There are moments in war when desperation gives way to acceptance. While trying to spot a seemingly invisible enemy and protect himself, Burnam was struck by the fact that this could be his last stand. He might die in a jungle halfway around the globe from home with only a German shepherd to note his passing. But the problem with dying was that Timber would have no one to protect him. At this moment the dog needed him, so Burnam had to fight to live not just for himself but for the wounded animal.
Grabbing his weapon, Burnam began to fire. At the same time he held on to a panicked, bleeding dog that seemingly possessed only one goal: to get as far away from this place as possible. As the Americans behind him peppered the jungle with weapon blasts, the deafening noise caused Timber to pull even harder on the leash. It was literally a tug-of-war between man and dog. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the noise of war diminished and things were as quiet as a Sunday afternoon on an Iowa farm. Was this a reason to give thanks or a sign that the enemy had knocked out the men and vehicles he’d been leading? If the latter were the case, Charlie, as the Americans called the Vietcong, would soon advance on his position to either kill Burnam or take him prisoner. So the cease-fire brought almost as many concerns as the noise of battle.
Needing to find better cover, Burnam, his hand firmly grasping the dog’s harness, crawled toward where he’d left the American unit. As the pair made their slow trek, the handler and Timber came across a wounded GI. Holding the dog firmly, Burnam made his way to the injured man’s side. The injured soldier’s eyes lit up for an instant, as if thankful to have the company of a friend, but a moment later they only stared blankly. A vibrant life was now just a memory, but Burnam reasoned at least the soldier hadn’t died alone.
After retrieving the dead man’s dog tags, Burnam, with the nervous and injured Timber at his side, continued to crawl back toward what he hoped was the American position. After what seemed like an eternity, he stumbled into a nest of trees where he spotted reinforcements. Somehow they had beaten the odds and lived, but that hadn’t been the case for many of the soldiers they’d been assigned to lead. In a very real sense, the day had been a disaster.
As he was treated for his minor wound, Burnam assessed what had gone wrong on the mission. First the group he had been assigned to guide had no idea how to properly use a dog. Beyond that, training had also not given Timber the needed tools to ride in the APC or be able to cope with the noise of battle. Though it was hardly fair, for all appearances, Timber had failed, and in that way so had Burnam. Yet, at least for the man, a great lesson had been learned. He now realized at times he would have to fully explain to ignorant officers how to use a dog and he would also have to have a dog with much sharper skills. While Timber was a strong, willing animal, based on this episode, his attitude and aptitude seemed unsuited for the role he was being asked to play. With so much on the line, Burnam asked to meet other dogs waiting in the kennels to find one that could offer the handler and the men depending on him a better chance at surviving the war.
When Burnam reviewed the available dogs, he came upon a big, black-and-tan German shepherd sporting huge brown eyes and oversized, erect ears. The eighty pounds of potential fury was initially outgoing and friendly. That was great for a family pet but how would he be in a combat situation? As Burnam put him on a harness and walked him around the base, he observed two things about Clipper. The first was the dog’s love and devotion to everyone in an American uniform. The second was Clipper’s distrust of locals. He simply had no use for the Vietnamese. If the dog were an ambassador this would have been a huge problem. After all, many Vietnamese were fighting with the Americans. But as Clipper’s job would be to sniff out the non-Americans in a combat zone, this trait was one to treasure. The dog’s distrust would make him more wary on the battlefield.
As Burnam put the dog through drills, Clipper’s athleticism jumped out. The dog could scale fences, race through tunnels, crawl like a lizard under wire, and sprint like an Olympic champion. Tests proved his vision, smell, and hearing were also all remarkable. Also working in his favor was that he seemed tireless. In fact, he would rather drill than eat!
Now being fully aware of the varied demands the dog would face, as a part of training, Burnam and Clipper road on APCs, helicopters, planes, and jeeps. The man exposed Clipper to every loud sound associated with war just to test if the dog could remain focused on his assigned task. Finally, in one of the most intensive elements of training, Burnam worked with Clipper on recognizing trip wires. It was these wires hooked up to explosives that cost countless lives on patrols. If Clipper missed just one then the dog and the handler could be blown to kingdom come.
