Caesar the War Dog

by Stephen Dando-Collins

  ‘How do we get back here?’ asked another SAS man.

  ‘We hike to an RP here.’ He tapped the keyboard to bring up the map again, then pointed to a rendezvous point marked on it. ‘The heelo will extract us at 0400 hours.’

  ‘What’s our plan B?’ Ben asked. ‘What happens if, for some reason, the heelo can’t extract us?’

  ‘That being the case, we might have to walk all the way back here to Tarin Kowt,’ said Charlie with a wry smile.

  ‘And what if we don’t find what we’re looking for at the kal, Charlie?’ Lucky Mertz asked. ‘What if the intel is wrong and there’s nothing there? Information like that from locals has been wrong before.’

  ‘Then, we say how sorry we are, give the owner of the kal some cash as our way of apologising for making a mistake, and get the hell out of there,’ Charlie replied. ‘Any more questions?’ He paused. ‘None? Then let’s do it, you blokes.’

  In darkness, they boarded an Australian Army Chinook helicopter at the busy Tarin Kowt airfield. Chinook helicopters, much larger than Black Hawks, are equipped with two sets of rotors, and, like Hercules aircraft, have a loading ramp in the rear that can be lowered and raised. Caesar, wearing his doggles and puppy Peltors, and trotting along on the end of a leather leash, happily went up the ramp with Ben and into the dark interior of the helicopter’s cargo cabin.

  Charlie and the four other SAS men had boarded ahead of them and were sitting along one side. All were wearing full combat gear including bulletproof Kevlar vests, gloves and infrared goggles, through which the night was lit up in an eerie shade of green. All carried forty-five kilo packs filled with food and water for three days, plus plenty of ammunition in case they got into a firefight with the Taliban and had to shoot their way out of trouble. Each man had a small personal radio attached to his camouflage tunic, just below the left shoulder. This enabled team members to communicate with each other during the operation. One trooper, a trained signaller, carried a much larger radio to keep the team in contact with base and support units. A trooper with medical training also carried medical supplies.

  In addition to ammunition, a sleeping bag and rations, Ben was carrying extra litres of water and dog food for Caesar. In camp, Caesar lived on a diet of fresh meat and dried dog food, but out on missions like this, Ben could only take along the dried variety. Caesar didn’t mind it, but he did really like a good steak, which was what Ben would give him back at base as a reward for a job well done.

  First letting Caesar say hello to Charlie and the others, who all gave him a pat, Ben then eased down into a webbing seat and instructed Caesar to sit on the floor between his legs. With Caesar wedged between his knees, Ben could keep him from flying around if the helicopter bucked about in the air, which it often did, particularly if the pilot was avoiding enemy fire.

  The Chinook’s rear ramp came up. With a deafening noise from the engines and spinning rotors, the helicopter lifted off and was soon flying through the night at several thousand feet. Inside, Ben and the other members of the team sat in silence. In the glow of the dull red lights on the heelo’s metal wall, some checked their equipment. Others closed their eyes and leaned their heads back against the wall. Caesar lay down on his belly and rested his head on one of Ben’s boots. It was not long before the heelo began slowing and its ramp was lowered. All six men got to their feet and took hold of their weapons. Caesar, ready for action, also rose.

  When the helicopter touched down at the designated landing zone, or what soldiers call an LZ, the six men and Caesar ran down the ramp and into a cloud of dust raised by the rotors. The men quickly fanned out and dropped flat, ready to answer fire from insurgents who might be in the vicinity. The Chinook, which had only been on the ground a few seconds, lifted off again. And with a wave from the helicopter’s loadmaster, who stood at the open ramp, it rose up and swept away to the north. Soon, the heelo was gone, the dust had settled, and the chilly night was silent. Beside Ben, Caesar had lain down on command. Ben now removed Caesar’s doggles and puppy Peltors, and stowed them in his pack.

  Charlie briefly consulted his handheld military GPS, then pointed in the direction they had to go. Without a word, all six men and Caesar came to their feet. Lucky Mertz led out, the others falling in behind, stringing out with twenty metres between them. Ben and Caesar were second last in the line that warily made its way down from the barren hill where they had landed. For two hours, the team tramped across deserted countryside and over desolate hills. Finally, they reached a hilltop – their initial objective. From here, they could make out the kal they had been sent to raid in the valley below. It sat near a stream in the midst of dusty tracks and watered fields growing various crops. The kal was in darkness and not a sound was to be heard.

