Читать книгу Dog Soldiers: Love, loyalty and sacrifice on the front line - Isabel George, Isabel George - Страница 9

Ken’s death in July 2008 had highlighted the growing need and respect for the dog soldiers within the wider Army. The demand for search dogs in Afghanistan had massively increased. The patrols appreciated the reassurance of having a search dog with them making safe their route ahead, so the pressure weighed heavy on the RAVC and specifically the men and women of 104 MWD unit to supply the demand. As a Combined Forces operation the pressure radiated out to the Danish and the Americans to provide additional search dog cover too. But the Brit dogs, from the Army and the RAF, were working hard to rise to the challenge. Trouble was, they couldn’t get enough of them on the ground.

Ken Rowe had volunteered to stay on and pick up his R and R later because his replacement had fallen ill and would be out later than expected to support 2 Para. He had been working closely with the unit and was well embedded with them at FOB Inkerman, which was a small but highly volatile spot. Ken was their dog soldier and Sasha was their dog. They already knew that Ken was thorough, trustworthy and a cheeky Geordie and they knew Sasha was a lean, keen and effective search dog. Their relationship had been forged while they lived in sun- and rain-blasted holes in the sand and waited and waited for the attention of the enemy that they knew would show itself – they just didn’t know when. Sasha’s ability to locate deadly devices and hidden weapons and arms had been a literal lifesaver. There was no way Ken was going to leave the men vulnerable. He was staying – and so was Sasha.

Operation Herrick 8 was proving the toughest yet. Death and serious injury were daily occurrences and the regular procession of hearses carrying flag-draped coffins through Wootton Bassett was educating the public in the extent of the sacrifice. The media coverage was also responsible for delivering the emotions attached to the loss into everyone’s home in a very visual way. Even for families untouched by a death or disfigurement, the impression of what was actually happening in Afghanistan was real and almost tangible.

For many of the senior members of the RAVC dog unit this was a reminder of the past and, at some level, the continuing threat in Northern Ireland. Many of the Commanding Officers in Afghanistan had served during The Troubles and others, like Ken Rowe, had later cut their teeth in the Province.

The Army Dog Unit, Northern Ireland, was formed on 1 May 1973. From its base in Ballykelly, County Londonderry, the unit provided critical support to the British Army who first posted troops to the Province in 1969. Only expecting to be needed for a few weeks to support the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC), the Army quickly realised that it would take more than short-term peacekeeping activity to quell the violent and ongoing clashes that had broken out between the Protestants and Catholics. By July 1973 the Army Dog Unit found itself at the heart of The Troubles when it lost the first of four of its number to terrorist activities.

Corporal Bryan Criddle, BEM, was the first of their fallen. He was patrolling the border at Clogher in County Tyrone with C Squadron, The Royal Tank Regiment, when his search dog, Jason, indicated (pointed out explosives) on a milk churn, one of several set out in a horseshoe formation. Bryan was working in recognised ‘bandit country’: if his dog was telling him explosives were present – they were. What he could not know was that the terrorists were watching. The milk-churn bomb was detonated remotely, leaving Bryan with life-threatening head injuries. He was helicoptered out to Musgrave Park hospital but lost his battle for life four days later. Jason was blown 30 feet in the air but by some miracle survived. Colleagues reported that the dog went into protective mode the second Bryan went down and had to be pulled off his master as he wouldn’t let anyone get close to help. Jason was airlifted, too, and after a veterinary checkover was transferred to the kennels at the Maze Prison to recuperate.

Corporal Criddle was killed just weeks after being awarded the British Empire Medal (BEM) for his service with the Army Dog Unit in Northern Ireland; in July Jason had been awarded his ‘wings’ for completing 1,000 flying hours in helicopters operating between the garrison and the border to carry out his duties. This was recognition for the soldier and the dog, but it also drew attention to the unique role of the entire unit.

At that time the Army Dog Unit was a relatively small part of the RAVC, but its special skills were making a difference in Northern Ireland where the terrorist threat was often not just hidden from human eyes but it shifted in shape and composition all the time. In addition to the RAVC, dog handlers were recruited from volunteer dog soldiers within all regiments and corps of the Army and the dogs were trained in three disciplines: guard/attack dogs (known as Snappers or Land Sharks), tracker dogs (known as Groundhogs), and vehicle search dogs and arms and explosives search dogs – the Wagtails. The dogs and the soldiers were lifesavers no matter which of three disciplines they excelled in, but they were also targets.

In 1974 the then Commander Land Forces Northern Ireland, Major General Peter Leng, MC MBE, granted the ADU NI RAVC the right to wear a Red Paw badge in their berets to the left of their regimental cap badge. The enamel badge, measuring a quarter of an inch, was to unite the members of this specialist unit. The Red Paw badge represented the bloody paws of the dogs who carried out their duties, often walking on broken glass and in the shadow of death. The dog soldiers wore it with pride.