Beyond training, Burnam spent hours feeding and grooming the German shepherd. He also read Clipper letters from home, shared stories with him, and, whenever he had the chance, took his photo. In a matter of just weeks Clipper became the most important thing in his life and it seemed the dog felt the same way. By the time the canine was ready for duty, Burnam had come to view Clipper as more than a piece of essential war equipment; the dog had grown into being his best friend.
For a scout dog handler, the biggest fear is being picked off while on duty. The second biggest fear is having his dog fail in such a way that it costs men their lives. Hence, the day before going out on patrol there is an added weight placed on all handlers’ shoulders. Sleep is often difficult and it’s not unusual to see handlers working with their dog hours before departure time.
For the men who pulled duty each day in Vietnam the war was simply unfair. There was really no clear objective. There were also no static rules. Even figuring out who the enemy was could be impossible. After all, many didn’t even wear uniforms. And this meant that you didn’t know who your friends were. So imagine what was being demanded of the scout dogs. They had to determine if there was someone in the jungle and if that someone posed a risk. On top of that they had to find myriad different devices used for booby traps and smell out hidden caches of weapons. The dogs therefore had to be carefully worked in a job that often took a great deal of time, and this caused many officers to grow impatient and plunge into areas the dogs hadn’t cleared. So as handlers were constantly being told to hurry up, the pressure on dog teams was both intense and immense.
Clipper’s first days on the job covered almost everything that was required of a scout dog. He made his way to duty stations in helicopters, in trucks, and on foot. He pointed out snipers, hidden weapons, trip wires, and small groups of Vietcong soldiers. Best of all, he did everything that was asked of him perfectly.
In those initial outings Burnam became convinced he’d chosen the right dog. Clipper could focus for hours, he was tireless, he was not rattled by the noise of war or riding in a wide variety of machinery, and he never grew excited in the midst of fire. Yet, except for Burnam, few others realized what an incredible dog they were seeing in action. The reason Clipper remained so unappreciated was that he was never allowed to work with the same group day after day. Thus, the full tally of his large skill set was never really observed by anyone but Burnam.
While the Army might not have been giving Clipper citations, Burnam was. He rewarded the dog with special treats, hugs, kisses, kind words, and lots of love. When dog handlers he knew were either wounded or killed, Burnam also began to realize just what a treasure he had. In a kennel filled with good dogs, Clipper was simply the best.
As the weeks of duty became months, Burnam began to understand there was something instinctive Clipper possessed that few dogs and even most men lacked. The German shepherd seemed to fully recognize that war was a life-or-death game. Therefore, he was completely focused while on duty. He never dropped his guard.
Holidays didn’t matter in Vietnam; the war didn’t stop for turkey and dressing. And on a hot Thanksgiving Day, Burnam and Clipper drew an assignment as point for a huge mission along the Cambodian border. For an operation requiring this many men there would have normally been several dogs and handlers, but perh
aps because of the holiday, this time the entire responsibility of identifying a hidden enemy fell on Clipper’s broad shoulders.
As they readied to get on a helicopter and ride to the drop-off point, the soldiers assigned to the patrol gathered in small groups and traded stories about everything from last night’s poker games to family back home. These men knew one another well and had grown to become like brothers. Burnam was an outsider. The men he would be leading that day knew nothing about him and he knew nothing about them. This isolation made the holiday all the more lonely.
Once on the chopper, Burnam took a seat close to the open door. This was not as much by choice as dictated by duty. He and Clipper were required to be among the first to hit the ground, so he needed a key place to launch quickly into action. Meanwhile Clipper felt being by the open door was a gift from heaven. Though he might have been in the army, this German shepherd was all dog when it came to riding in a truck or a helicopter. He always leaned his head out a window, or in this case the open door, and allowed his ears and tongue to flop in the wind. At times he would stretch so far out that Burnam had to maintain a tight grip on the harness just to keep Clipper safely on board. The view from the ground or other helicopters must have been entertaining and likely launched a dozen different conversations about pets back home.
