Caesar the War Dog 2

by Stephen Dando-Collins

  ‘Er, no hold-up, sir,’ Kovic quickly replied, shooting Ben a nervous look.

  ‘Then I suggest you get a move on,’ Strong bellowed. ‘We don’t have all day!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How about we split up and each search half the complex?’ Ben suggested to Kovic. ‘We’ll never get the job done in time, otherwise.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, all right,’ Kovic begrudgingly agreed.

  The two EDD teams went their separate ways.

  Several hours later, Ben and Caesar emerged into the main forecourt. Caesar gladly welcolmed the breeze, with its hint of ocean saltiness, after being inside for so long. Although, the mixture of sounds from passing boats, helicopters and chattering tourists did take a little getting used to after the thick concrete silence of the empty Concert Hall.

  After Ben and Caesar methodically checked the forecourt and the flight of broad steps that led to the main doors of the Opera House, Ben satisfied himself that all was clear, and gave Caesar a break. Even though Caesar had more stamina than most EDDs and would work for hours on end, Ben wasn’t taking any chances – especially on a job as crucial as protecting the secretary-general of the United Nations. It was important for handlers to remember that even the best EDDs could become bored and lose interest if worked for long stretches of time. Sitting on the main steps, Ben gave Caesar a dog biscuit, which was washed down by a few gulps of water from his canteen.

  ‘You’re doing a great job, mate,’ said Ben, ruffling his labrador’s ears.

  Caesar’s tail wagged happily.

  It wasn’t long before Superintendent Strong came striding up to the pair. ‘Where’s Sergeant Kovic?’ he asked Ben, looking frazzled.

  ‘Still working inside, sir,’ Ben replied, quickly coming to attention.

  ‘Have you checked the forecourt?’

  ‘Yes, sir. All clear.’

  ‘I want you to check the secretary-general’s arrival route.’

  Ben hesitated. ‘With respect, sir, Sergeant Kovic is in charge of the sweep, as he keeps telling me.’

  An irritated scowl came over the superintendent’s face. ‘You take your orders from me.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Ben. ‘Which way will the secretary-general be coming, sir?’

  ‘He’s arriving by water,’ said Strong, turning to look across Sydney Harbour.

  Ben followed his gaze. ‘By water?’

  ‘He’s staying across the harbour at Admiralty House, the Sydney residence of the Governor-General. A Navy boat will bring the secretary-general over here this afternoon – it’s much easier to guarantee his safety that way.’ Superintendent Strong produced a faint smile. ‘That way, the secretary-general also gets to have a nice little cruise on Sydney Harbour.’

  ‘Exactly where will the secretary-general land, sir?’

  ‘At the Man O’War Jetty.’ Strong pointed to the jetty, to the right of the forecourt. ‘Check it out, Sergeant.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Ben saluted then moved off toward the harbour’s edge with Caesar. The Man O’War Jetty was an old structure that dated back almost 200 years. Originally, there’d been a colonial gun battery on Bennelong Point, where the Opera House now stood. In days gone by, crews from warships had come ashore there. Now­adays, the jetty was only occasionally used by VIPs and tour groups coming to the Opera House by water.

  Methodically, Ben and Caesar checked the T-shaped jetty. Caesar scoured it with his nose down but found nothing of interest. Having just completed the check, Ben was reattaching the metal leash to Caesar’s collar when Sergeant Kovic and Rubi arrived on the scene.

  ‘Who told you to check that jetty?’ Kovic demanded.

  ‘Superintendent Strong did,’ Ben replied.

  ‘You should have told me what you were doing.’ When Ben remained silent, refusing to take the bait and argue with him, Kovic looked toward the water and said, ‘Well then, is Man O’War Jetty clear?’

  ‘Yes, it’s clear.’ As Ben spoke, he felt Caesar straining on his leash. Frowning, Ben looked down. ‘Caesar, what’s up, boy?’

  Caesar let out a little whimper, as if to say, I’m not sure, boss, but I want to check it out.

  Ben let Caesar drag him toward the water’s edge, where low waves were breaking up against the sandstone seawall beside the Man O’War Jetty.

  ‘Looks like your labrador wants to go for a swim, Fulton,’ Kovic said sarcastically.

