by JC Ryan
REX AND DIGGER had made good time away from the farmhouse when a muffled explosion confirmed the destruction of the lab. Rex felt some relief when he glanced over his shoulder and saw the flames rising from the buildings. He reckoned they were at least two miles away and dropping rapidly in altitude. However, they had about another twenty miles to go to reach the address he’d extracted from the two bombers whose body parts would very soon be charcoal. It was only another hour before sunrise, and then once again they’d be vulnerable to discovery. In an hour, even at the more rapid pace he was setting now that he didn’t need Digger’s nose to lead, they couldn’t cover much more than six or eight miles before full daylight.
To make the most of the time, he stopped when he heard the explosion and said, “Rest.” He figured five minutes, no more, and during that time he dug the scavenged Afghan clothing out of his backpack and put it on over his night-camo fatigues. When daylight found them, at least he would be disguised at any distance, maybe even invisible if they were once again low on deforested hills. Digger was another matter, but he wouldn’t have appreciated being dressed in man-jammies, even if they would have fit him.
Rex had calculated they could cover the twenty miles in no more than five hours, which gave him until around 8:30 a.m. at the outside to get within striking distance of Usama’s compound and find a place to conceal themselves during the day. Hopefully, it would be close enough for observation of the compound so that he could get more detailed information of the place than that provided by his latest captives.
When the five minutes was up, Rex stood, and Digger took up his position about fifty yards ahead.
The past forty-eight hours had taught him how important it was that Digger was out ahead of him. It kept him safe and had already saved him from walking into an AK-47 bullet and out of sight of a Taliban patrol.
Rex still wasn’t sure how Digger did it, but he recalled a conversation he and Trevor had a while ago when he noticed that it seemed as if the dog could sense what their intentions were and figure out which way they were going. Trevor told him that dogs could read minds, but when Rex didn’t want to fall for that one, Trevor had explained that dogs look at our eyes and can see which way we’re heading. He told Rex to observe Digger and see how many times the dog threw a quick glance over his shoulder while out in front of them. Rex did that, and was amazed now that he was aware of it, to see just how frequently Digger was looking back at Trevor and adjusting his own course if necessary. It still didn’t explain what the dog saw in Trevor’s eyes. Was it the direction his eyes were looking, or was there some deeper mystery?
“I guess, until I can speak dog, I won’t know,” he mumbled to himself.
***
ONCE THEY WERE on one of the numerous crisscrossing paths Rex assumed were goat paths, Digger followed it until Rex corrected the course, using his compass and knowledge of the valley below to guide them.
Sometimes, as the darkness started making way for the dawn-light, Digger ranged up to a mile ahead, but he always came back to fetch Rex, who sometimes took advantage of the situation to rest for a few minutes. From Digger’s behavior, Rex concluded that although there was no scent for him to follow there was no doubt Digger knew the hunt wasn’t over.
Progress got easier as dawn approached, but by the time the sun rose, he knew he’d have to slow down and let Digger scout further ahead for obstacles in the form of people, whether unfriendly or not. They were beginning to encounter more signs of occupants on the lower reaches of the mountainside, and those occupants would soon be up and about their business. Rex could have passed without much notice, but Digger couldn’t.
Rex was contemplating the problem while swinging purposefully along the path, when it suddenly became more urgent. Ahead, he could see a dilapidated little house with smoke rising from the chimney. Digger was about fifty yards ahead of him and would soon be within sight if anyone came out of the house. Just as he was about to command the dog to hide, Digger lowered himself to a crouch, crawled off the path and into a field of poppies that spread out uphill and on the opposite side of the path from the farmhouse.
That is one smart dog, was the first thought that went through Rex’s mind when he saw Digger making himself scarce. He almost stopped in his tracks to consider the significance of what just happened. Digger clearly knew about the house and the occupants up ahead, probably was aware of them long before I saw it. Digger must have assessed them by smell or some sixth sense or some kind of dog magic and must have been happy that they are not the enemy. Otherwise he would have stopped me from going there. Then, to crown it all, the damn dog must somehow be aware that I can’t be seen in his company.
