Top Dog

by Maria Goodavage

  All four handlers and five dogs passed the four-day certification test in mid-December. They had to do vehicle searches, roadway searches, and compound searches. Handlers had to show clearly that they could read their dogs, and dogs had to demonstrate commitment to the tasks and a certain focus, regardless of distance from their handlers. They had all finished by Friday, and that night they celebrated over steaks and beers.

  The Lackland students were heading back by bus a couple of days before Willingham had planned to go home to San Antonio. He badly missed his wife, Jill, so he hitched a ride with them.

  Jill hadn’t started vacation yet from nursing school, but she cleared her schedule as well as she could to be with her husband as much as possible. As many years as she’d known him, she loved spending time with him. They had been together since high school, well before he was a marine. He was reserved back then, but she saw the change in him after he became a marine, and especially when he became a dog handler. “He found his calling, and he found his voice,” she told a friend. “He’s got the kind of personality that puts people at ease and just draws them in. I just love that about him.”

  He had two weeks off before going back to Lackland, where he would meet up with Lucca and keep her proficient, and only two months before heading to Camp Lejeune for predeployment preparations. During his time at home, Jill made him his favorite meal, spaghetti, as much as she could stomach. She tried to vary the sauces for her sake, but spaghetti with the same sauce could be on the menu every night and her husband would be content.

  For Christmas, he surprised Jill with diamond earrings. They were simple three-quarter-carat stud earrings, princess cut. She put them in her ears and fell in love with the sparkle.

  Nine months later, their first child would be born.

  But Willingham wouldn’t be there for the occasion. He would be several months into his deployment to Iraq with Lucca—his first deployment in his career. Knight would be heading over, too, for his first deployment, and had decided to take Bram instead of Rocky because he didn’t think anyone else could handle Bram. He bequeathed Rocky to another handler.

  Jill gave her husband a small cross made of two shiny silver nails, which she found at James Avery Jewelry in San Antonio. She liked it because it was both rugged and something she hoped might keep him safe. Willingham bought a chain for it so he could wear it around his neck every day in Iraq.

  Shortly before he left for the war, his parents drove from Tuscaloosa and visited him at Camp Lejeune, where he was spending a few weeks preparing for deployment. His father presented him with the dog tags he had worn during his nightmarish time as a marine in Vietnam. Attached to the dog tags was a crucifix. Willingham’s father had connected these two potent objects thirty-seven years earlier while in Vietnam.

  “I wore these during every patrol, and I want you to have them for your deployment,” his dad told him. “I came back in one piece with these. You will, too. Your dog will see to it.”

  3

  A BADASS in Baghdad

  THIS THING’S GONNA fly? Really?” Knight said to Willingham as they walked toward the hulking C-5 Galaxy transport plane at Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point, North Carolina. “All the way to Iraq?”

  “That’s what they tell me,” Willingham said, squinting into the sun as he checked out the huge gray aircraft that would fly them sixty-four hundred miles to their deployment.

  The C-5 looked like some kind of odd and gigantic mythological creature. A winged shark came to mind. Its enormous nose was hinged open all the way up to let in helicopters and other cargo. With its nose cone pointing straight up to the sky, and the body of the plane wide open from the front, it appeared the cargo was being more devoured than loaded. The wings of the plane angled downward slightly, making it look like it had grown a little weary of all these heavy-duty cargo missions.

  The handlers walked with Lucca and Bram up the metal loading ramp and into the belly of the beast. Neither dog balked at the loud noises of metal clanging on metal, workers shouting to one another, and the low drone of the engine. Lucca never seemed to get nervous, and Bram . . . Knight figured he was probably just contemplating Kongs.

  They needed to load up the dogs and get upstairs to the passenger area, so they found the wooden palettes that held their gear—backpacks, duffel bags, five-gallon buckets of dog food, and two portable kennel crates. The dogs sniffed the contents of the palette, and Willingham bent down and opened the door of Lucca’s crate. She walked right in, made a U-turn at the back of the crate, and lay down facing the opening. She was already a veteran of crate travel.

