One Dog at a Time (15 page)

‘Nothing yet, Nowzad,’ I called out over my shoulder. There were only two dusty roads that led through the desert towards Now Zad from the direction that the truck would mostly likely have to come. The rare vehicle that did drive along the heat haze on the edge of the horizon towards Crazy Afghan always caused a cloud of dust to follow it as it crossed the desert.

I scanned again for the thousandth time, but still no sign of any truck anywhere. As the afternoon dragged on I found myself thinking about what might lie ahead for the dogs. I hadn’t even asked Lisa what facilities the rescue centre had. Who ran it? How many animals were there? How did they rehome them? I began to feel slightly sad at the thought of letting the dogs go. I knew it would be for the better if they did make it to the rescue but I had enjoyed looking after them. It would be weird not having them around.

We had spent nearly four hours sitting in the crisp fresh air on the open hill when the uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right finally broke free of its shackles. Something must have gone wrong.

I knew that Afghans’ timekeeping had the potential to be, shall we say, a little slack, but this wasn’t right. It confirmed the feeling I’d felt all along today. Deep down it had all felt too easy to actually work. Deep down I hadn’t really believed that everything would run as smoothly as it had sounded over the phone.

Using the trenches and sangars that lined the top of the hill I made my way to the spot where the sergeant, who was in charge of the hill position, was enjoying a freshly brewed cup of tea.

‘Want one?’ he asked.

‘No thanks,’ I said, sitting down on the top of the sandbags that lined the entrance to his living quarters in the sangar. ‘No sign of the truck. I am going to make a move back down the hill so I can use the phone.’

‘All right, mate, I’ll keep an eye out for a truck if it does
turn
up,’ he replied. I got the feeling he wasn’t totally behind what I was attempting with the dogs. As I stood up to leave he joked: ‘And we promise not to shoot him.’

‘Yeah, I would appreciate that,’ I said, although I didn’t feel like laughing. Secretly I didn’t hold out much hope that there was a truck coming. Which meant the dogs weren’t going anywhere.

As we got ready to move off the hill, I looked one last time in the direction of Crazy Afghan. There was no magical image of a truck on the horizon. Reluctantly I loaded the two cages into the back of the open flat bed that we used for moving the bigger defence stores around.

The dogs seemed extremely chilled about the whole ordeal; it was as if they had been transported around in cages all their lives. They were showing absolutely no signs of stress. I guessed they trusted my judgement. I hoped it wasn’t going to be unfounded.

I sat in the back of the open truck with the two crates as we drove back to the compound and for once I didn’t have anything to say to the dogs.

We dropped the dogs by the run but I left them in the cages, just in case, as I sprinted over to the HQ building to grab the sat phone. It seemed to take for ever to dial the access codes and then the number for Lisa. I was about to hang up when the phone connected.

‘Lisa, it’s me,’ I said. ‘I need you to ring Koshan. The truck hasn’t turned up yet; have you heard anything?’ I blurted out without waiting for her to say hello back.

‘No, I haven’t, and you want me to ring him now?’ she asked, sounding surprised.

‘Of course,’ I snapped back, ‘I need to know what has happened or where the driver is. I can’t just sit around all day.’ I could have, really; it was down to be a slow day, but that wasn’t the point.

‘I am about to go out the door to work,’ she replied. I hadn’t even thought what time it was back home.

‘
Please
, honey,’ I begged. ‘I need to know if he is on his way or not. I will ring you in an hour, okay?’

‘All right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I’ll be at work so you may have to wait for me to answer it if I am teaching a class. I’ll see what I can do.’ And with that she hung up the phone.

I knew the next hour was going to be a nightmare while I waited to ring Lisa back. I tried to focus on checking the lads in the sangars but I couldn’t stop wondering where the truck was or what had happened to it. It didn’t help that as I did my rounds most lads were asking me why the dogs were still in the compound.

With another five minutes to go before I was meant to ring Lisa I found myself dialling the number on the phone. Lisa, luckily, wasn’t in a class but she had no news for me. She couldn’t get through to Koshan and anyway she would then have to wait for him to get in touch with the driver, no doubt.