Rex shook his head in disbelief. Maybe I can trust him to know what needs to happen. Maybe.
As Rex passed the house, a woman came out the door, saw him, and hurried back inside. A moment later a man came out and called out a greeting. Rex answered pleasantly, wished the man good fortune, and continued on his way. The man gave no vibe of alarm. Rex stayed on the path until he’d passed the poppy field completely, at which point Digger emerged and resumed the lead. This was going to work out after all, so long as Digger could find cover when he needed it.
When Rex decided they’d gone as far as they could without risking discovery, they were within a mile of the compound where Usama lived, according to the bombers. He began searching for an abandoned building of any kind, recognizing that observation of Usama’s headquarters was going to have to wait until darkness returned. When he found it, the presence of a well was a great bonus, as he and Digger had finished the two bottles of water Rex had carried with him and had found no other sources of water since leaving the farmhouse. For a country blessed with streams and rivers flowing out of those mountains, the drug lord had certainly selected an out of the way and inhospitable spot for that particular heroin lab, which had been reduced to cinder.
Rex directed Digger to scout the compound and was entertained once more to witness the dog’s tree-climbing skill. It had the added advantage of hiding the dog from any casual observance.
A few minutes later, Digger appeared at the front gate, his mouth open in a wide grin as if to say, “Coast is clear. Welcome, honored guest! Come on in.” Rex tested the gate and found it unlocked, opened it, walked in and shut it again.
The next bit of good news was that the house still had a few pieces of furniture, including a bed, which must have been too ramshackle to its previous owners to take with them when they left. Rex had slept on everything from the finest linens to rocks and desert sand to the crotch of a cypress tree on one memorable occasion, but the past few days’ and nights’ exertions had left him bone-weary. Even the thin mattress and Digger’s insistence on sharing it – he’d already claimed it - would be like the lap of luxury today. One man’s shack is another man’s castle.
He made one halfhearted protest to keep the bed for himself. “Digger, get down.” Digger still wasn’t a very biddable soldier. He merely laid his head on his forelegs and closed his eyes. Rex was too tired to argue. “Okay, just stay on your side of the bed,” he joked. The bed was too narrow to have sides. To sleep on it, Rex was going to have to spoon with the dog. Strangely enough, the thought no longer struck fear into his heart. Digger had growled at him, sure. But he’d done no worse, and Rex was beginning to convince himself that the dog wouldn’t ever harm him.
Although, I am still pissed at you for taking advantage of my fear for you.
Before going to sleep, he offered Digger half of the stew he’d brought from the farmhouse. It wasn’t as good cold. Goat meat was already a little greasy warm. Cold, it was like eating congealed lard. Rex comforted himself with the knowledge that fat provided a longer feeling of fullness than anything else and wolfed it down almost in the same way Digger did. Rex’s motive was more about getting it down as quickly as he could to get the sustenance from it, rather than genuine enjoyment.
A good, satisfying drink of clean water from the well washe
d down the strong flavor, and within half an hour of entering the house, Rex and the dog were curled up together on the bed and sound asleep.
Rex slept until noon, when his internal clock and an urge occasioned by the unaccustomed fatty meal woke him. He tried to ease off the bed to avoid disturbing Digger, until he saw the dog was looking at him through one eye lazily opened, as if it was too much effort to open both eyes.
Rex got up, went to his backpack, took a sip of water, and did a quick scout around the house and outside as far as he could see through the dirty windows.
Digger had gone back to sleep.
Rex now wanted to scout the neighborhood but taking Digger with him was not an option.
