‘Wow, happy days honey!’ was the only thing I could say. A huge weight was lifting off my shoulders.
‘How many dogs did they say they would take?’ I asked. I still hadn’t told Lisa about tonight’s shenanigans.
‘I told them that you had two dogs that needed rescuing,’ she said before pausing. ‘Oh no, you haven’t?’
Lisa had that pain in the arse knack of being able to read my mind.
‘I thought I’d seen it all, Lisa,’ I said as I started to explain as quickly as I could what we had seen out in the yard only a few minutes earlier. I doubted that we had got to the young female dog in time; I suspected that she would turn out to be pregnant. So if she was going to give birth then she wasn’t going to be on the streets of Now Zad. By the time I’d finished I could tell from Lisa’s shocked silence that I didn’t need to tell her this dog was going to the rescue as well.
‘Okay, how is the rescue going to collect the dogs then?’
‘You didn’t hear me properly,’ Lisa replied.
I didn’t guess what was coming.
‘I said the rescue would take the dogs, but you have to get them there.’
I took a second to reply, my mind working overtime to process the information.
The large weight was suddenly loading itself back on my shoulders again. ‘Where is “there”, exactly, honey?’ I asked.
‘Northern Afghanistan, on the map I found it looks a bit further than Kabul,’ she replied. I didn’t need a map of Afghanistan in front of me to know that Kabul, let alone anywhere further north, might as well be on the moon.
‘I have put it all in an e-bluey,’ she said.
The e-bluey was a typed letter that could be sent through cyberspace via the Internet and was printed out in Camp Bastion and then delivered with our normal mail. It meant I would wait probably around a week for it to arrive.
I managed to keep my promise and ask her about life back in the real world, although my mind was already trying to figure out how we could get the carrot that had just been dangled so tantalisingly close in front of us.
I returned the phone to its cradle outside the ops room and walked back outside into the moonlit early morning. My sleeping bag was calling to me. I suddenly felt really tired.
I stooped down to stroke our newest arrival. She had been with us for a few days now and seemed to be settling in well to the routine of compound life. All the attention she was getting helped.
She was sitting upright on her rear legs, her long thin tail swishing madly, on top of what had become her favourite spot on the sandbags that made up the mortar shelter. She almost shivered with excitement when she saw somebody approaching the run to make a fuss of her.
Most of her extremely smooth short-haired coat was a darker brown than Nowzad’s, almost coffee-coloured. Yet along the underside of her belly and the front of her legs she was a light tan colour. She eagerly tried to lick me as I bent close to rub her belly. You couldn’t help but look into her big eyes that were an unusual brownish yellow; from a distance they looked so sad. But they sparked into life as she watched you approach. I shook my head as I watched her excited little face.
The lads had already named her but I wasn’t quite sure I was totally happy with their choice and reasoning. It was after their favourite American porn star, a young lady named Jena. When we had found her the situation had not been the least bit amusing, but I had to admit the lads’ sense of humour was.
‘So, what do you think to being called Jena, then?’ I asked her. ‘At least you are not getting named after a Russian weapon I suppose?’
RPG and Nowzad were getting on really well with Jena. Both dogs let her have her own space. Because of this I had the sneaking suspicion that they might have been puppies of Jena’s. I don’t know what it was but they just seemed to know that she was in charge.
‘Enjoy,’ I said, laying the food down with Nowzad’s bowl a good distance from RPG and Jena’s and adopting my own guard position as all three dogs devoured their breakfast with a passion.
Food was the only source of friction between Jena and Nowzad.
I had made a small sign out of the side of a ration box that asked the lads not to throw food into the run. With nobody to stand in between the dogs, Nowzad would gobble down what he could find and then attack RPG or Jena to get whatever they were munching on. Jena would fight back for a split second but then Nowzad would bite her hard and she would dart for the safety of any corner of the run while Nowzad was distracted by the food dropped on the floor. Whenever this happened Jena would squeal like a hurt child until I got into the run and calmed her down.
I needed to spend time with Nowzad getting him adjusted to his new surroundings and life but I didn’t have it.
The problem was that Jena enjoyed eating her food slowly. It was a wonder she had survived this long with dogs like Nowzad around. I was determined to keep him at bay today.
‘No, Nowzad,’ I said, specifically raising my voice and hoping that he would get the message as he finished his bowl and began looking around for more.
An added gentle nudge with my boot helped to steer him away from making a beeline to Jena’s half-eaten bowl of bacon and beans.
‘You don’t learn, do you, nightmare dog?’ I said, as yet again I pushed him back towards his empty bowl with my boot.
Nowzad was gradually getting the message; he just growled at me.
‘Grrrrrrrr,’ I growled back as I threw a handful of dust at him.
I quickly cleaned the run out and left them all lying against the whitewashed back wall, enjoying the first rays of the sun as it warmed their living area. I had the daily brief to attend.
‘I’ll pop back later and see you then, all right?’ I told them as I tied the gate. It would probably be after the promised resupply later in the afternoon.