  After establishing a watching position among large rocks on the hilltop, and covering themselves with camouflage netting that would hide any sign of them from prying eyes, the members of the team settled down to rest. Ben unrolled a sleeping bag from his pack and slipped into it, resting his head on the pack. When Caesar snuggled up against him and put his head on Ben’s chest, Ben pulled him in close, to share body warmth. Soon, both dog and handler were fast asleep.

  When dawn broke, the Australian soldiers were already wide awake and focused on the valley below. Through the day, as the sun beat down on them, they lay perfectly still and watched as men and boys came out from the kal and into the fields to work. Several light trucks came and went. In the compound itself, women could be seen working, and children playing. The compound was made up of high mud walls which enclosed a number of single-storey buildings and courtyards. Several related families usually lived and worked together in kals like this. At sunset, the soldiers watched as the men and boys left the fields and returned to the kal.

  Nothing the SAS team had seen during the day suggested that any members of the Taliban were at the kal. This seemed to be a normal, peaceful farm. But, like the SAS, the Taliban moved about at night. So, with the darkness, the soldiers became extra vigilant, surveying all approaches to the kal to see if anyone came or went or acted suspiciously. The whole point of this waiting and watching was to make sure that the SAS team didn’t walk into a viper’s nest of Taliban insurgents when it moved down to the kal in a few hours’ time.

  The men on the hill now had their first meal of the day, and Ben gave Caesar a cupful of water and a ration of dried dog food that Caesar quickly wolfed down. The SAS men ate from MRE packs, and several gave Caesar their leftovers. With infrared binoculars, Charlie continued to watch the kal and its surroundings for signs of activity. Nothing moved in the valley.

  By ten o’clock, the last oil-fired lamp in the compound had gone out. The hours ticked by. At midnight, the SAS men packed up their camouflage net, adjusted their night-vision goggles and prepared to go down to the kal. Just before one in the morning, Charlie gave the valley one more sweep with his binoculars, then nodded to himself. The coast seemed clear. With a hand signal, he gave the order to move out. Throughout the day, not a single word had passed between members of the team.

  Up rose the advance man. As he made his way down the slope, the others set off, one at a time, with those remaining on the hilltop covering them. Then it was Ben and Caesar’s turn, followed by the last man, whose job it was to guard their rear. Slowly, they came down off the hill, then split into two groups of three. Ben and Caesar went with Charlie and the short, stocky Bendigo Baz, who was carrying a machinegun that was almost as big as he was. Coming from different directions, the two groups stealthily approached two gates in the compound walls. When Ben, Caesar, Charlie and Baz reached a tall wooden gate in the southern wall, it wouldn’t open. Charlie spoke softly into a small personal radio strapped to his shoulder. ‘Lucky, this gate’s locked.’

  ‘This one is, too, Charlie,’ came a radioed reply from Lucky Mertz, leading the second group of three.

  ‘We’ll blow them together,’ said Charlie. ‘On my lead.’

  ‘Roger.’


  Charlie then attached a small amount of plastic explosive, also known as PE, to the gate. Ben, knowing what was coming, led Caesar around the wall, then hunched down with him, putting a comforting arm around his neck. From around the corner came the sound of a dull explosion, like a paper bag being popped. Caesar didn’t even flinch. From the other side of the kal another faint explosion followed, as Two Section blew open the western gate. Somewhere inside the kal, a guard dog began barking. Ben slipped his rifle from his shoulder. Ready to fire if he had to, he rose up, and with Caesar on a short leash, ran back around the corner. The blasted gate hung open on one hinge. Charlie and Baz had already charged through the opening. Ben and Caesar followed them into the compound.

  Rapidly, the soldiers linked up and went from building to building, kicking open doors and searching for occupants. As outbuildings were cleared, Ben and Caesar went inside them, and Ben gave Caesar more leash so that he could check every room for explosives. Man and dog checked three outbuildings without finding any sign of explosives or weapons. When they emerged from the last one, Ben saw that lights were glowing inside one of the residential buildings, and he and Caesar made their way there.

