Saving Private Sarbi

by Sandra Lee

  Do the dogs like chasing balls?

  She laughed.

  ‘No dogs like chasing balls and retrieving balls more than these two,’ Wendy replied.

  That was exactly what Murray wanted to hear. He wasn’t interested in how well trained Sarbi and Rafi were—though Wendy cheerily confessed, not very. They were innocently playful, mischievous and insistent, even demanding. Sarbi and Rafi were cherished and indulged family pets, she said, and pretty much got away with anything and everything. Gemma later reminded her mother how upset she had been when Sarbi chewed a pair of brand new boots, but her anger faded at the hound’s apparent contrition and Wendy consoled herself by buying another pair of the same boots. Even Marcelo laughed when pointing out the missing nose from his favourite Teddy, a huggable toy he had had since the age of one. Then again, as Gemma says, her younger brother was in no position to complain about a chewing pup, for it was Marcelo who had bitten off Teddy’s ear.

  None of this worried Murray. On the contrary, he said, it was easier to train new canine recruits with negligible or no training than to undo previous training, in order to mould them into explosive detection dogs. He assured Wendy that the army dogs were happy and thrived in their challenging jobs. A team of dedicated, dog-friendly soldiers would care for them. Many had waited years to get into the elite EDD Section and considered it the dream job in the ADF.

  The army preferred to take dogs between eighteen months and three years old, an age at which they normally should be out of the excitable, uncontainable puppy phase. Sarbi and Rafi were not quite three. They sounded perfect on paper yet the skilled dog handler needed to cast his eyes over them to be sure. Should Rafi and Sarbi pass muster their first deployment would be at the forthcoming Commonwealth Games in Melbourne. It all sounded positive.

  That night Wendy told the children about the surprise phone call. After much discussion the family decided the army might just be the perfect fit for the energetic and rambunctious dogs; they would have an exciting and adventurous life while patriotically protecting our national interests at home and abroad. Even if the work was extremely dangerous. And Sarbi and Rafi would have company almost 24/7. That was a bonus.

  There was one more key issue for the family and it was the lay-down misère.

  ‘We knew Sarbi and Rafi would also be able to save some lives,’ says Wendy.

  No higher calling could there be for man’s best friend.

  Corporal Young arranged to visit on Sunday, 19 June in 2005. It was the start of winter but Sydney was in the middle of its fifth mildest June on record and the day, which began as cloudy as it would end, was almost summery. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky and the mercury crept close to a comfortable twenty degrees Celsius. Murray, handsome with a kind face and of medium height and build, arrived dressed in casual gear rather than his uniform. The only indication he was army was his hair, cut to regulation length. The dogs introduced themselves to the friendly stranger with signature enthusiasm; they circled and sniffed, and generally ran amok.

  Sarbi and Rafi were in terrific condition, not overweight as Labs have a tendency to be. Murray asked to see the dogs in action. The children said the magic word. Tennis. Rafi and Sarbi sprang to attention and ran around in front of the children, then sat back on their haunches, muscled bodies taut and ready to launch. The dogs stared at the children, brows crinkled, jaws ajar, tongues out, heads cocked to one side, the same side. They looked like they were smiling because they were. Labs smile.

  Sarbi and Rafi correctly read every false move the children teasingly made, reacting with tiny jerking movements in the same direction, indicating where they expected the ball to be thrown. Sufficiently encouraged by the familiar play, they took a few steps backwards, rumps in the air, tails wagging, front legs positioned wider than their shoulders. Sarbi had her left paw raised up and tucked back under her chest like a true pointer, a habit she had had since her puppy days. Eyes pleading.

  As one, the children belted the tennis balls with racquets, sending them sailing 100 metres down the tree-lined backyard. Rafi and Sarbi thundered off, barking competitively as they raced to the prize. Each found a ball and charged back to the waiting pack, dropping the balls with an accommodating bob of their heads as if to say, let’s go again, again. A few reward pats and Good Rafi, Good girl, Sarbi, and whoomph! Off they went, following the arc of the balls through the air.

