“Hello there,” he said smiling. “Do you need a name?” He decided to call her Katie—a beautiful girl’s name, he thought. The male was decidedly more Korean, in appearance and demeanor, so he decided the more skittish dog would be called Posack.
That same night, Benevenga heard a scratching on the door to his tent. Katie, or “Kate” as Benevenga sometimes called her, had come to visit him. Surprising even himself, he opened the door to her and allowed her inside. She immediately went to his bunk, crawled underneath it, and fell fast asleep. Later that night she left a puddle in the middle of the living area, and Benevenga, suspicious of allowing dogs in the house anyway, gave her the boot out into the snow. She remained by his door for the rest of the night and followed him all the next day. The next night, as Benevenga went into the tent, dog and man exchanged glances—hers imploring, his skeptical. Benevenga relented. He opened the door to her and she returned to her spot under his bunk. From that day forward, she would cry to let him know she needed to be let out, and she never wet the floor again. After that, they were never separated. Posack, however, only let Ben get close from time to time, but never as close as Katie. She followed Benevenga everywhere he went, and he delighted in teaching her tricks. The men grew to know Katie and Benevenga as a team. Fickes got very close to Katie, too, because he and Benevenga were the best of friends.
Then, literally in a flash, everything changed.
One night Falge spilled a lot of fuel while he was trying to start a fire. Benevenga got accelerant on his arms, and when Falge struck the match, the whole front of his body went up in flames. Benevenga was tended to by the medics but was in critical condition. He would have to be transferred to the Army hospital in Japan for further treatment and would not be returning to his unit. He knew his military working dog, Gray, would be cared for, but he worried about Katie.
Fickes came to see him off from the medivac, and Benevenga asked for a promise. “Will you take care of Katie?”
Fickes wouldn’t have had it any other way. “Bring her home if you can, Fickes.” Benevenga knew that this was a promise Fickes might never be able to fulfill, but he wanted to put his dream out there and leave nothing behind.
“I’ll take good care of her, Ben. Don’t you ever worry.”
Fickes completely fulfilled his promise to his friend. Katie became his constant companion. She slept under his bunk from then on and ate all his scraps. Fickes started taking Katie on patrol, off-leash, with him and Duke. She was a quick study and learned from Duke how to react to a threat. It was probably easier for her than it was for the highly trained K-9s to see the Koreans as threatening. She remembered a time when her life was in danger in their presence, and she acted accordingly. What she didn’t pick up from Duke was equally beneficial. Duke was a bit of a scaredy cat, alerting to the regular creeping and groaning of a shifting building, growling at barrels of water, quivering over pheasants in the bushes. Maybe it was because Katie was more streetwise than Duke, but she seemed to have an innate understanding of which threats were real and which ones were only perceived.
Katie lived to protect Fickes, and before long he completely trusted his life with her. He even started taking Katie on patrol and leaving Duke behind. Duke didn’t seem to mind; his heart had never been in it. Also, he still got all the attention, food, and exercise he had earned as a trained K-9. He was satisfied. Or maybe it was the satisfaction of his other urges that made him a bit lazy. Katie eventually had a puppy, and Fickes suspected it could have been Duke’s offspring. He named the puppy Ben.
Fickes had plenty of K-9 assistance with his sentry duties.
8
NEW BLOOD AND UNDYING LOYALTY
MELOCHICK
The Korean Armistice, under the authority of the United Nations, was signed in July 1953, establishing the Demilitarized Zone along the Thirty-Eighth Parallel. In theory, this established a cease-fire between the two nations of North and South Korea. Yet the Americans’ involvement in policing that action required the continued presence of ordnance handlers. Melochick and Simpson handled ordnance in the 696th in Uijongbu and the Fifty-Eighth Ordnance Company in Siheung. They were not there to hand out ordnance, but to sit on it in the event that uneasy tensions flared again.