  They found that Charlie and the others had collected about twenty men, women and children in the one room. The children looked fearfully at Caesar. One girl of six or so cried out at the sight of him and clung onto her mother.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Ben, thinking how much the little girl reminded him of his own Maddie back home. ‘Caesar won’t hurt you.’

  Charlie, using the little he had learnt of the local Pashto language, was talking to the headman of the compound. The man, aged in his sixties, wore glasses and had a black beard flecked with grey. Charlie asked the headman if he had hidden any arms or ammunition for the Taliban at the kal, and the man shook his head. Charlie instructed Ben and Caesar to keep looking, and they did, going from room to room in every building of the compound. They even searched the outdoor lavatories. But, after thirty minutes, Ben reported back to Charlie that they had found nothing suspicious.

  The headman smiled. ‘This I tell you, soldier Australia,’ he said in English. ‘No weapons here. No bang-bang.’ Then his smile vanished and a scowl covered his face. ‘You break into my kal. You come into my house wearing shoes!’ In Afghanistan, it was very bad manners to wear shoes inside the house. Everyone was supposed to leave their shoes at the door. ‘You frighten my children,’ the headman went on. ‘You break my gates. Not good. Not good, soldier Australia. You pay me money.’ He held out his right hand.

  Charlie sighed. Apologising for intruding on the family and pulling out a packet of local money, he handed over a wad of Afghani notes. The headman took the money and counted it. It amounted to about five hundred Australian dollars, which was more than most people earned in a month in Afghanistan.

  ‘Not enough,’ the headman said, waving the money in Charlie’s face. In Afghanistan, men always haggled when it came to agreeing on a price for something. ‘Not enough!’

  ‘Mate, I don’t have time to bargain with you,’ Charlie responded, gently pushing the man’s hand away. ‘That’s all you’re getting. Let’s go, you blokes.’

  The SAS men began withdrawing from the room. Carrying oil lamps, the headman and several of his sons followed them outside, telling them in their own language that they had not been paid enough to make up for the intrusion by the Australians. Charlie and his men ignored them.

  As Ben and Caesar were heading toward the broken southern gate, they passed a large wire chicken coop built against the outer wall. As they passed it, Caesar suddenly strained on his leash, pulling Ben toward the coop.

  ‘What’s up, Caesar?’ Ben asked, stopping. ‘You want to chase some chickens?’

  It was a hunting dog’s natural instinct to chase birds, including chickens. Dragging on the leash, Caesar led Ben over to the chicken enclosure.

  ‘What’s Caesar up to?’ Charlie called. Noticing the dog’s sudden interest in the chicken coop, he headed over to join Ben. ‘Is he onto something? Or does he just fancy chasing chooks?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Ben replied.

  ‘No, no!’ the headman protested, sounding very worried all of a sudden. ‘No let dog eat my chickens.’ He and his sons hurried to the door of the chicken coop and stood in front of it, barring entry.

  ‘Something in there’s definitely taken Caesar’s interest, Charlie,’ said Ben, looking sideways at his friend.

  ‘Is it chooks he’s interested in or something else?’ Charlie wondered aloud. ‘Something more explosive, maybe?’

  ‘I can’t tell,’ said Ben, as Caesar pressed up against the wire, his attention fixed on something beyond it.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ said Charlie. He turned to the headman. ‘Open up,’ he instructed, pointing to the gate of the chicken coop.

  ‘No! No!’ the headman protested. ‘No kill my chickens. Great value. Great value.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Charlie. He took out all the Afghan money he had left and held it in front of the headman. ‘How much for each chook the dog kills? That’s if he does kill any when we let him in there.’

  ‘No, no,’ the headman responded, waving his hands. ‘No want money. You no let dog in there.’

  The fact the headman had suddenly lost his interest in money immediately made Charlie suspicious. ‘Stand aside, mate!’ he commanded.

  When the headman and his sons would not move, Charlie ordered his men to drag them away from the gate, then go into the coop and clear it of chickens. Minutes later, the headman and his sons were standing unhappily to one side with SAS guns trained on them, and panicking chickens were running wild throughout the compound. The chicken coop had been successfully emptied. Caesar had watched with interest as the chickens were chased from the coop by SAS men, but his attention always returned to the place where the chickens had been kept. Ben finally let him off his leash and said, ‘Caesar, seek on!’

