Caesar knew at once that they were friends. Deciding to try to reach the convoy, Caesar took up the vest and came out of hiding, trotting over the shale to the water’s edge. Putting a paw in the water, he felt the water temperature. It was cold, but not too cold. Taking the plunge, and still clutching the vest between his teeth, Caesar launched himself into the river.
A fast current was soon drawing him along, taking Caesar away from the trundling convoy. Meanwhile, the vest in his mouth grew heavy, and it took all his strength to keep his head above water. By the time he had reached the middle of the river, Caesar could no longer maintain his grip on the vest and was forced to release it. Unhappily, he watched the racing waters take the almost-submerged vest further and further away from him. And then he could see it no more. Focusing on the far bank now, he paddled toward it with greater ease.
Emerging from the water, he shook himself, then climbed up onto higher ground beside the river. The convoy had come and gone. A dust cloud hung on the still morning air, marking its passage. Running to the road, Caesar could just make out the last vehicle far, far away. He barked in the convoy’s direction, as if to say, Look, here I am, friends! It’s me, Caesar!
But the convoy was too far away for him to be heard. Then the last vehicle disappeared from view and Caesar was alone once again. Returning to the river, he trotted along the bank for some distance, trying to spot the vest in the water or washed up on the bank. But the vest had sunk. Eventually giving up the search, Caesar turned away from the river, deciding to follow the road south. Increasingly hungry, weary, and dejected at losing the vest that had been so important to him, he recommenced his journey.
Skirting around villages and kals, Caesar kept moving all day until, late in the afternoon, on a fresh breeze, he caught a whiff of meat cooking. Leaving the road, he followed the tantalising smell of food across a field, to a side road. Ahead, on a rise, stood a battered old van. A canvas awning stretched from the side of the van, forming a sort of tent. A fire glowed outside this tent, with a bubbling pot above it. Two young men sat on boxes at the fire, talking animatedly to each other. Remaining downwind of the men so that he could smell them but they couldn’t smell him, and sinking onto his chest, Caesar studied the scene and analysed the scents that reached his powerful nose.
The two men that Caesar observed certainly sounded and dressed like Afghans but seemed to him to be different from the Taliban fighters and farmers he had come in contact with. Although both men wore turbans, only one had a beard and it was neatly trimmed. There was no military scent about them or their vehicle. With the Taliban, Caesar had always been able to smell a hint of explosives on them, even the common aroma of the oil they used to clean their AK-47s. There was none of that scent about these men. They smelled more like Haji and the men of his family. And Haji had been his friend. But the most important scent of all to Caesar was the delicious smell of meat cooking. He began to drool at the thought of it. Driven by the demands of his empty stomach, he made the choice to risk approaching these men in the hope they would give him food. Rising up, he slowly padded toward the pair at the fire.
One of the men, the bearded one, stopped talking. He had seen Caesar out of the corner of his eye. ‘Brother, do you see what I see?’
Caesar, realising he had been spotted, froze in mid-step.
The second man followed the gaze of the first. ‘A dog,’ he said, sounding a little afraid. ‘Is it a wild dog, brother?’
‘No, see, it wears a collar, to which is attached a rope,’ the first responded. ‘It is only some stray kal dog. A runaway.’ Coming to his feet, he folded his arms and glared at Caesar. ‘Go away, dog!’ he yelled, stamping his feet. ‘Go away, I say!’
Caesar did not move a muscle.
The clean-shaven man reached down and picked up a stone from the ground. Then, getting to his feet, he tossed the stone at Caesar. Seeing the stone coming, Caesar nimbly sidestepped it. The man picked up another stone and, taking careful aim at the dog this time, threw it. Again, Caesar avoided the missile. Resuming his original pose, he stared at the men and at the cooking pot on the fire.
‘Go away, dog!’ the second man yelled impatiently. Grasping an unburnt end of a piece of wood from the fire, he threw it at Caesar.
In the fading light, the burning end of the piece of wood flared red and orange as it tumbled through the air toward Caesar, glowing sparks flying from it. Even though the throw was accurate, Caesar not only didn’t let the piece of firewood hit him, he jumped into the air and caught the unburnt end in his mouth!
