Authors: Pen Farthing
When I got to the ops room door I turned around again to see the dog was still merrily following me. ‘Sorry buddy you can’t come in here,’ I said, opening and closing the door quickly behind me.
I put the headset on to be greeted by the normal chat on the radios as the lads checked in from the sangars and the hill. Dutchy was keen to get some ‘rack’ time so we hardly spoke as he headed off to bed.
I radio checked everybody to help pass the time. It also made sure the lads were awake.
The ops room was housed in an old storeroom with no windows. In the background all you could hear was the permanent, dull growling of the compound’s small diesel generator, powering the three small lamps that illuminated the room. The only furniture was a couple of folding tables, one of which was stacked precariously with the radio equipment that kept us in touch with the outside world.
The simple whitewashed walls were adorned with different-scale maps of Now Zad and the surrounding area. There was also a lone tatty picture of a stunning blonde who seemed to be smiling directly at you no matter which angle you looked at her from. She was, however, the one token distraction in an otherwise focused military operations centre.
I read the log. It corresponded with Dutchy’s briefing. It was a dull read. Things had been quiet since the air attack on the Taliban position. Maybe it really had been too close for their comfort. Since then we’d been just waiting for them to attack again, but they hadn’t. Instead we’d spent the past week ticking off the days on our home-made calendars, enduring our stagnant schedule of duties and sleeping and eating. But even eating was becoming routine; the one choice hotpot curry that the chef made every night was becoming much too predictable. Our sessions in the time accelerators were becoming ever more appealing.
Tonight my mind was already working on how quickly I could get back across the compound and snatch an hour of sleep when my duty was over. I sat with Jimmy the radio operator but we hardly spoke. Both of us kept our heads down in our books. I was currently reading envious tales of
mountaineering
daring in Mick Fowler’s
On Thin Ice
. Jimmy and I had discussed everything that we could over the last three weeks, but with no regular supply of newspapers we didn’t have anything new to say.
I was still quietly dreading breaking the news about the two injured lads to the troop at first light. I didn’t read many pages of my book.
The ‘Doc’ was my relief. He was a naval doctor who was still coming to terms with the fact that the sea was nowhere near our current location. I had to wake him twice to get him out of his sleeping bag when my shift was almost up. At least I didn’t have to walk far. The Doc slept outside the makeshift medical room that was situated in the same building as the ops centre. I don’t think ‘going on watch’ had been part of the sales pitch when he signed up for medical service.
‘Anything to report, Sergeant?’ he asked while still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
‘Nope – all is quiet. The air plan for the day is coming in at 0600. The boss wants a shake at the same time.’
We would know then whether or not we had air cover for the patrol that was planned to the south of the compound. I pushed myself up from the small folding chair I was sat in. My back hurt. Sitting for hours in a folding chair was not good. I had put some boiling water on for a tea to take with me. Jimmy the signaller still had another hour.
‘Later Jimmy,’ I said as I flicked him a mock salute as I finished stirring my tea.
‘Yeah, enjoy your bed, Sergeant,’ he replied without looking up from his book.
I patted the Doc on the back as I handed him the battered headset as he took my place in the chair.
I opened the outer door from the ops room building as the beautiful tint of the new morning sun was breaking over the easterly wall of the compound. The skies were a fantastic swirl of red clouds forming around the perfect mountains that surrounded us to the north. A beautiful part of the day;
shame
I rarely saw it back home, normally the double duvet would hold me fast until the last possible moment.
The unexpected lump at my feet almost tripped me over. I looked down just in time to see the small playful dog curled up in a ball right in front of the door. I could barely believe he was there.
As soon as I bent down to stroke him he jumped up and adopted his playful, legs-splayed stance. Instantly he was wide awake.
‘Am I your new friend then?’ I teased him. ‘Have you waited all this time for me to come out?’
The dog just looked at me with its head cocked to the left. With the early-morning sun rising steadily I could see him much better now. He was a skinnier version of Nowzad, with long legs, a light brown tan coat and a darker muzzle. And of course he still had his ears.
