Читать книгу Dog Soldiers: Love, loyalty and sacrifice on the front line - Isabel George, Isabel George - Страница 8

Ops Room, Camp Bastion, Afghanistan: 24 July 2008

‘Thomo, you need to get down here now.’ Captain Martyn Thompson (now Major Thompson) had just returned to his room after dinner and was ironing his kit for the next day when the call came in.

‘What’s up?’ The Captain stepped into the Ops Room.

‘It’s Ken.’

‘How bad?’

‘I’m sorry, but all indications are we’ve lost him. The dog, too. We’ve planned for this, Thomo, so we all know what we need to do. We need to get our ducks in a row and do our best for him. Over to you.’

The ZAP number (initials and last three digits of the service number) that spilled out of the messenger in the Ops Room was Kenneth Rowe’s: KR 366. It identified him as a casualty on the ground now on his way back to Bastion. Martyn Thompson saw it and knew what had to be done. First he called Chris Ham. ‘Chris, you can’t repeat this but early reports are that we’ve lost one. It’s the Geordie.’ Rather Chris, who had been Kenneth’s Commanding Officer in the UK, hear it from his friend than anyone else, and it would give him time to get himself together before the news came through officially just a short while later.

On the ground, the Army ‘system’ kicked in. Sergeant Major Frank Holmes had just finished his evening meal when he ran into a colleague heading for Bastion HQ. ‘He’s gone, Frank. The Geordie lad. He’s gone.’

That’s all the person said. Running in to find out more, Frank hoped the message had been mixed and there had been some confusion over the ZAP number, but sadly the information was confirmed. Frank had lost one of his best handlers and his best dogs. Not only had he lost one of the RAVC’s rising stars as a handler and trainer, he had also lost a good soldier.

‘I was devastated and I walked to the rest room where everyone had been ordered to go for the announcement, and with every step I found it impossible to hold back the emotion,’ recalls Frank. The padre accompanied the Ops Commander who announced that the man down was Lance Corporal Kenneth Rowe of the RAVC and that his search dog, Sasha, had fallen with him.

‘Some of the girls burst into tears and some of the men, too. Several of the guys left the room to punch the air outside, swear at God and smoke. The shock was part of it but more the fact that we all knew Ken Rowe. We had lived with him over the past four months at Bastion and shared work time and down time in his company. Some of us had known him longer than that. We had been with him, off and on, since his early days at the Defence Animals Centre (DAC) at Melton Mowbray and his first posting to Northern Ireland. The fact that someone had just told us that the handsome, cheeky Geordie lad was gone and his body was due in from the front line was totally unbelievable.

‘I tried to believe it because the certainty of what had happened meant that we had a job to do and we were only going to do it well.’

A communications lock-down prevented the identity of the man down getting to the media and therefore the family before the Army could reach them in person. But there was still a fallen soldier on the ground.

Only twenty-four hours earlier Kenneth had called for a situation report. As part of the 2 Para battle group deployed from FOB Inkerman he was finally seeing the action he had been hoping for since he landed in Afghanistan on 18 March.

He had been assigned to a regiment that had seen and was still seeing some of fiercest engagements and the highest losses of the conflict so far. Every fighting unit over there wanted a dog and handler team alongside them; this was exactly what Kenneth was out there to do with his dog alongside him.

Never a lover of vehicle searches – although he would always do a stint on the gate – Kenneth was happier away from the patrol and search role at Kandahar Airfield and was soon firmly embedded with 2 Para at FOB Inkerman. The Paras took to his dog partner then, Diesel, too, and maybe too much as Kenneth often had to remind them that he was a working dog, not a playmate! A difficult call when home comforts are in such short supply.

Through April and May 2008 the dogs and handlers had to get used to moving around. The demand was constant and came from all bases: Kabul, Kandahar, Sangin, Inkerman, Kajaki, Musa Qala, Lashkar Ghar, Combat Logistic Patrols and Camp Bastion. It was a huge operation to manage, as R and R (Rest and Recuperation) was as important to factor into the mix as deployments if combat fatigue and the stress of being constantly posted from one situation to another were to be kept at bay.

