by J. F. Holmes
By hour three, everyone was starting to feel tired and sore. Heavy equipment-laden plate carriers dug into our shoulders and made our backs ache. Each piece of gear was slowly turning against us. We continued our patrol. We’d reached the bend in the river and set up a small LP/OP, or listen post/observation post. We would stay here for about another hour or so in hopes of seeing distant Taliban movement.
Hour four wasn’t too bad. The Marines were hidden in the shade of brush and trees. We weren’t standing on our feet anymore. Some were laid out in the prone with their rifles out, while me, the corpsman, Aarash, and Evan sat central to the squad. We leaned back against our gear and could, for the most part, relax.
When it turned to hour six, I gave the signal for us to start moving again; it’d be another long walk back. I’d partially planned for this; though doing this longer and harder patrol was necessary, it also meant that on our next patrol day, we’d get an easier mission.
We were halfway home when we heard it. A snarling bark so loud it made us all jump. Rifles raised and heads turned. I couldn’t believe how loud it was, and I’ve been blown up before. Again I felt my spine shiver. I gripped my M4 tight.
The dog walked up to the crest of a high berm, then sat on its hind legs. I thought it was one of the three we’d seen earlier, but its pristine coat was a mixed color of black and brown. Still those soul-crushing, empty, hate-filled, black and red eyes. The knife-like teeth seemed sharper. Its claws looked like razors. It snarled and eyed us.
Luckily there was a ten-foot-wide canal between us. The water ran deep and fast, and the rumbling it produced could have almost been peaceful, had it not been for the canine at its bank. Feeling relieved that we were safe from the kuchi, we began to move again. We’d leave its territory, and that would be the end of it. The hound stood on all fours, then effortlessly leapt across the canal. My heart stopped.
“Holy fuck!”
I’m not sure who said it, but the Marine summed up everything we thought and felt. The dog stood still for a moment, and that’s when I realized just how big the thing was. It’s spine alone was four feet high. It had looked big before; up close it was massive. Then it snarled at us once more. One of Evans’ Marines was the closest to the dog, and in a blur it charged. It was fast. Too fast.
The Marine cursed and raised his M16 to fire, but he was too slow. The rounds dug into the dirt, harmless, in front of the beast. The dog kept coming without fear or care.
Three more shots rang out in quick succession. It was Evans, he’d sighted in on the dog with his rifle as soon as it had landed on our side of the canal. The animal’s body jerked, and it gave out a hiss like noise before tumbling end over end, dead.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” the Marine yelled, his adrenaline running. He fired his rifle into the carcass a few more times just to be sure.
It had happened in an instant. I have no idea how many seconds had passed from that first bark to the final shots, but it couldn’t have been more than thirty. I couldn’t believe it. Before we could even inspect the dog, we heard yelling. It was one of the village elders from the KLE; two other men were at his flanks, and they were running toward us.
“What the fuck is going on here?” I said out loud. “Reid, search those guys! Evans, Petty, get us security! Aarash, what the fuck are they yelling about?” I never heard him answer me; My radio sparked to life with transmissions from TCP 2, they’d heard the gunshots. I responded, and we left the carcass behind.
When I was done, the Afghans had been searched, and Reid had brought them to speak with me. They spoke quickly and loudly. Aarash was about to begin translating while they yelled. “I know, I know, they want us to pay for the dog, right?” I said to Aarash with more irritation than I intended.
Aarash shook his head no. “No, man, they just want us to leave. Now.” I could tell the interpreter was getting scared.
“What?”
“Dude, I have no idea. They do not want money. They do not want anything. They are demanding that we leave.” Aarash began looking around nervously. “Dude, let us just go.”
At this point I was tired, exhausted, slightly at my whit’s end with the insane dog, and still concerned about Taliban activity. “Fuck it. Reid, get us out of here!” I yelled and immediately went for my pack of cigarettes. I lit a smoke and took a deep inhale, and we started to step off, when I noticed the Afghans placing a blanket over the dog. Maybe it was the heat messing with my mind, but I could have sworn I saw wisps of smoke and ash coming off the carcass.