  ‘Maybe he does,’ Ben murmured distractedly, intrigued by his EDD’s behaviour. He let Caesar tug him all the way to the wall, where the labrador put his front legs on the sandstone ridge and looked obsessively at the water. Ben, dropping to one knee beside him, unclipped Caesar’s leash. ‘What’s up, mate?’ Ben asked quietly. ‘Something bothering you? Something in the water?’

  Caesar looked at Ben and let out a little whine, as if to say, There’s something here, boss. Then he returned his gaze to the water lapping beneath the jetty.

  ‘Okay, Caesar, seek on!’ Ben instructed.

  With that, Caesar sprang elegantly over the wall and dived into the harbour, hitting the water with a splash.

  ‘What the heck is that dog up to?’ said the bemused Kovic, bringing Rubi to stand beside Ben.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Ben.

  Paddling strongly through the waves, Caesar headed toward the underside of the Man O’War Jetty. Despite his strength, his progress was slow in the rough water as incoming waves washed back off the wall. Caesar gradually worked his way under the jetty and out of sight. Meanwhile, the sight of two dog handlers peering into the harbour attracted the attention of several of the policemen on duty, who gathered around Ben and Sergeant Kovic.

  With Caesar out of his sight, Ben was beginning to worry. ‘Caesar, where are you, mate?’ he called.

  Superintendent Strong bustled up to them. ‘What’s happening?’ he demanded, nudging policemen aside.

  ‘The army dog has gone fishing, sir.’ Kovic chortled.

  ‘And you might be surprised with what he catches,’ added Ben, defending his EDD. Again he called, ‘Caesar, where are you, mate?’

  But there was no sign of Caesar.

  ‘Your dog’s down there?’ Strong said, with a mixture of concern and puzzlement. ‘Will he be all right?’

  ‘I think so, sir,’ Ben returned, sounding a little uncertain now that there was still no response. ‘Caesar! Come back, mate.’

  A chocolate-brown head appeared from beneath the jetty. Swimming toward Ben, Caesar had a black plastic parcel between his teeth. Normally, when Caesar found something suspicious, he would immediately sit and look at it intently. In the EDD business, this was known as his ‘signature’, and Ben had learned long ago to recognise what it meant when Caesar did this. But here in the water, Caesar couldn’t do that. So, being both a very clever and conscientious dog, he had made a decision – to take the package to Ben.

  ‘Caesar!’ Ben yelled, trying not to sound too alarmed. ‘Let go of the package. Let go of the package, mate!’

  ‘What’s he found?’ Strong asked, squinting into the waves below.

  ‘Looks like we might have an IED, sir,’ Ben replied.

  Superintendent Strong paled and turned to Sergeant Kovic. ‘Have we by any chance planted a fake bomb for exercise purposes?’

  ‘Er … no, sir,’ Kovic answered, looking sheepish.

  ‘I thought the water police had checked that jetty.’ The superintendent clicked his two-way radio on. ‘This is Strong. Clear the area!’ he commanded urgently. ‘Clear the area! And send in the Rescue and Bomb Disposal Unit. We have a potential live IED. And they’ll need a boat. I repeat, clear the area of all non-essential personnel!’

  Ben, his heart pounding in his chest, called to his EDD. ‘Let go of the package, Caesar. Let go!’ Ben was worried that Caesar could puncture it with his teeth and set off the bomb.

  Caesar got the message. He released the parcel, which, to Ben’s great relief, floated free. Then, as Kovic and Superintendent Strong kept an
eye on the parcel bobbing beside the seawall, Ben directed Caesar around to the steps at the foot of the Man O’War Jetty. There, on his knees, he grabbed Caesar’s front legs and helped him scramble from the water.

  ‘Well done, mate! You haven’t lost your touch,’ Ben said proudly. But for Caesar it was first things first – he vigorously shook himself from head to tail, giving Ben a face full of spray. Laughing, Ben pulled Caesar close. ‘Well done, boy. Well done!’

  Caesar, pleased that Ben approved of what he’d done, licked him on the face and nuzzled into him.

  ‘But we won’t be picking up any more packages in future,’ Ben added affectionately.

  Superintendent Strong scowled at Sergeant Kovic. ‘Your dog didn’t pick up any trace of that IED, Kovic?’