While Kenneth had been at Kandahar and then FOB Inkerman, Sasha had been fighting her own war against the Taliban at Musa Qala. Lance Corporal Marianne Hay had trained her well and with Sergeant Andy Dodds Sasha had become the RAVC’s most capable search dog at the time. She was hot property, but no one would have grasped that from just looking at her.

Small, slight, fine-boned and pretty – that was Sasha. A lovely creamy-toned yellow Labrador with the sweetest nature but with high drive and nerves of steel. Dog soldier Marianne Hay had trained Sasha as a bomb dog in Northern Ireland. The pair had been the last Army dog team to leave the Province when the Army Dog Unit relocated to North Luffenham in 2007, but Marianne had used their time there to add a few skills to Sasha’s CV. While the girl and dog team had successfully supported the police and the engineers there, Marianne had also worked hard on preparing Sasha for ops in Afghanistan. Sooner or later she knew her dog would need it.

It’s an Army dog’s life and a dog soldier’s one to bear that the team that works together does not always stay together, and this was a hard truth for Marianne. She had formed a strong bond with Sasha but she had also prepared her well for theatre (action on the front line) and brought her on to the point where she could hit the ground running. And run she did.

Sasha was deployed to one of the most dangerous places in the world at the time; Musa Qala was known to be a hotbed of insurgent activity, and fighting was desperate and fierce. The Taliban considered the town to be their spiritual home and they wanted to take it back. Danger lurked on every corner, in every house, and on every street. Its labyrinth of underground tunnels that ran beneath the community hid a multitude of sins and sinister activities. It was the place where any arms and explosives search dog, even one of Sasha’s calibre, was going to be challenged.

In no time at all Sasha was notching up ‘find’ after ‘find’. It had been designated a ‘high-activity’ area and Sasha’s skills were proving that classification was justified. Hidden weapons, mines, mortars, motors for rocket-propelled grenades, suicide vests … the list was endless. Sergeant Dodds felt safe working with Sasha, the dog who was earning herself a reputation: ‘If it’s hidden, Sasha will find it.’

Kenneth already knew Sasha was highly skilled. He had served with Marianne in Northern Ireland and the competitive friends had often verbally sparred over training techniques. Both were passionate about their dogs and there was mutual respect for each other’s skills. It was what they were there to do but the work was intense and achieved in temperatures that could hit a relentless 40–50 degrees during the working day. The soldiers could look forward to going home on R and R, but the dogs were doing it all to be rewarded with a tennis ball, a meal and, if they were out in the desert, a good rest alongside their handler. The dogs were soldiers the same as the handlers – but the rewards were different. It was the ability to maintain the high drive to work and search without wavering in efficiency and success that put Sasha in a class of her own.

Sasha was holding her own against the heat and the workload. It was the height of summer – the period recognised as the ‘fighting season’ – with just 14 dogs to service regiments operating in seven locations. Everyone was under pressure. IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) were now the preferred weapon of the Taliban and just weeks earlier Ken and Diesel had been thrown from an Army Snatch Land Rover. Ken crawled out of the overturned vehicle covered in dust but unhurt; Diesel had injured his paw in the explosion and was taken back to Bastion for treatment and rest.

While Diesel recuperated, Reece became the dog in Ken’s life, but it wasn’t long before the dynamic duo were back on the front line protecting and saving life and limb.

Andy’s new role was imminent and Kenneth was writing about going home but he was still waiting for confirmation of the date. Trouble was, with everything that was going on, the chances of it happening were looking increasingly slim. The intensity of the work was starting to show on Diesel and Ken had to report his concerns to his Sergeant Major, Frank Holmes. Diesel was seeking shade, and not just when he was on his downtime. He knew his dog was a tough cookie who had survived IEDs and being thrown from a Snatch, but if he was fading in the heat he would fail to detect. It was time for Diesel to take a rest.

And that was how Ken Rowe and Sasha came together. Ken needed a good reliable dog, and Andy was heading for a new role of Ops Sergeant, leaving Sasha up for grabs. Matching the right dog with the right handler in the right location wasn’t Ken’s decision but he put in a request for Sasha anyway. Frank Holmes felt it was a good match and Martyn Thompson headed out to FOB Inkerman to deliver Sasha to Ken. Moving the dog was considered easier than moving the man – all they needed was the change of dog for the intense weapons and search work ahead. It wasn’t long before they were considered the best team in the area at the time, and Sasha continued to locate weapons, ammunition and IEDs, giving Ken plenty to call in to his commanding officer.