At the end of hour eight I was finally stripping off the weight of the plate carrier. It was instant relief. I peeled the sweat-soaked combat top off my skin, and immediately went to work on my boots. In less than a minute I was in nothing but my skivvy shorts and sandals, with a cigarette hanging from my lips. Reid was much the same way, but he flopped onto his cot and let out a loud exhale. Everyone was beat. I wanted to do the same. A debrief stood between me and relaxation.
Gunny Alvarez was my savoir. He made his way over to me, and we knocked out the after-action report quickly. He was already tracking on the incident with the dog and had heard the situation reports I was sending in. I started to describe the jump the kuchi had made with no effort.
The other Marines were listening and joined in to tell the story. Gunny simply nodded his head. I know he believed us, but let’s face it. We were talking about a dog, and Gunny had Taliban to worry about. In the end, Gunny simply said, “Well good shooting, Evans. Still no Combat Action Ribbon.”
We laughed; everyone wanted the ribbon to show they’d been in combat against the enemy. Only I and a few of the senior Marines had one. The joke was well received, and it seemed to remind everyone that we were causing a big fuss about a dog. We went back to business as usual.
I ate then, finally, and let myself melt into my cot. I was asleep within minutes. I dreamt about home and meeting a girl. It was the kind of dream that lingered in my mind long after I awoke. I didn’t have a girlfriend or wife waiting for me in the States, but admittedly I wanted one. I hadn’t dated while back in California, I was too focused on becoming a squad leader. Now I wanted to return and find a girl. Maybe that was childish. Oh, well, it was an escape and a goal. She had long black hair and brown eyes, and her features were soft and beautiful. The dream was just about to get good when Reid woke me up.
“Bro, the ANP just bounced,” Reid said in a harsh whisper.
I was rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, still envisioning the girl from my dream. In a more than annoyed tone I asked, “What happened?”
“The ANP, they just up and left.”
I was awake now and turned my gaze to the COC. I could hear Gunny Alvarez and Sergeant Mason on the radios. It was night now, and only a few lanterns combatted the dark inside the TCP. I leaned up and swung my legs off the coat. I couldn’t help but continue to rub my face in an attempt to wake up faster.
Reid kept talking. “A local came and talked to them, then they just hopped in their truck and fucking left.” Reid was anxious, his rifle slung in front of him.
“Alright, alright. I’m up,” I said.
“Dude, are you fucking listening to me?”
I could tell Reid was spooked; he wasn’t referring to me by rank. Though in private I didn’t mind, the Marine knew he needed to when others were around. I got up and made my way to the COC.
Sergeant Mason saw me and glanced at his watch. “Lake, you still got like two and a half hours left. Get some sleep.”
I lit a cigarette and leaned against the door frame. “I heard the ANP bounced.”
Sergeant Mason extended a hand, asking for one of my smokes. I gave him one, and he answered, “Yeah, no idea why or where to. Classic Afghans. But you get some rest, we’ve got this.”
I nodded my head and went back to my cot. Maybe I’d be able to dream of the girl again. I went back to sleep. Instead of the her, the dog visited me. I was walking alone, and there it was, staring straight at me. It stood
there, and I could feel its gaze pierce my soul. It didn’t bark or snarl. It just stared.
I woke up in a cold sweat. Taking a glance at my watch, I saw it was twenty minutes until midnight, and my turn for COC watch. I went for a piss and gulped down a bottle of water before heading to the COC. Gunny Alvarez was there, and I told him I could take the watch now. He thanked me and left for his sleeping bag. I began waking my Marines for their turns to stand watch.
There was a pot of coffee in the corner, a gift from someone back in the States. The coffee maker had become one of the few luxuries we had in TCP 2. With a canteen cup filled with the black brew, I sat and smoked, and monitored the laptop. On the screen was a display feed of our thermal camera. The camera was placed high on top of Post Two, where it could rotate and scan the surrounding area. The display was set to “White Hot”, and heat signatures showed in bright white. I pivoted the camera around and as usual, and saw nothing.
