War Dogs

by Shane Bryant

  In the depth of winter we went back into the Yakhdan wadi – IED alley – where the Afghani minesweepers had been wounded and Lee had nearly been killed by the 107-millimetre rocket. As a Ford Ranger pickup carrying an ANA squad somewhere up the front of the convoy crested a hill, an IED detonated, sending a storm of rock and dirt into the back of the vehicle and a plume of smoke into the air. I reached for my helmet and soothed Benny.

  The GMV pulled to a halt, along with every other vehicle in the convoy, and I got out and coaxed Benny down. ‘Come on, boy, time for work.’

  The blast had been command-detonated, and whoever had activated it misjudged his timing and barely missed destroying the ANA vehicle. Either Allah had smiled on the government troops in the back of the Ranger, or they’d been kissed on the arse by a fairy. I moved forward, but stayed behind the pair of ANA minesweepers who were walking slowly along the road. Benny and I started searching the ground on either side for more IEDs and booby traps.

  Because of the way the IED had been detonated, I knew that the Taliban had their eyes on us. Someone had pushed a button, or something, to set that thing off – it wasn’t as though it were a land mine. It was a freaky feeling knowing that the enemy was watching me, but this was the job I was being paid to do and so couldn’t let it get to me.

  The shaken but unharmed soldiers from the Afghan Security Group and ANA dismounted from the scratched-up Ranger and pushed out to the flanks, looking for command wires, Taliban spotters and, hopefully, the bastard who had set off this remote- controlled explosion. I concentrated on my job and on my dog, making sure that Benny kept his nose to the ground and kept on sniffing. As I’d done with Ricky, I’d trained Benny to work off-lead, even though it was against company standard operating procedures. Like his predecessor, Benny enjoyed working this way. He had more freedom to move and we worked faster, rather than having him straining at a lead. As harsh as it might sound, the other benefit of working your dog off-lead is that if, God forbid, he does trip something, you’re a lot further away from him than you would be if you were hanging onto his leash.

  Benny stayed about fifteen metres ahead, which was a good distance for me. With some dogs, if you teach them to work off lead after they’ve worked on-lead, they’ll be reluctant to put too much distance between you and them. Benny wasn’t like this and if he ever did start to crowd me, I knew it was his way of telling me that he was getting tired. I watched him closely for any change of behaviour that might indicate he’d found something.

  ‘Sook, Benny.’

  Benny knew exactly what I wanted him to do and it was all a game to him as he bustled along, quartering the road in a zigzag pattern, eagerly looking for something that would give him a chance to play with his ball. Even so, I made sure he overlapped the edges of the road each time he crossed, so that he didn’t miss a thing. I kept his face turned into the wind, to help him scent whatever might be out there.

  I also kept an eye on the minesweepers, keeping my pace and Benny’s in line with them, so that I didn’t get too close to them or drift ahead. As the sweepers, Benny and I moved slowly down the road, the convoy of trucks inched along behind us.

  Boom!

  A fountain of dirt and rock erupted maybe 80 metres ahead and to the right of me, and the smell of gutted earth rolled across the road.

  Boom! Boom!

  ‘Incoming! Mortars!’ someone yelled from one of the gun trucks behind me.

  Benny whimpered and I stood there on the side of the road, watching the explosions as more mortar bombs detonated. ‘Sook, Benny,’ I said to him, telling him to get back to work.

  As far as I was concerned, we still had a job to do, but the Afghani minesweepers were running down the road towards me. As they passed me, running for their lives, I suddenly realised that if they were leaving their post, then maybe I should get back to my GMV as well.

  Benny didn’t need any encouragement to do this; when I re-attached his lead, he was straining at it to get back to the truck. He was whimpering and whining again, and when we climbed aboard, I took him in my arms and buried his head in my embrace. ‘It’s all right, boy; it’s all right.’

  Back at the FOB, days later, I typed up my after-action report of the incident, and the subsequent four days for American K9, keeping it simple and factual. No adjectives were required to describe the grind and the danger of days on patrol.