  Caesar immediately scooted into the coop and, with his nose down, went directly to a patch in the middle of the ground that was filthy with chicken droppings. He began to dig, his rapidly moving front paws spewing out the dry earth in a torrent, as if he was a digging machine. Ben and Charlie came to squat beside him and watch his progress.

  ‘He’s onto something,’ said Ben, peering through the darkness into the growing hole in the dirt floor.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s not just a bone,’ said Charlie, wryly. Taking a black torch from his belt, he shone it into the hole. Now he and Ben could see objects that had been buried not far below the surface.

  Ben pulled Caesar back and patted him vigorously. ‘Good boy, Caesar! Good boy!’

  Caesar, excited, wanted to keep digging. But Ben held him back as Charlie felt into the hole with a gloved hand. Using his commando knife, he enlarged the hole. Then, lighting it with his torch, he peered in and let out a low whistle.

  ‘What have we got?’ Ben asked, craning his head.

  ‘Caesar hit the jackpot,’ Charlie replied. ‘It’s PE, my friend.’ Carefully, he removed a packet containing a yellow waxy substance like playdough. There was enough plastic explosive there to kill a hundred troops if the Taliban had the opportunity to use it. ‘The headman has a lot of explaining to do,’ Charlie added.

  After digging a little more, Charlie also brought out detonators, a detonating cord and timing devices. And, later, several Russian-made anti-tank mines. These mines, so powerful they could disable a tank, would turn a Bushmaster into scrap metal in an instant.

  ‘They thought they were clever, burying this stuff in the chook house,’ Charlie remarked. ‘They reckoned the smell would hide the explosives from any detection dog.’

  ‘But they didn’t reckon on super-sniffer here,’ said Ben, giving Caesar a pat. ‘Nice job, Caesar.’

  Standing tall, Charlie walked out to where the headman and his sons were being held. ‘I’ll have that money back now, thanks, mate,’ he said to the headman. ‘And say goodbye to your fa
mily. You’re coming with us for a little chat back at Tarin Kowt.’

  ‘Taliban make me do it,’ the headman now declared. ‘They make me hide things here in my kal. They kill my children if I not help them.’

  ‘Maybe they did make you do it, mate,’ Charlie conceded, ‘but you can tell that to the people back at base. You’re coming with us.’ He turned to his team members. ‘Secure this bloke, then move out!’

  The headman’s glasses were removed, and he was blindfolded. His hands were secured behind his back with cable ties. Ben took charge of the headman’s glasses. ‘I’ll look after them for you, mate,’ he said, slipping them into one of his pockets. ‘You’ll get them back at Tarin Kowt.’

  The headman’s sons and other family members protested. The women wailed and tried to hold onto him to prevent him being taken away. Ignoring them, the SAS team carried on, hustling the headman from his kal. The explosives and mines found in the chicken coop were also brought out and piled in a field. Charlie took a photograph of the pile, as evidence of their haul, and for a split second, the camera’s flash lit the dangerous collection and the men standing around it in the darkness.

  Lucky Mertz then attached a small amount of their own plastic explosive to the pile. Once the team was five hundred metres away and had gone to ground, Lucky detonated the pile. It went up with a burst of orange flame and a loud boom that echoed off the surrounding hills.

  Coming to their feet and tugging the headman with them, the team walked quickly back the way they had come, heading for the rendezvous point. They had to be there by four in the morning to be collected by helicopter. All being well, their hike would take them two hours, leaving them thirty minutes to spare. They walked in the same order as before, now with the headman stumbling along in the middle of the line. He did not speak, and neither did his captors.

  For close to two hours they walked, until, passing through a fig orchard, they saw a hill looming ahead. Up the rocky hillside they climbed, to a flat plateau. It was three-thirty when they reached the RP. They settled among a collection of large boulders and, using the main radio, Charlie put in a call to ‘Mother’, the mission’s codename for the Special Operations controller at Tarin Kowt. ‘Mother, this is Redback. I am in position for extraction. Over.’