‘I love you, honey,’ I said as I frustratingly clicked the end call button and then went to let the hounds back into their run.

I couldn’t leave them in their travel crates any longer; they had been holed up patiently for nearly seven hours. All three dogs trotted happily into the cramped run just as if they had been out for a jolly in the car. For a moment they reminded me again of Fizz and Beamer. Both our dogs loved nothing more than staring out the window of our van as the world went by outside.

I grabbed the dogs’ bowls and the stash of the lads’ unwanted boil-in-the-bag meals from the pile outside the run. All three adopted their normal stance of sitting immediately upright, tails – or stumps in Nowzad’s case – swishing from side to side along the dried dirt floor as they watched me like hawks while I measured out their food.

I stood guard in front of Nowzad while they ate before clearing away the bowls and making a fuss of each dog in
turn
prior to tying the gate securely. I had no idea how long they were going to be back in the run this time.

I rang Lisa again in the early hours of the next morning, timing it purposely in the hope she was about to go to bed. ‘Where the hell has the driver got to?’ I asked her.

I felt hopeless as I listened to her again explain she had heard nothing back from Koshan, then promise she would try to ring him again as soon as she woke.

‘I wish I was getting into bed with you,’ I said as I remembered the feel of snuggling up next to her warm body. ‘Boy, do I wish I was,’ I repeated as the image filled my head. ‘I could close my eyes and fall asleep without a care in the world.’

‘Dream on, lofty, you’d have to move the Rottweiler out of the way first,’ Lisa said.

I suddenly felt really homesick.

I hung up. I looked at my watch; it was nearly two in the morning. I needed sleep. If I was lucky I could get two hours in before the day started again. It would have to do.

As the morning crawled into another afternoon I stood on the roof of the HQ building looking out towards the mountains in the north. Somewhere out there stood Noshaq, the highest mountain in Afghanistan at 7,492 metres. Attempting to climb it was not going to be a good idea, however. The route to it was blocked by landmines, laid, not by the Russians, but the Northern Alliance to prevent the Taliban from attacking their towns. The mines also meant that valuable farm and grazing land was now a no-go area. It was just so sad that nobody could ever just get on with each other but then I guessed I would have been out of a job if they could.

I glanced down at my watch; it was a few minutes before 3 p.m.

Over the last few days big grey storm clouds had been
forming,
enclosing the high peaks around this time in the afternoon. They looked more menacing every day. It was definitely threatening rain and I didn’t think we would have long to wait.

Added to the cool wind that was more or less a constant nowadays, I knew the rain would make life even more unpleasant around the compound. It wasn’t as if we had anywhere to dry our clothes.

I looked over in the direction of the dogs’ run. It was obstructed from my view by the old building that I had first found Nowzad hiding in. But I knew it so well I could visualise it in my head. I would have to do some more DIY on it if the dogs were staying for any longer. The only protection was the mortar shelter, and that wasn’t waterproof. Jena spent most nights curled up under the camouflage net. Yet again my mind was drifting towards the plight of the three Afghan strays that I had become inexplicably connected to. Surely there had to be a way I could get them to the rescue centre.

Where was that bloody driver?

News that the boss had ordered a patrol to the southern village of Barakzai spread quickly around the compound. We were leaving at first light. It was a welcome relief for me. It would mean I could occupy myself with the briefings and rehearsals that my lads would need before we went out.

It wasn’t until that evening that I was finally put out of my misery about the driver. He’d tried to travel here, but hadn’t made it.

I managed to place yet another call to Lisa. She told me she had finally got hold of Koshan. He explained the story. Lisa recounted it again for me as best she had understood it.

The driver had been stopped at two Taliban checkpoints on his way into the Sangin valley that led towards Crazy Afghan and the town of Now Zad. The Taliban had wanted to know why a driver with a northern Afghan dialect was this
far
south and what business he was undertaking in their area. Obviously he couldn’t tell the truth and say that he was collecting dogs for a Royal Marine who was part of ISAF. That could have been a death sentence for him.