  Mission after-action report – 28 Feb, 2008

  Day 1

  IED detonated near lead vehicle. I assisted with searching behind sweepers. Mortared while searching. Returned to vehicle. Artillery called on mortar site. Established remain overnight position overlooking village of Keshay.

  There was no room to mention the way I’d stood, staring at the mortars, wondering for a moment why all the Afghanis were running away; my brain somehow suggesting that it was OK for me to be standing in the open in the middle of a mortar barrage. No mention, either, of the scream of the 105-millimetre shells called in by the US soldiers in retaliation. I can still hear that sound, of the projectiles tearing the sky apart, now.

  I started typing again.

  Day 2

  Moved through westside of Keshay village. Engaged sniper in Keshay. Enemy sniper neutralised. Enemy contact in vicinity of Keshay bazaar. Special search dog handler located AK-47 and mags in compound. Received enemy fire from ridgelines. Returned fire. Close air support called.

  This had been a busy mission. After we’d started taking fire from the hills, the team captain had summoned a B1 bomber from out of nowhere to drop a 2000-pound JDAM – a Joint Direct Attack Munition, the military name for a guided ‘smart’ bomb – on a village that might have been there for a thousand years.

  The after-action report didn’t describe the pounding hearts, the adrenaline rush and the screams of elation. There was no room to describe Benny’s barking and the smell of burning after the bomb went off.

  Day 3

  Continued to move south towards the village of Saraw. Searched compounds with explosive detection dog Benny and Ana. PKM and ammunition located. Large pharmacy used for enemy fighters was uncovered. A-Team vehicle damaged and unrepairable. Vehicle towed back to Cobra.

  I couldn’t put it in the report, but I was actually annoyed that the Afghani soldiers had found the PKM Russian light machine gun and ammo. Benny and I entered the building about ten seconds after the ANA guys found the weapon. It would have been so valuable for Benny to make a real find, which would also validate his training – and mine.

  We still had to search the mud-walled house, in any case, and Benny kept coming back to the PKM. He sat by it, indicating he knew it was an enemy weapon. This was pretty amazing, when you think about it. The ANA all carried the same weapons and ammo as the Taliban did, yet my dog knew that this particular machine gun had belonged to the bad guys. It might even have been firing at us the day before. Even though the weapon had already been found, I rewarded Benny for doing a good job by letting him play for a while before we continued searching.

  It was eerie, coming across hard evidence of this elusive enemy’s presence; to know that the Taliban were here, treating their wounded, and cleaning and oiling their PKM machine guns, just like we did between missions.

  The vehicle damage referred to in the report was due to overloading, rather than to anything so dramatic as a roadside bomb or a mine. The humvee in question was carrying so much weight that its rear axle collapsed. We couldn’t leave it there, so we were ordered to skull-drag the stricken vehicle all the way back to Cobra, its broken rear end slowly ploughing the dirt all the way home. It took forever, and we were tired and cold, by the time we got back to the FOB.

  Day 4

  Depart FOB Cobra with intent to return to Keshay. Crossed Sakhar River and entered village of yakhdan. While crossing yakhdan wadi 2 x TM-62 Russian anti-tank mines located. I searched wadi for two hours. All mines destroyed in place. Takes another four hours to search and reach Keshay.

  After the brief respite of
a few hours’ sleep in our beds at Cobra, we saddled up and headed back out to IED alley and Keshay. Searching for two or four hours at a time is tiring work both for man and dog. You’re not moving fast, but you’re concentrating and communicating with each other all the time. To add to that pressure, we were heading back somewhere that we knew the enemy was, and where we had been attacked previously. Still, the SF guys got up, headed out and went looking for another fight without a murmur, because it was their job.

  Once we got to the village and searched it, Benny and I had a bit of downtime, as we were both knackered. The team had parked its vehicles on some high ground overlooking the village, and I walked Benny down the hill to a small stream, about 100 metres from the compounds we’d just finished searching. The ground was rocky and barren, with just a few hardy shrubs managing to defy the odds. The stream was flowing, although it was only about a metreand-a-half wide.