  Kovic looked as if he were about to protest, but seemed to think better of it. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘A good thing we had Sergeant Fulton and Caesar with us here today then.’ The superintendent shot Kovic a severe look. ‘Wouldn’t you say, Sergeant Kovic?’

  Kovic smiled weakly. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Hand over hand, Sergeant Charlie Grover VC hauled himself up the rope, then brought himself to his feet on top of the sea cliff. Behind him, nine other men were struggling to climb fifty-metre ropes. On the rocks below, where waves were crashing with angry explosions of spray, another thirty men waited their turn. Like Charlie, every man had a heavy pack on his back. Unlike Charlie, they were not yet members of the SAS. From each arm of the Australian Army, they had come on this selection course to try to gain entry into the most elite unit in the Australian military – some say the most elite, respected and feared Special Forces unit in the world. Four out of ten candidates had already failed the first test. Little more than one in three of those who remained would pass this final back-breaking, mind-bending three-week selection course and be inducted into the SAS.

  Charlie, dripping perspiration, was the first man to top the cliff. He had dragged himself up using only his powerful arms. Even when confined to a wheelchair, Charlie had continued to lift weights to keep up his impressive upper body strength. As he surveyed the soldiers below, Charlie stood on two new prosthetic legs clad in camouflage trousers. He’d shown them to Ben’s children, Josh and Maddie, and they had been amazed at how lifelike they were. Made of Kevlar, they were hollow and covered with a plastic ‘skin’ that looked incredibly real – they even had fake hairs on them.

  Charlie had spent several weeks becoming accustomed to these new legs. The stumps of his own amputated legs sat snugly in them. One prosthetic fitted below his right knee, but because his left leg had been amputated above the knee, the prosthetic for that leg included a false knee that bent just like the real thing would. These prosthetics had soon become so comfortable that Charlie almost forgot he was wearing them.

  To see Charlie walk now, it was hard to tell he had false legs. It was only when he ran that it became apparent. As the mechanical knee on the left leg was a little stiffer than the real thing, Charlie appeared to limp a little. Not that he had let that slow him down. In a flat-out 100-metre race with others on the SAS selection course, the super-determined Charlie hadn’t been the fastest but he hadn’t come last, either. That had been a big surprise for the instructors running the course. They had expected Charlie to struggle on his prosthetic legs.

  If Charlie had been anyone else, he wouldn’t even have been here. But he was a Victoria Cross awardee, and that counted for a lot. He also had friends in high places. His former commanding officer in Afghanistan, Major General Michael Jones, had recently been made the Australian Army’s Special Operations Commander, in charge of Australia’s Special Forces units. This included the SAS Regiment, the 1st and 2nd Commando Regiments, and the Special Operations Engineer Regiment – Ben and Caesar’s unit. A lot of junior officers at Special Operations Command had been sceptical about Charlie retaking the SAS selection course. Even General Jones feared that Charlie would fail it, and he’d told Charlie so to his face.

  Charlie could hear Jones in his head now. ‘I’m only doing this for old time’s sake, Grover,’ the general had said the day he’d given Charlie the okay to take the course. ‘And to prove to you that you’ll have to settle for a desk job and forget about going out on ops again.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Charlie had responded. ‘I’ll be pleased to prove you wrong.’

  A harsh voice interrupted Charlie’s thoughts. ‘What do you think you’re doing, soldier? Having a little bludge, are we?’

  Charlie jerked back to reality. Grey-haired SAS Sergeant Major Cliff Howard, the chief instructor running the course, had his gnarled face right in Charlie’s. ‘No, Sergeant Major,’ Charlie snapped back.

  ‘Then get your backside out of here! You may be first man up the cliff face, Grover, but there’s a jungle out there waiting for you. Let’s see how you and your plastic legs cope with that!’

  Charlie quickly unclipped himself from the rope-climbing harness, stepped around the chief instructor and set off at a jog along a dirt track that stretched into a forest of trees.

  The sergeant major watched him go and shook his head at the sight of Charlie’s awkward run as he disappeared beyond the tree line. For twenty years, Howard had served on secret SAS operations around the world and had fought alongside Charlie on some of those missions. But that was back when Charlie had two good legs. As far as the sergeant major was concerned, Victoria Cross or no Victoria Cross, Charlie Grover’s career in active service was over and he had no business being on the course. It took men of extraordinary physical and mental toughness to survive SAS missions – anyone could see that a legless man didn’t fit that criterion. Sergeant Major Howard was convinced that, sooner or later, Charlie’s prosthetics would fail him, and the VC awardee’s hopes and plans would come crashing down in a heap.