Melochick had attended explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) school and thought he was going to Korea to handle explosives for soldiers in the field. When he arrived at the 696th Ordnance Company, Uijongbu (just twenty miles below the Thirty-Eighth Parallel), he was told that his services would be needed elsewhere. Guarding the ammunition, instead of handling it, had become the priority, and no one was more effective at that job than the 8125th Sentry Dog Detachment. He was going to “the Doggies.”
As a brand new handler, Melochick was thrown into the quick course of dog-handling and was assigned Warrior, a huge, fierce dog. He felt rushed to “get in” on Warrior, and after taking him out for the first time got bitten. In what Melochick considered a stroke of luck, Warrior’s sharp canines hit his watch. Melochick was certain his watch had saved his wrist from being broken.
Peterson reminded him, “Warrior trained at Carson and knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s just trying to see what he can get away with.” The rookie was humbled—and a bit unnerved by his underestimation of Wolf’s power.
Melochik was committed to making the best of his new situation. With persistence, and a few more close calls with Wolf, he became proficient and was assigned two more dogs. Each dog was a challenge in its own way, but he viewed their job as more art than mechanics and embraced the beauty of a dog’s companionship. Dog handling, like explosives handling, could be exciting and dangerous, but the dogs had an irreplaceable quality that explosives lacked. Dogs were loyal, comforting, and even trustworthy. Regardless of Warrior’s sometimes misplaced aggression, Melochick believed the dog would always protect him. Trust, an explicit quality in every man-dog relationship he encountered, was something he had never known in his family. Even the deep, trusting relationship between soldiers couldn’t quite match the level of trust between man and dog. Melochick loved the feeling of harmonious synchronicity in dog handling, and he trusted his dogs with his life.
SIMPSON
Unlike Melochick, Simpson chose to be a dog handler. He had come to the Fifty-Eighth Ordnance Company at Siheung with a love of chemistry and a passion for the occupation he had learned in the Chem Corps. But there would be no active need for chemical, biological, or radiological specialists in that staging area of the Cold War. His education was shelved as he was asked to work CQ duty for the personnel at that post, including the men and dogs of the 8125th.
Simpson admired the guys in the 8125th. A dog lover from childhood, he also greatly admired the nobility of the K-9s. Chan and Prinz came into the CQ often, and he looked forward to those days. Prinz was easy to handle and loved to be scratched; Chan always made him laugh. He was able after a while to recognize most of the dogs at a glance. Some of his favorites were Wooden’s dog, Chief, and the docile Blind Sam, always at Broadway’s side. Having grown up on a farm with dogs, Simpson understood a little about the pack dynamic. Although he worried that the unit might be exclusive and unaccepting of outsiders without the same formal training, he asked Sergeant Nunn, a senior enlisted man who didn’t have a dog but was over the unit’s enlisted soldiers, about joining the team. To his surprise, Nunn told him that they could use all the help they could get. He believed Simpson was up for the challenge. In fact, he already had a dog in mind for Simpson.
Grey was one of the powerful dogs who had been difficult for most of the handlers so far. It was hard to get in on this aggressive dog, but Simpson, knowing the challenge ahead, made up his mind that he wouldn’t fail. Grey’s former handler had been injured while in Korea, leaving the K-9 without a dedicated teammate. Simpson had observed the interactions between Grey and his handler many times before his leaving, and had taken note of the quiet power with which the man addressed his dog. In spite of the dog’s fierce demeanor, Simps
on could decipher a lot from the way Grey held his ears, and by the low warbling tone of his guttural growl. Simpson let Nunn know that he was ready to start with Grey, and he formulated his approach.
