Caesar the War Dog

by Stephen Dando-Collins

  Ben, recognising that the MP was already talking in terms of ‘we’, a sign that he was very much on Ben’s side, asked, ‘Can we put pressure on the Afghan Government to do that, Mr Hodges? To free Baradar’s father?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Putting his hands behind his head, Hodges lay back in his chair. ‘We’ll have to go to the top,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘We might be able to call in a favour from the President of Afghanistan to get his government to order the authorities at Tarin Kowt to release Baradar’s father. There are a few things the Australian Government has done for the president behind the scenes over the last few years. He owes us. Let me see what I can do.’

  Ben rose from his seat and shook the MP’s hand firmly and gratefully. ‘Thank you, sir. And my children thank you.’

  Coming to his feet to walk Ben to the door, Hodges smiled. ‘Sergeant, I too have young children. And you know what they said to me once the story about Caesar and the ransom offer broke in the media? They said “Daddy, we have to get Caesar back!”. So, you see, you and your children are not alone in this.’

  A couple of weeks later, in late March, Ben told Nan to prepare Josh and Maddie for a special visitor. A human visitor. Then, on a Saturday morning, a taxi equipped to carry passengers in wheelchairs pulled up outside 3 Kokoda Crescent. As Josh and Maddie peeked curiously out the front window’s louvre blinds, their father walked to the taxi’s rear door. Ben’s wounded face had lost its red-raw appearance. His cheeks and jaw were still lumpy, but before many more months had passed he would go into hospital to start having those bumps smoothed out in the first of a series of plastic surgery operations.

  With a loud hum, an electric ramp at the rear of the taxi lowered a wheelchair-bound figure to the ground. Taking hold of the wheelchair’s handles, Ben began to wheel it up the front path. The figure in the wheelchair was dressed in army uniform, had sergeant stripes on his sleeves, and wore a sandy-coloured beret. A blanket covered the lower part of his body.

  ‘Charlie!’ Maddie cried with glee. ‘It’s our Charlie!’

  ‘I thought he was in hospital!’ Josh exclaimed with a mixture of surprise, excitement and delight.

  The two Fulton children rushed to the front door, and with Nan following along behind, came running down the path to greet Charlie. Both gave him a hug, making sure to do so with care, knowing that Charlie was still recovering from very serious battle wounds.

  ‘When Dad said we were going to have a very special visitor, I never imagined it would be you, Charlie,’ said Josh.

  Maddie looked at the blanket covering Charlie’s legs. ‘Does it hurt, Charlie?’ she asked. Her father had told them that both of Charlie’s shattered legs had been amputated by the doctors in Germany – one below the knee, the other above the knee.

  Charlie smiled. ‘No, it doesn’t hurt, Maddie. And haven’t you both grown since I last saw you.’

  ‘We’re a year older now,’ said Josh. ‘Hey, can we play computer games while you’re here?’ Then Josh had a disturbing thought, and he wondered if Charlie could still play computer games now that he was in a wheelchair. ‘Or …’

  Charlie could just about read his mind. Smiling, he said, ‘Josh, I might have lost my legs, but I still have my hands – and my wits. I reckon I can still whip you in any video game you care to name.’

  He could, too. Josh and Charlie played computer games for an hour before they all sat down to lunch, and Charlie won every time. ‘He beat me!’ said Josh with amazement, as he took his place at the lunch table. ‘Every single game.’

  Thrilled to have their father’s best friend back with them, the children chattered away over lunch, and after months in sterile hospitals, Charlie enjoyed every minute of the family atmosphere.

  ‘I’m a little bit famous at school,’ said Maddie, ‘because Caesar is my dog.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Josh proudly. ‘I’ve had to give two talks about Caesar – one to my class and one to the whole school. Kids I never even knew before keep coming up to ask me if there’s any news about Caesar coming home. Just about every kid in the school wants to meet him.’

  Charlie smiled at Ben. ‘Looks like the whole family misses Caesar,’ he said, with a wink. He could remember back to the last time he was here, when Josh wanted nothing to do with Caesar.

  Ben gave him a wink in return. ‘They sure do.’ Ben was quietly thrilled with the way the entire Fulton family had pulled together during the Caesar crisis. Josh had his old spark back, and Maddie just seemed to meet every crisis with acceptance – and curiosity.

