‘You have put batteries in the camera?’
‘Yes, Commander, of course I have put batteries in the camera.’ Abdul was looking at it from all angles, trying to work out what was wrong.
‘You have put the video cassette in the camera?’
‘Yes, Commander, of c–’ Abdul stopped in mid-sentence and fumbled in the cloth bag slung over his shoulder. Sheepishly, he took out a cassette and slotted it into the camera. He pressed ‘record’ again and, this time, a red light came on. ‘The camera is recording now, Commander,’ he announced with relief.
‘Idiot!’ Baradar growled under his breath. He turned to the waiting secretary-general. ‘UN Chief, read statement to camera. Begin! Now!’
Dr Park lifted the statement and, straining to read it in the poor light, followed Baradar’s order. ‘This is Dr Park. I am instructed to tell you that my captors are very angry,’ he recited. ‘They wish me to say they are not fools. They can see that foreign forces occupying Afghanistan are making no attempt to leave the country. The last time that I spoke to you, I said that the infidel governments had seven days before they would start killing my colleagues and myself. By the time you see this, those days will have almost run out. You have until the fourteenth of this month of July. No longer. And if you have not obeyed my captors by that time, we will all die.’
Commander Baradar then had Dr Park taken back to join the other hostages.
As the secretary-general was hustled away, Abdul removed the cassette from the camera. ‘What do you want me to do with this, Commander?’ Abdul asked, holding up the cassette.
‘You will personally take the cassette to our contacts in Bamiyan at once. Tell them to arrange for it to be uploaded to YouTube without delay.’
‘Yes, Commander.’
‘Do not lose it or damage it.’
‘No, Commander. I mean, yes, I will not lose or damage it.’
Commander Baradar glowered at Abdul. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go! One of the others will pack up the camera. Go!’
‘Yes, Commander.’ Stuffing the cassette into his bag, Abdul hurried away to fulfil his orders.
FOB Nero, a small forward operating base several kilometres to the south of the city of Bamiyan, sat on a rise in a valley surrounded by dry, barren hills. From here, a detachment from the Afghan National Army made routine patrols through the hills, looking for Taliban and other insurgents. It was here that Strike Force Blue Dragon had snuck in under the cover of night. FOB Nero would be their base for now, while the bears back at HQ worked to confirm that the secretary-general was indeed being held in Deep Cave.
Ben, Caesar and their comrades grabbed a few hours of sleep on their first night in Bamiyan Province. Back in Australia, Caesar usually slept at the army kennels at Holsworthy Army Barracks, or, when he was at home with Ben at 3 Kokoda Crescent, in a backyard kennel. Here at FOB Nero, Caesar slept beside Ben inside one of the shipping containers, snuggling up to him and sharing body warmth through the chilly night. In the same container, Charlie, Lucky and Baz stretched out in sleeping bags around them.
When the sun rose over the base on their first morning there, Ben and Caesar were greeted by the sight of a rectangular fort with high outer walls made from concrete blocks, overlooked by guard towers that sat on tall, spindly iron legs. The FOB’s headquarters had a tall, ugly metal mast on its roof, bearing an array of radio, TV and mobile phone antennae, and dishes that kept the troops in touch with the outside world. In the centre of the base was a large open space where helicopters set down and took off.
Many of FOB Nero’s buildings around the perimeter were former shipping containers that had originally been flown to the base, dangling from US Army Chinooks. Other buildings were just temporary shelters made from corrugated iron and dirt-filled sandbags. Beyond the walls of the base, there were no signs of life. As far as the eye could see, the yellow-white hills all around were without trees, shrubs or animals. The only signs of life were within the camp walls.
Here, on the heelo pad, Ben now took Caesar for an exercise jog, letting him off the leash to trot free alongside him, all the while keeping the folded leash in his hand in case he needed to secure Caesar in a hurry. As always, Caesar enjoyed his exercise run, loping alongside Ben and taking in the sights and sounds of the base with his tail wagging.
Wearing green T-shirts and camouflage trousers, with their holstered Browning pistols strapped to their thighs, Charlie, Baz and Lucky were doing push-ups beside the landing pad as Ben and Caesar trotted by, doing their circuits. Wearing Zoomers made no difference to Charlie’s ability to do push-ups and other exercises. All his physical strength was in his arms and upper body. Up and down he went like a well-oiled machine, sometimes on just one arm.