  The dogs were the apotheosis of natural-born retrievers, with a fanatical drive. That was the one thing the army’s dog handlers looked for and it trumped all other character traits. Dogs could be taught to do any number of complex tasks and tricks—sniff, detect, drop, high-five—but they could not be taught the retrieval instinct. Without it, they were cute and lovable but practically useless.

  ‘That’s what we need,’ Murray said.

  He turned to Wendy and offered to take Rafi and Sarbi on the spot. Right then and there. Today. Now.

  Wendy and Carlos were proud their dogs had performed so well but they were stunned by the immediacy. It was so sudden. And they were torn. They thought they would have days to say final farewells and shower the dogs with love and treat them with favourite food from the barbeque. Give them a few more days of romping through the backyard in wild pursuit of the tennis ball, or chasing the neighbour’s ducks in vain, the pretend hunters. And watch with delight as Sarbi’s ears pricked up at the sound of an unseen bus before romping down the driveway shadowed by Rafi, to wait excitedly at the front gate for the kids to come home from school. To consider the possibilities, maybe even to work out a compromise, a way to keep their cherished pets.

  Wendy was nervous about the decision. Murray struck her as one of them, which is to say, dog people, and she and Carlos believed in their heart of hearts that Sarbi and Rafi would be looked after. She extracted a firm promise that the kids could visit the dogs at the army barracks in coming weeks and that they would receive regular updates of their training and work, but that held little currency right there and then.

  If you’ve ever been stared at longingly by a devoted dog nestled at your feet, or felt its wet nose chiselling under your hand for a tickle under its chin, you’ll know why she hesitated. You’ll know the true meaning of mateship and how easily a dog can fill your heart. Imagine that multiplied by two and you’ll appreciate how difficult it was for Wendy and Carlos.

  Reluctantly, Wendy agreed it was probably best to have the miserable task done as quickly as possible rather than draw it out, prolonging the painful goodbyes, delaying the inevitable and torturing everyone with the knowledge that a sad departure was imminent. She braced herself and broke the news to the children. Nic and Gemma burst into tears; Wendy too. Marcelo says bravely that only his father and he were able to keep their emotions in check.

  The family smiled for a group photograph with Murray but deep down, the children’s stomachs were churning. Their idyllic world was about to implode. Nic, desolate, had his arms wrapped protectively around Sarbi, who was wearing a pink collar for the occasion. Gemma tenderly patted the big girl on the head. Carlos crouched next to Rafi for a hug and Wendy smiled but it was a smile born of politeness, not happiness. She and Carlos were equally forlorn. No amount of reassuring talk had convinced their children they should give up their dogs for adoption. Even to the Australian Army for seriously important life saving work, even though they knew it was absolutely the right thing to do, the best thing to do. Hard. But right.

  And then they were gone. The lovably lumbering, clever dogs that had brought so much joy and given themselves so selflessly to the family were loaded in to Corporal Young’s vehicle and driven to their new lives.

  The Bowral house echoed with emptiness and the family felt the dull ache of loss. As Wendy says, ‘There was a lot of sobbing in our house that night.’

  PART TWO

  Sarbi the Soldier

  Chapter 7

  BOMB SCHOOL

  Steele Barracks at the School of Military Engineering is where it all hap
pens for the explosive detection dogs in the Australian Army and it would be home to its new recruits, Sarbi and Rafi, for a slightly shortened version of the standard nineteen-week training program. The EDD Section is part of the Royal Australian Engineers Corps (RAE), located on a vast tract of land in the suburb of Moorebank, just 30 kilometres southwest of Sydney, adjacent to the Holsworthy Army Barracks. Backing on to the banks of the winding and muddy Georges River, lined with dense shrubbery and towering gums and native trees, the grounds boast one of the best golfing secrets in Australia, the eighteen-hole RAE Golf Club. Sadly, though, the dogs don’t get to play on it, possibly the only restriction imposed on the military working dogs. Signs hanging by the Major General Sir Clive Steele Memorial Gates warn visitors that the hounds and their handlers have right of way within the barracks area, indicative of their value and the high esteem in which the dogs are held.