  ‘Charlie,’ said Maddie, ‘will you always have to live in a wheelchair?’

  ‘Not always, Maddie,’ Charlie replied. ‘The doctors will give me artificial legs one day, but that won’t be for a while yet.’

  ‘So, you’ll be able to walk?’ Josh asked.

  Charlie nodded. ‘Roger to that, Josh. Eventually, I will.’

  ‘How will you walk?’ Maddie wondered out loud. ‘If the doctors took away your real legs, or part of them –’

  ‘Now, don’t pry, children,’ said Nan.

  ‘But, if one of Charlie’s legs is shorter than the other now …?’ Maddie persisted.

  ‘Maddie, what did I tell you?’ Nan scolded her.

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Charlie. ‘Josh and Maddie can ask me whatever they like.’ He turned to Maddie with a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll learn to walk with the artificial legs, Maddie. Prosthetics, they’re called. One prosthetic will be longer than the other, so, between the two of them, they’ll even me up and I’ll be back to my old height.’

  ‘You should get them to make you really long artificial legs,’ Josh suggested. ‘You know, so that you’re three metres tall and tower over everyone. That would be really cool! You could go in the Olympics and run really fast. And the high jump – you’d win the gold medal in that, easy.’

  ‘Steady on, Josh,’ Ben spoke up. ‘Before Charlie does any running or jumping, he’ll have to learn to walk again in the prosthetics.’

  ‘Really?’ said Josh with surprise.

  ‘The doctors tell me I’ll be a bit like a baby learning to walk for the first time,’ Charlie explained, ‘but I’ll master it.’

  ‘That’s funny,’ said Maddie, giggling. ‘You being like a baby.’

  Josh laughed too, and Charlie smiled a tight smile. But behind the smile, Charlie the war hero was quaking a little at the thought of having to learn to walk all over again. It wasn’t the pain he was worried about – Charlie could take all the pain that was dished out to him. And he was totally confident that he would master artificial legs, and be back to walking and running again one day. But for someone who had been so independent and physically active all his life, the thought of having his life on hold for months, maybe years, and having to depend on others to help him in the meantime, was daunting. But for the outside world, and for his ‘family’ at 3 Kokoda Crescent, he would put on a brave face and pretend that nothing bothered him.

  ‘When will you get your artificial legs, Charlie?’ Josh asked enthusiastically.

  ‘Not for a year or two yet, mate. I’ve got a bit more surgery to go through before I’m at that point. In the meantime, this wheelchair will get me around just fine. Give me a couple more months to build up my arm strength and I’ll race you.’

  ‘A race?’ said Josh with a perplexed frown. ‘How?’

  ‘Me in the wheelchair, and you running.’

  ‘Really?’ Josh grinned. ‘I’ll beat you.’

  Charlie laughed. ‘We’ll see about that, mate.’

  The phone began to ring. Excusing himself, Ben left the table and answered it. When he returned a few minutes later, he was beaming.

  ‘Good news?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘The best news possible,’ said Ben. ‘That was Warren Hodges, the MP, on the phone. He rang to tell us that the President of Afghanistan has agreed to release Commander Baradar’s father in exchange for Caesar.’

  Josh, Maddie and Nan all che
ered in unison.

  ‘Apparently,’ Ben went on, ‘the president couldn’t understand why we would go to such lengths to get a dog back.’

  ‘Ah, but the president doesn’t realise that Caesar is not just any dog, mate,’ said Charlie.

  ‘What happens next, Ben?’ Nan asked.

  ‘Now,’ said Ben, ‘we wait to see if the Taliban will present Caesar in the flesh, to prove that the dog they’re holding really is Caesar. Once that’s been sorted out, and a reasonable sum of ransom money has been agreed to, then an exchange will be set up. Caesar could be returned to us within weeks!’

  The week after Charlie’s visit, Ben was back at EDD training school. The new dog he had taken over was a sandy-coloured labrador named Soapy – but Ben felt the dog would be better named Dopey. Soapy had passed the obedience phase of his training, but when it came to detecting explosives he could be lazy and unreliable. Some days, Soapy would be on the ball and find every trace of explosives and pass every test. Other days, he would quickly lose interest and want to follow any intriguing scent he came across. It was clear Soapy didn’t possess Caesar’s intelligence, character or endearing ways. He didn’t even have any of Caesar’s bad habits, like a compulsion for digging. Compared to Caesar, Soapy was a very ordinary dog. But, Ben told himself, Caesar was an exception, and few other dogs in the world could match up to him.

