Wardogs

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Cheap watches tend to lose a few seconds every day, so it's crucial to wear a reliable timepiece. I have an Animal watch, for obvious reasons: the name reminds me of the world's greatest animal as far as I'm concerned - Hunter. It was bought for me as a present when I'd first become a dog handler, because it was the nearest you could get to a 'doggy' watch.

Since then I've never once had to replace the battery and it's proven pretty much bulletproof on operations. Here in Afghanistan it's been totally reliable. I've dived onto rocks with it, dived into the sand with it, and dived into the Helmand River with it, but short of blowing the thing up it seems squaddie proof. In fact, it's proving to be about as robust as my dog, which means it's looking pretty much indestructible right now.

I've had some extra K9 gear sent out from Camp Bastion, including a high-visibility fluorescent doggy jacket. That bit of kit is going to be crucial for tonight's mission. We'll be working on black light, and that fluorescent jacket is going to be one of the only ways that I'll be able to see Hunter work when we hit the dark heart of the Red Hotel.

At all times on this one I'll need to think like the enemy. Rather than using the front door we'll go in via somewhere unexpected. I'll have a couple of security guys on my shoulder, but they'll know not to get in the way of Hunter's freedom to search. We'll clear the place floor by floor, and when each is done I'll radio: 'Floor One - secure, and so on. That'll be the signal for the Bravo Company lads to come in behind us, so the enemy can't sneak in and mess us up.

In spite of all of the preparations put in place, it's still one hell of a tasking for any dog. Clearing such a massive building, espe cially when many of the rooms and stairways will be heaped with rubble and other war debris, is a massive ask. To get him to do so at night and in the heart of hostile terrain, when every door may conceal a deadly threat, makes this a dog's mission impossible.

I fetch Hunter from his kennel and talk him through what lies ahead. As the Bravo Company OC briefed me, so I brief Hunter. I tell him that we'll need to do this whole operation in total silence, otherwise the enemy might hear us. I can't use hand signals to guide him, because it'll be pitch dark in there. We'll need to rely on whispers, and our instinctive, intuitive under standing to get it done.

I tell him that once we're on the last set of stairs leading up to the roof we'll need to get down on our belt buckles. We risk getting silhouetted on the roofline, 'cause the enemy might realise what we're up to up there. We'll clear the entire roof with the both of us crawling around on all fours, me and my dog.

I know I can be overheard talking to Hunter, giving him his briefing, but I don't give a damn. If the Bravo Company lads conclude that I'm cracked, so be it. As far as I'm concerned Hunter needs to know as much as I know about what's coming, and bugger them.

When I'm done talking Hunter looks up at me, scratches his belly with one of his back legs, and has a big stretch and a yawn: Yeah, Dad, got it. Good to go.

We form up at eight o'clock, a good hour after last light. We've got to get the snipers up on the roof by two thirty a.m. to ensure they can get in position unseen. We've got around five hours in which to clear the entire building. We're going to have to go some to get it done. As my dog and I step out of the gates into the night, I have never in all my life felt so daunted or so scared. We flit through the dark, deserted streets of Sangin like a troop of wraiths. Our destination is a ghostly, rubble-strewn shell of a building that stinks of piss and neglect. There are dozens of rooms to clear on the ground floor alone, the door to each of which I'll have to be first through, so Hunter can get in. Any one of them may be crammed full of an enemy, or booby-trapped with a tripwire or other device.

We reach the outskirts of the hulking great building. It is a darker, empty shadow against the black of the night. It's now that I slip the search harness onto Hunter. As we moved across town I had his leather collar on, and he was clipped into the paracord leash. But unless and until I clip him into his search harness, and give him the seek-on command, Hunter knows he's not on the search. He can't always be in search mode, as it would exhaust him.

When Hunter's in-harness, he becomes my dog soldier: out of

it, he's just my dog.

By now we seem to have won the total respect of the Bravo Company lads. I've briefed my security guys that I can't have them breathing so much as a word when we enter the building. I'll only be able to whisper in there, at best, and the last thing Hunter needs is other voices confusing him. I need total silence in which I can talk to my dog.

We halt at an empty window. Hunter knows what's coming and everything about him has changed. The harness is the signifier, the trigger. He knows that any area I take him into he's expected to check and to clear. Just as soon as he sees the ball come out of my pocket and he hears those magic words - 'seek on' - he'll be in there, nose down, nostrils and lungs hoovering away. And he'll stay that way until I take the harness off again, God bless him.

We step towards the black void of the window. For a long moment we pause and we listen. My heart's pounding away inside my skull. There's not a sound from up ahead that I can detect not a clink of broken glass underfoot, or the slightest murmur of voices. It's as silent as the grave in there, which makes it somehow infinitely more eerie and threatening.

I place one, reluctant hand on the window sill. 'Bup. Bup. Bup, I whisper.

This is Dave and Hunter speak for 'get up. My throat is so constricted with fear that I can barely get the words out. Hunter glances up at me: Come on, Dad, don't be scared. We can

do this.

He places his two front paws on the window frame, kicks with his back legs, and he's through. He lands with a barely audible

plop. He glances back at me. His eyes say it all: You coming, or what? We'll have this wrapped up in no time. Come on.