  “You ready for your big trip, Lucca? Just take a nice long nap. We’ll come visit you in a while.” She watched him as he spoke, and he was pretty sure she understood.

  Knight settled Bram into his crate, close to Lucca’s, and with the help of cargo workers, they made sure everything on the palettes was cinched down securely with tie-down straps. They made their way up the metal ladder to the seating area.

  TWO HOURS INTO the flight, Willingham sat on the windowless workhorse, knees jammed into a seatback pocket overflowing with a bulky yellow flotation device, a packet of survival equipment, an empty juice box, Lucca’s leather leash, and a crumpled paper bag from lunch. He and Knight each had a full row of seats to themselves across the aisle from each other on the transport plane.

  Big as it was, they were surprised the plane had only a few passengers. Willingham liked that. It was almost as if he, Lucca, Knight, and Bram were getting their own private flight into war. Willingham and Knight hadn’t taken advantage of the ability to stretch out. Instead, they sat up—never mind the knees—and talked like two excited kids on their way to their first camping trip. The old friends had not only gone through the Oketz training together, but here they were, on the same plane, going to war at the same time. Even though they’d known for a few months that they’d be deploying together, they still felt lucky.

  They soared thirty-five thousand feet over the earth on a high of jokes, BS’ing, bomb detection, sports, ballbusting, family stories, BS’ing about friends, and more plain BS’ing. And dogs.

  “Time to check on Bram and Mama Lucca?” Willingham asked Knight when the flurry of conversation eventually died down.

  “Let’s go see our daooogs!” Knight said, reaching for Bram’s leash.

  The crew chief escorted them to the metal ladder leading down to the cavernous cargo area. The dogs sat up in their crates when they saw who was coming their way.

  Bram’s welcoming barks echoed off the plane’s rounded walls. Both dogs wagged enthusiastically when they were sprung from their kennels. Lucca stretched as if she had all the time in the world. It was a ten-hour flight, so her timing was fine.

  “Mama Lucca! How’s the flight?” Willingham leaned down to rub her ears and the sides of her head. She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a contented puff, her eyes slightly closed.

  “Hey, Lucca, you want to take a walk?” He leashed up and joined Knight and Bram, who were already partway down the length of the plane’s belly. The usual business associated with dog walks had to wait. The dogs had relieved themselves just before boarding, and military dogs, who tend to be frequent flyers, seem to know the routine.

  “This plane’s a beast!” boomed Knight. Bram seconded with a single bark. Lucca didn’t join the conversation.

  After a few minutes, they gave their dogs just enough water but not too much, settled them back into their kennel crates, and promised to visit every couple of hours, which they did.

  “YOU KNOW WHAT today is?” Willingham asked Knight as they walked with their dogs to the kennel building at Camp Slayer, part of the sprawling Victory Base Complex of military installations surrounding the Baghdad International Airport. They’d had a couple of hours to settle into their rooms with their dogs—who would be their roommates—and were anxious to see the kennels. They w
ouldn’t be leaving Lucca and Bram in the kennels, though. That was just where they were going so they could talk dog.

  “What’s today?” Knight repeated the question. “Uh, the day we arrived in Baghdad?”

  “Yup, but it’s also Lucca’s and my anniversary.” Lucca snapped her head toward him when she heard her name. “Exactly one year ago they assigned us to each other. Can you believe that? To the day!”

  “Well, happy anniversary, and here’s to many more.” Knight raised an imaginary glass. He would have to wait another week or so for his and Bram’s anniversary, and he wasn’t sure he’d feel like celebrating. The dog still had some kinks to work out.

  When they’d left the States, it still felt like spring, but on this Baghdad morning in late April, the thermometer was well on its way to a high of one hundred degrees. As they walked down the narrow paved road, joking with each other about who had more of a radiant glow, they were surprised at how built-up the place was, especially in the distance. They could see buildings they thought were palaces or mansions, with one that rested on the edge of a man-made lake and looked like the top of an exotic bottle of perfume. It was within sight of the low concrete structure housing the kennel, which was located in a fairly isolated section of Camp Slayer. The kennel faced a large field of dry weeds with dirt roads going off into nowhere and was flanked by a thick palm grove on one side and a concrete canal lined with reeds on the other. Perfect for a little reality-based scent training.