  Although the difference between the two dogs made him think of, and miss, Caesar all the more, Ben persisted with Soapy’s training. Tens of thousands of dollars had already been spent getting Soapy to this point – and Ben had gained a reputation as one of the best EDD handlers in the Australian military – so he was not going to give up on the new dog. Soapy would never make it to Special Forces training the way Caesar had, but when Soapy was focused, he could detect explosives. That made him worth persevering with.

  Besides, Ben’s spirits were high. Word had come from Afghanistan that, in exchange for Caesar, Commander Baradar was prepared to accept $10,000 in addition to his father’s return. This was way down from the $100,000 originally demanded. When Ben had heard this, he’d immediately gone to his bank and transferred $10,000 of his own money into a separate account. He’d then emailed Major General Jones in Tarin Kowt with details of that account and had told him to use the money to pay Baradar when the time came for Caesar’s return.

  This was all highly irregular – and unofficial. General Jones was helping Ben behind the scenes because he had given his word to do everything in his power to get Caesar back. If and when the money was handed over, the general could still officially deny that the Australian Government had paid the Taliban a cent, because it would be Ben Fulton’s money that was paid as ransom for Caesar. Ben and the general did worry about the Taliban using the money to buy weapons and ammunition, but both consoled themselves with the thought that this was the only way they could save Caesar’s life. Both knew that if the Taliban failed to receive the ransom they were demanding, Caesar would be of no use to them and they would most likely shoot him.

  One afternoon in early April, just as Ben was locking Soapy away in the Holsworthy kennels for the night, his mobile phone rang. When he answered, he found the caller was General Jones.

  ‘Major General,’ said Ben, with sudden expectation. ‘Any word of an exchange for Caesar?’

  ‘Fulton,’ said the general in a flat voice. ‘I regret to say the news is not good. Things have been complicated by a death, I’m afraid.’

  ‘A death?’ Ben’s heart almost missed a beat. ‘Not Caesar, Caesar’s not dead?’

  ‘No, no, no. As far as we know, Caesar is still alive and well. It’s Baradar’s father. He’s had a heart attack in Tarin Kowt Prison. The man is dead.’

  Ben was so shocked he couldn’t speak. Without Baradar’s father, there was nothing left to swap for Caesar other than money. Ben began to calculate how much more money he still had in the bank.

  ‘Fulton, are you there?’ said the general.

  ‘Will Baradar still exchange Caesar, sir?’ Ben now asked. ‘For more cash?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ was Jones’ sobering answer. ‘The whole deal for Caesar’s return could fall over now. We can only wait to hear from Baradar’s malek again. Keep your fingers crossed that Baradar will still want to do a deal. If not, you may have to prepare yourself and your family for the possibility that we will never see Caesar again.’

  Commander Baradar was praying when a messenger arrived at his camp in the hills. With the spring, Baradar and his men had moved down from the mountains to resume their attacks against the troops in the valleys. Already, they had blown up several American military vehicles with IEDs. Agitatedly, the messenger waited for Baradar to complete his prayers.

  When, finally, Baradar rose up from his knees and folded away his prayer mat, the messenger approached him. ‘Commander, I bring grave news from Tarin Kowt,’ he announced.

  Baradar scowled. ‘What manner of grave news?’ he demanded.

  ‘Commander, I regret that your esteemed father has died. In the prison at Tarin Kowt.’

  Baradar became suddenly ashen-faced with shock. ‘My father … dead? How?’

  ‘The provincial governor says that your father died from a heart attack in his prison cell.’

  ‘Heart attack?’ Anger began to boil inside the Taliban commander. ‘My father’s heart was strong!’ he declared. ‘He could not die from a heart attack. Not my father. Of all men, not my father.’ He looked away to the south, in the direction of Tarin Kowt. ‘The government has murdered him! That can be the only explanation. And they are trying to cover it up by calling it a heart attack. They must have tortured my poor father, an old man, and he died at the hands of the torturers. I know it!’

