The Power of Three

by J C Ryan

  He made one halfhearted protest to keep the bed for himself. “Digger, get down.” Digger still wasn’t a very biddable soldier. He merely laid his head on his forelegs and closed his eyes. Rex was too tired to argue. “Okay, just stay on your side of the bed,” he joked. The bed was too narrow to have sides. To sleep on it, Rex was going to have to spoon with the dog. Strangely enough, the thought no longer struck fear into his heart. Digger had growled at him, sure. But he’d done no worse, and Rex was beginning to convince himself that the dog wouldn’t ever harm him.

  Although, I am still pissed at you for taking advantage of my fear for you.

  Before going to sleep, he offered Digger half of the stew he’d brought from the farmhouse. It wasn’t as good cold. Goat meat was already a little greasy warm. Cold, it was like eating congealed lard. Rex comforted himself with the knowledge that fat provided a longer feeling of fullness than anything else and wolfed it down almost in the same way Digger did. Rex’s motive was more about getting it down as quickly as he could to get the sustenance from it, rather than genuine enjoyment.

  A good, satisfying drink of clean water from the well washed down the strong flavor, and within half an hour of entering the house, Rex and the dog were curled up together on the bed and sound asleep.

  Rex slept until noon, when his internal clock and an urge occasioned by the unaccustomed fatty meal woke him. He tried to ease off the bed to avoid disturbing Digger, until he saw the dog was looking at him through one eye lazily opened, as if it was too much effort to open both eyes.

  Rex got up, went to his backpack, took a sip of water, and did a quick scout around the house and outside as far as he could see through the dirty windows.

  Digger had gone back to sleep.

  Rex now wanted to scout the neighborhood but taking Digger with him was not an option.

  The question was, would Digger stay put? Rex studied the dog for a minute, trying to decide. While he watched, Digger’s legs started twitching, and he made a few soft whimpers. Rex wondered what he was dreaming. Did dogs dream like people did, weaving a story from past experiences? Was Digger reliving the awful minutes when they were trying in vain to rescue Trevor from the rubble? Or was he racing across the mountains, hunting something? Rex found himself empathizing with the dog. He, Rex, knew to wake up when the dreams became fearsome or a game of regret, dreaming the same thing over and over, trying to change the outcome of an incident in his past. Could a dog do that?

  Rex decided it was in Digger’s best interest to wake him up, and in any case, he needed to somehow convey his plan and persuade the dog to wait here for him. If it was a human, Rex would have laid his hand carefully on a shoulder or leg, gradually increasing the pressure until the person woke gently. He was afraid to touch Digger in that way, not knowing how the dog would react. So, he spoke softly.

  “Digger.”

  The dog’s ear twitched, but he didn’t open his eyes. Rex raised his voice just a little.

  “Digger.”

  This time, the dog scrambled to his feet, standing on the mattress. He looked around and met Rex’s eyes. Rex was astonished to see Digger’s body relax visibly, though he remained standing.

  “Sorry, boy. We need to talk.”

  He was struck again by the incongruity of having a conversation with a dog, but he didn’t know any other way. He was simply going to have to find a reference of some kind to learn more about how to handle Digger, the sooner the better. Meanwhile, he had a task and Digger needed to stay here, so he would talk to him like he’d talk to a man, or at least a child.

  “I have to go out, buddy, and it isn’t safe for you to go with me. I need you to stay here.”

  Digger’s ears pointed toward him when he said stay. Of course. That’s a command. To be certain, Rex made his voice stern, pointed at the bed, and said, “Stay.” He was wondering if he should add the command ‘Guard’ as well but decided it was not necessary. If Digger stayed, he would not allow anyone near that place while he was gone.

  Digger settled onto his belly on the bed. He yawned, put his chin on his forelegs, and wagged his tail. Rex saw no other interpretation, but that Digger had understood and would comply. He smiled, feeling unaccountably proud of himself.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Based on recent experience, he didn’t add that he’d bring chow. That could undo everything he’d just accomplished. The moment Digger heard the word chow, he would want to come with him, and there would be no stopping him.