  ‘In you go, boy.’ I coaxed Benny into the shallow water and he stood there, tentatively at first, then lowered his head and lapped some up. ‘Good boy.’ I scooped up handfuls of water and drizzled them over him, then massaged them into his coat. He’d worked hard that day and deserved a break. Eventually, he sat down in the water and grinned at me as he cooled off. I sat on the rocks at the edge of the stream. It was great just spending some quiet time with Benny.

  An Afghani soldier came down to the stream and drank from it, using his cupped hand, but Benny didn’t pay him any attention. He was good like that – Ricky would probably have tried to kill the guy. The soldier then left us, which I was grateful for. In a place like Afghanistan the camaraderie of working with a great bunch of professionals is a beautiful thing, but sometimes you just want to be alone with your dog.

  That night, Benny reminded me how he’d earned his original nickname, the Bouncer.

  He was fiercely loyal to and very protective of me. As the sun started to settle behind the mountains, I took Benny for his evening piss and then up to the gun trucks, which were still positioned on the high ground overlooking the village. I fed him, then laid out my sleeping bag and tied Benny to the gun truck. He settled in for the night.

  I walked around to the other side of the truck, where one of the SF guys was tucking into a Meal Ready to Eat. I selected a meal for myself, popped it into its heater bag, then carefully extracted the piping-hot foil package, tore it open and started to eat. While I was chatting in between mouthfuls, another one of the team sergeants started to walk around the far side of the truck, where I’d left Benny.

  I didn’t think anything of it until I heard a low growl, then a short, high-pitched yelp of pure fear. I dropped my food and ran around the other side of the gun truck. Benny was straining at his leash, barking, and the shocked sergeant was standing with his hands in front of his privates. Benny had taken a piece out of the crutch of the man’s camouflage trousers and his undies were showing.

  ‘I’m sorry, man,’ I said to the sergeant and looked at Benny. ‘Bad dog!’

  ‘It’s OK,’ the sergeant said, his forgiving words barely hiding his realisation that he’d just come within millimetres of losing his crown jewels.

  He was good about it, though, understanding that Benny was just protecting our little patch. I couldn’t be too hard on the dog, but if he’d injured the guy, things might have been different. Psycho Nero, Jason’s old dog, was eventually retired for being too aggressive. Benny the Bouncer could be as nice as pie, but it seemed that his original nickname could still be appropriate.

  Day 5

  Dismounted element including myself searched compounds and Keshay bazaar for possible caches. Nothing was found. Returned to FOB Cobra. End of mission.

  I smiled as I thought of the last day of that eventful mission. In the compounds at Keshay there were a number of farm animals, cows, goats and chickens, wandering around. There were also some Afghan dogs tied to trees. The dogs yapped at Benny but he paid them no mind, carrying on with his work.

  At one point during the search, though, a baby goat walked up to Benny and then started following him around. Benny stopped and looked at me with a ‘What the hell does this young punk want with me?’ look on his face. I shook my head and laughed. It was like the goat was in love with him.

  Benny tried to get on with his job, but the baby goat wouldn’t leave him alone. The next time he stopped, the goat moved underneath him, trying to find a teat to suckle on. It was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen. Benny showed no aggression towards the little goat, but kept looking up at me for some sort of explanation. I just shrugged.

  By the end of the mission, we were both exhausted, and it was an effort to stay alert as the GMV bounced along the dirt road. The dust coated my skin and invaded the weave of my clothes. My hair, and Benny’s, was matted stiff with the stuff by the time we got back to base. There was no place in the report to mention the scary stuff or the funny stuff that had happened, or how good it felt to come back to a hot shower and a bed, and have your dog settle across your feet for the night.

  The missions continued and when I think about them now, they tend to blur; to roll into one long, hazy memory punctuated by the odd mortar round falling, a mine being blown in place, or the sound of spent brass casings falling around a whimpering dog. The war showed no sign of ending, and the teams came and went. The job hadn’t changed, but I had. I’d been going on missions for two years and something had to give.