The question was, would Digger stay put? Rex studied the dog for a minute, trying to decide. While he watched, Digger’s legs started twitching, and he made a few soft whimpers. Rex wondered what he was dreaming. Did dogs dream like people did, weaving a story from past experiences? Was Digger reliving the awful minutes when they were trying in vain to rescue Trevor from the rubble? Or was he racing across the mountains, hunting something? Rex found himself empathizing with the dog. He, Rex, knew to wake up when the dreams became fearsome or a game of regret, dreaming the same thing over and over, trying to change the outcome of an incident in his past. Could a dog do that?
Rex decided it was in Digger’s best interest to wake him up, and in any case, he needed to somehow convey his plan and persuade the dog to wait here for him. If it was a human, Rex would have laid his hand carefully on a shoulder or leg, gradually increasing the pressure until the person woke gently. He was afraid to touch Digger in that way, not knowing how the dog would react. So, he spoke softly.
“Digger.”
The dog’s ear twitched, but he didn’t open his eyes. Rex raised his voice just a little.
“Digger.”
This time, the dog scrambled to his feet, standing on the mattress. He looked around and met Rex’s eyes. Rex was astonished to see Digger’s body relax visibly, though he remained standing.
“Sorry, boy. We need to talk.”
He was struck again by the incongruity of having a conversation with a dog, but he didn’t know any other way. He was simply going to have to find a reference of some kind to learn more about how to handle Digger, the sooner the better. Meanwhile, he had a task and Digger needed to stay here, so he would talk to him like he’d talk to a man, or at least a child.
“I have to go out, buddy, and it isn’t safe for you to go with me. I need you to stay here.”
Digger’s ears pointed toward him when he said stay. Of course. That’s a command. To be certain, Rex made his voice stern, pointed at the bed, and said, “Stay.” He was wondering if he should add the command ‘Guard’ as well but decided it was not necessary. If Digger stayed, he would not allow anyone near that place while he was gone.
Digger settled onto his belly on the bed. He yawned, put his chin on his forelegs, and wagged his tail. Rex saw no other interpretation, but that Digger had understood and would comply. He smiled, feeling unaccountably proud of himself.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Based on recent experience, he didn’t add that he’d bring chow. That could undo everything he’d just accomplished. The moment Digger heard the word chow, he would want to come with him, and there would be no stopping him.
Rex went out the front door but thought to wait and make sure Digger wouldn’t follow. At the gate he checked out the street and surroundings for about ten minutes, and then, satisfied that no one was keeping a watch on the house and that Digger would do as he’d been told and stay, went out into the street.
There weren’t many people out. Back home, he might have called this neighborhood a suburb, though most suburbs in his experience had better urban planning. Here, there were multi-use buildings obviously occupied by people of relative wealth side by side with shacks, and everything in between. However, the area didn’t boast an obvious marketplace.
That meant there was little opportunity to gather intel in his usual way by listening and participating in the gossip, even encouraging it. Nor did he want to call attention to himself by walking past Usama’s compound too often. Rather than scouting it right now, he was going to have to settle for finding somewhere to buy provisions for himself and Digger before their foray that night. In doing so, he might be able to pick up some intel that would be helpful, but it didn’t look promising.
It was a piece of good fortune that the butcher shop where he went to buy meat was busy preparing a large order for someone of obvious importance. He was told he must wait, and then the butcher could attend to his needs. Rex made affable conversation with the butcher and some of his customers while he waited, and he learned that Usama himself, through his chief administrator, had ordered this feast. The butcher was very proud of supplying the meat for a party of important people the great man would host tonight.
As casually as he could, Rex questioned the man if he knew who and how many the guests would be, but all he knew was that there would be three major guests along with, he assumed, a few of their entourage. There would be enough meat for the host and three guests, and if there were others in the compound, well, their meal must have been otherwise arranged.
Rex had hoped to find cooked meat, because the kitchen in the abandoned house was filthy and totally dysfunctional. Before the line was short enough to make it a suspicious move, Rex left and found a small shop selling fresh fruits and vegetables as well as a limited selection of canned goods. He rejected the cat food and tuna, reasoning that Digger would be insulted if he was offered cat food. Rex settled for a couple of apples and some peanut butter. Digger loved peanut butter in his Kong. Rex hoped he’d be happy to take it from a broken piece of crockery, too. His purchases would be enough to supplement the goat cheese and flatbread he’d taken from the farmhouse hours ago.