  Rex went out the front door but thought to wait and make sure Digger wouldn’t follow. At the gate he checked out the street and surroundings for about ten minutes, and then, satisfied that no one was keeping a watch on the house and that Digger would do as he’d been told and stay, went out into the street.

  There weren’t many people out. Back home, he might have called this neighborhood a suburb, though most suburbs in his experience had better urban planning. Here, there were multi-use buildings obviously occupied by people of relative wealth side by side with shacks, and everything in between. However, the area didn’t boast an obvious marketplace.

  That meant there was little opportunity to gather intel in his usual way by listening and participating in the gossip, even encouraging it. Nor did he want to call attention to himself by walking past Usama’s compound too often. Rather than scouting it right now, he was going to have to settle for finding somewhere to buy provisions for himself and Digger before their foray that night. In doing so, he might be able to pick up some intel that would be helpful, but it didn’t look promising.

  It was a piece of good fortune that the butcher shop where he went to buy meat was busy preparing a large order for someone of obvious importance. He was told he must wait, and then the butcher could attend to his needs. Rex made affable conversation with the butcher and some of his customers while he waited, and he learned that Usama himself, through his chief administrator, had ordered this feast. The butcher was very proud of supplying the meat for a party of important people the great man would host tonight.

  As casually as he could, Rex questioned the man if he knew who and how many the guests would be, but all he knew was that there would be three major guests along with, he assumed, a few of their entourage. There would be enough meat for the host and three guests, and if there were others in the compound, well, their meal must have been otherwise arranged.

  Rex had hoped to find cooked meat, because the kitchen in the abandoned house was filthy and totally dysfunctional. Before the line was short enough to make it a suspicious move, Rex left and found a small shop selling fresh fruits and vegetables as well as a limited selection of canned goods. He rejected the cat food and tuna, reasoning that Digger would be insulted if he was offered cat food. Rex settled for a couple of apples and some peanut butter. Digger loved peanut butter in his Kong. Rex hoped he’d be happy to take it from a broken piece of crockery, too. His purchases would be enough to supplement the goat cheese and flatbread he’d taken from the farmhouse hours ago.

  After tonight, he wasn’t sure of his next move, so more food wasn’t needed right then. Before returning to the house where Digger was hopefully still waiting, Rex scouted far enough to assure himself that Usama’s compound was relatively isolated, surrounded by high hills with very few immediate neighbors. It was as if everyone preferred to keep their distance, or perhaps Usama had arranged it for his privacy.

  Rex returned to the house, where he found Digger on guard as if he’d had the knowledge or foresight to command him to guard it. He put his package down on a rickety table, and Digger instantly homed in on it, wiggling his nose and sniffing, while looking at Rex and the food in turns as if to say, “Hey, I’m hungry, let’s get on with it.”

  “It’s all ready, boy. Just let me find a plate.”

  Digger looked at him, pointed his ears at him, and returned to staring at the package. Rex grinned. He found a chipped plate and a large shard of a broken one in the kitchen, along with a bent fork. He was
hed the plates and his KA-BAR with water from the well, wishing he could heat it first. Rex served a portion of the flatbread and cheese from the farmhouse onto his plate, cut the apples, slathered the pieces of apple with peanut butter, and then set Digger’s portion on the floor in front of him and snatched his hands out of the way before the dog fell on his share like a wild canid on a mountain goat.

  “Sorry, buddy. Sometimes it isn’t easy to have regular meals when you’re with me. But I promise to do my best to always find chow before you starve to death. Deal?”

  He didn’t expect a reply, nor did he get one. At least he didn't expect one before Digger finished his meal, and that would only be to beg for more. Rex set about downing his as quickly as possible, so he wouldn’t have to share his portion, too. Having had a few meals with Digger as his companion the past forty-eight hours, he knew how that went.