  They were greeted by Army Private First Class Kory Wiens, whose big smile pushed at his dimples. He wore his dark brown hair shaved close on the sides, longer and thick on top. Willingham noticed a few drops of water on his hair. Wiens told them he was spraying down the kennels. Felt like being useful and not just sitting around on his off hours.

  He showed them around the dogs’ quarters. Lucca and Bram sniffed briskly until they got the olfactory lowdown. Dogs barked at them. Bram barked at the dogs. Lucca walked through without interjecting.

  “Anything you guys need, just let me know,” Wiens said.

  “We’d love a tour of the whole area,” Knight said.

  “You got it. Let’s start with the chow hall.” They headed out into the bright afternoon until Wiens stopped and held up his index finger.

  “Wait, I’ve got someone for you to meet first, if you don’t mind,” Wiens said, and grinned. “My son. Just a minute, OK?”

  Willingham and Knight knew that a guy this young—what, nineteen, twenty tops?—couldn’t have a son. Well he could, but not here, in the middle of a war-torn country. Probably not, anyway. It was all new to them.

  He returned a couple of minutes later. “Here he is! This is my son, Cooper!”

  Willingham looked down and saw a yellow Labrador retriever—a fairly standard-issue military breed for handlers whose dogs don’t have to put the hurt on someone. Since Cooper was also a specialized search dog, there was nothing in his job description about biting the bad guy. He had long, lean features and a tail that wagged briskly when he discovered Lucca and Bram. Wiens called him over and faux wrestled his dog for a few seconds, ending with a vigorous fur rub up and down Cooper’s back. Willingham couldn’t tell who was smiling more broadly, dog or handler.

  “Beautiful Lab,” Knight said.

  “Thanks. Best dog in the world,” Wiens said. He glanced at Lucca and Bram and chuckled. “Well, to me, anyway.”

  Lucca stepped up to Cooper and sniffed her new acquaintance in the highly personal way all dogs do. He sniffed her right back. They circled around in a slow canine do-si-do, noses extended under tails. Bram didn’t introduce himself. He watched for a few seconds and lost interest. Knight knew he was only thinking of one thing, and it wasn’t new friends.

  Suddenly Lucca whirled around to face Cooper and lowered her front half, tail wagging like mad high in the air, inviting him to play.

  “Yeah, Lucca!” Willingham laughed. “You like deployment, don’t you?”

  CHOW HALL WAS one of the few places the dogs weren’t allowed at Slayer. They could go into most buildings, including resplendent old Saddam Hussein palaces, some of which were now being used as offices for coalition forces. So whenever the handlers ate, the dogs chilled in their rooms. Sometimes the marines brought them a bite of leftovers as a consolation prize, but they didn’t want to upset their stomachs, which were used to a kibble-only diet, so they kept the cheat food to a minimum.

  Besides the kennel and the gym, chow hall became a favorite hangout. It was relatively small—just enough room for a couple of dozen or so tables—so it had sort of a clubhouse feeling. TVs were mounted on the walls, and if the news wasn’t on, chances were that at least one of the TVs was airing Baywatch.

  A few days after arriving at Slayer, Willingham joined Knight and some new friends at chow hall for Soul Food Sunday, a down-home feast featuring fried chicken, mac and cheese, and watermelon. He thought of bringing Lucca a little piece of crunchy chicken but decided against it. When he returned to his room, he found Lucca sitting and staring at him. She was surrounded by little rubbery bits of flip-flop. “Just ’cuz you don’t get fried chicken doesn’t mean you have to do this, Mama Lucca,” he joked as he surveyed the mess.

  Her expression looked like a mixture of elation and concern. It was all in her brows and her eyes. One second she gazed in expectant happiness over this fun activity she’d been doing. The next, after seeing Willingham wasn’t thrilled, her brows drew together and danced over her eyes as she looked left and right—almost a caricature of guilt, he thought. Then she saw his face relax, and it was back to “Check out this fun toy I found while you were gone!” mode.

