One Dog at a Time (13 page)

‘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 along 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 patrol 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.

I tilted it towards the beautifully bright moon and used the glow to read by. My torch was redundant in my pocket.

Lisa had copied the email she had received into the e-bluey.

From: Joy

To: Lisa and Pen

Subject: Afghan Dogs

Dear Lisa
,

We have received your email and have forwarded it on to our contact that helps in Afghanistan
.

We assist in running a small animal shelter that was started by an aid worker from overseas. The shelter helps with the welfare of a vast number of animals. If you don’t hear back from them within the next week, please contact me again and I will follow up. Sometimes emergencies occur (rather often in this line of work, unfortunately) and emails do get lost
.

If you have any more questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me
.

Kind regards
,

Joy

Mayhew International Projects Officer

I was surprised at how short the email had been but as I carried on reading the single-page letter that Lisa had typed I saw that things had moved on from this first contact.

A few days after receiving the email from the Mayhew Animal Home their contact had got in touch with Lisa by phone. The lady who rang was American and it had taken Lisa a few seconds to realise what the call was about. It was only when the woman had started to talk about looking after dogs from Afghanistan that the penny dropped.

According to Lisa’s letter, the woman, Pam, sounded incredibly passionate about taking in the dogs for us. She explained how, when working as an aid worker after the defeat of the Taliban, she had witnessed the poor or nonexistent welfare facilities for animals. With a grant from the
Mayhew
she had founded an animal welfare sanctuary in the far north of the country that was staffed by local Afghanis.

The only problem was that Pam assumed I had permission to use a military helicopter to fly the dogs into a nearby military base so that someone from the welfare centre could collect them by road.

Lisa instinctively knew the situation and had written under that particular paragraph: ‘I didn’t say anything to her at the time but I don’t remember you even considering using the marines? That’s not going to happen is it? I told her you want the dogs there by the time you go on R & R and you were working on a plan – was that okay?’

I nodded a silent agreement. Lisa made no mention of what my plan was going to be in getting the dogs to the rescue. Again, a mindreader, she knew very well that I had no plan.

The truth was I had hoped that the rescue would have a means of collecting the dogs from Now Zad. After all, the staff of the rescue were Afghanis and I had naively assumed they would be able to travel freely around their own country. The fact that Pam had not mentioned that rescue option probably meant it wasn’t that easy to arrange.

Lisa used the last few lines she had left on the single page to type hastily about life back home. My eyes lit up at the last line as I read that she was still missing me.

‘Good, because I am still missing you, honey,’ I said to the letter in return, as if it would magically be heard by her back home.