The bearded man, grinning broadly, was so impressed that he applauded Caesar. ‘Did you see that, brother?’ he said with delight. ‘That is a talented dog.’
Given confidence by this reception, Caesar trotted up to the pair with the burning wood in his mouth. Dropping it at the foot of the man who’d thrown it, he sat and looked up at him expectantly, his tongue hanging out.
‘A talented dog indeed, brother,’ said the clean-shaven man. ‘Perhaps it would like to join our little troupe.’
‘That is not such a bad idea, brother. Shall we give this talented and skinny dog some of our meal?’
‘Why not?’ The clean-shaven man smiled. Like his elder brother, he could see the dog’s potential.
So, Caesar was invited to join the two men for dinner, and he gratefully sat and ate the meat they shared with him, then, to the amusement of the pair, he licked their one serving plate clean. When the food had all been consumed, Caesar sat in front of the pair, licking his chops and looking at them, as if to say, Okay, what’s next?
‘You see the dog’s collar, brother?’ said the bearded man. Both men could speak and read a little English. ‘This is the collar of a foreign military dog. American? British? Australian, perhaps? Such dogs are very well trained by the soldiers.’
‘Very well trained indeed,’ the other agreed with a smile.
‘So, talented and very well trained dog,’ said the bearded man to Caesar, ‘let us introduce ourselves. I am Ibrahim and this is my brother Ahmad. We are travelling acrobats and jugglers. We are like a two-man circus.’
Caesar angled his head to one side and looked at Ibrahim with a puzzled expression.
‘Perhaps this dog has never seen a circus, brother,’ said Ahmad.
‘Then let us show him what we do,’ said Ibrahim, getting to his feet.
Ahmad went to the van, quickly returning with three rubber balls. Caesar’s eyes flashed with recognition. Rubber balls? He loved nothing better than chasing rubber balls. He fixed his eyes on the balls as Ahmad proceeded to toss them into the air and juggle them. Caesar was mesmerised by the sight of the flying balls. He had never seen anything like it before in his life. Grinning at Caesar’s rapt attention, Ahmad added two more balls and juggled all five. When he missed one, the ball dropped to the ground and bounced away. Caesar’s eyes followed it, tracking it like radar. His front legs quivered. How he wanted to chase that ball!
‘Fetch the ball, intelligent dog,’ said Ibrahim, pointing to it.
It was the cue he had been waiting for. In a flash, Caesar was up and giving chase. Moments later, he returned, dropped the ball at Ahmad’s feet, then sat, panting excitedly, hoping that Ahmad would throw it again for him to fetch. In his mind, he could picture Ben and Maddie, and long, happy hours in days past spent playing with tennis balls.
‘Brother,’ said Ibrahim, ‘I think this must be our lucky day. This dog has much potential to become a part of our act.’
‘And it does not have to be paid,’ Ahmad returned with a laugh.
‘Let us show the dog the shoulder juggle.’
Ahmad climbed onto Ibrahim’s shoulders, and while balancing there on his brother’s shoulders, he juggled three balls. Caesar sat looking at this in amazement. Seeing the balls flying high above him, he stood up on his back legs, and pawed the air, trying to reach them.
‘Very good, intelligent dog,’ said Ibrahim, grinning. ‘Welcome to our troupe. You are no
w our third brother.’
As the brothers’ van drove up to the gates of a remote military base near the border between the provinces of Uruzgan and Kandahar, Caesar was sitting happily on the front seat between Ibrahim and Ahmad. Realising that Caesar’s Australian Army collar would identify him to the foreign troops, and cause them to take Caesar from them, the brothers had removed the collar and buried it. In its place, they had simply looped a piece of rope around his neck.
Ibrahim and Ahmad made a living by touring throughout Afghanistan, performing for foreign troops at outlying bases like the one just ahead. They didn’t perform for Afghan troops – those men were poorly paid and had no money to spare. Foreign troops were much better paid. Neither did the brothers perform at large bases such as the one at Tarin Kowt, where many Australians were stationed, and where Caesar had lived with Ben. Those larger bases often received visits from overseas entertainers, and small local acts like that of the brothers could not attract an audience. Men at the outlying bases, on the other hand, were starved of entertainment, and they welcomed the brothers, often giving them big tips if they enjoyed their act.