  Inside the heritage precinct stands a proud memorial, chiselled from rock, to commemorate the dogs killed while on active duty in the Middle East Area of Operations (MEAO) since 2005, when the first two EDDs were deployed to Afghanistan. A poignant monument for the fallen soldiers from the engineering corps stands nearby. Erected in 2007, the memorial for the dogs bears a brass plaque that captures with profound clarity the perilous nature of the job. Dedicated to the explosive detection dogs who have paid the ultimate sacrifice so that others may live. An additional, perfectly simple poem honours the unbreakable bond between the humans and hounds and serves as a rueful reminder of the sacrifices made so that soldiers survive and return home, and the ominous knowledge of sacrifices yet to come.

  My eyes are your eyes,

  To watch and protect.

  My ears are your ears,

  To hear and detect evil minds in the dark.

  My nose is your nose,

  To scent the danger of your domain.

  And so may you live, my life is also yours.

  The Explosive Detection Dog Section is an elite unit in the army, more like an exclusive club, a vital but (regrettably to the army’s hierarchy) there just aren’t enough dogs or handlers. Only a handful of soldiers go through the one EDD handlers’ course held each year, not nearly enough to cater to the growing need for the dogs’ specialist lifesaving skills, to counter an increasingly active enemy and its deadly improvised explosive devices, the booby trap of choice for the Taliban.

  It is difficult to overestimate the impact of the dogs on the survivability rates of their soldier masters. The EDD teams have one of the most dangerous frontline jobs in the army. Often, all that stands between a Digger and death, or serious injury, is an explosive detection dog. They are highly manoeuvrable four-legged explosive radars.

  The dogs and their trusted handlers are called in to investigate disturbed ground or objects suspected of being improvised explosive devices, or compounds and sites suspected of containing dangerous caches of weapons and bombs. The unpredictable nature of the terrain and potential for fatalities makes for a permanent sense of threat on every patrol.

  The handlers and dogs crawl around, often prostrate on their stomachs, prodding, poking and scratching for the explosives to ensure threat avoidance and survivability. They provide an initial clearance for following soldiers to traverse safely from A to B. If an IED or any other kind of bomb or ammunition cache is detected, the explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) technician is deployed to defuse or destroy it. The dogs and their handlers march towards danger, confronting it full on. Theirs is precarious work, often dubbed ‘follow the sapper’. He, in turn, follows his dog and it follows its instincts and training.

  A veritable chorus has championed the uniqueness and unrivalled abilities of the dogs. ‘[Their capabilities] cannot be replicated by man or machine,’ said Lieutenant Colonel John Carey, the commanding officer of the Australian Army’s 2nd Combat Engineer Regiment (2CER) in Afghanistan in 2010.

  ‘The best technology for sniffing explosives is still the dog,’ reckoned Ralph Whitten, an executive at an American company in pursuit of the Holy Grail in the high-tech world of chemical sensing—a computerised, nano-technological nose.

  ‘We trust these dogs more than metal detectors and mine sweepers. They are 98 per cent accurate,’ said Andrew Guzman, a dog handler in the US Marine Corp, a corporal with a recent tour of duty in Afghanistan under his belt. Marines are tough men, they go in first and go in hard, and don’t waste words or emotions—except for their dogs.

  A Vietnam War veteran once said: ‘They are the only weapon system we ever devised to save lives.’

  Hardened warriors won’t say it for fear of being seen as soft, but the relationship between soldier and dog is more than professional and reflects a mutual faith in the other’s abilities to serve and protect. ‘We have a saying—In dogs we trust,’ says D, the Australian soldier who would train Sarbi.

  The SME began the explosive detection dogs program in 1981. An earlier version focused on training dogs to detect mines, and to scout and patrol in the jungles of Vietnam but, as had always been the case with the protean nature of modern warfare, a new approach was needed to counter new weapons and tactics. Different wars make for different circumstances. Techniques, tactics and procedures— TTPs—change. Contemporary commanders would no more dress canine soldiers in body armour and speared collars today than, say, a tutu. Same for detection work.