The TCP was quiet, except for the subtle rustlings of the Marines switching with each on post. I could hear them and their quick conversations, heard the velcro of gear coming on and off, the carbonated pop of a Rip-It energy drink opening. I reached for my book and began reading. It was military fiction, Airborne Rangers in Vietnam on long range reconnaissance patrols against the North Vietnamese Army. I’d found it on the shelf of used books selling at my local library, and I’d bought it for seventy-five cents. It had become my favorite read and my best investment. I’d read the thing at least ten times.
Every half hour I grabbed a black Motorola radio and called for a communications check with Post One and Two. The Marines replied back, their voices filled with boredom. I’d ask if there was anything they needed—coffee, water, a snack—then obliged any requests. Sometimes I’d visit the Posts, stand with the Marine on duty, and we’d talk to help pass the time. Standing Post was soul draining; they did rotations of four hours on, four hours off, eight hours on, eight hours off. They would have to wear their gear and helmets and just stand there, keeping vigilant in an area that had been quiet and peaceful.
I was climbing down the ladder of Post Two when we heard barking. No, not the air-shattering roar of one of those beasts, but the barks of the kuchis we were more accustomed to. It was a bit unusual, but nothing too far out of the ordinary, so I paid no attention to it. I simply cursed at the reminder of the beasts we’d seen and the one that had haunted me in my dream. I went to check on Post One, and the barking continued in the distance, the sound so low it wouldn’t have disturbed anyone’s sleep.
In contrast to Post Two’s ladder, Post One had a long, wide, railless staircase made of two-by-fours. Evans was on duty, and he casually sipped on an energy drink. His PVS-14s hung in front of his face, and the green glow of night vision illuminated his left eye.
“How’s your war?” I asked when I reached the top of the stairs.
Evans offered me a sip of the Rip-It. That was a testament to his character; I was sitting on boxes of the beverages down in the COC, and he still offered some of his to me. I waved it off, and he spoke quietly and with some cheer, trying not reveal just how dull things were so far. “Another day in paradise.”
I chuckled and made my way inside the post. The floor was a sheet of plywood on top of dirt filled HESCO barriers. More HESCO barriers formed the walls, and wooden posts rose up from the barriers and held a wooden roof, where dirt and sandbags gave some overhead protection. Cami-netting hung from the roof and over the entry, and partially over the firing port. More sandbags filled the empty, vulnerable spaces around us. There was an M240 medium machinegun and two cans of belted 7.62 ammunition, pen flares, binoculars, Motorola radio, and, strangely enough, a machete. Why it was there I have no idea. A trash bag hung from the corner, and beside it was a stack of water bottles and some MREs to snack on. A piece of cardboard had been nailed to the wall with a drawing of a range card on it, the range card showing specific features and/or buildings and the distances to each. This was where the Marines spent twelve hours of their day, every other day. I was glad I didn’t have to do it anymore; I had freedom in the COC.
Evans was a quiet guy, and for a minute we stood there in silence, then I lit a cigarette and offered him one. He usually didn’t smoke, but this time he accepted, and together we blew small clouds of tobacco into the cool night air. The barking was still going on.
“You gonna get yourself a dog after this?” Evans asked suddenly.
The question seemed random for only a fraction of a second. “I’m not sure. That one today kind of ruined the fun.” Evans nodded along in agreeance. “You?”
Evans thought for a moment before answering, “Sure, today was a fluke. I’ve seen plenty of good boys and good girls. Only the past couple days have I seen those…things.”
I smiled to myself; Evans was always the levelheaded one.
“I’d like to get a husky or a German shepherd. Something big you can wrestle with, ya’ know?” Evans continued, and we discussed pets until the cigarettes burnt to the filters. I asked if he needed anything, then made my way down the stairs and past sleeping Marines. With a look at my watch, I saw that it’d be time to wake the next pair of Marines for watch soon.
Reid was one of the Marines up next. I woke him up with a shake, and he cursed before forcing himself up. The next Marine woke up in similar fashion, and I waited in the COC. As they dressed, the noise of putting on gear was drowned out by the barking. I finally realized that the dogs hadn’t stopped, they were getting louder—or was it closer? I worked the controls for the thermal camera and scanned around. At first there was nothing, just empty Afghan countryside in the dead of night. No one was out. The four other Marines and I were probably the only ones awake.
