Wardogs

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As soon as I put him in there his ears flop down and his head droops to the floor unhappily. He glances up at me with a dejected, hangdog look: What have I done to deserve this? I reach into one of the side pockets of my rucksack and pull out a vacuum-wrapped bone. It's one of dozens I've carried out from the UK. I pass it through the bars, in an effort to try to cheer him up a little.

'Here you go then, big lad, have a chew on that... He sniffs at the proffered bone but doesn't take it, which is so unlike my dog. He leaves me to drop it onto the floor of his cage. This isn't Hunter at all. Normally, he loves nothing more than a good gnaw on a big, juicy bone. This is his way of showing me how unhappy he is in these dingy and cramped quarters.

It's a first rule in the working-dog world that only a well rested and well looked after animal will give 100 per cent. A dog that feels uncared for will be unhappy and will work way below par. Hunter and I have come here on a life-or-death mission sniffing out the bombs, and in my book anything less than 100 is just not good enough. per cent

In addition to being dark and horribly claustrophobic, the cage also provides zero cover from enemy fire. From our pre deployment briefings I know that Sangin's getting shot-up, mortared and rocketed on a daily basis. So, first priority is going to be to build my dog and me some proper, decent bomb- and bulletproof quarters.

By the time I've got Hunter half settled it's last light, and we've got no time for any of that now. I fetch him out of his cage, for there's no way he'll get any rest in there. We bed down side by side on my cot, with him cuddling up to me for security. I give him a good long scratch behind the ears where I know he likes it best, and I talk him to sleep as gunfire crackles in the dark ness all around us.

I lie awake, a bundle of worry. The commander of the resi dent unit Bravo Company, 40 Commando, Royal Marines -has already let me know that he wants Hunter and me out on their patrols right away. Sangin's been nicknamed IED Central for a very good reason: British soldiers keep getting hit by murderous improvised explosive devices (IEDs) here. Yet from the moment Hunter and I set out for Afghanistan our journey's been dogged by trouble, and we could hardly be less prepared for the war torn streets of Sangin town.

A few days back we'd deployed from the 104 Military Working Dog Unit, based at North Luffenham, Rutland. We were two dozen human-and-dog teams, including Arms Explosive Search (AES) dogs, Infantry Patrol (IP) dogs, and Patrol Dogs. IP dogs are trained to go out on the front line and detect the enemy from afar, whereas patrol dogs are trained to provide security at military bases and other installations.

We deliberately deployed two weeks early to Afghanistan, planning to use the extra time to get the AES dogs acclimatised to the withering heat, and their noses adjusted to the smells here. Hunter's an AES dog, which means he's trained to find weapons and to detect a range of explosive odours - including C4, deton ation cord, water gel, TNT and dynamite. But scents tend to differ wherever it is you're searching - especially when you've got a nose as sensitive as Hunter's - and we'd planned to spend those two weeks training with local arms and explosives, to get the dogs tuned in.

But it sure didn't happen that way. The first we knew that we were being sent directly into the field was when our giant Galaxy transport aircraft touched down at Camp Bastion. I was just getting Hunter out of his transportation crate when word was passed around the aircraft's echoing hold - Get your kit ready,you're going out tomorrow! And that's how we learned that we were heading directly into the jaws of war.

The commander of the 104, Captain Martin Thompson, called us together to explain what was what. After our sergeant major, Frank Holmes, I am the third most senior rank, and the only one of the more senior guys getting sent into the field. That didn't worry me much. I'm infantry trained, and in my thirty eight years I've gained more combat experience than most of the young soldiers being sent into Afghanistan. What did worry me was heading into the heart of war with 'green' dogs; ones who'd had no chance to acclimatise, or to get their noses in.

The 104 is seen as being the elite of the British military working dog world, and we're often deployed to support Special Forces operations. Our CO explained to us that being from the 104 we could handle it, and that we'd 'acclimatise on the job. We'd have to ease our dogs into their first missions, carefully controlling how often they went out and for how long, so they didn't burn themselves out, or worse still miss any IEDs.

We're all of us total pros and we hail from a fine unit, so none of us whinged too much. But if we'd had those two weeks to properly acclimatise and prepare, who knows how differently things might have turned out.

In a way I guess it was understandable, but our OC gave the three female AES handlers the real cushy postings. Ali Suther land got Kabul, which is nicknamed 'Kabutlins' by the British soldiers. Foot patrols in the Afghan capital were done with the floppy-jungle-hat, softly-softly approach, reflecting the perceived threat level. Zoe Smith had got given the military base at Kandahar, complete with swimming pool, Pizza Hut and Dunkin' Donuts. And Debbie Cafful got Lashkar Gar, the capital of Helmand Province, which is also slipper city.