By the time Ken’s July leave was confirmed, he and Sasha had been supporting 2 Para for over a month and the pair were very much part of the team. It had been a particularly hazardous operation from the start and it was taking its toll on the troops. The new threat, suicide bombers, had taken the lives of three of their men. Until then small-arms fire and the RPG had been the insurgents’ weapons of choice but the arrival of the IED and the suicide bomber had made the fighting game more sinister and blurred the rules of engagement. It made the job of the dog and the soldier harder, too.

Ken was happy that Sasha was still providing consistent cover even during operations that could last ten to twelve hours in searing temperatures. She was just as enthusiastic as she had been on her first day, which meant Marianne Hay’s training and the dog’s own determination and intelligence were paying off. The bond that Sasha and Ken had formed in the relatively short time they had been paired was clear for all to see, and the men of 2 Para were relieved to have the dog and handler head their patrols.

Twenty-four hours before he was due to go on leave, Ken Rowe put a call in to Bastion for a situation report. The handler who was due to replace him was sick. This wasn’t the news he was hoping for and it wasn’t good news for 2 Para either. Ken didn’t like the thought of the patrol going out without the support of a search dog. They were in bandit country and everyone was very much aware of the value of having a dog on the ground. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave them. He lobbied his unit to allow him to stay until the changeover could take place. Then he could go on his R and R with some peace of mind.

His request to stay on was granted.

Throughout that fatal day the patrol had been shadowed by a group of insurgents. Sasha was already known to them; they were aware of the ‘yellow dog’ and her ability to locate their deadly weapons. She must have foiled hundreds of their plots and discovered tons of explosives and ammunition and it was no secret that having a bomb dog on duty reassured the troops.

The patrol was just three kilometres from FOB Inkerman when the enemy struck from three angles. As Ken and Sasha made for the roadside ditch, Sasha was blown off her feet – she had been targeted by RPG direct fire – and separated from Ken. Eyewitnesses reported that the brave dog rose out of the dust, shook herself down and ran towards her handler. Ken gathered her in to take cover with the others behind a low wall but a second RPG found them both. Man and dog fell together.

The exchange was fast and furious, with visibility restricted by the gun smoke, dust and debris kicked up by the enemy RPGs. In the kind of silence that creeps in when the battle subsides came the cry:

‘Man down! Man down!’

The medic was already rushing to where Ken lay on the ground. A stretcher appeared alongside and the bearers lifted Ken swiftly and cleanly into it with Sasha’s body at his side. It was a race against time to get them both to an area of safety before the team was spotted and picked off by an opportunist sniper.

Out of the chaos a Land Rover screeched to a halt. It was out of sight but just hearing the urgency of the engine was a comfort of a kind as the stretcher was hurried in its direction. ‘Come on, lift! Let’s go, go go!’

The Land Rover took off in a cloud of dust in the direction of FOB Inkerman, with everyone on board hoping they were still dealing with a casualty and nothing worse. The vehicle was jolting from side to side trying to cope with the scattered rocks which littered the dramatic rough terrain. Everyone was holding very tight onto their precious cargo.

Suddenly the vehicle lurched and Sasha slipped from the stretcher. The loud gasp from the back alerted the driver to a problem but it was too risky to stop and Ken had to remain their priority. It was clear he needed urgent medical attention. They already feared when they loaded her onto the stretcher that it was too late for poor Sasha.

The enemy was still out there and no doubt watching every move. They would have seen Sasha’s limp and lifeless body lying stranded and out of reach. The men could not risk more casualties: they had no choice but to leave her.

Frank Holmes and Martyn Thompson waited at the hospital in Bastion for the helicopter bringing Ken in from Inkerman. They knew what they had to do when it arrived, but right at that moment, as Frank says, it was the constant stream of casualties that added to the fear and trepidation:

‘The Paras had had another bad time of it and, from what I can remember, there seemed to be a whole lot of casualties pouring off the choppers. It must have been a hell of a day and I admit it was quite unnerving sitting there wondering what devastation we still had to go through.’

Frank heard another Chinook arrive and hoped it would be the one they were waiting for and for this part of the proceedings to be over.