Most of the troops at this base were American, and open to watching the brothers perform. But a wary and difficult Afghan Army captain needed convincing that he should give his permission.
‘What is this act of yours?’ the squat, perspiring officer demanded. ‘What is it you do? What is your background? Where did you learn English?’ He glared at Caesar. ‘And what is the purpose of the dog?’
‘When we were boys in Kabul, sir,’ Ibrahim explained, ‘we trained as gymnasts, using old Russian equipment and inadequate Afghan facilities.’
‘All the while, we were dreaming of competing for our country at the Olympic Games,’ Ahmad added with a sad shrug. ‘But that dream was not to be.’
‘It was while we were in Istanbul, Turkey,’ Ibrahim went on, ‘studying for degrees, learning our English, and learning from Turkish television that Westerners have a curious affection for pet animals, that we heard the Taliban had been driven from power in Afghanistan. We returned home to our country full of high hopes, sir, only to learn that our parents had been killed in the Taliban’s last days of power. Our father had been a teacher – a professor.’
‘We also learnt, sir,’ said Ahmad, ‘that our degrees could not feed us here.’
‘It was then,’ said Ibrahim, continuing on from his brother, ‘that we turned our acrobatic skills into an occupation. We did not expect that we would also become animal trainers, but we have.’ He looked down at Caesar, who sat at his feet guardedly observing the Afghan officer – the man had the scent of explosives on him, which unsettled Caesar.
‘What we do does not make us rich, sir, but it puts food in our mouths,’ said Ahmad.
‘And food in the mouth of our dog,’ Ibrahim added with a grin. ‘In fact, this dog eats almost as much as we do!’
Urged by his American colleagues, the Afghan officer permitted the brothers to proceed with their act. In a courtyard, with high walls and machinegun towers surrounding them, the brothers performed for the US soldiers, who stood or sat there watching them while still carrying their weapons. Afghan soldiers at the base, meanwhile, paid them no attention. At the beginning of the performance, Ibrahim introduced their new, enlarged act, as he, Ahmad and Caesar stood before the gathered troops, with all three performers deliberately wearing borrowed US military helmets.
‘Gentlemen of America,’ Ibrahim began, in English, ‘we are the Three Brothers. I am Ibrahim, and these are my brothers Ahmad and Intelligent Dog.’
This introduction brought a resounding laugh from the troops. ‘Which one’s the dog?’ someone joked in the audience, generating more laughter.
The brothers had spent several weeks teaching Caesar circus tricks. His best trick was to jump in the air and catch balls tossed by the brothers. In another part of the act, he jumped over the pair as one knelt on all fours while the other balanced with one hand on his brother’s back. Later, Caesar dived between their legs as both lay on their backs with their legs forming a ‘V’ in the air. With the brothers patting and praising him, and the audience applauding, Caesar’s tail wagged more than it had since he’d been separated from Ben. At the end of the show, Ibrahim led Caesar around audience members with a US marine’s floppy cap in his mouth, seeking money. As Caesar nosed around the audience members, soldiers patted him, spoke to him and parted with their cash. The hat was filled several times over.
‘Intelligent Dog liked the American soldiers,’ said Ibrahim as they later counted their takings in their van.
‘More importantly, brother, the American soldiers liked him,’ said Ahmad.
‘This was one of our most profitable performances of all time,’ Ibrahim remarked as they rolled up their newly gained American dollars, with Caesar watching on.
‘Intelligent Dog is a swift learner. We must teach him many more tricks.’
‘And he will earn us many more dollars,’ said Ahmad with a grin.
Little did the brothers know why Caesar had so eagerly passed among the American audience members. His nostrils filling with familiar scents of soap, shaving cream, freshly washed uniforms and a Western diet, and hearing English spoken, Caesar had been looking for Ben.
In the Fulton household, the joy of the news of Caesar’s escape from the Taliban had faded. It was now July, and a couple of months had passed without any fresh reports from Afghanistan about Caesar. To Ben and his family, it was as if Caesar had vanished from the face of the earth.
