MY UNIFORM STANK. My grubby day pack, body armour and helmet were dumped unceremoniously on the floor next to me.
I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the optics of the bar. My hair was unkempt and would definitely have earned me an extra duty on parade.
‘Add a few more days for this as well,’ I smiled to myself as I rubbed the two days of stubbly growth around my chin.
I looked down at my desert boots. Yellowish brown dust from the Afghan desert had collected between the laces. They definitely didn’t match the red carpet I was standing on.
I lifted the full pint of beer to my lips. I closed my eyes and took two large gulps, my first alcohol in over two months. It tasted damn good.
I didn’t think I could look more out of place if I tried, but as I scanned the bar for anyone taking a tell-tale sneaky glance in my direction I realised that not a single person was looking. The pub clientele were far too preoccupied chatting away over their lunch to pay me much attention. I had assumed that everyone would be racing to find out about the real Afghanistan but nobody had even looked since I walked into the bar. I felt slightly disappointed.
It was early December and the pub was already decorated in gold and silver tinsel. A large Christmas tree spilled out from one corner of the bar, brightly wrapped fake presents stacked underneath.
‘Book your Christmas party now to avoid disappointment,’ the signs warned on every available wall space.
I knew where I would be in seven days’ time and there wouldn’t be a Christmas dinner on the cards when it came to 25 December in the Now Zad compound, that was for sure.
A few feet away from me a group of businessmen were engrossed in conversation, their table cluttered with empty plates and half-full pint glasses. I assumed they were talking about a world that had no bearing on where I had just come from. I imagined they had no idea about my life in the last ten weeks. But then why should they? I was the one who had decided to join up, not them.
It was the brunette barmaid who broke my train of thought, or more accurately the revealing low-cut top she was wearing. ‘Want another one, love?’ she asked without really looking at me.
I waited for her to ask me why I was standing in her pub with body armour and a combat helmet. But she didn’t seem interested either. If she was wondering where I had just come from she didn’t show it.
‘Yeah, that’ll be good, thanks.’
She poured me another pint and turned to serve another customer as I placed the money on the bar surface. I was glad I had borrowed ten pounds from the unit photographer on the flight on the way home. I hadn’t a penny to my name when I left Now Zad.
I hadn’t stopped since that fateful moment when, through the open rear cargo door of the helicopter, I watched as the truck with Nowzad, RPG and Jena became just a small blotch in the vast expanse of the Helmand desert.
As soon as we touched down in Camp Bastion, Mase and I had been lucky, as a transport plane was about to lift off for the real world. Those of us who had been allocated spaces just made the flight back to civilisation. We stopped en route a few times for refuelling and a change of aircraft. Time had no meaning, really. I just knew I was going home.
The coach that had been sent to collect us from RAF Brize Norton had stopped several times to drop blokes off along the motorway so loved ones could pick them up. My stop had been on the first roundabout as we had entered Plymouth. I had borrowed a mobile phone from the lad who sat next to me on the coach to call Lisa and let her know where I was going to be.
I had just downed the last mouthful of my second pint when I saw our car through the fake snow sprayed on the bay window of the pub. I grabbed my gear and bounded out of the main doors. I found Lisa looking for a space in the almost full car park.
She had brought Fizz and Beamer along for the ride and they were going berserk as I reached the passenger door of the car. No sooner had I yanked the door open than I was smothered by a pair of overexcited dogs. I tried to make a fuss of both of them at the same time.
‘Wow, guys, stop licking me, yes, I missed you too,’ I said as I pushed them both away just in time to turn and face a grinning Lisa as she arrived around the side of the van.
Her smile was just as I remembered it. We grabbed each other and embraced for a long while. ‘I’ve missed you loads, honey,’ I said as we finally parted.
‘So have I.’
I wasted no time in hurling my gear into the boot of the car.
‘Have you been on the beer already?’ Lisa teased me as I climbed into the passenger seat alongside her.