‘Why would anyone want to live in desolate country like this?’ Baz wondered aloud as he pumped up and down without a puff.
‘By the same token, Baz, why would anyone want to live in Bendigo?’ said Lucky, with a wink at Charlie.
‘Mate, Bendigo is paradise!’ Baz returned.
‘Well, the locals probably think the same about this place,’ Charlie remarked.
‘Then they need their eyes seen to,’ Baz grumbled. ‘Looks like hell to me.’
‘Bendigo? Paradise?’ said Charlie, smiling and shaking his head.
‘It is to me, cobber,’ Baz came back. ‘And to a lot of other Bendigoers. Where are you from originally? I know that you and Ben went to school together in Sydney.’
‘I was born on an island,’ Charlie replied. ‘Moved to Sydney after my parents died. I had an uncle there.’
‘Which island?’ Baz persisted.
Charlie grinned. ‘You are an inquisitive bloke, aren’t you, Baz?’
‘Only asking, mate,’ said Baz. ‘What about you, Lucky? Where were you born?’
‘New Zealand, mate. Bay of Islands.’
Baz paused mid push-up. ‘You’re a Kiwi? Crikey! All these years we’ve been serving together, and I never knew that.’
‘You never asked before, Baz.’
‘I suppose I didn’t. One thing I always meant to ask you – where’d you get the nickname “Lucky”? I don’t reckon you’re any luckier than the next bloke.’
Lucky chuckled. ‘It’s my name, Baz.’
‘Yeah. A nickname.’
‘No, not a nickname,’ corrected Lucky. ‘It’s the name my parents gave me.’
‘Crikey! Why? Is it some wacko Bay of Islands tradition?’
‘Nope. A family tradition. My dad’s name is Happy Mertz. And I’m Lucky Mertz. Simple as that.’
The two high iron gates at the main entrance of the base opened. An old, grey battered van drove in and pulled up in a cloud of dust. As the gates closed behind the van, two young Afghan men jumped down from its cab and headed straight to the rear doors. Swinging the doors open, the pair began to unload equipment.
Ali Moon, the strike force’s interpreter, was sitting on an empty crate nearby, in conversation with two ANA soldiers on guard. Charlie, suspicious of the newcomers, stopped what he was doing and called out to the interpreter. ‘Ali, who are those two blokes? They don’t look military to me.’
Ali put Charlie’s question to the two ANA men, then called back their answer. ‘These two men are Afghan performers, Sergeant Charlie. They go around the FOBs, entertaining the foreign ISAF troops for tips. They are known to the men here. Foreign troops, such as the Americans, like them.’
‘They’re like buskers,’ Bendigo Baz observed.
Ali, who had no idea what a busker was, said, ‘These men juggle and do acrobatics. They are of no threat to us.’
‘Okay.’ Charlie nodded, then returned his gaze to the two young men. They looked alike. Probably brothers, Charlie thought. The elder of the two had a neat beard, while the other was clean-shaven. They appeared to be urging a black goat to jump down to the ground from the back of the van. What part a goat could possibly play in the entertainers’ act, Charlie struggled to imagine.
> Out on the helicopter pad, Ben, still jogging, looked back to see that Caesar had come to a sudden halt. The chocolate-brown labrador was standing still and looking at the grey van. Ben stopped and retraced his steps, dropping to one knee beside Caesar and ruffling his neck. ‘What’s up, mate?’
Caesar glanced at Ben for a moment before returning his focus to the van, staring at it. He could only see the bottom half of the legs of the two young Afghan men behind the van. But when one of the entertainers, the younger of the two, came out from behind the van and into full view, leading the black goat, Caesar’s tail began to wag.
Ben wasn’t sure what Caesar’s interest in the two men signalled. ‘What is it, Caesar?’ he queried, hoping for a clue from the labrador. ‘You want to say hello to the goat? Is that it?’
Over the years that he had been working with war dogs, Ben had seen dogs befriend cats, pigs and even horses. Thinking that Caesar wanted to make a friend of the newly arrived goat, the only other animal on the base apart from Alabama, Ben fixed the metal leash to Caesar’s collar and came to his feet. ‘Come on then, let’s introduce ourselves.’