As the long ride continued, Burnam grew tired of having Clipper all but pull his shoulder from its socket and so he allowed some slack on the lead. A split second later the chopper leaned a bit as it turned and the dog’s paws starting sliding out the door. It would take Burnam a second to grab the leash and yank Clipper back to safety, and during those moments the animal must have seen his whole life pass in front of him. When his paws were back on the helicopter he looked back at his handler as if to say, “How could you let that happen?” Burnam shrugged and grinned as the shepherd moved safely away from the door. For the rest of their time together the dog no longer showed any interest in a window seat.
Once on the ground, all the men met in a clearing and Burnam was assigned to lead the squad into an area where there had been reports of Vietcong guerrillas. Two bodyguards were directed to cover the dog and handler from about thirty feet to the rear. With his nose to the ground, Clipper went to work trying to sniff out the enemy. For several hours the dog showed Burnam signs of activity, such as recent footprints, but displayed nothing indicating that Charlie was still in the area. Finally, just when it seemed the intelligence had been wrong, Clipper grew still, his eyes fixed on a point where Burnam saw nothing. The handler reported the finding to the platoon leader who sent out a small party to search the area. Thirty minutes later they returned having found no sign of any Vietcong.
While the soldiers were now sure the area was clear, Clipper would not give in. He continued to signal through body language that the enemy was around them. A second search only revealed a lot of footprints along a well-worn trail. Though the dog, through both the look in his eyes and the lean of his body, begged the men to hold their positions, the platoon leader lost his patience with Clipper and ordered the unit forward. Once they were out of the jungle in the open, shots rang out and everyone hit the ground. After five minutes of rapid fire, the area once again grew quiet.
The platoon leader looked back at Burnam and Clipper as if to acknowledge his error before ordering most of the men back into the cover of the jungle. A scouting party was dispatched to see if any enemy soldiers were still in the area where the initial shots had originated. A few minutes later an officer came back reporting the group had spotted a man-made bunker. It now fell to Clipper to see if there was anyone in the hole. As they were on the way to the spot, Clipper stopped and looked to a tree. Burnam suggested to their guide, a brash young lieutenant, that they needed to bring in someone to examine what his dog had just sensed. The officer ignored the suggestion and continued to move toward the bunker. A second later shots rang out from just a few feet away. The blasts from the dark undergrowth were so powerful the lieutenant was knocked backward into Burnam. As the handler fell to the ground, Clipper leaped forward, knocking off Burnam’s helmet while placing his body between the hidden enemy and the handler.
By reflex, Burnam glanced toward the officer. The man must have died before he knew what hit him. Sadly, if the lieutenant had paid attention to the dog, it wouldn’t have happened. Yet for the moment there was no time to place blame; Burnam had to find a way back to safety.
There was Vietcong gunfire in front of him and American fire flying over his head. Thousands of rounds were being rattled off with each passing minute. Fifteen feet ahead, he could hear the enemy excitedly screaming directions and behind he heard the more familiar sounds of Americans barking off orders. Meanwhile, Clipper remained quiet and focused, his eyes fixed on where everyone now knew the enemy was. The dog’s calm response, which was just the opposite of what Burnam had dealt with when handling Timber, allowed the handler to remain cool as well. As the American forces began to spray suspected enemy positions with artillery fire and as machine guns shredded the leaves off trees, he decided it might be time to retreat.
A minute of crawling found the pair back at the tree where Clipper had all but begged the lieutenant to stop. Glancing up, Burnam noted a dead Vietcong sniper, his body partially hanging off a limb. He must have been spotted and shot after the attack began. Though it hardly mattered now, Clipper had been right; there was danger in the tree.