I kept moving the camera around, completed a full pass, then started a second. The camera panned toward one of the open fields next to a compound with long, high exterior walls. From the corner I saw a dog run out, turn around, then start barking. The way the kuchi moved and stood told me it was defensive. It was barking at something hidden, away by the compound. Another dog rounded the corner in similar fashion, and it too began to bark at something unseen.
I panned the camera around the compound and its surroundings. I saw the heat signatures of other kuchis, all barking and snarling at the same concealed thing. I was beginning to consider that maybe the cause of all this was inside the building itself, until another dog emerged from behind the corner. As it came into frame, the other dogs darted away to get their distance before once again turning around to bark and snarl. This new canine was massive compared to the already large hounds. Then another appeared.
And another. And another.
More and more of these massive beasts were making their way into the field. It was a pack. I couldn’t believe it. The pack of massive beasts slowly walked through the field. All around them, smaller kuchis kept up their relentless, useless yelling. I estimated there were about thirty of them. I tried to count them all, but the heat signatures distorted their images and made it difficult to differentiate them all.
The heat signatures themselves were strange. The beasts in the pack shone at a brighter intensity than the orbiting dogs. They seemed to radiate heat. With slow determination, the pack walked, patient and stern. They were making their way toward us.
The chills were coming back, and I debated waking up Sergeant Mason and Gunny Alvarez. The pack came closer and closer. “Fuck it,” I said to myself out loud and left the COC in a rush. I shook Mason and Alvarez awake and simply said, “You gotta see this.”
The two walked into the COC in a haze. Gunny Alvarez didn’t hesitate, he went straight for the coffee and poured a cup. After taking a sip, he finally glanced at me with this demanding look of curiosity. I motioned to the screen, and the two peered at it. It took them a moment to shake the sleep away and process what they were seeing.
“Alright, I’ll admit it. That’s fucking weird,” Sergeant Mason said as he took the cup of coffee and drank some for himself.
/> “I think they’re coming this way.”
They both looked at me for a moment, then back to the screen. As if on cue, the Motorola radio sparked to life with Evans’ voice. “COC, this is Post One.”
I grabbed the radio and depressed the key. “Send it.”
“I’ve got a huge pack of dogs coming this way.” Evan’s voice teetered between disbelief and professionalism.
Gunny took the radio from me. “Post One, Post Two, we’re tracking it. Keep eyes on.” He turned to Sergeant Mason. “Do me a favor, Sergeant, get our rifles.”
“Hunting season’s on,” Mason said with a grin and a wink. I went for mine as well.
By then, Reid had switched out with Evans for post. Evans met us in the COC, with all his gear still on. “That pack is close.”
Sergeant Mason ensured he had a round in the chamber. “Evans, let’s go to the gate. I’ll show you what it’s like to hunt hogs in Texas.” Together the two left the building and made their way to our entry point.
I decided I wanted some trigger time as well, and I went up to Post Two. I wanted the elevation to try to engage more of the beasts. I’d finally get some vengeance for the chills and shakes the dogs were giving me. I climbed up and met Harris there. He had his night vision down and was looking in the direction of the pack. His rifle wasn’t shouldered, but ready. When he saw me leaning against the sandbags and leveling my M4, he did the same.
I hadn’t gotten my night vision. I should have, but the skies were clear, and the moon was bright. Had it not been for this disturbance, it would have been scenic and beautiful. That was the only thing Afghanistan had going for it. I still think pleasantly about those nights, funny enough.
Evans and Sergeant Mason were out at the entry point, protected solely by the surrounding concertina wire. I watched Mason step ahead. He was excited and confident, but looked ridiculous. He was wearing only his skivvy shorts, boots, and helmet with night vision gear. An extra magazine was tucked into the shorts, and his rifle was slung over his shoulder. Finding a suitable spot, the sergeant swung the rifle into his hands and activated the infrared laser of the PEQ 15 device.