  I’d come back to Afghanistan with the intention of giving American K9 another four months of my life, and then as that time came to an end, my Canadian friend Darryl, who had been the camp sergeant at Spin Boldak, and who I’d holidayed with in Thailand, offered me a job with Tundra, the security firm where he was now working.

  Tundra was Canadian-run and the people involved seemed to be a good mob; Guy had gone to work with them after Apis had been shot. The work, however was all security based and Tundra had no dog teams. I would change from being a dog handler to being an armed security guard – still working in Afghanistan, but based in Kabul and earning more money.

  I flew back to Kandahar from Cobra with Benny at my feet in his travel kennel on the floor of the Chinook. I tried not to look at him.

  When I got back to Kandahar, I found that things were in a mess at the American K9 kennels and offices. I’d left some personal gear in the super visor’s accommodation building at Kandahar airfield and now couldn’t find my stuff. I was told it was in the company office.

  When I got there, I found my gear lying in a pile, and it was obvious that someone had gone through it. I was missing a set of Peltors, which are expensive noise-cancelling headphones. I asked around and was told they had been taken for ‘safe keeping’. It was a minor thing, but it pissed me off nonetheless and helped me justify my decision to move on.

  As much as I would miss Benny, I thought it was time for a change in my life.

  I got my dog out of the kennels and took him for a long walk. I hadn’t worked with Benny for nearly as long as I had with Ricky, but Benny and I had formed a very tight bond in the four months I’d known him. I’d been able to socialise him to the extent that I could work him off lead around Afghanis, unlike Ricky, who wanted to kill most locals and all motorcycles he met. Benny had suffered at the hands of his last handler and accordingly had some baggage, but I’d been able to calm him and turn him into an excellent working dog, through training, love and attention.

  Benny and I went to the chai house across from the kennels, where US soldiers and Afghanis would mingle and chat, and after a cup I took him up the road that paralleled the airfield. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could, because I knew that after I returned him to the kennel, I’d be getting on the C-130 to Kabul and would probably never see him again. I let him off lead and he trotted contentedly along, just ahead of me, looking back every now and then to make sure I was still there.

  His tongue lolled out and he grinned at me. I tried to tell myself that he would be fine, and that my wish would come true t
hat he’d get a good handler, who would look after him and let him sleep on the end of his bed, as I’d done. In my heart, though, I had the sad feeling that Benny was a one-man dog, and that I’d had the fortune to be that man.

  With every step Benny took, his feet sent up little puffs of dust. He stopped and looked back at me, like he wanted me to do or say something, like it was just another job or another day of training. He ambled off and started sniffing some empty wooden ammo boxes, and trotted over to near the hescos to see if I’d hidden some explosives there for him to find.

  Benny looked back at me again, and my heart hurt. As far as he knew, after we’d finished whatever we were doing here, we’d stroll back down the long road that ran alongside the airfield and he’d go to sleep, and he’d wake up tomorrow and I’d be there to take him out for his morning walk.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ Benny seemed to be saying to me. ‘What are we doing here? You gonna play, or what?’

  Whether it was play – training – or the real thing, he’d stuck by me all the way, and never shirked from doing his job or run away from danger. They’re not all like that – even explosive detection dogs get shell shock and go AWOL sometimes.

  But Benny was a good dog. And now I was leaving him. ‘Come on, Benny.’ He stopped sniffing around a stack of sandbags, turned and trotted back to me, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, grinning up at me.

  I dropped to one knee. ‘Good boy. Good dog, Benny,’ I said as I ruffled him under the chin and hugged his face close to mine. ‘It’s time to go, boy.’

  NINETEEN

  Kabul

  July 2008 to present

  When CAI had folded and been taken over by American K9, Uncle Buck had left and set up his own company, Vigilant Canine Services International, or VCSI. He called me while I was still in Afghanistan and offered me a job as the trainer at the new Kabul power plant, where he had a contract to provide explosive detection dogs and handlers.