War Dogs Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title page

  Copyright page

  Glossary

  Prologue: Uruzgan Province, Afghanistan

  A picture of a man and a dog

  Ziggy

  Highs and lowlifes

  Hurry up and wait

  Welcome to Afghanistan

  For real

  A dog’s life on the FOB

  Kandahar, Canadians and Koh Samui

  Tarin Khowt and training

  Death in the Baluchi Valley

  Deh Rawood: Walking the dog

  The time of my life

  Welcome home

  Benny the Bouncer

  You know something can happen to you . . .

  Afghanis

  Indiana Jones

  After-action reports

  Kabul

  Epilogue: Ricky and Benny

  Acknowledgements

  Shane Bryant was born in Sydney and grew up in Dapto on the New South Wales south coast. After joining the Australian Army at the age of seventeen, he eventually fulfilled his ambition to qualify as an explosive detection dog handler. He later worked as a police dog handler, a private investigator and a not-very-successful real estate salesman. In 2006, he returned to his first love, working with dogs, and took a job in Afghanistan as a civilian dog handler contracted to provide support to the US Army and other coalition military forces. He currently splits his time between Kabul and Port Kembla, where he spends time with his partner, Nat, his children and a Staffordshire terrier named Tyra.

  Tony Park is the author of six novels set in Africa, including Silent Predator and Ivory, and the co-writer of one other biography, Part of the Pride – My life among the big cats of Africa, with South African lion whisperer Kevin Richardson. Tony is a major in the Australian Army Reserve and served six months in Afghanistan as an army public affairs officer in 2002. He is married to Nicola and divides his time between a home in Sydney and a tent in Africa.

  First published 2010 in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Copyright © Shane Bryant 2010

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  cataloguing-in-publication data:

  War dogs / Shane Bryant with Tony Park.

  9781405039895 (pbk.)

  Bryant, Shane

  Dogs—War use.

  Soldiers—Australia—Biography.

  Afghan War, 2001—Australia.

  Afghan War, 2001—Personal narratives, Australian.

  Afghanistan—History—2001–

  Park, Tony, 1964–

  958.1064

  Typeset in 13/15.5pt Granjon by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane

  Printed by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  These electronic editions published in 2010 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  War Dogs

  Shane Bryant with Tony Park

  Adobe eReader format

  978-1-74262-124-1

  EPub format

  978-1-74262-125-8

  Mobipocket format

  978-1-74262-126-5

  Online format

  978-1-74262-127-2

  Macmillan Digital Australia www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  This book is dedicated to my five beautiful children: Corey, Lauchlan,

  Demi, Kyron and Jaylen. Every minute I have been away,

  you have always been in my heart and thoughts.

  GLOSSARY

  .50 cal – .50 calibre Browning heavy machine gun. First used by the American Army in World War I and still in use today.

  1 CER – 1 Combat Engineer Regiment.

  240 – 7.62-millimetre light machine gun, adopted by the US Army as a replacement for the Vietnam-era M60 machine gun.

  A-Team – Officially Operational Detachment Alpha, a twelve-man US Army Special Forces team.

  AC-130 ‘Spectre’ – C-130 Hercules cargo aircraft configured as a gunship, armed with 40-millimetre cannons, six-barrelled 20-millimetre ‘Gatling’ guns and 105-millimetre howitzer.

  AK-47 – Russian-made Kalashnikov assault rifle, in widespread use with both Taliban and Afghan government security forces.

  Alice pack – The common name for the US Army’s aluminiumframed LC-1 backpack.

  ANA – Afghan National Army.

  Apache – US Army helicopter gunship, also used by the Dutch in Afghanistan.

  B-Team – Officially Operational Detachment Bravo, US Army Special Forces administrative and headquarters element overseeing a number of A-Teams.

  B1 Bomber – US Air Force supersonic strategic jet bomber, designed to drop nuclear bombs on Russia, but now in use in Afghanistan.

  BBDA – Back blast danger area, the out-of-bounds area behind an anti-armour weapon while it is being fired.

  Bison – Canadian armoured troop carrier, a smaller version of the light armoured vehicle.

  Black Hawk – US Army troop carrying and medevac helicopter.

  Brown Ring – Code name for regular supply run circuit flown by Chinook helicopters to firebases in Uruzgan Province.

  C-17 – US Air Force medium-lift cargo jet.

  C-130 – Four-engine Lockheed Hercules cargo aircraft.

  CAI – Canine Associates International.

  CANSOF – Canadian Special Operations Forces.

  Carl Gustaf – Swedish-made 84-millimetre shoulder-fired antiarmour weapon used by US Special Forces.

  CH-47 Chinook – Twin-rotor cargo helicopter, first used operationally in the Vietnam War, with variants still in service today.

  Dooshka – Soviet-made DshK 12.7-millimetre heavy machine gun.

  ETT – Embedded training team, coalition military personnel assigned to train and mentor Afghani security forces.