Caesar’s tail wagged even more vigorously as Ben led him toward the van. When the young Afghan saw Ben and Caesar approaching, he suddenly looked frightened.
‘Nothing to worry about, mate,’ Ben said with a smile.
But the young man began to back away. ‘Go away, dog!’ he said in English.
‘He won’t hurt you,’ Ben assured him.
‘I never see this dog before,’ said the young man.
Ben frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ He looked down at Caesar, who was straining at the leash. Ben relented and gave Caesar enough leeway to approach the goat. But it was soon clear that Caesar wasn’t interested in the goat at all. Instead, Caesar made his way toward the clean-shaven young man.
‘No, no! Go away, Intelligent Dog,’ said the young man. Looking horrified, he reeled back and held up his hands. ‘Ibrahim, help me! Intelligent Dog has returned!’
This call for help brought the other young man around from the back of the van. ‘Did you say Intelligent Dog, brother?’ he said, before stopping in his tracks.
Caesar, whining in frustration, then strained at the leash in the direction of the other Afghan man.
The bearded man looked at Ben in fear. ‘We did not steal your dog, sir,’ he said.
‘What?’ Ben returned, confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘My brother, Ahmad, and myself, we did not steal your dog.’ He spoke rapidly, and sweat had broken out on his brow. ‘This animal came to us. We only looked after it for a time. But we did not steal it.’
‘Caesar, sit!’ commanded Ben, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.
Caesar promptly obeyed Ben’s command, sitting and looking up at the bearded Afghan, his tail thumping on the ground.
Unable to hide an affectionate smile, Ibrahim reached down and patted the brown labrador. ‘Hello, Intelligent Dog. You found us again.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ said a befuddled Ben. ‘You know Caesar? He spent time with you?’
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Ibrahim. ‘But please do not arrest us for stealing your dog. It was lost, and it found us out in the wilderness.’
Ben smiled. ‘I understand. Don’t worry, no one will be arresting you. On the contrary. I want to thank you for looking after Caesar when he was lost.’ He reached out and shook Ibrahim’s hand.
‘Caesar?’ said Ahmad, the younger brother, who was looking less alarmed now. ‘Is that the name you have for this animal? To us, he is Intelligent Dog.’
‘His name is Caesar,’ said Ben, giving Caesar a solid pat on the side. Caesar turned and tried to lick him on the mouth. ‘But you’re right, he’s a very intelligent dog.’
‘A wonderful dog, sir,’ said Ibrahim. ‘We were able to teach your Caesar some very entertaining tricks. He came with us to many bases such as this and performed.’
‘Is that right?’ Ben marvelled. Most of what had happened to Caesar in those thirteen months that he was lost in Afghanistan had remained a mystery to Ben and the Fulton family. They had heard that a local boy had taken him in immediately following the Taliban ambush that had separated Ben and his beloved EDD. Ben now knew who that boy was – Haji, the boy they’d encountered in the Tarin Kowt bazaar the previous day. Ben was also aware that Caesar had been in the hands of the Taliban for many months before escaping. What had happened to Caesar in the six months prior to Sergeant Tim McHenry identifying him with two Afghan performers at an FOB like this one had been a mystery. Only now did Ben put two and two together and realise that these were those very same performers.
As if to confirm this, Sergeant McHenry now came walking toward the van. He was in the company of Duke Hazard, and both were in full combat equipment.
‘Hey, Fulton!’ called McHenry. ‘Those are the same two guys who had your dog. I had to wrangle Caesar back from them!’
‘I know,’ said Ben. ‘And I’ve just been thanking them for looking after him. He was heavier when I got him back than when I lost him, so they fed him well.’
‘They didn’t want to give him up, I can tell you,’ McHenry said in his Texan drawl. ‘They’d taught him all these circus tricks. Real impressive. Caesar was making a mint for them.’ He looked at Ahmad and Ibrahim. ‘I guess your act took a beating after I took Caesar back from you?’
‘It is true, sir,’ Ahmad agreed with a sad sigh. ‘Making a living from our profession was never easy, but especially so since losing Intelligent Dog. We replaced him with this goat.’ He nodded to the black goat, and the goat bleated, as if on cue. ‘Goats are very nimble of foot,’ Ahmad went on, ‘but not as intelligent as a dog.’