  The current crop of explosive detection dogs are taught to sniff out raw explosives used in ammunition, weapons and associated deadly devices—detonation cords, igniters, time fuses and blasting caps—in a complicated and gradual process known as scent imprinting. The dogs are trained on approximately eight base compositions. All ammunition and explosives are made from different percentages of those compositions. Once trained, the sniffing detectives can detect thousands of different types of military and civilian explosives and, according to one highly optimistic Doggie, up to 25,000.

  Among the military-grade explosives are Composition B (also known as CompB, used in land mines, rockets and projectiles) and PE4 (a conventional plastic explosive). The dogs also learn to detect base chemical compositions including black powder, gunpowder, the well-known TNT (trinitrotoluene), the lesser known RDX (nitroamine), PETN (pentaerythritol tetranitrate) and NC/NG (nitrocellulose and nitroglycerin) based propellants.

  RDX is considered the most powerful of all high military explosives and was used in some of the first plastic explosives in the 1930s. PETN is often used as a base charge in detonators or detonation cords. When mixed with other compounds it can be turned into semtex and other plastic explosives. Self-confessed al-Qaeda member Richard Reid used PETN in his unsuccessful shoe bomb attempt to blow up American Airlines Flight 63 en route from Paris to Miami in 2001.

  The dogs learn to sniff out fertilisers such as ammonium nitrate, a key ingredient in the Taliban’s homemade explosives (HMEs) and roadside IEDs. This skill is particularly important. A recent report by the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) found that between 80 and 90 per cent of the lethal roadside IEDs in Afghanistan contain ammonium nitrate. And almost half of the Australian soldiers killed in action in Afghanistan have been killed by IEDs.

  With the rapidly rising number of IEDs and other homemade explosives in Iraq and Afghanistan, the explosive detection dog is the most in-demand of all hounds in the global war on terror. The Australian Army routinely deploys several dogs to the Australian base at Tarin Kot. The well-armed Americans have 300 WMDs (working military dogs) sniffing for explosives in Iraq and Afghanistan and frequently employ civilian contractors for the role of handlers.

  The dogs and handlers are trained separately. You can’t train a soldier while teaching old dogs new tricks. The handlers’ course at the SME takes thirteen weeks, during which time soldiers are aided by dogs that already know the ropes. The first two weeks of the EDD handlers’ course are arguably among the most difficult. The incoming two-legged recruits have to bond with the dogs assigned to them, which is, as one soldier said, ‘like sticking two to
tal strangers together and forcing them to spend a lot of time with each other to form a friendship’.

  Dogs study us with Talmudic care; they anticipate us, watch for our signals, interpret our intent, monitor our moods, adapt to our response. They feed off our energy, our anxieties, our confidence and our timidity. In fact, the more time you spend with a dog the more it comes to know you, in precisely the same way you come to know it. The relationship develops organically.

  Our pet dogs may watch us, but the EDDs watch even more closely. Their lives depend on it. Their soldiers’ lives depend on it. Key to building a successful explosive detection dog team is ensuring the canine and human personalities complement each other. Partnering hound and handler requires the deft touch of an alchemist or, in the army’s case, an experienced handler who can read each dog’s personality and gauge the person with whom it will do its best work. Some dogs need more confident and secure handlers, of strong voice and demeanour, or they won’t work—or, to be more generous, won’t work to the five-star standard set for them. Similarly, matching a shy dog with a handler who has an overly strong personality could hinder the dog’s performance. And a dominant dog with an inexperienced handler is a recipe for disaster—there can only be one top dog in any relationship and it can’t be the dog.

  Working with dogs requires a unique set of skills, athleticism, determination, ingenuity, tenacity and toughness. It also helps to have a can-do spirit and an ability to work with a tight team of warriors in highly variable conditions. The Doggies pride themselves on being among the most proactive members of the defence force. They initiate training searches on a daily basis and devise new ways of challenging, testing and advancing their dogs. Some sappers, as the handlers are technically called before they have been promoted to a rank, have been known to make their own leashes with which to work more efficiently.