  FOB – Forward operating base, outlying fortified encampment typically used by a Special Forces ODA.

  GMV – Ground mobility vehicle. Also known as a ‘gun truck’, a humvee with a turret on its top and open rear load space. A heavy weapon launcher, such as a .50 calibre machine gun or Mark 19/Mark 47 grenade, would be mounted in the turret, and two 240 machine guns (or similar) mounted in the rear.

  Haji – US Army slang for an Afghani male, derived from the name given to believers who have made a holy pilgrimage to Mecca.

  Hesco – Steel mesh container lined with hessian and filled with earth, and used as a barricade.

  Hooch – US Army slang for a dwelling.

  Humvee – Short for ‘high-mobility multipurpose wheel
ed vehicle’. US military four-wheel-drive.

  IED – Improvised explosive device, usually a roadside bomb.

  JTAC – Joint terminal attack controller, US Air Force air-to-ground controller, responsible for coordinating air strikes and air support.

  M4 – Standard US Army Special Forces 5.56-millimetre assault rifle, a shortened version of the M-16 rifle.

  Mark 19/Mark 47 – Automatic belt-fed grenade launcher that fires 378 40-millimetre grenades per second.

  MEDCAP – Medical Civic Action Program that provides medical care to Afghani civilians.

  PKM – Russian-made 7.62-millimetre belt-fed light machine gun in common use with insurgent and government forces in Afghanistan.

  Psyops – Psychological operations.

  PUC – Person under consideration, such as a suspected Taliban or al-Qaeda member targeted for questioning or arrest. (To ‘PUC’ someone means to capture them.)

  RPG – Rocket-propelled grenade, fired from a Russian-made RPG-7 launcher.

  SAS – Australia’s elite Special Air Service Regiment.

  SF – Special Forces

  Soldier’s five – Australian Army term for a short lesson, or briefing, given by one soldier to another.

  Space-A – Space Available transport.

  Terp – Stands for ‘interpreter’, an English-speaking Afghani interpreter assigned to coalition troops.

  TIC – Troops in contact, under fire or engaged in combat with the enemy.

  Turtleback – A humvee with a fully enclosed roof.

  VCSI – Vigilant Canine Services International.

  PROLOGUE

  Uruzgan Province, Afghanistan

  February 2007

  The rain had stopped but it was still so cold up in the mountains, it hurt.

  I took out a plastic bag of dog food and fed my dog, Ricky, then looked after my needs with some chunked-and-formed crap from an MRE – Meal Ready to Eat, or Meal Rejected by Ethiopians. I was in the team sergeant’s humvee. Before he did his evening walk around the other vehicles, he told us what was what.

  ‘They’re all around us,’ the grizzled Green Beret said, almost as though he were relishing this revelation. ‘I got a feeling we’re going to get hit again tonight, so stay sharp.’

  I nodded. Two TICs – troops in contact, what the Americans called firefights – in one day had been pretty full on, I thought. God knows what the night has in store.

  ‘We’re getting lots of ICOM chatter. They’re out there and they might be looking for another fight.’ The team sergeant added that headlights moving around the hills had been spotted, which was a bad sign, as villagers knew that, due to a curfew, they needed to be indoors by six in the evening. You could assume that anyone driving around at night was doing so for disturbing reasons. ‘Don’t worry too much, though. We got Spectre overhead tonight.’

  It was good to know the AC-130 Spectre gunship was orbiting up there somewhere, unseen and unheard, ready to unleash its awesome fury if needed. The AC-130 was a converted four-engine Hercules transport aircraft, which was loaded with guns and ammo. It had 40-millimetre cannons, six-barrelled 20-millimetre electric Gatling guns and even a 105-millimetre howitzer on board.

  Someone had radioed that they’d seen movement, at about 300 metres from our position, which was why Spectre had been called on line. I could hear it droning above us now and so could whoever else was out there among the rocks and boulders. I felt better – no-one fucks with you when they know Spectre’s overhead.

  Like everyone else in the team, I had to take my turn on picket – my guard duty shift – during the night. The US Army – particularly its Special Forces (SF) – isn’t as slack regarding discipline in the field as some people like to make out. Smoking wasn’t allowed at night, so I had taken up chewing tobacco to help keep me awake. I’d chew it while we were driving around on missions as well, to help keep me alert and to give me something to do while I was sitting behind my gun. The tobacco doesn’t usually taste too bad, like a strange-tasting chewing gum. Some of the flavours, such as raspberry, are really disgusting, but I usually went with peppermint. The Americans are all into chewing tobacco and call it ‘taking a dip’.

  As usual, I had a one-hour shift. One of the only things I was scared of in Afghanistan was fucking up and letting the team down. They treated me as one of their own. When I was pulling my night shift, other people’s lives were in my hands. I sat in the truck behind the 240 light machine gun, chewing tobacco and spitting the juice into an empty half-litre plastic water bottle. I stared out into the bleak mountain night, and listened to the muted voices coming from the radios of other vehicles in the convoy.