Ben was now stationed at Holsworthy with Soapy, helping new dog handlers learn the ropes, and every now and then he brought his best friend Charlie home for the weekend. In hospital, Charlie had nurses to look after him. At the Fulton house, Ben and Nan helped him in and out of bed, and in and out of the bath, on Sunday mornings. Charlie had always been a proud and independent man, and he hated being helped. But when you have no legs, you can’t walk on pride, and Charlie reluctantly accepted their help.
This weekend, when Ben brought Charlie home, he also brought exciting news, although it wasn’t news directly related to the missing Caesar.
‘Charlie is to be awarded the Victoria Cross,’ Ben told Josh, Maddie and Nan at dinner on the Saturday night.
‘The Victoria Cross!’ Josh exclaimed.
‘Is that good?’ a mystified Maddie asked, looking at the faces around the table.
‘Is that good!’ said Josh. ‘It’s only the most toppest medal that an Australian soldier could ever get, Maddie!’ Josh looked at Charlie in awe. ‘Charlie, that makes you a hero!’
Charlie looked embarrassed. ‘I was only doing the job I was trained to do, mate,’ he responded. ‘And your dad is getting a medal, too – the Medal for Gallantry.’
‘Our dad is getting the Medal for Gallantry?’ Josh couldn’t believe it.
‘Is that a toppest medal, too?’ Maddie asked.
‘It’s almost as good as a Victoria Cross,’ Josh answered. ‘Isn’t it, Dad?’
It was Ben’s turn to be embarrassed. ‘Yes, it’s a pretty good medal,’ he replied.
‘Congratulations, the pair of you,’ said Nan, beaming. ‘I am so proud of you both.’
‘What did you do to get the medal?’ Maddie asked.
‘Both medal recommendations came out of the same battle in Afghanistan,’ said Charlie. ‘Our last engagement there.’
Charlie’s Victoria Cross was being awarded because he had repeatedly exposed himself to enemy fire, while covering his comrades’ withdrawal and while carrying Ben and Kareem the interpreter to safety, saving their lives. Ben was receiving his medal for saving Bendigo Baz.
‘That was the battle when Caesar was left behind, wasn’t it?’ said Josh.
‘Poor Caesar,’ said Maddie, suddenly feeling sad.
‘Yes, poor Caesar,’ said Ben, nodding. He added, with a sigh, ‘I’d give up my medal in a flash if it meant getting Caesar back.’
‘Roger to that,’ Ch
arlie agreed.
With the addition of Caesar, Ibrahim and Ahmad’s act was proving so popular as they moved around the provinces, and so profitable, that in August they were able to buy a second-hand trampoline from Danish soldiers in Helmand Province. As youths, both brothers had mastered the trampoline, with Ahmad excelling at it. Now, they would introduce it into the Three Brothers’ act. Only a small trampoline, it conveniently folded in half to fit into the back of the grey van for travelling, but was only large enough for one of them to use at a time. At their next overnight stop, the brothers set it up for a practice session.
Caesar, sitting with his tongue hanging out, watched in amazement as Ahmad rose and fell like a bounding kangaroo, then progressed to elegant flips and somersaults.
‘You have not lost your skill on the trampoline, brother,’ said Ibrahim. ‘And look, Intelligent Dog approves.’
Ahmad followed his brother’s gaze, then laughed, as he saw Caesar’s head going up and down as he watched Ahmad’s bouncing figure.
The brothers decided that Ahmad would bounce and somersault while Ibrahim juggled balls beside the trampoline. Then, Ibrahim would throw the balls to Ahmad, who would juggle while he bounced. Out of the blue, while they were practising this, Caesar suddenly took a running jump at the trampoline, and, aiming to grab one of the flying balls after Ahmad had fumbled it, passed neatly under the flying Ahmad, landing on the other side of the trampoline with the ball in his mouth. Delivering the ball at Ibrahim’s feet, Caesar looked up at him, expecting one of the tiny pieces of cooked meat the brothers had gotten into the habit of giving him as a reward for a good performance.
Caesar the War Dog Page 17
