One Dog at a Time (16 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Lift Off

ITRIED TO SPEND
as long with the dogs as I could over the next few days. I even missed out on some opportunities to sleep so that I could sit down and enjoy the quiet moments with them in the run instead. I was going home so I knew I would have nearly a day on a plane to catch up with sleep and with no major patrols planned we had lots of time on our hands.

Nowzad would recognise my voice immediately as I rounded the corner to the run. He would push himself up on to all fours from his curled position on the red cushion and push his nose through the bars of the run, his little stumpy tail wagging from side to side. RPG would just dance around behind him while Jena made her normal high-pitched squealing until I opened the gate and forced my way inside.

A few broken biscuits would do the trick and quieten them down. It often made me wonder if it was me they were happy to see or the food I offered.

‘Probably the food isn’t it?’ I would tease them.

Perhaps it was hard for some to understand but the dogs were a source of companionship. They didn’t ask questions of me, they never got a ‘sad’ on with me because I hadn’t been around to see them. But they were always happy when I did turn up. It was kind of relaxing to just sit there and make a fuss of them. Jena, in particular, was the ultimate soft
dog
and loved nothing more than rolling on to her back so you had no choice other than to rub her belly.

In my desperation to see the dogs make it to the rescue, I had now formed the only plan that had a remote chance of working. And it was a very remote chance at that.

Although simple it was fraught with massive pitfalls and ran the risk of severe reprimands if it went horribly wrong.

Koshan had confirmed to Lisa that the Afghan driver he had lined up, who we now knew was called Fahran, wasn’t willing to try coming to Now Zad again. However, instead of coming to Kandahar as had been previously suggested, he was willing to drive to Camp Bastion.

I was sure Fahran would have no trouble finding Bastion. During the brief spell we’d spent there I’d witnessed hundreds of ‘jingly’ trucks forming outside the camp every day, attempting to sell goods and supplies to the Afghan people. Any local person south of Kandahar would know where it was.

We’d agreed to go for it and I had told Lisa to tell the driver to drive to Camp Bastion for 6 December, the day I was due to fly out for my R & R. I asked her to make sure that he knew to place a sign in the window of his truck with my name clearly written on it.

My job now was to get the dogs to Bastion. And there was only one way to achieve that. The dogs would have to fly with me on a military helo.

This was, of course, a really risky strategy as I didn’t have permission.

The plan was fraught with possible pitfalls. What if bad weather barred me from catching my helo flight on the allocated day? How long would the truck driver wait?

If the helo did arrive on time, would my plan work? The idea was that me and one of my lads, Mase, would run up the ramp with the dogs hidden in boxes. We were gambling that the loadmaster would be too preoccupied with looking out
for
incoming mortars and would simply assume the boxes were carrying equipment. If he noticed I had three dogs on board it would be too late. We would be airborne. I could face the music later. And anyway what was the worst thing they could do: send me to the front line?

Getting to Bastion was only the start of my problems. Even if I got the dogs to the camp there were still too many variables that could go wrong.

I would have to successfully rendezvous with the driver. If we didn’t meet up in the small window of time that I would have before my military plane home, I would have nowhere to put the dogs. I would have to just walk out the front gate and release them. Bastion was situated in the middle of a barren wasteland; it would be an instant death sentence.

Leaving them on site at Bastion was not an option either. They would be shot.

Even so, if the timings were right there were other things that could go wrong.

If Camp Bastion was attacked and the camp locked down, for instance, I wouldn’t be able to leave to hand over the dogs to the truck driver.

Then there was the stress the dogs would experience being cramped in a small cardboard box for possibly two or three days and facing a helicopter ride, not the quietest experience in the world.

The odds on this working were about as good as the odds of me winning the lottery, but it was the only plan and it had to work.

Dave was the only one who wasn’t completely onside with my strategy. ‘What about the noise of the helo mate; they’ll be scared stupid,’ he’d reasoned.

He was right of course. The deafening sound of the helo would be terrifying, but I had no option.

‘I know, I know,’ I said quietly.

Despite this, however, he helped me to build some new
travel
boxes. They really would have to be tiny. The dogs would be able to stand up, but little else. But what choice did I have?

It was less than three hours before the flight that was going to take me and Mase on R & R would land at the Now Zad LS. Suddenly it struck me that Fahran, the driver at Bastion, might have a mobile phone. Perhaps I could get through to him and find out if he made it to Bastion? I ran to the sat phone to call Lisa who, luckily, was at home.

‘Lisa, can you see if you can get the driver’s phone number from Koshan? I’ll call you in 30 minutes; it is now or never, okay?’ I said, the anxiety obvious in my voice.

When I got through to Lisa again it was only an hour before the helo was due to land. Koshan had been reluctant to hand it out, but Lisa was persuasive. I scribbled the number she gave me down on my notepad.