  As Charlie ran determinedly along the bush track, pace by pace he pushed the words of the negative chief instructor from his mind. He thought, instead, of Caesar and Ben. He missed his four-legged friend and felt sad about giving Caesar up. He knew, of course, that Caesar was over the moon about being reunited with Ben, and that Ben and his family were equally pleased with the arrangement.

  Caesar’s loyalty and devotion had astonished even Charlie. Ben had once told Charlie that Caesar never forgot what he was told and never forgot the people in his life. And, most importantly, Caesar never gave up. Charlie couldn’t think of better qualities for a care dog.

  ‘Never forget, never give up,’ Charlie began to chant to himself, in time to his pounding steps. He was determined to block out Sergeant Major Howard’s disdain and to push through the pain of running on nothing but adrenaline for hours on end. ‘Never forget, never give up. Never forget, never give up. Never forget, never give up!’

  Charlie was covered from head to toe in mud. All around him, the other men on the selection course were on their stomachs, struggling through the red-brown mud, trying to crawl toward a ridge up ahead.

  ‘Come on, Grover!’ bellowed Sergeant Major Howard, standing beside the patch of mud and glaring down at Charlie. ‘Get a move on! You’re slowing everybody down!’

  Charlie, exhausted, looked up at the sergeant major through eyes that had not closed for sleep in fifty hours spent running, swimming and climbing.

  ‘Or should we treat you as a special case?’ the sergeant major continued. ‘Is the weight of that Victoria Cross of yours too much for you to bear?’

  Charlie had come to think that the chief instructor had it in for him and was trying to bully him into giving up. Well, tough luck, thought Charlie. He was determined to complete the course and prove all his critics wrong. For inspiration, Charlie thought of a boyhood hero of his, British fighter pilot Douglas Bader, who had lost both his legs after crashing his plane. Bader had been fitted with prosthetic legs that were much more primitive than the ones Charlie was wearing. Yet Bader not only got into a Spitfire fighter plane to fly it with superb skill despite his prosthetic legs, he’d become one of
the greatest air aces of the Second World War. If Douglas Bader could return to active duty with prosthetic legs, so, Charlie told himself, could he.

  ‘Never forget, never give up,’ Charlie mumbled, dragging himself through the mud.

  ‘What’s that, Grover?’ the sergeant major barked. ‘Got something to say? Want to drop out, do we?’

  ‘No, Sergeant Major,’ Charlie yelled in response.

  ‘Then get a wriggle on, man!’

  ‘Roger to that, Sergeant Major!’ Charlie returned through gritted teeth, dragging himself forward on his bleeding forearms.

  Charlie would not admit it to anyone, but his prosthetic legs were slowing him down. He could live with the fact that after many hours on them without a rest they were beginning to chafe his skin and make the stumps of his legs bleed. But the worst thing about them was that they gave him no propulsion in the mud. They dragged behind him like lead weights, forcing Charlie to use his arms and upper body for much of the stren­uous physical work the instructors were putting him through. But Charlie would rather drop dead before he quit voluntarily. Pulling himself to his feet, he drove his plastic legs toward the top of the ridge.

  Once there, he could see that the rocky ground ahead dropped down to a fast-moving stream. Dense bush spread beyond the brown water. Another soldier on the course was already swimming across to the other side. An instructor standing by the stream looked up and urgently waved for Charlie to come down to him, then pointed to another instructor waiting on the far bank. Charlie dropped onto his backside and slid down the slope, then plunged into the water. His legs trailed behind him as he swam across. With a supreme effort, he dragged himself up onto the bank.

  ‘Enjoying this, soldier?’ the second instructor asked with a leering smile.

  ‘Haven’t had so much fun in years,’ Charlie quipped. He was determined to wipe the smile off the face of this young instructor, an SAS trooper who Charlie recognised to be a former recruit in a squad that Charlie had once commanded. Back then Charlie had been the one giving the orders. Now, no matter the rank of the aspiring SAS recruits, these instructors were in total command.