On the Bank Holiday weekend, 25 May 1991, Corporal Terry ‘Geordie’ O’Neill and his colleague Corporal Darren Swift, ‘Swifty’, were with their dogs, Blue and Troy, in the exercise yard at the Army barracks at North Howard Street Mill when a terrorist hurled a ‘coffee-jar’ bomb (containing Semtex, a detonator and ‘shipyard confetti’ – nuts, bolts, nails, rivets, etc) from the fire escape of the snooker hall next door. The homemade bomb landed at the soldiers’ feet, killing Geordie instantly and taking Darren Swift’s legs – and a finger – clean away. Blue and Troy miraculously survived the blast but needed veterinary care for their burnt paws. One life was taken and the other changed forever in one brief, brutal and deliberate act of violence.

Terry O’Neill was the last dog soldier to die in Northern Ireland but in the campaign that became known as Operation Banner (1969–2007) 763 military personnel lost their lives. After a deployment that spanned 38 years, the British Army left the Province. The dog handlers felt a definite wind-down as Op Banner drew to an end and their relocation as 104 MWD to North Luffenham became a reality.

At midnight on 31 July 2007 the Army Dog Unit Northern Ireland ceased to exist. The closing parade at Ballykelly marked the end of an era; a bitter-sweet period of living in a community riddled with fear while enjoying unrivalled camaraderie. It was where the Red Paw badge became a mark of distinction and symbol of courage. Young soldier Ken Rowe wore his with pride.

By 10 August 2007 North Luffenham was home to 104 Military Working Dog Support Unit and Ken was part of the ‘lumping and dumping’ of equipment at the St George’s Barracks. For the next five months he played a key role in establishing the new unit out of everything that had made its way out of Northern Ireland and, at the same time, continuing to improve his skills and knowledge as a dog handler. Northern Ireland had been his first posting and it had given Ken a platform to showcase his skills and get himself known. He quickly gained a reputation for having a thirst for knowledge and a desire to progress his dog, himself and his career. He was also known for his level of fitness and skill as a footballer.

Encouraging everyone in the unit to take part in a four-mile run, three or four times a week – with the dogs – was not everyone’s idea of fun, but to Ken Rowe is was a great way to beat the boredom of the wind-down. According to Frank Holmes, who assessed Ken out there as part of the veterinary services training evaluation team, he was ‘… quite simply a dream to manage. He was fit and friendly, except when he had a beer. Then he was a pain! He was keen to work and volunteer and, most importantly, he always had a smile on his face.’

When it came to dogs Ken Rowe was in his element. His Northern Ireland tour gave him the chance to handle a series of Protection Dogs, known in the Army as Land Sharks – all hair, teeth and attitude on the end of a leash. German Shepherd Max and Black Labradors Odie and Jackdaw proved challenging, but that’s what Ken loved the most. He had a way with dogs that others couldn’t handle, and that’s one of the reasons why he stood out from the crowd. There were always the dogs that didn’t live up to their potential because, like people, they are individuals who may have all the credentials on paper but lack the ability to apply those skills in practice. Ken could sort the wheat from the chaff and knew when a dog didn’t have what it took to work well in that environment. It was Odie that Ken took to the most, so much so, in fact, that he brought him back to Newcastle. The dog was looking for a good home for retirement so Ken came up with a failsafe plan to give this dog a richly deserved, peaceful home for the rest of his life. Odie went to live on a farm in Bedlington, far away from his life in the Army.

It was while Ken was in Northern Ireland that he had his first encounter with losing a colleague; worse still, it was Ken who discovered the body. It was Christmas at RAF Aldergrove and while the other protection dog handlers were making the best of a bad lot away from home, one young soldier, Lance Corporal John Murphy, decided that, for some reason, enough was enough. Ken was concerned because when he had last seen John he thought he looked very down and preoccupied. Christmas was not a time to be anything but happy and in party mood; that’s what Ken was used to. It was probably the thought of someone not enjoying themselves that drove Ken to find his friend and cheer him up.

What he found when he reached John’s quarters was to stay with Ken in his waking and sleeping hours. He found his friend had taken his own life, and despite Ken’s desperate attempts to revive him it was too late. Finding a friend and colleague, a young man like himself but with a family, was hard on Ken and he looked to the more experienced members of the unit for advice. Frank Holmes was well placed to keep a close eye on him and to make sure the cheeky Geordie in Ken Rowe was never too far away. One thing Frank knew for sure was that Ken’s family would support him through the trauma and get him back on track for what lay ahead.