I was angry with myself. It was a stupid mistake. If I had thought the plan through we could have got the driver to fill his truck with much-needed supplies to deliver to the local people. He would then have had an excuse to drive through the valley. But his truck had been empty and there was nothing in the Now Zad valley that he would have been collecting. The Taliban had turned him away and scared the living daylights out of him in the process. He wasn’t going to try coming back.

There was, it turned out however, a Plan B.

‘Koshan said that he can get a driver to go to Kandahar if you can get the dogs there,’ Lisa said.

‘Lisa, I only have tomorrow to find someone to do that,’ I said quietly.

She didn’t ask why I only had tomorrow and I couldn’t have told her we were going on a patrol anyway.

As I put the phone down I closed my eyes and let out the air in my lungs slowly. This rescue really wasn’t going to happen. The feeling of being unable to do anything was slowly balling up in my stomach and I couldn’t stop it.

I slumped down on the broken wall I was leaning against and just sat there for a few minutes not moving.

‘Get a grip, for fuck’s sake,’ I said to myself eventually, standing up. ‘Have a bloody word with yourself, Farthing.’

I hadn’t come this far to give up now. There had to be a way.

‘Never give up,’ I said aloud to myself in the afternoon air. The saying had been continually drilled into us during Royal Marine training; if you wanted the Green Beret, the sign of a commando, then you never gave up. Yet again it was time to put it to the test.

Maybe, just maybe, I could find a truck in Barakzai. And
maybe,
just maybe, I could persuade a driver to get the dogs out of the valley and to meet up with the driver from the rescue? I had to hope. What else was there?

CHAPTER NINE

Barakzai

IT WAS LATE
morning but I was sweating already. Even the cool air was failing to stop the perspiration forming down my back as the heavy kit pressed into my shoulders.

The cold of the Afghan winter wouldn’t be so unwelcome after all, I thought to myself. I couldn’t imagine carrying all this kit if it got any hotter. I didn’t mind admitting I was impressed with the army lads who had fought through the height of the high Afghan summer before us.

We had walked across the open desert for a good few kilometres before we approached the familiar brownish orange mud walls that signalled the start of the village.

Just being out and walking was a refreshing change. I looked around at the rest of my troop and even with the bulky equipment that most of the lads wore, I could tell they were chuffed at being out of the stifling confines of the compound.

During the walk I’d seen a couple of trucks driving around the dusty landscape. But, typically, they’d deliberately avoided coming anywhere near us. They knew we’d stop and search them. I’d already resigned myself to the fact that my only chance of talking to a driver would come if I found a truck parked in the village.

Even this early on in the morning, the sky was overcast with dark clouds that had now started to fill the vast desert plains that sprung southwards from the mountains. Our
weather
reports from the RAF indicated that we were probably going to get the first of the winter rains later today. I hoped we would make it back before that happened.

Barakzai was much smaller than Now Zad and sat at the head of the farmed land that supplied the Now Zad valley. The village consisted of a collection of the same small gated, walled compounds that were to be found in Now Zad and, I suspected, most of Afghanistan. The compounds were all connected by network after network of narrow alleyways. As we advanced further into the alleys, small children in dirty baggy trousers and shirts appeared and immediately pestered us for pens or crayons.

None of them wore shoes. I made the mistake of handing out a pen to one little dark-haired chap with bright blue eyes who was very good with his hand signals and had been clearly asking for one. Sure enough, within seconds I had a small crowd grabbing at everything I wore.

I didn’t want to seem cruel but I had to push them away. The last thing I wanted or needed was one of them running off with a grenade. I gestured at our interpreter who came across and quickly sent the children on their way with a volley of shouted words and much waving of his arms. But the kids made sure they didn’t go without relieving me of another pen and some light-sticks.