  Abdul Razah was standing close by when the news was delivered. ‘What now of the exchange for the infidel soldier dog, Commander?’ he asked.

  ‘The infidel soldier dog?’ Now, Baradar’s face was red with rage. ‘Give me your gun.’

  ‘My gun?’ said Abdul. ‘Why?’

  Reaching out, Baradar ripped away the AK-47 that was draped over Abdul’s shoulder. Automatic rifle in hand, Baradar strode to where Caesar was tethered and lying down. Abdul and the messenger hurried along on Baradar’s heels. Coming to a halt in front of the dog, who sat up, Baradar pointed the AK-47 at Caesar’s head. ‘Accursed animal!’ he exclaimed, close to tears.

  Caesar, sensing peril, lowered his head, but continued to look the threatening Afghan in the eye.

  Baradar’s finger curled around the rifle’s trigger. Then, after a long pause, the commander lowered the weapon. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There is a better way.’ He thrust the AK-47 back into Abdul’s hands. ‘We will honour my father’s memory in a more glorious way. We shall send this infidel soldier dog back to its masters.’

  ‘You will give the dog back to them?’ Abdul could not understand his commander’s sudden change of heart.

  ‘This we shall do,’ Baradar affirmed. ‘And this soldier dog will take many infidel lives. You, Abdul Razah, will fashion a suicide vest for this animal.’

  ‘You mean to make it into a suicide dog?’ said Abdul, with amazement.

  Baradar nodded. ‘You have made such suicide vests before, for humans. Now you shall make such a vest for this infidel dog. Pack the vest with explosives, Abdul. Then, we shall send the dog back to its masters. The dog will run to them, wagging its tail with joy. And when it is among them, I shall have the joy of detonating the explosives in the vest by mobile telephone. Begin work at once, Abdul. With this dog, God willing, much infidel blood will be spilt in revenge for my beloved father.’

  With Caesar tethered by rope several metres away, watching him guardedly, Abdul sat on a rock and toiled over the vest that Baradar had ordered him to make. Using canvas, shears and a large needle, he worked away creating a vest that would wrap around Caesar’s body, and which would contain pockets for plastic explosives. All the while, he mumbled complaints to himself. ‘This is a woman’s work!’
he moaned. ‘Bad enough that a man should have to be keeper of a dog. Now I must make a vest for that dog while my brothers are away dealing death to our enemies.’

  Suddenly, Abdul noticed that Caesar had become alert. The dog’s ears had risen. Abdul did not know it but Caesar had picked up the high-pitched whine of a helicopter in the distance. As the sound grew nearer, Caesar rose, with twitching ears, to a sitting position. To Caesar, helicopters and Ben went together like tennis balls and fun. The deeper sounds made by the approaching heelo now reached Abdul’s ears. ‘Infidel helicopter!’ Abdul yelled, warning the few insurgents who had remained in camp with him.

  Abdul and his comrades threw themselves into hiding and watched as a US Apache gunship passed overhead, several thousand feet up. The insurgents did not fire at it – that would only attract attention to their hidden camp. Meanwhile, Caesar also watched the helicopter pass. Seeing it continue on, he barked at it, repeatedly, as if to say, Ben, Ben, I’m down here!

  ‘Stupid infidel dog!’ Abdul growled, once the helicopter had gone from sight.

  It took Abdul a day and a half to complete the vest. When he was satisfied that it was finished, he made Caesar stand, then knelt beside him. Wrapping the vest over Caesar’s back, he felt beneath his chest and tugged roughly on the canvas ties that would secure the vest in place. In a flash, Caesar turned his head and bit Abdul’s hand. Caesar had never bitten a human before in his life, but he had grown to hate this particular human who treated him so badly.

  ‘Yow!’ Abdul cried, jumping to his feet and wringing his hand. ‘Evil infidel dog!’ To punish him, Abdul crashed a booted foot into Caesar’s side. Letting out a yelp, Caesar scampered away, as far as his tethered rope would allow. But Abdul was not finished with the brown dog. Looking at his hand, and seeing blood flow from where Caesar’s teeth had pierced the skin, Abdul cursed, then bent and picked up his AK-47. He stomped to where Caesar now stood facing him. The dog’s teeth were bared, and a savage growl rumbled deep in his throat.