I fished a biscuit out of my pocket. ‘I’ll have to stock up again at this rate,’ I thought as I gingerly fed him one of the few remaining that I had.
I knew he couldn’t stay. ‘Sorry buddy but you will have to leave the compound – I can’t let the boss see you running around,’ I told him.
It took me the best part of an hour to finally coax him out of the compound. The young dog just assumed it was a brilliant game we were playing. By the time he was safely out of the gate I was covered in a thin layer of dust. It was almost breakfast time as well. The time accelerator would have to wait. I had to go and find my troop, who would be getting sorted for breakfast.
It was time to give them the facts about what had happened in Kajacki – or as much of them as we knew – before the rumour mill went into overdrive. I managed to locate my section corporals, who were just waking up or coming off guard. I explained the situation, fending off the exacting questions that they hit me with.
‘Fellas, we don’t know why they drove off the cliff all
right?
Look, until we know more, we have to just be grateful that Tom and Matt are still alive. As soon as I know more I will let you guys know. Spread the word to our lads so they don’t start listening to rumours.’
During my stint in the breakfast queue I learnt from the signaller that the planned patrol had been canned. The air cover was being diverted to more pressing ops in the south again.
I used the time to check the lads were on top of their admin. It was two days to go to the next resupply flight. I was looking forward to receiving mail from Lisa. The rest of the day dragged. We made small talk among ourselves and I managed to handwash most of my clothes. The day ended quietly and without fanfare.
The early-morning watch came all too soon as I found myself walking across the compound through the ANP garden.
I noticed the small skinny mischievous dog again. It was sat waiting for me. I had overslept and had only 15 minutes to let Nowzad run around. I waved at the dog and reached in my pocket for some of the cardboard biscuits. I knelt down and held one out. The dog looked at me and slowly crept forward to sniff the treat. It gently took the biscuit out of my hand then immediately darted off in a zigzag run for fifteen feet before throwing itself to the ground and munching on the biscuit as if its life depended on it.
I thought back to the first time I had seen a rocketpropelled grenade (RPG) fired in anger at us back in Gereshk. The missile has no guidance system and flies in a random line in the general direction it was pointed. The way this little dog ran reminded me of it.
‘RPG. That’s a good name,’ I said to myself.
I opened the gate for Nowzad and he charged out to see his friend. They played between the dust clouds that were kicked up as they leapt at each other. The younger-looking dog was always faster than Nowzad as they chased each other round and round in circles.
I walked over to the rear gate. The filled-in gap was dug away again. The little bugger really did want to get in.
I looked at the two of them playing together, a fighting dog and a skinny youngster. Neither was aggressive; if anything Nowzad was the submissive one.
I knelt down and extended a biscuit in each hand. I called Nowzad. Both dogs stopped their play fighting and ran towards me, Nowzad trotting over in a straight line, little RPG in a random zigzagging motion.
As the pair of them munched on their biscuits I made my mind up immediately. Little RPG was going to be given the same chance as Nowzad. If I was trying to rescue one I might as well make it two. It would save me having to fill the trench under the gate each morning.
I chuckled to myself. Lisa would want to kill me. But then again the Taliban were trying to do that already so what did it matter? RPG joined my improvised dog pound.
The satellite phone took two attempts to connect; I listened to the long drawn-out tones as electronic circuits beyond my comprehension coupled with a grey cordless phone that sat on our kitchen work surface in Cornwall.
I was dying to hear Lisa’s voice. I didn’t have to wait long.
‘Hello,’ said a tired voice far too many miles away.
‘Hi honey, how you doing?’ my voice hopefully conveying the excitement I felt about speaking to her again. It had been over a week.
The conversation swayed between my days of doing nothing and Lisa’s busy days in the gym with the Royal Navy’s new recruits.
I waited until there was a pause in conversation and then went for broke. I told her about the skinny dog I had named RPG.
‘Lisa, if we are going to try rescuing one dog then why not two?’ I asked – or maybe it sounded more like pleading.