In time the Americans drove Charlie back and the shooting stopped. From a position by a tree Burnam spotted two men carrying the body of the officer who refused to trust the dog’s instincts. Five others died due to the rash young man not acknowledging what Clipper sensed. Initially Burnam was angry, but as they loaded up to return home, dozens of men came back to thank the dog and handler for saving their lives. They now realized that without the dog it would have assuredly been much worse. On the chopper ride home, Burnam stroked Clipper’s broad head and whispered again and again how much he loved him.
A few weeks later Burnam and Clipper were out with a smaller group when a local man on a bicycle zipped by. The soldiers simply blew it off, but for some unknown reason Clipper was deeply agitated. Trusting his dog’s instincts, Burnam yelled out demanding the man on the bike to stop. Instead of following orders, the local pedaled harder. There was no way to run him down on foot and there was no reason to shoot the cyclist, so Burnam dropped the dog’s lead. Less than thirty seconds later Clipper knocked the man and bike off the trail. When Burnam and the rest of the soldiers arrived they discovered a pouch filled with intelligence materials that included American troop locations. Once again, where men had been wrong, Clipper had been spot on. It was likely scores owed their lives on that day to a dog that stopped events before they happened.
By now Burnam felt he had the smartest partner in the Army. He often referred to his canine companion as radar on four paws. As he neared the end of his tour of duty, now-Sergeant Burnam and Clipper were assigned to work with the 2nd Battalion, 12th Infantry to clear out a section of an old rubber tree plantation and the jungle that ran alongside it. The region had been a Vietcong stronghold and hideout for months.
After flying in helicopters to the area, this time with his dog’s head inside the chopper, the group began what was a scheduled three-day mission. As the unit pushed deeply into the thick jungle, the clouding, foreboding skies opened up. Soon everyone, including the dog, was soaked to the bone. Worse yet, the moisture brought out hoards of insects and snakes. That morning Clipper was stung and bitten by everything from ticks to ants to fleas but somehow never lost focus. With the large group of men moving behind them, Burnam and his dog ignored the hostile elements and continued their search. After several hours, Clipper signaled via body language he was picking up on something big. A patrol was organized and sent out. They discovered the dog had sensed a hidden base camp, now deserted but containing a large cache of weapons, mortars, and mines. As they were booby-trapped, the bunkers were blown up. Hence, day one had been a su
ccess.
After an uncomfortable night sleeping in the jungle, the patrol once more began their search for Charlie. All went smoothly until Clipper alerted Burnam to something the man could neither see nor hear. A scouting party soon discovered another American unit just a few miles away. After the two groups joined forces, the dog and handler were placed in front and asked to lead the combined units into a small village. Rather than taking a direct route, Clipper zigzagged down the trail. Though likely not understanding why, the men followed carefully in the dog’s footsteps.
After securing the town, the Americans moved on in a direction that would take them to a base camp for the night. Clipper once again slowly and carefully made his way through tall grass, along a marked trail, and over jungle paths. Those following him fanned out, each man ready to fall to the ground if shots rang out.
Burnam was observing Clipper change direction when a blast to his right shook the ground. A soldier had roamed too far off the dog’s course and tripped a mine. His right leg was all but gone.
As the medics worked on the badly injured man, Burnam and Clipper found cover and rested. The day had been long and hard; Clipper was heavily panting, his paws were sore, and his skin had hundreds of insect bites. Yet, after a chopper arrived and evacuated the wounded soldier, Clipper bounced up, once more ready to do his job.
For the next few hours, Burnam pushed Clipper to guide them back to safety. The dog seemed more than ready to go home, but the path he was choosing seemed completely insane. He would walk a few feet forward, make a quick left turn, walk a few more steps and then make a hard right. Though he saw nothing indicating the reason for Clipper’s “little game,” Burnam didn’t question the dog. Evidently, neither did the scores of men behind the scout team. As the handler glanced back he noted the soldiers were no longer fanned out; they were following Clipper’s wild course step for step. When the unit finally arrived at the camp, the weary men in uniform actually cheered. Before they unpacked their gear, many of them rushed over to pet the German shepherd’s head. A lieutenant even walked up and saluted Clipper before bending down to shake the shepherd’s paw.
In the Line of Fire Page 15