‘The barmaid may have forced me to have had one or two,’ I said, smiling guiltily. ‘Just warming up for later!’
Home was just as I had left it, well, more or less. Lisa had done the normal woman thing of moving everything in the house around while I’d been away.
A few more cold beers from the fridge went down a treat before we braved the wind and rain to stroll out with the dogs along the deserted beach.
The storm surf was crashing chaotically against the shore as Beamer chased the tennis ball I threw for him across the damp sand and Fizz hunted around every rock for the elusive sand squirrel of her dreams.
As Lisa and I walked hand in hand, the refreshing sea breeze battering us as we went, we chatted about everything and anything of the last two months.
Over another beer from the fridge when we got home I showed Lisa the pictures from my digital camera of Nowzad, RPG and Jena. I felt a lump in my throat as I described their individual characters and recounted in detail how each dog had come to be in the compound.
As she looked at the images of the compound and the town of Now Zad on the computer screen, it began to dawn on Lisa just how remote and cut off we had been there. But seeing it as an image now instead of my real-time view and the associated smell of rotting waste and dust, I felt a million miles away from Afghanistan and my life of the last two months. It all seemed slightly surreal now that I was back in the comfort of familiar surroundings.
As I had access to the Internet I emailed the American lady who had first been in touch with Lisa. I attached a couple of the photos of the dogs.
From: Pen Farthing
To: Pam
Subject: Afghan dogs
Hi Pam,
It’s Penny F here – Lisa Farthing’s other half. I am home on R & R for a while and have access to the Internet.
Firstly thanks for all your help with trying to rescue the dogs. They are quality dogs and I will rescue them but I am now open to all suggestions. The British military won’t help me.
I am utterly gutted that I had to leave the dogs at Now Zad as the helicopter came in. The driver that had been arranged had not confirmed he was at Bastion so I could not risk flying them as if I had arrived at the camp with the dogs and with no transport for them then the camp CO would have had them shot. (They are really paranoid of rabies etc., there is nowhere I could have left them at Bastion.) The driver that you arranged would not speak to me on the phone through my translator – he told us not to ring him ever again. I am not 100 per cent positive that he actually drove to Bastion. None of my guys at Bastion could find his truck outside the camp, which is why I couldn’t risk flying them.
Let me know what we owe you though and I will get it paid as soon as possible. I have until about the end of January to get them out of Now Zad – any ideas, Pam, will be much appreciated.
Look forward to hearing from you.
Penny F
It didn’t take long for Pam to send her response. It didn’t deliver anything new but I guess I hadn’t expected it to.
From: Pam
To: Pen F
Subject: Re: Afghan dogs
Hi Penny,
I recognise both these dogs as very similar to other Afghan dogs we have saved and loved. We must not allow this mission to fail. Is there ANY way you can get them driven to Gereshk or Lashkar Gar? I am sure I can get them picked up there. I will send Lisa info about how to g
et me the money. I spent $600, which I had been sent to ship another dog to the US. But still we do not have the dogs safe. There must be someone you can trust to get them to Gereshk or Lash. What about one of the drivers that is always waiting outside Bastion? Could someone at the camp talk to them in advance and get them to agree to take the dogs to Gereshk or even to Lash?
‘Great, it looks like it is just down to me to sort something out,’ I said, closing down the computer and heading for the fridge in search of some liquid inspiration.
I had seven days at home but the more I tried to get time to slow down the quicker it slipped away.
The planned visit to the hospital to see Tom and Matt was a no-go. The doctors had said neither of them were to receive visitors except for immediate family. I felt relieved in a way; I wouldn’t have known what to say to either of them.