  22

  Outskirts of Kabul, Afghanistan, 3:00 p.m., June 24

  IT WOULD BE hours before it was dark enough to take Digger through the streets of the neighborhood. After their lunch, Rex decided to sleep for another few hours. The emotional turmoil caused by the loss of his friends and the realization of the betrayal in the last four days, accompanied by the reversal of his waking and sleeping hours and general sleep deprivation, were taking their toll. It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t handle it – over the years he had certainly proven he could – as that he wasn’t as sharp and ready as he would have liked to be. One small slip on his side could mean the end of him. However, over the past four days he had come to understand what it really meant when Trevor told him that Digger was an extension of him, and that well-trained military dogs were one of the biggest force-multipliers that a foot soldier could hope for. If it was not for Digger, Rex would have postponed the mission for a few more days until he was in better shape.

  Digger didn’t object to another nap, either. Rex had observed that Digger seemed ready, willing, and able to sleep any time he was given the chance. Smart dog. Just like a Marine, sleep when you get the chance. You don’t know when you will get the next one, he reflected, as his eyes closed.

  Another three hours passed before he woke feeling much more rested and primed for action than he had in the last four days. But the end of twilight was still a couple of hours away, and he’d use those to make the best plan he could without closer observation. Before thinking about anything else, he inspected Digger’s harness, which he’d taken off a couple of days before. He didn’t have a tablet to test the camera.

  But the voice coms units were intact. Those didn’t require the tablet to work. Rex placed the mini earphones in Digger’s ear. He tested it by going into another room and saying, “Digger, come,” in a low voice. Ten seconds later, the dog bounded into the room and sat in front of him, smiling like he usually did when he surprised Rex.

  “Good boy!” Rex crowed. So that would help some, at least. “Go back to bed, buddy. I have some plans to work out.”

  Digger pointed his ears forward when he heard ‘work’, but he seemed to understand it was not a command or an offer right then. He turned and padded back to the other room. Rex waited a beat and then went back in to see if Digger had gotten on the bed. He had.

  Rex concluded that Digger did indeed understand ordinary speech to some extent. He accepted commands within sentences and differentiated between commands and when the same words were being used in conversation. Rex’s respect for his intelligence grew another notch, and for the first time, he truly believed he and Digger could form a team. As effective as Trevor and Digger had been? Well, that remained to be seen, but he was hopeful. He just needed to take the initiative and make the time to learn Digger’s language and expectations, and Digger might have to adjust a little to his style. It would work out, if they could agree who was the alpha of this pack.

  Rex went outside, filled his dinner plate with sand and a few small rocks, and brought it into the house. He cleared some space on the kitchen floor, spread the sand out, and started making a mini model of Usama’s compound, based on what he had learned from his unfortunate hosts the night before and the quick glance he got of the place earlier in the day. He used the small rocks to indicate the gates and other key points. It would have been great if he could have gotten Digger to participate, maybe give an opinion or two.

  As it was, Digger sat in the one corner with his head twisted at an odd angle watching. Rex could have sworn that if Digger could speak English it would be with an Aussie accent, and the question would have been, “What on earth are you doing, mate?”

  After an hour of this planning, Rex decided there wasn’t much more he could plan until he laid eyes on the place. He gathered the sand and rocks as best he could with his hands, scooped it onto the plate, and threw it out the back door.

  He knew the way to the compound. The narrow streets and alleyways had nooks and features that would provide what cover they needed.

  He’d leave his appropriated man-jammies here in their hiding place, and in the dark battle fatigues he’d been wearing for more than two days now, the smell of which was blending in just fine with the neighborhood, he’d be as invisible as Digger in the dark. His backpack contained greasepaint that would disguise any exposed skin.