Winning the hearts and minds of the locals was a huge part of our mission here, yet since getting here I hadn’t known what to expect from the people of Afghanistan. We had been told that President Karzai had requested our presence, but that was just the public face of politics. The truth was he needed us, such was the instability of the region. Some of the people would welcome us and others would resent our presence, but that was the same with any society. One thing I knew for sure, however, was that if the coalition forces didn’t provide the security and stability that Afghanistan craved then we would definitely lose the support of the ordinary people.

It didn’t matter what you felt about the decision to invade Afghanistan in the first place; leaving the Taliban in power to create a safe haven for terrorists would be bad news for everyone.

My headset crackled into life. One of the lads ahead wanted to know how he should respond to someone who’d asked if he was a Russian soldier. Again it was a sign of how isolated and cut off from the world these people were. The Taliban had banned radio and television so all outside broadcasts had stopped when they came to power. As a result there were many in Helmand province who didn’t know about the US-led invasion in 2001.

Before I could press my transmit button, the boss replied from towards the head of the patrol. In a sarcastic tone he said it was probably a good idea to say that we were British and here to help.

As the patrol moved southwards, the village seemed alive with faces, all staring round corners, looking at us unemotionally. It was obvious this was a male-dominated society. There were no women to be seen anywhere. Nearly all the men old enough to be able to grow a beard wore one. They were all dressed the same: a grey or blue long-sleeved shirt that came down over baggy trousers and black leather shoes that had seen better days.

As we passed into a street wide enough for a vehicle I watched as a small mini-van drove by. The passengers perched on the roof were all children. I waved up at them. Two of the younger boys waved back.

As we patrolled along the street we walked in front of a makeshift stall. It didn’t seem to hold much stock, just a few bits of fruit and some vegetables that had seen better days.

Two teenaged lads lazed outside a small open-fronted building that served as a garage workshop. The odd bits of what I guessed were motorbike parts were laid out on the ground in a haphazard fashion. Oil stained the dried ground.

From a dilapidated building that at one time or another had served as a shop emerged an old guy with sparkling eyes that seemed younger than his wrinkled face.

He was carrying a small wooden birdcage that housed a bright bird that was trying unsuccessfully to flap its wings. I didn’t know whether it was just for decoration or for eating. Whatever it was, he wanted me to buy it. I didn’t have any money on me and I didn’t think patrolling back with a birdcage in one hand would’ve gone down too well with the boss anyway. So I waved my hand to indicate: ‘No, thank you’ and tried my basic Afghan, ‘
Salaamu alaikum
.’

I was greeted by nothing but a blank stare. Maybe I should’ve stuck to French at school. If Harry had been around to interpret I would have asked the man with the birdcage whether he knew of any truck drivers. But he wasn’t around so there was no chance of that.

Trying again to communicate, I held up my right hand across my heart, a universal peace greeting. It meant letting my rifle hang by my side on its sling but Afghan custom dictated that the only thing you did with your left hand was wipe your backside so I had no choice if I didn’t want to offend him. I nodded goodbye and left him.

The alleyways all looked the same and none had names or markings. If there was such a thing as a postal service out here, the local postman would have his work cut out.

With the walls of the compounds on either side of us we had no way of knowing which one led where with any certainty. To no one’s great surprise a few minutes after turning back into one of the smaller alleyways a radio message came up the line telling us we had missed our first checkpoint.

The boss wanted to check out a small building that was being used as a school and to meet the village elder to discuss any support we might be able to offer in the form of reconstruction or aid.

The lead section regained their bearings and headed off
while
the section I was attached to held position for a while before heading back the way we had come and into another series of alleys and cluttered buildings.

I followed slowly, keeping tabs on the marine in front. With no breeze in the alleys it was still relatively warm. The smell of rotten food and human waste stung the inside of my nostrils.

Whenever the patrol stopped each of us had to take a quick look around before crouching down to adopt decent fire positions. The weight of the kit made sure we conserved energy. The getting up and down as we stopped was becoming hard work for my old knees in particular; they really didn’t like the stop-start that patrolling entailed and given the amount of revolting stuff on the floor I was also careful about where I put my knees.