Lisa had booked a hotel in South Wales for a few days so we could spend the time strolling along the ridges of the bleak mountain slopes. Unfortunately it rained, but both dogs were in their element as they ran ahead along the stony mountain paths, Beamer finding every muddy puddle he could to lie in. He would sit there, his tail splashing around madly in the puddle, before charging off to find the next one. Meanwhile Fizz would run along nose to the ground curiously searching for her mountain squirrel, oblivious to the fact that we were the only creatures daft enough to be up on the mountain in weather like this.
When we reached a summit we were generally rewarded with a view of nothing but thick cloud and mist. Visibility was almost zero at this altitude. We didn’t linger there long and were soon starting our descent towards the warmth of the hotel bar and a hearty meal washed down by several pints.
We had a TV in our room but I refrained from watching it. We had enough to fill our days. Every now and again I would find my mind wandering away to that distant place and the three dogs I left behind on the back of the 4x4 truck.
Before I had left Now Zad I had asked Dave to give me a call to let me know that the dogs were back safely in their run.
He was as good as his word. Unfortunately, when he did call he got the time difference wrong and left me a message on my phone in the middle of the night. It was brief but said that the dogs were doing fine, although he revealed that Nowzad had been unwittingly allowed to escape the run one day. Dave had spent a good hour roaming the compound trying to coax him back.
I chuckled as I heard it. I had needed to know the dogs were doing well.
Time continued to fly by and all too soon we had to leave the hotel and start the journey back to Brize Norton. We stopped briefly at Lisa’s parents to drop the dogs off before we continued to the air base. We arrived early in the morning and as I walked up the path Lisa’s dad was leaving to attend to the cows on the farm. His words stopped me cold. ‘Have you seen the news today, Pen? Did you know him?’
‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, my heart starting to race now.
‘The marine that was killed yesterday in Now Zad.’
‘Oh shit. What was his name?’ I shouted, already sprinting for the living room and the television.
It took me several frustrating minutes to find the item on the rolling news headlines, but eventually it flashed in front of me on the screen.
The BBC reporter was based at Bastion; behind him now and again clips of unknown soldiers would appear departing on various patrols. Then in the background was the square insert photograph of a Royal Marine in desert camouflage uniform. I recognised the face immediately.
It was Marine Richard Watson, part of Dutchy’s troop from our company.
‘Oh no,’ I said.
Lisa stood quietly behind me and grabbed the hand that was hanging limply by my side. She squeezed it gently. I squeezed her hand back.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Green Green Grass of ‘Home’
ON THE FLIGHT back to Afghanistan I slept during the whole journey, more or less. I opened my eyes occasionally and looked around the crowded hold of the transport plane, but it wasn’t long before I closed them again and drifted off to the constant hum of the engines as we cruised across a barren night sky. Everybody on the plane was going back; nobody was new to this any more. I knew what to expect when I arrived at my destination; there wasn’t the apprehension that is with you when you’re first deployed to a new area.
I had held Lisa for a lot longer this time as we said goodbye. Being with her when I found out that it was Richie who had been killed wasn’t good. It had brought it home to both of us just how close we were to harm’s way in Afghanistan.
When the C130 transport plane landed on the dirt strip runway in the Helmand desert outside of Camp Bastion it felt like I had never left.
I walked down the cargo ramp as the loadmaster and crew were already making preparations to get the big beast airborne again. The air felt colder than I remembered, and dampness hung in the air. Low white clouds clung to the mountains to the north.
The mud under my boots was wet and sticky. But I had brought back my winter leather boots; the canvas ones – useless when the weather wasn’t dry – were in my day sack slung over my shoulder. I wouldn’t be using them again in a hurry.
Mase and I headed over to get our rifles and gear from storage. I popped my head into the operations tent to sign us in. It hadn’t changed in the ten days I’d been away. Radios crackled into life from every desk, reports and demands coming in from across the Helmand desert. Maps and charts were stapled to every available wall space. It even felt damp in here too.
The duty officer for the day was also the unit’s training officer. I had reported to him directly on a day-to-day basis when we were back in Plymouth.