He decided to go slowly into Grey’s world and form a bond that would endure. It took several weeks with the bite suit and several more to practice tracking, but Grey was masterful at his job and guided his apprentice through his paces. Simpson had to learn to give commands, be a leader to his dog, and handle the dog with confidence in risky situations. Grey had to learn that Simpson was his new partner. It was an arduous process, but after many difficult days, and a consistent training regimen, Nunn came to Simpson and told him they were ready. He and Grey would be moved to Uijongbu where they would join Stewart and Duchess, Hatch and Willy, Melochick and Warrior, and many of the other teams who had by then become veterans of sentry work in Korea. Simpson looked forward to their sage advice. He admitted to them straight away, “The dog trained me.”
VAL
Like the other men, Simpson was assigned a second dog to handle while in Korea. Val had all of the aggressive nature of Grey without any of the control. The men said Val was “crazy,” and Simpson believed them. On his first encounter with Val, the beast bit Simpson and tore the flesh on his hand wide open. Still, Simpson would not give up. He believed they could make a partnership work.
He labored to find Val’s soft spot, and when he did, tried to play to it whenever possible. It wasn’t authorized, but Simpson learned from the others that Val loved to track rabbits. This was done off-leash, however, and if this violation was discovered, Simpson could be court-martialed for the unlawful use of a weapon. Yet Simpson knew this activity could only make Val a better, healthier dog all around. It was a risk he was willing to take for his partner.
Once, while enjoying his favorite pastime, Val caught a rabbit’s scent and stopped dead in his tracks. Simpson looked down at Val’s feet and saw a tripwire which, as he traced its origin, he found attached to a Bouncing Betty explosive device. In his time with EOD he had learned how to defuse these ordnance, and he did so, quickly and quietly. He praised Val for saving his life knowing that he would have hit the tripwire, right in his path, if Val had not alerted first. In fact, if Val had not stopped right at that spot, the dog would have been blown to pieces, too. No one ever found out about the tripwire; he told himself it was a secret he would carry to his grave.
Simpson never managed to form a deep bond with Val, at least not the kind he had with Grey. Simpson understood Val for what he was: a weapon with a heartbeat. He needed care, the same level of care and compassion that all living beings need, but no one could ever let their guard down around him. Val had proven over and over that he would turn and strike without notice, making him dangerous to both friend and foe. The only thing Simpson could hope for with Val was a mutual understanding. To reach that understanding, Simpson resorted to using a controversial technique.
The “helicopter roll” was a technique the handlers were taught at Carson to bring an enraged dog under control. As the name implies, the handler would grab a charging dog’s leash and swing the dog by the collar, like a helicopter blade, before slamming the dog to the ground. This was a last-ditch effort for desperate handlers. It had been ingrained in them that the dogs were never to be physically punished. If a soldier was caught even lightly striking a dog, he would be charged with destruction of government property and receive severe punishment, ranging from judicial (with time served in the brig) to non-judicial (being separated from the unit or even the Army with a “Less Than Honorable” discharge). This technique was only to be used when a handler’s life was threatened. The method most often knocked the dog unconscious without killing it, obviously preferable to pulling out a firearm and shooting the dog. Still, deciding whether to perform the helicopter roll was never easy.
Stewart had to use the technique on Spooks, the dog he started handling in Korea after Duchess went “tame.” “Tame” was a term the men used to describe a dog who had made it through training but failed to have the heart for attack in country. This was a good description for Duchess, except that it didn’t take into consideration that she was probably tame—a pet—before she ever came to the Army. Spooks, however, had been known for his ferocity, and Stewart felt safer with him while on patrol.
The helicopter roll came about out of pure adrenaline on Stewart’s part. Spooks had gotten in a fight with another dog when he suddenly turned his focus on Stewart and attacked him from the back. In the scuffle Spooks gained a strong hold on Stewart’s leg. As Stewart spun around attempting to separate Spook’s fangs from his thigh, he also instinctually lifted him off the ground, spinning and then bringing him hard to the ground again. Spooks was disoriented. Coming to, the K-9 shook his head and sat looking at Stewart as if nothing had ever happened. The technique had accomplished what Stewart needed at the time, but Spooks never really recovered. He remained mistrustful of Stewart for the rest of their time together, but he never attacked him again. Stewart couldn’t say that he ever completely trusted Spooks again, either.