After tonight, he wasn’t sure of his next move, so more food wasn’t needed right then. Before returning to the house where Digger was hopefully still waiting, Rex scouted far enough to assure himself that Usama’s compound was relatively isolated, surrounded by high hills with very few immediate neighbors. It was as if everyone preferred to keep their distance, or perhaps Usama had arranged it for his privacy.
Rex returned to the house, where he found Digger on guard as if he’d had the knowledge or foresight to command him to guard it. He put his package down on a rickety table, and Digger instantly homed in on it, wiggling his nose and sniffing, while looking at Rex and the food in turns as if to say, “Hey, I’m hungry, let’s get on with it.”
“It’s all ready, boy. Just let me find a plate.”
Digger looked at him, pointed his ears at him, and returned to staring at the package. Rex grinned. He found a chipped plate and a large shard of a broken one in the kitchen, along with a bent fork. He washed the plates and his KA-BAR with water from the well, wishing he could heat it first. Rex served a portion of the flatbread and cheese from the farmhouse onto his plate, cut the apples, slathered the pieces of apple with peanut butter, and then set Digger’s portion on the floor in front of him and snatched his hands out of the way before the dog fell on his share like a wild canid on a mountain goat.
“Sorry, buddy. Sometimes it isn’t easy to have regular meals when you’re with me. But I promise to do my best to always find chow before you starve to death. Deal?”
He didn’t expect a reply, nor did he get one. At least he didn't expect one before Digger finished his meal, and that would only be to beg for more. Rex set about downing his as quickly as possible, so he wouldn’t have to share his portion, too. Having had a few meals with Digger as his companion the past forty-eight hours, he knew how that went.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Outskirts of Kabul, Afghanistan, 3:00 p.m., June 24
IT WOULD BE hours before it was dark enough to take Digger through the streets of the neighborhood. After their lunch, Rex decided to sleep for another few hours. The emotional turmoil caused b
y the loss of his friends and the realization of the betrayal in the last four days, accompanied by the reversal of his waking and sleeping hours and general sleep deprivation, were taking their toll. It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t handle it – over the years he had certainly proven he could – as that he wasn’t as sharp and ready as he would have liked to be. One small slip on his side could mean the end of him. However, over the past four days he had come to understand what it really meant when Trevor told him that Digger was an extension of him, and that well-trained military dogs were one of the biggest force-multipliers that a foot soldier could hope for. If it was not for Digger, Rex would have postponed the mission for a few more days until he was in better shape.
Digger didn’t object to another nap, either. Rex had observed that Digger seemed ready, willing, and able to sleep any time he was given the chance. Smart dog. Just like a Marine, sleep when you get the chance. You don’t know when you will get the next one, he reflected, as his eyes closed.
Another three hours passed before he woke feeling much more rested and primed for action than he had in the last four days. But the end of twilight was still a couple of hours away, and he’d use those to make the best plan he could without closer observation. Before thinking about anything else, he inspected Digger’s harness, which he’d taken off a couple of days before. He didn’t have a tablet to test the camera.
But the voice coms units were intact. Those didn’t require the tablet to work. Rex placed the mini earphones in Digger’s ear. He tested it by going into another room and saying, “Digger, come,” in a low voice. Ten seconds later, the dog bounded into the room and sat in front of him, smiling like he usually did when he surprised Rex.
“Good boy!” Rex crowed. So that would help some, at least. “Go back to bed, buddy. I have some plans to work out.”
Digger pointed his ears forward when he heard ‘work’, but he seemed to understand it was not a command or an offer right then. He turned and padded back to the other room. Rex waited a beat and then went back in to see if Digger had gotten on the bed. He had.