She didn’t sound that chuffed. I tried to reason with her.
‘If I find a rescue, what are you going to do then. Who in their right mind is going to take an ex-fighting dog?’ She voiced what I had been thinking all along. ‘Look Pen …’
I cut her off. ‘Somebody will,’ I pleaded. ‘I can’t leave him here to be abused any more Lisa,’ I replied, suddenly fully aware both of her lack of progress in finding a rescue centre and of the absurdity of the situation. It was like trying to rescue a dog from the middle of the Somme during the First World War. ‘C’mon Lisa, you have access to the Internet, I don’t. Can you please just have a look; there must be something out there?’
‘I am looking but there isn’t anything. I’ll search again tonight when I get home, all right?’ She sounded annoyed. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t like she had nothing to do.
‘Thanks honey, it is just annoying as I can’t do anything myself. I need you to look for me,’ I replied, trying to sound chilled.
With nothing more to discuss the phone call came to a natural end. Lisa reassured me that she would do her best to find a centre, if one existed that was.
There must be somewhere in Afghanistan that would take them?
The lack of patrolling was severely depressing everyone. It wasn’t that we craved action, we just wanted to do something, anything.
Even though all the living quarters and mini-compounds of the DC were fairly close together, there were some days when I didn’t actually see some of the lads. If they weren’t needed on duty or they didn’t have any admin to crack on with, they just disappeared into their own little world.
My little world was now the dogs. It gave me a few minutes of respite from an otherwise fairly grim existence.
The constant threat of incoming mortars and the very real chance of getting shot was with us even when we were
sleeping,
but the two Afghan strays didn’t seem to have a care in the world. It was just a shame the rest of the world couldn’t get along as well as these two did.
I was amazed that they had become buddies so quickly, especially since the first time I had seen them play together I had thought RPG was a goner.
RPG had initiated the playtime by jumping towards Nowzad from a good foot or so away, using his teeth to grab the almost healed stumps that had been Nowzad’s ears. Nowzad, though, reacted completely differently to how I assumed he would in a fight situation. Instead of defending himself and ripping RPG to pieces, the big dog allowed himself to be forced to the ground, rolling on to his back while RPG straddled him as he continued to mouth Nowzad’s stumpy ears.
This was the way they played all the time now. They would stay in that position tussling away for a good ten to fifteen minutes, before RPG would back off and allow Nowzad to stand up, usually before resuming the act all over again.
Nowzad never seemed to tire of RPG’s constant attention.
I enjoyed my brief moments when I looked after them; it took me away from the realities of life in the compound. It reminded me of home.
Today, as I walked across the compound in the early-morning sun to feed the two of them I noticed two silver-coloured dishes similar to the one that had been Nowzad’s first water basin. They were lying half hidden under an old canvas amid a load of other rubbish stuck in a small unused corner of the ANP mini-compound.
‘Just what I need,’ I thought to myself.
The dishes would make ideal dog food bowls. Although RPG had been with us for two days I had only the one bowl from which to feed them both, Nowzad’s original water bowl. It had made feeding time a long drawn-out affair.
Both dishes, just like the drinking bowl, were charred black from being used for cooking, but after applying a little elbow grease they looked decent enough to use.
Today’s feast was going to be the same as yesterday’s and the previous day’s, but I didn’t think they would complain. For two dogs that had, until recently, eaten only what they could scavenge, a packet of pork stew and dumplings with a few cardboard biscuits thrown in was a top treat.
As I mixed up the sickly yellow blob of so-called pork chunks and round plump suet dumplings I had no reservations about giving the food to the dogs. The lads had long ago given up eating this particular dish unless they really had to. It would only end up in the burns pit anyway.
Both dogs sat bolt upright, waiting excitedly as I mixed the goo together outside the run. As I finished preparing their meal I balanced the bowls in one hand like a posh waiter and let myself in. I knew that Nowzad wouldn’t try to escape when I brought food. He definitely loved his food more than going walkabout in the compound.