The message came up the line that the boss had arrived at the centre of the village and had asked to talk with the elder. A flurry of activity indicated that the local men had gone to seek him out.

I walked up the line of crouched marines, stopping now and again to check on a few of them. The centre of the village was just an open area of barren wasteland no bigger than a normal-sized swimming pool. There were low mud walls and a few empty wooden stalls that jutted out from the ends of several unkempt buildings.

By now a group of local men and kids had formed. Most wore the faded blue grey
shalwar
robes that were traditional in these parts. A group of shoeless children were grouping around the marines who had taken up positions around the open ground.

I approached the boss and Harry the terp. They were both deep in conversation with a tall distinguished old man wearing an immaculately clean white turban. His grey beard was one of the longest I had seen and tumbled down on to the top of his chest.

As I walked past them on my way to tell a marine on the
opposite
side from me to look outwards and not inwards as he was currently doing, I caught snippets of the conversation.

‘Boss, the elder says he is still waiting for the promised medicines, food and school equipment that he was told would be here by now,’ Harry was saying.

The boss responded to Harry, but I was by then out of earshot. I could guess what he had replied though. Without the security that this region desperately needed no aid agencies would attempt to deliver anything. The locals would have to work with us to deny the Taliban freedom of movement. Only then could we provide the resources the villages badly required.

The conversation in the middle of the village lasted a few more minutes and ended with all three shaking hands before the boss signalled it was time to move.

The outskirts of the village ended sharply and I found myself once more about to step into the open expanse of the desert plain.

I felt a tug at my sleeve and looked down to see a small brown-haired girl with piercing green eyes staring up at me. She could not have been much more than ten or eleven. She held out a grubby hand in my direction.

‘Hello little one,’ I said as I crouched down so I was level with her. ‘Let me guess. You want a pen, eh?’

I did a quick check around to make sure I wasn’t going to be swamped by hundreds of her friends. The coast was clear so I fished out a pencil from my top pocket and a couple of boiled sweets that I had placed there just for this reason.

She grabbed them from me, an oversized grin spreading across her face. But instead of running away she stood and spoke to me in quick-fire Pashtu. Luckily I looked up to see Harry a short distance away walking alongside one of my corporals.

‘Harry, can I borrow you?’ I shouted over to him.

He jogged over and said hello to the little girl who surprisingly stood her ground.

‘I have no idea what she is saying, mate. Can you translate for me please?’

Harry spoke to the girl and they exchanged words as I listened intently, unable to understand anything.

Harry looked at me. ‘She wants you to teach her to write,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘Oh,’ I replied. The youngster was staring up at me as if I was about to give her a lesson there and then. Harry was still looking at me too, his piercing dark eyes testing me, waiting for the answer he already knew I was going to give.

‘I can’t, little one, not yet, maybe soon,’ I said, talking more to Harry than the child.

He looked at me a moment longer before he translated it into Pashtu. I pulled out my small black notebook and opened it towards the back where the remainder of the blank pages were. I ripped out a handful and held them out to her. ‘This is all I can give you for now, okay?’

The little girl didn’t need Harry to translate; she reached for the paper and with it securely gripped in her hand promptly turned back down the narrow alley towards the centre of the village.

‘Harry, is there a school here?’ I asked him as we moved off to rejoin the patrol that was now fanning out into the cool crisp wind blowing from the north.

Harry replied without looking up. ‘Yes, but there is only one teacher there. He uses an old building as the school but he has no materials. It is not well attended any more.’

As we patrolled back northwards across the rough desert floor I wondered what we could do to improve the lives of these people.

My attempts at trying to rescue the dogs seemed fairly trivial in the grand scheme of things. But as we headed back to the compound, it was bubbling back towards the forefront of my thoughts again.

I’d failed miserably to find a truck driver in Barakzai or any of our local area patrols and I probably wasn’t going to find one in time for the trip to Kandahar.

It was looking like I had only one option left. It was time to break some rules.