Harry was in the ops room and offered to ring Fahran for me. The sat phone seemed to take for ever to connect with the Afghan mobile. Finally, I heard Harry saying the customary Afghan welcome. But the conversation was over a lot quicker than I expected.

Harry turned and looked at me.

‘Sorry, my friend, this is not the driver.’

‘Are you sure, Harry? Check the number again; what was his name?’ I asked frantically, waving my notepad.

‘It is not Fahran and he told me not to ring again,’ he replied.

I checked the number on my pad again. It corresponded identically with the dialled number on the sat phone screen.

‘Bollocks.’ I kicked the HESCO block in front of me. I had repeated the number as Lisa said it to make sure it was correct. Had she written it down wrong in the first place? Had Koshan palmed her off with a wrong number?

I tried calling Lisa but it went straight to the answerphone.
She
was at work and unable to answer her phone. I didn’t bother leaving a message. I had nothing to say.

‘Sorry,’ Harry repeated again. He knew how much it meant to get the dogs to safety.

I touched his upper arm. ‘Don’t worry, mate. Marines always have a back-up plan.’ I smiled as reassuringly as I could.

‘This really isn’t one of your better ideas, Pen,’ Dave said as we put the finishing touches to the new travel crates.

‘Thanks for reminding me Dave, but what else are we going to do?’

‘You get caught, you know you’re fucked, don’t you?’ He looked directly at me. ‘Is it worth the risk?’

‘What do you think?’ I replied.

Surprisingly Nowzad hadn’t minded being picked up. It was the first time I had ever attempted it. He didn’t fight either when I placed him into the extremely confined cardboard box. We had reinforced the inside of the box with metal strips so that it was crush proof and lined the base with the T-shirts from the larger crates for comfort.

‘Sorry bud, it’s for the best,’ I said as he squeezed into the confined space.

Nowzad’s sad eyes just reflected the resignation of whatever was happening to him.

We placed all three boxes with their precious cargos into the pickup and set off for the rendezvous with the resupply helicopter. As I stood in the back holding their boxes in place, all three dogs were looking back up at me, confusion in their eyes.

The two expanding dots on the horizon were unmistakable. The faint chopping sound of the inbound Chinooks was building. The corporal who had taken over from me prepared the smoke flares that would signal our presence on the LS. I had only a few minutes. It was time for the last throw of the dice.

I had found a phone number for Arnie, the corporal in charge of the security detail at Bastion during my last nighttime duty. I knew he had a vehicle and the necessary passes to be able to drive out to the holding area of assorted jingly trucks that formed outside Camp Bastion.

I had got to know Arnie during our last winter training deployment in Norway. We had trained together in the gym from time to time and then refuelled with Norwegian beer afterwards in the local town. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to have a look for the driver.

With the helicopter within minutes of landing I needed to know how he had got on. The signal from the sat phone was weak. For a moment or two I could only hear static. But Arnie’s voice was soon coming through. And his message was clear.

‘No joy, mate,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked. Deep down I had known this was going to be the answer, but I was still gutted.

‘Yes, mate. I have driven round all the vehicles; no signs with your name displayed in any truck windows.’

Reluctantly I accepted the truth. It was over.

‘Okay, Arnie. Thanks mate for looking. I owe you,’ I said.

‘Damn right you do. Beer tokens when we get home mate.’

‘Roger. Stay safe,’ I said as I hung up.

The corporal who was standing in for me now on the LS was popping smoke to signal the helo. The game was up.

Dave stood next to me; he knew what I was going to say.

‘The driver isn’t there.’ I looked at the three boxes sat waiting on the flat bed.

The noise from the incoming helicopters was growing louder.

‘Look after them?’ I said to Dave.

‘No worries, mate, it is not as if I have a lot else to do, is it?’ He held out his hand. ‘Enjoy your R & R and come back with a new plan.’

I shook his hand and then touched the dogs each on the nose. Nowzad tried to lick my gloved fingers through the bars as he always did.

‘Sorry, guys,’ I whispered.

I grabbed my small day sack from the back of the flat bed along with my rifle and signalled Mase that we were going. The helo was making its turn to get in position for the landing on the rough desert floor and was already swirling up a cloud of dust and dirt. As it prepared to land on the deck we both broke into a jog, heading for the back of the helo. I didn’t look back as we ran into the maelstrom.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

R & R

MY UNIFORM STANK
. My grubby day pack, body armour and helmet were dumped unceremoniously on the floor next to me.

I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the optics of the bar. My hair was unkempt and would definitely have earned me an extra duty on parade.

‘Add a few more days for this as well,’ I smiled to myself as I rubbed the two days of stubbly growth around my chin.

I looked down at my desert boots. Yellowish brown dust from the Afghan desert had collected between the laces. They definitely didn’t match the red carpet I was standing on.