Frank and Martyn went in to ID the body. They confirmed that it was Lance Corporal Kenneth Michael Rowe RAVC.

‘As I looked at Ken lying there, I know it sounds odd, but a part of me was relieved that I could honestly tell his mother, when I called her in the next few hours, that he looked as if he was sleeping. As for the rest of it – I could not possibly explain.’

The Union Flag was lowered to half mast at Bastion. Sadly this was something that was happening more often during the summer of Op Herrick 8, but for the men and women of the RAVC’s dog soldiers it was something they hoped they would never see for one of their own during the conflict. They hadn’t lost a dog soldier since The Troubles in Northern Ireland.

‘When a soldier is lost, the flag is flown at half mast and I could not believe that this time it was lowered for one of mine,’ recalls Frank Holmes. ‘I now hate flagpoles. What made it worse was the constant repeats on Sky News, and the added loss of Sasha extended the coverage and the agony for all watching. We thought of Ken’s family, lovely people, who would be mourning their son. Believe me, the grief at Bastion and FOB Inkerman was palpable.’

Martyn Thompson was hearing major concern from the men and women in his command over the retrieval of Sasha. He was able to tell them that he had said, ‘Bring the dog if you can,’ but everyone was fully aware of the risks. The area was crawling with Taliban, making it impossible to return to the site without risking a life or limb. What Martyn and his colleagues didn’t realise at the time was that the men of 2 Para had already made a silent promise to each other that they would reach Sasha – no matter what.

Moving in, under the noses of the Taliban, they lifted Sasha’s body off the road and returned her to Inkerman. They said later that Ken’s dog was regarded in the same way as her handler, as one of their own, and there was no way they were going to leave her alone or where she lay. It was a risky mission; the Paras were aware that the enemy would be watching and expecting the soldiers to return for their dog. For all they knew they could have been walking into an ambush or the body could have been booby-trapped. Undeterred by the obvious risks, the men brought Sasha in and handed her back to her family: the RAVC.

When Marianne and the others heard what the Paras had risked for Sasha, tears flowed: ‘I had been tasked out to an Operation in FOB Gibraltar (FOB GIB), which was 10 to 15 km from where Ken was based at FOB Inkerman. It was known to be a risky area. I was with 3 Para and we were due to go on a task early in the morning. The plan was to leave really early in the morning before the light came up so we could move to positions before the enemy could see us.

‘The helicopter dropped me at FOB GIB and got my admin squared away before we all tried to get some sleep. It was early but we also knew we had to be up early. No surprise that it took me forever to get to sleep. I remember just curling up on the sand with my helmet as a pillow and finally managing to drift off. Ironically, once it was dark someone woke me up and I was like, “Oh, for f***’s sake, it’s time to go already?” But the guy just said, “Boss wants to see you.” Straight away I knew someone had deffo been hurt.

‘So I went. Quickly. “Look, a handler and his dog have been hit.” My body became heavy and my mind raced … Who? What? They said they had little info but it was an RPG attack. I wanted to know who it was.

‘They told me I could go through the sit rep/9 liner (situation report) that had been sent to see if could find a ZAP number. I was scrolling through the whole thing and the first listing that caught my eye was the last four numbers of Sasha’s Service number. I was, like, no f***ing way has she been hit. Then I scrolled down more and more and there it was – confirmed. Then I saw Ken’s ZAP number.

‘At this point I was just skimming. I was sure they were just injured. Then I saw “KIA” in what seemed massive writing. I clocked it again. KIA – Killed in Action. I felt like I had had my guts ripped out completely. I felt so heavy and I really didn’t want to believe it. The guys asked if I was OK and I was like, yeah, and went back to my rock to lie down.

‘I lay there while everyone around me slept. The sky in Afghan is so clear that you wouldn’t believe the amount of stars. Everything seemed silent but at night it was far from it. The noise of the Ops room is usually ongoing and the noise of the bugs and cricket things is like white noise – it’s constant. I was there with around 150 guys but right then it felt like I was just sat in the middle of the desert with absolutely nothing and no one around me. I couldn’t really think straight. I just sat with no thoughts, hearing no noise. Nothing.