‘Ahh, Troop Sergeant – what’s up?’ he smiled as he saw me walking towards his cluttered desk area.
‘Just got back from R & R, Boss; two of us need a lift back out to Now Zad. Got any flights heading out that way?’
‘Yeah, if you’re ready to go in twenty minutes,’ he said as he checked a screen in front of him. ‘You can get a lift with the Immediate Response helo.’
I took a breath. The IRT helo was launched only when it needed to collect a casualty.
‘What happened?’
‘One of the lads has broken his pelvis, not sure how.’
‘Shit, do you know who it is?’ My mind was racing, wondering who it could be.
‘Marine Smith,’ he replied without looking up from the screen.
Marine Smith had been sent to Afghanistan to work as a clerk but we had requested him to help bolster our company in Now Zad. He had been with us only a few weeks.
My brain had also worked out that it took at least five minutes to get to the helo pad at a jog. I had already started mentally counting down the minutes.
‘We will be on that flight; can you let the pilot know, Boss?’ I asked.
‘Roger, see you in another three months. Hope you enjoyed your R & R,’ he smiled as he picked up the internal phone.
I charged out of the busy hum of the ops tent to find Mase casually leaning against a section of the HESCO barricade that surrounded the tented HQ complex.
‘No rest for the wicked, mate. We need to grab our gear and get down to the helo pad. We’re out of here in fifteen minutes.’
He just looked at me; his brain slowly registered what I had said.
‘Oh crap,’ he replied.
We just made the flight, running up the cargo ramp and into the hold, struggling with three large blue bags of letters and parcels for the Kilo Company lads.
Mase had noticed them dumped in a pile waiting to be sent to Now Zad as we had signed out our weapons. It had been a nice thought at the time but after running the kilometre to the helo pad with the heavy postal sacks and our personal gear we seriously wished that bright idea hadn’t occurred to us.
Sweat was pouring from me as the loadmaster pointed out two empty seats either side of the medical crew. I hadn’t even sat down before the Chinook powered up into the overcast sky.
&
nbsp; I smiled at the Wren medical assistant, a member of the medical response team, in the next jump seat along. She smiled back as I dumped the mail sacks and plonked myself down.
I noticed that she already had her medical mask tied neatly to hand around her neck and was holding a pair of rubber gloves and bandages in one hand. She had a fully stuffed medical bag lying closed between her feet. Her rifle had been treated almost as an irrelevance and had been stuffed under her seat.
‘Keen for postmen, aren’t you? Maybe you can come and give me a personal delivery sometime?’ she shouted above the roar of the helo engines, a stupid big grin on her face.
I looked back at her. She caught me by surprise. Had I heard her right?
As I stumbled to think of something appropriate to say she burst into a fit of giggles. She was winding me up. Flying out on the IRT helo as the duty medical team must have been fairly stressful. Not knowing what to expect, then arriving at a destination to be presented with a casualty and expected to deal with it as the helo flew back to Bastion was not a job I envied. Humour was often the best way to deal with stressful situations, and she had just succeeded in getting me flustered good and proper.
‘Nice one,’ I shouted back as I regained my composure. ‘Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you bandage me up one day, okay?’
She gave me the thumbs up, the stupid big grin still on her face, and then went back to checking the medical bag on the floor in front of her.
I looked out the back of the cab. We were flying low, really low. But we had no choice as the clouds were almost down to the deck. It was raining too, not too heavy but enough of a drizzle for the pilots to have their work cut out for them.
The 20-minute flight passed quickly as my brain flitted between memories of my R & R, which already seemed so long ago, to wondering how the lads were coping with the loss of Marine Watson. I was also desperate to find out how Nowzad, RPG and Jena were. I hadn’t heard from Dave since that one message he left on my phone, so I didn’t even know if the dogs were still in the compound. I knew compared to losing one of the lads the fate of three strays was nothing. But they had been my three strays and I still needed to know.
One Dog at a Time Page 16