The meeting revealed nothing new and the rest of the day dragged as it always did when we attended to the general housekeeping jobs that needed doing around the DC. The mid-November sun was still hot enough for beads of sweat to form along our foreheads as we toiled away, filling sandbags to renew the outer wall defences.
The promised resupply helo was half an hour late but within minutes of myself and John returning to the compound the lads were buzzing. A small group of lads eagerly sorted the 14 sacks of mail that we had only just dumped outside the HQ building.
I was still dusting myself down after the dust storm the helo had caused lifting off when the boss called me to one side; he had just finished talking to the HQ back at Camp Bastion. They had updated him on Tom and Matt’s condition. As he made small talk about the resupply I waited patiently, trying not to second guess what he had to say. The OC looked tired, but then I guess we all did.
‘They apparently drove off the top of a 70-foot-high cliff; we don’t why or how,’ he said, pausing before continuing, rubbing his hand over his face. ‘Matt has fractures of his legs and arms and a spinal injury but he should make a good recovery.’ A slight wave of relief washed over me but I knew that was the good news.
‘But although Tom is out of immediate danger the docs are still investigating the injuries to his skull and spinal cord; it doesn’t look that good.’
He looked me right in the eye as he said it. I imagined he was trying to put a brave face on the situation, as I’d expect of a senior officer. In return I did my best to remain the solid troop sergeant. I didn’t quite pull it off.
‘Fuck,’ I said as I looked away, wearily rubbing my hands across my face.
‘He is going to live, so at least that is good news,’ the OC added with feigned enthusiasm.
I know he felt as depressed about Tom’s condition as I did. I couldn’t think of anything remotely appropriate to say. I wasn’t sure if I was meant to be reassuring the OC or me.
‘I’ll go and tell the lads, Boss. They’ll want to know straight away before the rumour mill kicks in,’ I said, trying to regain my tough exterior.
I walked slowly in the early-evening sunlight al
ong the potted dirt track between the ANP garden and our toilet block towards our living area, trying to figure out what to say.
I pictured Tom’s face in my mind as clear as day and recalled the schoolboy grin he’d given me as I told him for the umpteenth time to shave while we had been back at Bastion. With his stubble and suntanned features he looked like an extra in a cowboy film.
Tom was only 18 years old. I had served longer than he had been alive.
I knew some people would ask why lads like Tom and Matt were risking their lives for a place like Afghanistan where no one seemed to care whether the Taliban ruled or not. If the local elders turned up tomorrow and asked for a ceasefire again then I figured we might as well go home. I couldn’t see for the life of me what we would achieve by sitting in the DC while the Taliban resupplied and planned a new campaign against us, unopposed. Especially if we were going to start taking casualties like this. But that wasn’t what the lads needed to hear.
I thought back to our first patrol in Gereshk. Just before we had been hit by the Taliban I had caught a glimpse of two young girls as I took up a fire position next to an old crumbling courtyard. They were clearly not old enough to wear a burkha; instead the young girls were wearing flowing bright pink dresses that covered their entire bodies, their jet-black hair combed in straight waves over their ears. I had given them my best friendly wave but they both stopped dead and ran to hide behind a rotten wooden gate hanging from its post by a single hinge.
While we held our position I watched the gate with the corner of my eye. I soon caught movement. Curiosity had got the better of them as one of the girls summoned enough courage to pop a wide-eyed head around the corner of the gate. I smiled at her again and waved. This time her face broke into a perfect white smile.
We’d been told winning the hearts and minds of the locals was a huge part of our mission here. At that moment I had wished I had brought some sweets but as it had been our first ‘real’ patrol my head had been buzzing.
It had been more than enough trying to remember everything that I would need while also checking on the lads as they had prepared. Sweets had not been on the list of ‘must have’ for this time out. As the patrol had moved off I had waved one last time towards the little girls, their bright clothing a total contrast to the all-consuming, dull, cracked yellow of our surroundings. They had waved back.
Minutes later we had been consumed in an all-out firefight with the Taliban. They didn’t seem bothered by the fact that innocent children lived in the vicinity of where the conflict was taking place.
Those of us on the ground knew we had a chance at giving those young girls and thousands of others like them the opportunities for a future. As long as we were given the time and resources to do the job then I hoped we would make a positive difference in this screwed-up place.
I knew that was the reason that Tom and Matt came to Afghanistan. Just by being here they had made a small difference. Their accident had just been one of those things. It could have happened here or back home. I had no idea whether it could have been prevented or not, but nothing was going to change that now. It didn’t feel much of a comfort though.
I stopped and took a deep breath. I needed to be a troop sergeant. I had to think how I could explain what had happened to the two lads. It wasn’t going to be easy.
From my limited perspective I didn’t care what politicians thought they had sent us here for or even about the voices of those people back home who called for our withdrawal. I would bet a lot of money that none of them had ever set foot in Afghanistan.
I turned the corner into our small living area and took another deep breath. I saw that most of the lads were still sat outside in groups, happily reading the recently arrived mail. As they compared the goodies they had received from home, discarded parcels and sweet wrappers were scattered on the ground around their feet.