‘As I waited to be called to go on task I couldn’t cry. By the time I was called to go on the op, between about 3 and 4am, I was so angry with myself because there was no space inside me to feel pain. I was angry Sasha had gone and I had let it happen and I was angry that I hadn’t shed a tear for my colleague, Ken. My best friend used to always joke and say I had a heart of stone or that I was dead inside and in actual fact I started to believe it at this point.

‘So I got asked if I was still up for going out. I was like, “Yes, of course.” Off I went with my dog, Leanna, on a shit night patrol looking for a bunch of a***holes that had just done this to my mates. I was pretty pissed off by this point but knew I’d keep my head. Looking back, that patrol felt like the longest I had ever done but it was probably the shortest. I had been used to ops lasting weeks out on the ground and this was just 24 hours. The guys had a clear objective and it was due to be a quick in and out job.

‘I can’t remember exactly what we were there to do but we were supposed to get places in the dark without the enemy knowing, but about 5 minutes after leaving the FOB there was radio chat from the enemy – they had pretty much clocked us as soon as we had left. We were rather vulnerable as it was new territory to us.

‘When we returned to the FOB I was told a Sea King hele was on its way for me. I told them I was fine and wanted to continue, but that didn’t work. I was then told the hele was on its way and I would be 100 per cent on it – no discussion. I was so exhausted that I remember rolling into the belly of the big bird and just lying there while it took off. I got dragged into a space and left huddled by mailbags.

‘I honestly can’t remember what happened when I got back to Bastion. I am sure we would have been gathered many times but when they talked it was almost like I was under water and only hearing mumbling. It was difficult. I remembered Ken saying to me that he felt really lucky to have Sasha as his search dog as her performance was of such high quality. He was right, she was the best and I know he looked after her. I couldn’t hug Sasha but I remember going to Leanna and begging a cuddle. I sat with her in her kennel for ages. Poor Leanna did her best to comfort me but I felt so guilty. I had lost Sasha and a good mate but I could not cry.

‘I felt worse when I found out later that Sasha’s body had not made it back with Ken’s but then when I was told about the incredible bravery of the guys of 2 Para who had taken it upon themselves to go on a patrol the next morning to retrieve her it absolutely blew me away that they would consider her so highly that they risked their lives to bring her in. My gratitude to these guys remains endless.’

When Marianne heard that Sasha’s body was due back into Camp Bastion she went to the hele pad to accept her.

‘When I returned to the dog unit I lay her on the cold floor and unzipped her body bag. She lay there, not a mark on her body. She looked, as she always looked to me – perfect. Then I turned her over. There was blood and the wounds were deep, but there’s no way you would think they would be enough to kill her. I guessed the shock would have been too much for her. I took a moment with Sasha and apologised a million times over before saying goodbye.’

The wheels of administration moved swiftly and with every eye on getting it right for the man, but there was also a large swell of feeling in getting it right for the dog, too. After all, they died as they served – together. If Kenneth Rowe was going home then it was the dog soldiers’ wish that Sasha go home too and, more than that, she would join him on the flight back to RAF Lyneham. After a great deal of jumping through hoops and rewriting the rule book it was agreed that Ken and Sasha would be repatriated together.

Time was short. Due to the regulations and the heat, Sasha’s body had to be cremated right away, and in the true tradition of the British Army the minds and skills of everyone pulled together to ensure that this canine hero returned in a fashion befitting her military status. There would be no flag-draped coffin for her, so the armourers pitched in with a 5-inch diameter shell casing, engraved with her name and dates, to hold her ashes. It was finished with a polished-wood stopper and the whole thing gleamed to the point that it made anyone who looked at it blink. It was a fine tribute to a fine dog.

Martyn Thompson and Frank Holmes were in charge of the arrangements for the repatriation of Ken Rowe and Sasha back to the UK, and for Frank the ordeal was nothing short of surreal: ‘Never did I think I would need the repatriation training I received on my drill instructor’s course. To be honest, at that time it was treated with a touch of “gallows humour” at Pirbright (the Army training centre) – one of the guys dressed up as the mum or girlfriend, the chaplain is present and we practised for what seemed like a week for something you think you are never going to do for real. I never thought I would do it in my own unit. But there we were, with just two days to get it right for Ken and now Sasha, too. It was bloody heart-breaking.’