I lifted the full pint of beer to my lips. I closed my eyes and took two large gulps, my first alcohol in over two months. It tasted damn good.

I didn’t think I could look more out of place if I tried, but as I scanned the bar for anyone taking a tell-tale sneaky glance in my direction I realised that not a single person was looking. The pub clientele were far too preoccupied chatting away over their lunch to pay me much attention. I had assumed that everyone would be racing to find out about the real Afghanistan but nobody had even looked since I walked into the bar. I felt slightly disappointed.

It was early December and the pub was already decorated in gold and silver tinsel. A large Christmas tree spilled out
from
one corner of the bar, brightly wrapped fake presents stacked underneath.

‘Book your Christmas party now to avoid disappointment,’ the signs warned on every available wall space.

I knew where I would be in seven days’ time and there wouldn’t be a Christmas dinner on the cards when it came to 25 December in the Now Zad compound, that was for sure.

A few feet away from me a group of businessmen were engrossed in conversation, their table cluttered with empty plates and half-full pint glasses. I assumed they were talking about a world that had no bearing on where I had just come from. I imagined they had no idea about my life in the last ten weeks. But then why should they? I was the one who had decided to join up, not them.

It was the brunette barmaid who broke my train of thought, or more accurately the revealing low-cut top she was wearing. ‘Want another one, love?’ she asked without really looking at me.

I waited for her to ask me why I was standing in her pub with body armour and a combat helmet. But she didn’t seem interested either. If she was wondering where I had just come from she didn’t show it.

‘Yeah, that’ll be good, thanks.’

She poured me another pint and turned to serve another customer as I placed the money on the bar surface. I was glad I had borrowed ten pounds from the unit photographer on the flight on the way home. I hadn’t a penny to my name when I left Now Zad.

I hadn’t stopped since that fateful moment when, through the open rear cargo door of the helicopter, I watched as the truck with Nowzad, RPG and Jena became just a small blotch in the vast expanse of the Helmand desert.

As soon as we touched down in Camp Bastion, Mase and I had been lucky, as a transport plane was about to lift off for the real world. Those of us who had been allocated spaces just made the flight back to civilisation. We stopped en route
a
few times for refuelling and a change of aircraft. Time had no meaning, really. I just knew I was going home.

The coach that had been sent to collect us from RAF Brize Norton had stopped several times to drop blokes off along the motorway so loved ones could pick them up. My stop had been on the first roundabout as we had entered Plymouth. I had borrowed a mobile phone from the lad who sat next to me on the coach to call Lisa and let her know where I was going to be.

I had just downed the last mouthful of my second pint when I saw our car through the fake snow sprayed on the bay window of the pub. I grabbed my gear and bounded out of the main doors. I found Lisa looking for a space in the almost full car park.

She had brought Fizz and Beamer along for the ride and they were going berserk as I reached the passenger door of the car. No sooner had I yanked the door open than I was smothered by a pair of overexcited dogs. I tried to make a fuss of both of them at the same time.

‘Wow, guys, stop licking me, yes, I missed you too,’ I said as I pushed them both away just in time to turn and face a grinning Lisa as she arrived around the side of the van.

Her smile was just as I remembered it. We grabbed each other and embraced for a long while. ‘I’ve missed you loads, honey,’ I said as we finally parted.

‘So have I.’

I wasted no time in hurling my gear into the boot of the car.

‘Have you been on the beer already?’ Lisa teased me as I climbed into the passenger seat alongside her.

‘The barmaid may have forced me to have had one or two,’ I said, smiling guiltily. ‘Just warming up for later!’

Home was just as I had left it, well, more or less. Lisa had done the normal woman thing of moving everything in the house around while I’d been away.

A few more cold beers from the fridge went down a treat before we braved the wind and rain to stroll out with the dogs along the deserted beach.

The storm surf was crashing chaotically against the shore as Beamer chased the tennis ball I threw for him across the damp sand and Fizz hunted around every rock for the elusive sand squirrel of her dreams.

As Lisa and I walked hand in hand, the refreshing sea breeze battering us as we went, we chatted about everything and anything of the last two months.

Over another beer from the fridge when we got home I showed Lisa the pictures from my digital camera of Nowzad, RPG and Jena. I felt a lump in my throat as I described their individual characters and recounted in detail how each dog had come to be in the compound.

As she looked at the images of the compound and the town of Now Zad on the computer screen, it began to dawn on Lisa just how remote and cut off we had been there. But seeing it as an image now instead of my real-time view and the associated smell of rotting waste and dust, I felt a million miles away from Afghanistan and my life of the last two months. It all seemed slightly surreal now that I was back in the comfort of familiar surroundings.

As I had access to the Internet I emailed the American lady who had first been in touch with Lisa. I attached a couple of the photos of the dogs.