As I approached them a few stopped smiling. They could tell from my expression I wasn’t here to give good news. Their suspicions were justified as I shattered the mail morale in an instant and explained the situation. The lads just looked at me expressionless as I told them what I knew. There was no point holding any information back. They had a right to know. As I finished explaining I reminded them all to stay focused.
‘I don’t want any more of our lads lost to accidents – that’s an order, all right?’ I looked around the collected sullen faces. ‘We came here to do a job, so let’s do it properly.’
A few nodded in agreement.
Paul, one of the lads who had only recently joined our troop, piped up after a few seconds of quiet. ‘Are we sending them flowers, Sergeant?’
I looked at him slowly. A few sniggers came from the assembled group. I knew that the lad meant well.
‘No, we are not sending flowers; would you want flowers if you were lying injured in hospital?’ I snapped back a little too quickly. ‘Think of something useful and I will see if I can get Lisa to sort it out for us.’
We had no money or credit cards and so no way of ordering anything from the town of Now Zad even if we could find a post office.
‘We could book a stripper in a nurse’s uniform for them,’ Mase volunteered as I went to leave.
I shook my head.
‘I’m sure Matt’s girlfriend will be well chuffed with that. Think of something sensible, you bunch of jokers.’
The quick exchange had lifted the mood. I walked away as they discussed more sensible options, or as near to sensible as I could expect from them, I supposed.
I knew my R & R would now involve a visit to the hospital. I hated hospitals and already I was dreading it. I had no idea what I would say and how I would react when I saw the extent of their injuries for real.
I still hadn’t got around to reading my mail and I didn’t have time now either. The boss had planned a short patrol for last light and I now had just less than 90 minutes to get the prep done. Again I was to be OC of the cavalry and that meant checking that all the vehicles we would use had been refuelled and the right kit was on board. The dogs would also have to wait until the patrol had finished before they were fed again.
I rounded up the lads who would man the three vehicles with me and briefed them on our role for the evening and what preparation I needed them to complete prior to the patrol departing.
Just in time we took up our seats in the fully equipped vehicle as the patrol stepped out on the ground. The cool evening air felt quite pleasant as I watched the sun disappear behind the mountains to the west. A few puffy cumulus clouds were just beginning to form to the north, but the air was beautifully still. With the weight of the body armour and our chest webbing pouches stuffed full of ammunition and supplies I couldn’t find a comfortable position in the upright uncushioned passenger seat. None of us spoke as we sat in the fading light listening to the constant chatter over the radio as the patrol reported its progress.
The patrol was not going that far out from the compound so I guessed I would hear any sounds of battle long before I got the radio message to assist.
I let my head fall back on to the passenger seat headrest and stared towards the tiny sparkling pinpricks of light that were just making an appearance against the slowly darkening skies.
I looked for the collection of stars that formed the Plough, the starting point for identifying the North Star. I marvelled at how bright the stars seemed here compared to back home, and my mind kept wandering to my R & R time, just under a month away.
I so wanted to get home and see Lisa. I wondered what she was doing right now. I guessed she was probably just finishing off at work before heading out with Fizz and Beamer for a walk along the quiet footpaths and lanes of home.
My headset kept bringing me back to reality as the patrol updated all of us on the net with its progress and location. I mentally followed their route in my head so I could cross-reference it with the map if we were needed to roll out in a hurry.
I listened to the radio chatter for the duration of the patro
l right until they trudged wearily back into the compound. Yet again – thankfully I suppose – we were not needed.
As soon as confirmation came from 10A that everyone was back safely in the compound, I lifted myself out of the wagon. For a minute or so I had to stretch to get my back working again; it was locked solid from sitting in the wagon without moving for nearly two hours.
‘Dan, take charge of closing down the wagons for me, can you mate?’
‘Yeah, no problems,’ he replied as he lifted the heavy .5 from its mount.
‘Cheers, I’ve still got to read my mail.’ I quickly walked over to my bed space to dump my gear in the pitch-black room.
It was immediately colder as I pushed open the wooden door that stood in the ill-fitting door frame as a feeble attempt to keep out the elements. During the day the room was partially illuminated by the natural light through the low glassless wooden window. I shivered slightly in the chill. I needed to do something about the gaps in the window frame where the glass should have been. I had an old sleeping bag stuffed in between the wood to keep the cold night air out but it still found a way to seep in. I figured a few cardboard sides of an old ration box cut to fit squarely in the window, held in place with masking tape, would cure the problem, when I finally got around to it.
Blindly I fumbled for the small bundle of assorted envelopes that I had placed on the edge of my camp bed.
No matter where in the world we served, the highlight was always without doubt that first moment as you held the newly arrived mail from back home. With the arrival of the Internet, it was a feeling that not many people in the world appreciated any more.
I quickly scanned the front of the assorted e-blueys and letters, recognising the handwriting of my mum and brother and the printed e-bluey from Lisa.
I carried the six or seven letters outside; one of them felt like it contained a small cardboard packet. Both myself and Nowzad were hoping these were the wormers he desperately needed. I sat on the low step to the small dried-mud building.
I put the letters down and tore open the three sides of Lisa’s e-bluey along the perforated tabs; it looked exactly like a large pay statement.
One Dog at a Time Page 12