  I was colder than I’d ever been while in the army in Australia. Those days seemed a lifetime away.

  When my relief came up to the truck, I eased myself down and walked around for a bit to get some feeling back into my feet, then went to check on Ricky. He was tied under the truck, curled up on his own sleeping bag. ‘Good boy,’ I whispered to him.

  I spat out the last of the chewing tobacco and wished I could have had a proper smoke before going to bed. I unzipped my Gore-Tex bivouac or bivvy bag – kind of like a waterproof swag – and slid into the sleeping bag inside it, still with my boots and all my gear on. If the team sergeant was jumpy, it was for good reason, and I had to be ready to stand-to in the middle of the night. I laid my M-4 in the bivvy bag and tried to get comfortable on the unforgiving rocky ground. I was shattered, but sleep didn’t come easily as I replayed the day’s events.

  It had turned out that the second ambush we’d been through, earlier that day, was just one guy with a rifle taking pot shots at us, but it had turned into a full-on TIC from our side. The Taliban always had spotters in the villages, hills and mountains, keeping an eye on us whenever we were on the move. Sometimes they’d open up on us, which, I guess, was their way of screwing with us – delaying and making us expend some ammo that we then wouldn’t have if the shit went down for real. It was a high-risk strategy for the spotters, though, as the American SF guys were always looking for a fight, and if someone called game-on, they were ready to play. Sometimes the spotter would get away, but other times they’d nail him.

  I dozed off, but woke again, busting for a piss. I checked the display on my watch. ‘Shit.’ It was three in the morning. When I unzipped the bivvy, I immediately felt the almost stinging cold on my face. Reluctantly, I walked a few metres away. Steam came off the ground. When I got back to my sleeping bag, I stepped on it in the dark and heard a growl. The sleeping bag started to wriggle.

  ‘Ricky?’

  He’d crawled right inside my warm sleeping bag. ‘Cold, boy?’ I whispered. I opened the bag and saw him looking at me. When I reached in to drag him out, he gave another low growl.

  ‘Very funny. Move, boy.’

  Ricky growled once more. I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head. I couldn’t blame the poor guy. He was probably freezing. I took a peek under the truck and saw that his water bowl was frozen over. ‘Fuck. At least move over, man,’ I said.

  Ricky growled a little again as I shoved him, but he made just enough room for me to slide back inside. We couldn’t both fit, but Ricky nestled against me near the bag’s opening. I couldn’t do it up, but as I had German shepherd hair wrapped around my shoulders and face, the cold wasn’t too bad. Ricky seemed happy with this compromise and shifted a bit. He sighed.

  ‘Night, buddy,’ I said to him. Bloody dog, I thought, smiling as I tried to unwind and get back to sleep.

  ONE

  A picture of a man and a dog

  1989, Kapooka, Australia

  The soldier standing in the barracks block corridor tried to move his weight from one foot to the other surreptitiously. The bombardier’s spit-polished boots shrieked on the linoleum floor as he executed a perfect about-turn further down the line of green- uniformed recruits.

  ‘I SAID, DON’T MOVE, YOU FUCKING IMBECILE.’

  ‘Sorry, Bom . . .’
>
  The bombardier, which is what the artillery calls its corporals, squeaked his way down the corridor to the recruit who’d been human enough to move, and stupid enough to try to apologise for it. He stopped a few centimetres from the guy’s nose. ‘DON’T FUCKING SORRY ME.’

  The spittle must have hit the recruit in the face. I concentrated on standing perfectly still, and hoped the beating pulse in my neck wasn’t visible to the bombardier’s all-seeing eyes.

  Sometimes you’d get a secret laugh or sly smile out of one of the instructors’ insults, but not this time. I can’t even remember who’d done what wrong, but the bombardier had made us all fall in and stand perfectly still in the corridor. Even for Kapooka, it was a bizarre and, in its own way, sadistic punishment – just standing still and silent, hour after hour. We would march all day, or so it seemed, and we’d do the run, dodge, jump obstacle course, and we’d do more physical training and at the end we’d be sore, and sorry for ourselves, but at least we’d been on the move. I didn’t mind the exercise, because I was a pretty active kid, but making us keep rock still in one position seemed all the crueller because of the active lives we’d been leading. If standing to attention in the corridor, not moving or speaking for two-and-a-half hours, was supposed to teach us something, it didn’t work, because I can’t remember it.

  Lining the wall of the corridor were big blown-up drawings illustrating all the different jobs you could do in the Australian Army. There were guys posed next to trucks, an infantryman with a rifle and fixed bayonet, an artillery dude next to a big gun and a bloke in the turret of a tank. The one that most interested me, though, was of a soldier kneeling beside an Alsatian dog. For some reason, as soon as I saw that picture I knew that this was what I wanted to do in the army. Those blokes in the pictures all looked determined – happy, even – and they’d all gone through the shit that we were experiencing today. I sincerely hoped the real army wasn’t going to be like Kapooka.