‘And much less obedient,’ Ibrahim added.
‘Yes, a goat can be very stubborn,’ Ahmad sadly agreed. ‘I wonder if Intelligent Dog remembers any of the tricks we taught him?’
‘Caesar forgets nothing and no one,’ Ben assured him.
‘Then, for the sake of times that are old,’ said Ibrahim, ‘would you allow your intelligent dog to do one of his old tricks with us, sir?’
‘Yeah, let them give it a whirl, Fulton,’ Sergeant Hazard piped up.
‘I’d like to see that,’ said McHenry. ‘Let them try something with Caesar, Fulton.’
Ben looked down at Caesar, who seemed to be taking in the conversation. ‘How about it, mate? Want to do a trick with the brothers?’
Tongue hanging out, Caesar looked up at him, as if to say, You’re in charge, boss.
‘Look, Intelligent Dog,’ said Ibrahim, taking several green rubber balls from the back of the van.
Caesar’s tail began to wag furiously. Mention of the word ‘trick’ had caught his attention, and now the sight of the balls awoke his play instinct. Even though he had missed Ben desperately while they were separated, and had never ceased looking for him in Afghanistan, he’d enjoyed performing with the brothers. Caesar looked at Ben and whimpered, as if to say, Can I play with them, boss? Please!
‘Is it permissible, sir?’ Ibrahim asked.
Ben smiled. ‘Why not? Go ahead.’
Ahmad looked at Ibrahim. ‘Shall we try a trampoline trick with Intelligent Dog, brother?’
Ibrahim nodded excitedly. ‘A most excellent idea.’
Once Ahmad had tethered the black goat to one of the van’s doorhandles, the brothers brought out a small folding trampoline from the back of the van and proceeded to set it up. As they did, a crowd of Rangers and men of the strike force gathered around to watch, with Charlie, Lucky and Baz abandoning their exercise to join them. The Afghan soldiers at the base, in contrast, seemed not to be the slightest bit interested.
Ibrahim instructed Ben on precisely where Caesar should sit, then Ahmad began to bounce on the trampoline. On the far side of the trampoline, Ibrahim commenced juggling three green rubber balls. With his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, Caesar’s tail wagged furiously and his front legs trembled wi
th anticipation. But he held his position, waiting for his cue from the brothers. Up and down bounced Ahmad. Up and down went the rubber balls.
‘It is all to do with timing, dear sirs,’ Ibrahim told his small audience as he juggled the balls with skill. He glanced at his younger brother on the trampoline. ‘Ahmad, tell me when you are ready.’
‘I am almost at the right height, Ibrahim.’ Several bounces later, he announced, ‘I am ready.’
‘Very good,’ said Ibrahim. ‘Intelligent Dog, you jump when I say “go”.’
Caesar’s head rose and fell in time with his bouncing brother, never once taking his eyes off the juggling balls.
‘Intelligent Dog … go!’
Caesar rose up and sprang toward the trampoline. Flying through the air and over the trampoline, he slid beneath Ahmad. The jumping brother, at the top of a bounce as the labrador passed beneath him, drew up his legs to create more clearance. Caesar’s jump was spectacular, but that was not the end of the trick. As soon as he hit the ground, Caesar jumped up and snatched one of the green balls as it came down while Ibrahim caught the other two. The watching soldiers burst into applause as Ahmad dismounted from the trampoline. He and Ibrahim stood in front of their small audience and, smiling wide, took a bow.
Caesar stood beside the brothers with a green ball in his mouth, his tail wagging back and forth. Back when Caesar had travelled with the brothers, their performances had generated applause, cheers and whistles, followed by friendly pats galore as the labrador helped collect donations from the ISAF soldiers. Caesar had loved all the attention.
‘Thank you, sirs,’ said Ibrahim, sounding a little sad. ‘This was how it was when we were The Three Brothers, the finest travelling performers in all of Afghanistan – my brother Ahmad, Intelligent Dog and myself.’
Ben patted his thigh, and Caesar immediately came trotting over to him, dropping the green ball at his feet. Caesar then looked up at Ben, as if to say, Go on, throw the ball!
Ben smiled and ruffled Caesar’s ears. ‘You would chase a rubber ball all day if I let you, wouldn’t you, mate? No wonder you took to circus life.’
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