  Later that night, he discovered something else about Lucca that surprised him. Lucca, his sweet little girl, snored. At first he didn’t know where the noise was coming from. He had no human roommate. But when he realized the deep, resonant sound was emanating from Lucca, Willingham reflected that you never really know someone until you have traveled or lived with her.

  ARMY LIEUTENANT DANIELLE ROCHE stood riveted as she watched Lucca and Willingham work together. She was impressed. They reminded her of something. . . . It was as if Lucca was a beautiful kite and Willingham was flying her with an invisible string. Roche, the Ninety-Fourth Engineer Detachment commander, who oversaw about twenty-six dog handlers from the army, air force, and marines, had never seen a dog and handler so perfectly synchronized.

  Willingham used subtle arm signals to send Lucca farther down the dirt road to an area he wanted her to search. Lucca turned her head to look at him every so often to make sure she got the instructions right. As their distance increased, Willingham spoke to Lucca through his radio so quietly that Roche—standing only a few feet away from him—could barely hear him. The radio, in a pocket of his dog’s harness, breathed his words close to Lucca’s ear. “Left.” “Right.” “Forward.” Lucca followed every direction perfectly, her movements fluid, confident. She caught the wind, and on it she found the scent she was looking for, drifted toward it, and lay down next to it.

  “That is beyond impressive,” said Roche, as Willingham reeled Lucca back to him with only a quiet word. “Come!” Lucca landed by his side, wagging, reveling in his praise. Roche made a mental note that it would be handy if army SSD handlers could use radios with their specialized search dogs. She had seen them resorting to shouting when the dogs were far away. Not a great tactic when you’re trying to lie low with bad guys around.

  Roche reached down to pet Lucca and noticed she wasn’t wearing the traditional leather military dog collar. Instead, she wore a red-and-white nylon University of Alabama Crimson Tide collar. It matched the University of Alabama flag that Willingham—Tuscaloosa born and raised—had hung in his room as soon as they’d arrived.

  Well, Roll Tide, Staff Sergeant.

  Lucca’s harness wasn’t quite standard-issue either. One side bore her name and the ID number that match
ed the tattoo in her left ear: K458. Normal enough. The other side simply said BADASS. All caps, black on white, attached with Velcro to the black harness.

  You go, girl!

  Roche was in charge around here and was the only woman in the dog detachment. She liked having another strong female around—even if she was a dog. Roche, twenty-four, had enlisted in the army reserves right out of high school after seeing her sister thrive in the marine corps. She attended one semester of college, then went to basic training and advanced individual training. She found she loved the army so much that she needed more than her one weekend a month and two weeks per year of training. So she switched colleges and went to one that offered ROTC. Roche contracted, graduated, and was commissioned as a 21Z engineer officer; attended Engineer Officer Basic Course at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri; and was assigned to Second Infantry Division in Dongducheon, South Korea.

  In Korea she was the support platoon leader of the Second Engineers, Second Infantry Division at Camp Castle, then the support platoon leader at Camp Hovey. In this role she was responsible for the “bullets, beans, and gas”—basically, the ammunition, the chow halls/MREs, and the fuel for all the vehicles. After Korea, she went back to Fort Leonard Wood and was a company XO (executive officer) of a basic training company. She loved when the drill sergeants let her do PT along with them. She was athletic and liked smoking the soldiers.

  While she was the XO, she applied for the dog detachment commander position and got it. She attended a monthlong K-9 training school in England and led the Ninety-Fourth for a year before they deployed. Office work wasn’t her favorite part of the job, so any chance she got—every day, preferably—she trained with her guys and their dogs and got to know their strengths and weaknesses. Before deploying, she also went on several training missions and deployment exercises with the teams, including one to Alaska.

  In Baghdad, despite all the work involved in coordinating which dog teams would go where, keeping up with supplies for dogs and handlers, and dealing with endless paperwork, she kept up her PT alongside the handlers. She especially enjoyed going on long runs with them. She could outrun most of them, but never Wiens.