Simpson, like most of the men, was conflicted about the technique because he had taught the dog to attack him and encouraged raw aggression. He understood that it could be confusing for some dogs to know when attacking was right, since furious behavior was always rewarded. Yet when Val barreled down on him one day, teeth gnashing at his flesh midair, Simpson didn’t stop to think. He reacted with force by instinct. Val was a little loopy after being flung to the ground, and Simpson used the opportunity to subdue the dog and muzzle him. The show of force worked. Val had a newfound respect for Simpson, and from that time on the two worked together well. Val was able to compartmentalize the experience and quickly adapt to his new reality: Simpson was the boss, not the enemy. Regardless of Val’s changed behavior, Simpson was never able to think of him as anything other than a mean dog again.
Val and Spooks had survival instincts which drove them to see humans in general as a threat to life. Granted, it was humans who had taught them this lesson and betrayed their trust by not understanding how deep a dog’s instinct could go. The handlers had a constant kinship with their dogs, and this level of intimacy let them know the dogs in their unit who would cross the line between loyalty and madness. Regardless, Army policy always trumped individual experience. There was no way to separate the dogs who had been driven mad from the ones who would become maddened by their protectiveness of the handler. Dogs like Val and Spooks were used in the rotation even at the risk of the handler’s safety. So the men, like Simpson and Stewart, had to work with what they had in each dog while hoping for the best.
CHIEF
Chief was one of the dogs whose loyalty bound him to his handler, and he willingly did what was asked of him—even to death. The men agreed that Chief could be a tough dog. He was driven and focused, especially when it came to the pursuit of a fleeing suspect. He could be showy in his aggression, a necessary characteristic for keeping desperate and threatened suspects from resorting to outright violence.
One night while on duty, Chief’s handler, Wooden, released him to pursue an intruder. Off-leash, he got beyond his handler’s sight. When Wooden heard a yelp, he thought Chief must have made contact with the fleeing man. Then there was brief whimpering, followed by silence. Wooden’s heart and mind began to race, and the stillness became deafening. He hastened to find his dog, wondering if Chief had caught the intruder—or if the intruder had harmed the dog. Approaching a barbed wire fence on the perimeter, Wooden’s heart dropped. Chief had been caught on the fence by his collar and hanged himself. The gruesome scene wrenched Wooden’s gut and broke his heart. He had seen animals wounded and injured many times before, having worked on California racetracks before joining the Army. He had even had to put down horses himself. But Chief had been his closest ally. He lost one of his best friends that day. When Wooden returned to camp with Chief in his arms, the group of boisterous men fell silent, too. One of their own had been lost
, and many bowed their heads in sadness. Simpson helped Wooden with Chief’s body and started making preparations for an immediate burial.
Simpson dug the grave in an old Korean cemetery just outside the post. The men and their dogs gathered around the burial site and watched as Chief was laid in the ground. His collar and leash, the placard with his serial number, and his muzzle went into the ground with him. The men cried openly over the dog’s still body and laid flowers on his burial mound. They placed a stone where his head rested and talked about how they would have it engraved later with his name and death date so that no one would ever forget him and his service to the United States Army and to his handler, Wooden. Some Korean civilians looked on as they buried Chief, curious but reverent.
The next day, Simpson went out to check on Chief. From a distance he could see that the grave had been disturbed, and he started to boil with rage. When he reached the site, he became ill. The mementoes of Chief’s life remained in the barren hole, but Chief’s body had been taken. For the first time, the horrors of Korea hit him with full force. He hated it there and wanted to go home. He thought about Grey and was comforted to think that he would be brought back to Camp Carson when it was all over. He started to cry as he prepared to return to Wooden and the other men with the horrible message: Chief would never be at rest.
K-9 Korea Page 11
