forces in Malta in the 1970s and after 34 years in the military decided to take his training to a new level, travelling to the world’s biggest hotspots to defuse bombs.

“We teach local people about the danger of these things, and how to deal with them. We deal with victim assistance. We also advocate a mine-free world, which is the most difficult part of the job,” he says.

His activity is semi-military, requiring strict, clear discipline and proper assessments.

As much as operating by the rules drastically cuts the risk, Pavey is well aware the danger can never be eliminated.

“I don’t mean to be blasé but that’s life isn’t it. Yes, for a lot of people it’s unusual but as long as you follow the rules and manage the risk to almost zero you’re going to be OK.

“Of course, it has its moments. All the people I know, friends and acquaintances, who were killed or injured by mines or explosive remnants of war generally did something unusual or stepped outside the rules... A small percentage have been unlucky.”

But still the death of friends in the field has not forced Pavey to consider a change of career.

“When I got into this I said this isn’t my comfort zone. You need the training and the mindset to do this kind of job. You need to focus on what you’re doing without any distractions and a good team to back you up. As long as they’re in place, you’re generally OK,” he says, coolly.

“If I had to act outside those rules my colleagues would stop me. We’re watching each other and go back over what we’ve done and see if there’s a better way of doing it. There’s a lot of black humour and we have an expression which is semi-serious, but which gets us through the day – ‘initial success or pink miss’. ”

Pavey is in Malta before taking the 20-hour ferry trip to return to Misurata, thanks to I-Go Aid, the foundation set up by Maltese and Libyan nationals.

He is in a group of volunteers with a special brand of courage that has saved the lives of hundreds in Libya.

He is quick to point out that Misurata is the best place he has worked in because of the sentiments of the people in the wake of the Libyan uprising.

“I worked in the Libyan desert in 2007 and most people I met felt oppressed. They used to look over their shoulders. Now you can see the joy in their eyes, something which was never there.”

His eyes light up as he speaks of his experience in the troubled northern Libyan town, both in the field and on a personal level. His team has found the ground strewn with all sorts of deadly ammunition – mines, missiles... and an unexploded Tomahawk warhead.

He cites a recent operation in Misurata among the most hazardous he has ever faced. After inspecting a number of missile sites deemed dangerous by Nato, Pavey and his team were told by a small boy there was something strange lurking on the other side of the road.

The worst fears materialised – wires with a detonator were spotted going underneath the heavily-trafficked road. The area was quickly cordoned off and an ambulance on its way to the front line was stopped to provide assistance, just in case.

“We found an item under the soil, pulled it out remotely using some rope and it was a huge improvised thing, like a Claymore mine, packed with explosives. We also noticed some wires alongside the road going further towards the enemy end and there were pressure plates under the road. It was huge and would have killed lots of people standing nearby if it went off.”

Hours later, after a delicately-executed operation without full equipment, Pavey and his team managed to snuff out the danger.

“A lot of colleagues told me we shouldn’t have done it but we did carry out a risk assessment before we went ahead with it.”

A lot of civilians are unaware of the danger lurking beneath their feet and do not hesitate before picking up explosive devices, Pavey says.

“Our biggest difficulty is trying to convince the people in Misurata they don’t have to be brave anymore and to follow the rules. But they have this fatalistic inshallah (God willing) mentality: ‘I’m brave, if I go I would get my reward in heaven’. And we tell them ‘no, you don’t really need to do that. Think about the family and children’.

“One of our main tasks is to educate. We put posters up all over the place and we’ve instigated a reporting system for us to deal with.”

Pavey is quick to dismiss suggestions that he is among the over-zealous operatives in the troubled north African country.

“We don’t go in unless we have a way of getting out. It’s not like we’re making it up as we go along. You have to make sure there are security and evacuation plans, you have medics and you have an objective.”

However, he insists there is nothing which makes him suspicious of the locals. On the contrary, the Libyans have offered support and are grateful to Nato for its support.

Pavey’s team is now training the Libyans to take over the baton in line with international rules and replace the ad hoc teams of volunteers who until recently were going around picking up explosives.

Later this week Pavey is planning to return to Libya from his temporary home in Malta. He might have been based in Malta for a relatively short time in the 1970s but it was long enough for him to fall in love with a Maltese woman he married in Malta 10 days after the last British naval ship left Valletta in 1979.

So when does he plan to hang up his gloves... and rubber chicken?

“My wife asks me this question several times. She asks me when I intend to grow up. I really don’t know. I suppose it’s a young man’s game, but the more I experience it the more I want to do it.

“I’m 55, but I don’t feel any different from when I was younger. I can still give a contribution and I’d like to continue doing it.”

hgrech@timesofmalta.com

Watch excerpts of the interview on www.timesofmalta.com.