Ken and Sasha would not be returning alone. Corporal Jason Barnes, of the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (REME), had been killed two days before Ken and would be on the same flight. The Paras had been practising the repatriation drill although they were, sadly, used to the format now. Afraid that they would look amateurish beside the Para bearers, Frank spoke to their Sergeant Major and it was agreed that the bearer parties would approach the C17 in line rather than the usual side-by-side.

Selecting the bearers was no easy task. The honour of carrying a fallen colleague has its mix of practical (for height) and emotional (who could hold it together long enough). Everyone volunteered for the job but only six could be selected – amongst them was Sasha’s previous handler, Andy Dodds, and, to steady the coffin at the rear, Frank Holmes. Army Chaplain Paul Gallucci knew the unit well – and he knew Ken, too. He had served with them all in Northern Ireland and was well aware of the value of the dog soldiers in theatre and the deep bond that exists between the dog unit and the infantry on the ground. To complete the proper send-off, Marianne Hay was chosen to carry Sasha’s ashes onto the plane. It was the last thing she could do for the dog she loved, trained and served alongside.

Camp Bastion: 11pm, Sunday 27 July

Someone from the REME produced a hip flask. It was a welcome start to the proceedings and broke a little ice. Gazing into the darkness it looked like a disappointing turnout at first, despite there being two men making the return home. The cavernous hold of the C17 gaped open, its ramp down ready to accept the two flag-strewn coffins that sat in the back of the waiting field ambulances. As the lights came up to illuminate the runway the beams caught the truth of the scene. Row upon row of uniformed personnel were waiting in silence. It seemed as if the whole of Camp Bastion had turned out.

Certainly Frank’s wish to get as many dog soldiers there as possible had been granted and the Engineers at the Joint Forces EOD (Explosives Ordnance Disposal) had performed miracles. They had worked with Ken and Sasha and were used to the job split: the dog soldiers locate the explosives and the bomb squad blow them up. It was a good relationship and they felt the loss as keenly as Frank and the rest of his team. Using all their powers and man-management skills, the EOD had successfully brought in all but three of their teams from the various FOBs to attend the ceremony. These were the faces, many tear-stained, shining out of the darkness.

The bearers took the strain of the weight of the coffin first in their hands and then on their shoulders. The practice weight was lighter than this but the responsibility was heavier. Frank Holmes took the rear position, ready to instruct and push up as the party took the slow and careful incline up the ramp and into the body of the plane. Sasha’s former handler, Sergeant Andy Dodds, took front left position: ‘The concentration was immense. The plane is meant to take cargo so the ramp is designed to be smooth underfoot and as I looked ahead to prepare for my first step up I couldn’t help noticing the number of people present and the dogs, too. As I took that first step onto the ramp I became very aware of my legs and feet. I only wanted them to do what my head was telling them. I’m sure all of us were feeling the same. Marianne was walking alone behind us, her arms around the shell casing containing Sasha’s ashes. I’ve no doubt she was trying her very best to hold back tears right to the point where she placed the casing at the head of the coffin.

When Marianne Hay accepted the honour of carrying Sasha’s ashes onto the plane at Camp Bastion she did it to ensure that the dog she trained was repatriated in the way of a hero, to sit at the feet of another hero, her friend and fellow search dog handler, Lance Corporal Kenneth Rowe. With tears welling in her eyes for the loss of the dog she considered closest to her heart and the man she considered to be one of the most talented handlers in the team, Marianne held the brass casing close to her body. As she walked through the soft sound of stifled sobbing, passing colleagues lining the route, she managed to keep her head.

Step by slow step she followed the bearer party up the steep ramp and into the darkness of the body of the plane. It was hard. Hard to do and hard to let go. After setting down the coffin the party paused a moment and hugged each other.

Sergeant Dodds added: ‘Getting through the formalities just as we planned and setting Ken down on the plane was the easier bit. It was saying our personal last goodbyes, the prayers and the group hug that gave most of us the licence to let go of our feelings. The darkness robbed us of a view of the giant C17 lurching into the sky above Bastion but we could hear it loud and clear and knew that it would dip its wings for the final farewell – that was the hardest part. Then, for Ken and for all of us, we had to get the teams back on the ground and take the fight right back to the Taliban.’