From: Pen Farthing

To: Pam

Subject: Afghan dogs

Hi Pam
,

It’s Penny F here – Lisa Farthing’s other half. I am home on R & R for a while and have access to the Internet
.

Firstly thanks for all your help with trying to rescue the dogs. They are quality dogs and I will rescue them but I am
now
open to all suggestions. The British military won’t help me
.

I am utterly gutted that I had to leave the dogs at Now Zad as the helicopter came in. The driver that had been arranged had not confirmed he was at Bastion so I could not risk flying them as if I had arrived at the camp with the dogs and with no transport for them then the camp CO would have had them shot. (They are really paranoid of rabies etc., there is nowhere I could have left them at Bastion.) The driver that you arranged would not speak to me on the phone through my translator – he told us not to ring him ever again. I am not 100 per cent positive that he actually drove to Bastion. None of my guys at Bastion could find his truck outside the camp, which is why I couldn’t risk flying them
.

Let me know what we owe you though and I will get it paid as soon as possible. I have until about the end of January to get them out of Now Zad – any ideas, Pam, will be much appreciated
.

Look forward to hearing from you
.

Penny F

It didn’t take long for Pam to send her response. It didn’t deliver anything new but I guess I hadn’t expected it to.

From: Pam

To: Pen F

Subject: Re: Afghan dogs

Hi Penny
,

I recognise both these dogs as very similar to other Afghan dogs we have saved and loved. We must not allow this mission to fail. Is there ANY way you can get them driven to Gereshk or Lashkar Gar? I am sure I can get them picked up there. I will send Lisa info about how to get me the money. I spent $600, which I had been sent to ship another
dog
to the US. But still we do not have the dogs safe. There must be someone you can trust to get them to Gereshk or Lash. What about one of the drivers that is always waiting outside Bastion? Could someone at the camp talk to them in advance and get them to agree to take the dogs to Gereshk or even to Lash?

‘Great, it looks like it is just down to me to sort something out,’ I said, closing down the computer and heading for the fridge in search of some liquid inspiration.

I had seven days at home but the more I tried to get time to slow down the quicker it slipped away.

The planned visit to the hospital to see Tom and Matt was a no-go. The doctors had said neither of them were to receive visitors except for immediate family. I felt relieved in a way; I wouldn’t have known what to say to either of them.

Lisa had booked a hotel in South Wales for a few days so we could spend the time strolling along the ridges of the bleak mountain slopes. Unfortunately it rained, but both dogs were in their element as they ran ahead along the stony mountain paths, Beamer finding every muddy puddle he could to lie in. He would sit there, his tail splashing around madly in the puddle, before charging off to find the next one. Meanwhile Fizz would run along nose to the ground curiously searching for her mountain squirrel, oblivious to the fact that we were the only creatures daft enough to be up on the mountain in weather like this.

When we reached a summit we were generally rewarded with a view of nothing but thick cloud and mist. Visibility was almost zero at this altitude. We didn’t linger there long and were soon starting our descent towards the warmth of the hotel bar and a hearty meal washed down by several pints.

We had a TV in our room but I refrained from watching it. We had enough to fill our days. Every now and again I
would
find my mind wandering away to that distant place and the three dogs I left behind on the back of the 4x4 truck.

Before I had left Now Zad I had asked Dave to give me a call to let me know that the dogs were back safely in their run.

He was as good as his word. Unfortunately, when he did call he got the time difference wrong and left me a message on my phone in the middle of the night. It was brief but said that the dogs were doing fine, although he revealed that Nowzad had been unwittingly allowed to escape the run one day. Dave had spent a good hour roaming the compound trying to coax him back.

I chuckled as I heard it. I had needed to know the dogs were doing well.

Time continued to fly by and all too soon we had to leave the hotel and start the journey back to Brize Norton. We stopped briefly at Lisa’s parents to drop the dogs off before we continued to the air base. We arrived early in the morning and as I walked up the path Lisa’s dad was leaving to attend to the cows on the farm. His words stopped me cold. ‘Have you seen the news today, Pen? Did you know him?’

‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, my heart starting to race now.

‘The marine that was killed yesterday in Now Zad.’

‘Oh shit. What was his name?’ I shouted, already sprinting for the living room and the television.

It took me several frustrating minutes to find the item on the rolling news headlines, but eventually it flashed in front of me on the screen.

The BBC reporter was based at Bastion; behind him now and again clips of unknown soldiers would appear departing on various patrols. Then in the background was the square insert photograph of a Royal Marine in desert camouflage uniform. I recognised the face immediately.

It was Marine Richard Watson, part of Dutchy’s troop from our company.

‘Oh no,’ I said.

Lisa stood quietly behind me and grabbed the hand that was hanging limply by my side. She squeezed it gently. I squeezed her hand back.