  He’d figured out that the best approach to the compound was from the east. They’d wait until an hour after sundown, at least, before making the trek to circle around to that side. The feast at Usama’s compound would undoubtedly be in full swing when they got there, judging from the quantity of meat he’d seen packaged for just four men.

  Once they had the compound in sight, Rex would look for a way in. With luck, there’d be a tree near the wall, but he suspected Usama would be a little more security-conscious than the ordinary Afghan citizen. Failing that, he’d have to breach a gate or scale the wall. Either option would require thinking on his feet. But the night was still young.

  He and Digger would hide inside the compound wall and observe for a while. He’d eliminate the guards one by one, and then he’d crash the party. It was a tall order, but he’d done it before, he’d do it again, and this time he had Digger to help.

  Rex wondered if Digger would kill on his command.

  He recalled, Trevor had told him once that he used that command, but very, very seldom. In the right circumstances, Digger would execute it, so to speak.

  Rex realized it would probably depend on the circumstances, and that such circumstances could very well arise with that night’s mission.

  “Digger, let’s go to work.”

  The dog’s hindquarters came off the floor and his smile got wider. Rex led the way out the door. “Stay close, okay?”

  As he’d learned that afternoon, the closer he got to Usama’s compound, the sparser the neighboring dwellings were. When he finally found the isolated compound his informants described, Rex was happy to see a way to observe the place from a vantage point high on a nearby hill. He sent Digger ahead to scout for outlying guards and followed him cautiously. Even with his night-vision goggles, Rex found it was hard to spot the dog now that the last light had left the sky, and the moon wasn’t up yet.

  But the compound was brightly enough lit that once he and Digger found a good place to hunker down and observe, he had to remove his goggles. The monocular came out, and he watched as two guests arrived. It was later than he expected. He waited for another hour, and with no new arrivals, he was ready to make his move.

  The compound had two gates, one on the side facing the hill where Rex and Digger were observing, and one on the wall perpendicular to it and to the right. Four guards were sauntering around the outside of the house, but inside the walls of the compound, the gates were guarded by only one each. Rex couldn’t see anyone outside the compound. That, he believed, was a mistake if he could trust there just weren’t any, rather than he couldn’t see them. If he’d been in charge, there would have been another ten, at least, arranged in a circle well outside the walls.

  He talked it over with Digger
. “Why aren’t there any guards outside the wall, boy? Is Usama that arrogant? Or am I just not seeing them?”

  Digger had no answer.

  Rex donned his goggles again and searched the dark space between the compound and his location. To his mind, it was the most vulnerable area, and his caution was rewarded when he spotted one man. The goggles wouldn’t have helped to see the man, but he lit a cigarette. The flash of the match or lighter, Rex couldn’t tell which, was a beacon in his goggles.

  “So much for staying in hiding, asshole,” Rex whispered.

  He spoke in a low voice to Digger. “Scout, hide, hold.” He’d heard Trevor use that very command less than five days ago at the site of the biggest heroin lab he’d ever destroyed. He pointed down the hill, and Digger accepted the command.

  Rex followed the dog’s movements as he threaded his way through rocks and scraggly bushes, half-crouched until he picked up the scent. With an uphill breeze, it didn’t take long. Rex imagined he could almost smell the cigarette smoke himself. Digger crouched even lower and belly-crawled to within a few feet of the man and alerted. The tango never looked back. After ten minutes, Rex hadn’t seen anyone else in the area.

  “Attack and hold,” he said into Digger’s earphones. Though he was on his feet and rushing to join them, he watched as Digger sprang from his crouch, hit the man on his back with all four feet and then twisted to land on top of the tango where he fell.

  A muffled scream reached Rex’s ears and was cut off suddenly. He could see that Digger’s muzzle was close to the man’s throat, but it wasn’t clear whether the dog had ripped it out or just scared the man into silence. He arrived seconds later to see the dog had effectively quieted the man, but Digger hadn’t killed him. Only scared the shit out of him, literally.