Dog Soldiers: Love, loyalty and sacrifice on the front line

As they left I heard them both offer their help to the family and ask Ken if he was all right. My husband, my gentle giant, said it all in a few words: ‘I’m gutted but very, very proud of my son.’

When Ken came back into the room we sat together and cried.

I don’t remember stopping.

It was good of Major Ham and Iain Carnegie to visit us at home. I realised later that they didn’t have to make that drive from North Luffenham, 104 Military Working Dogs Support Unit and Kenneth’s Army base, to Newcastle, but they wanted to. It was their personal choice and it couldn’t have been easy for them either. Kenneth’s death must have been as much of a shock to the other dog handlers and trainers as it was to us. They all seem to know each other, whether Army or RAF, and although we always think the military must take the news of a death in battle in their stride I now know that it’s not like that at all. Kenneth was part of the Army’s family as much as he was part of ours. They had lost one of their boys, one of their own.

Chapter 2

Man down! (#ubdef78f9-0bfc-5bed-8f40-1d46f2e631d4)

Ops Room, Camp Bastion, Afghanistan: 24 July 2008

‘Thomo, you need to get down here now.’ Captain Martyn Thompson (now Major Thompson) had just returned to his room after dinner and was ironing his kit for the next day when the call came in.

‘What’s up?’ The Captain stepped into the Ops Room.

‘It’s Ken.’

‘How bad?’

‘I’m sorry, but all indications are we’ve lost him. The dog, too. We’ve planned for this, Thomo, so we all know what we need to do. We need to get our ducks in a row and do our best for him. Over to you.’

The ZAP number (initials and last three digits of the service number) that spilled out of the messenger in the Ops Room was Kenneth Rowe’s: KR 366. It identified him as a casualty on the ground now on his way back to Bastion. Martyn Thompson saw it and knew what had to be done. First he called Chris Ham. ‘Chris, you can’t repeat this but early reports are that we’ve lost one. It’s the Geordie.’ Rather Chris, who had been Kenneth’s Commanding Officer in the UK, hear it from his friend than anyone else, and it would give him time to get himself together before the news came through officially just a short while later.

On the ground, the Army ‘system’ kicked in. Sergeant Major Frank Holmes had just finished his evening meal when he ran into a colleague heading for Bastion HQ. ‘He’s gone, Frank. The Geordie lad. He’s gone.’

That’s all the person said. Running in to find out more, Frank hoped the message had been mixed and there had been some confusion over the ZAP number, but sadly the information was confirmed. Frank had lost one of his best handlers and his best dogs. Not only had he lost one of the RAVC’s rising stars as a handler and trainer, he had also lost a good soldier.

‘I was devastated and I walked to the rest room where everyone had been ordered to go for the announcement, and with every step I found it impossible to hold back the emotion,’ recalls Frank. The padre accompanied the Ops Commander who announced that the man down was Lance Corporal Kenneth Rowe of the RAVC and that his search dog, Sasha, had fallen with him.

‘Some of the girls burst into tears and some of the men, too. Several of the guys left the room to punch the air outside, swear at God and smoke. The shock was part of it but more the fact that we all knew Ken Rowe. We had lived with him over the past four months at Bastion and shared work time and down time in his company. Some of us had known him longer than that. We had been with him, off and on, since his early days at the Defence Animals Centre (DAC) at Melton Mowbray and his first posting to Northern Ireland. The fact that someone had just told us that the handsome, cheeky Geordie lad was gone and his body was due in from the front line was totally unbelievable.

‘I tried to believe it because the certainty of what had happened meant that we had a job to do and we were only going to do it well.’

A communications lock-down prevented the identity of the man down getting to the media and therefore the family before the Army could reach them in person. But there was still a fallen soldier on the ground.

Only twenty-four hours earlier Kenneth had called for a situation report. As part of the 2 Para battle group deployed from FOB Inkerman he was finally seeing the action he had been hoping for since he landed in Afghanistan on 18 March.

He had been assigned to a regiment that had seen and was still seeing some of fiercest engagements and the highest losses of the conflict so far. Every fighting unit over there wanted a dog and handler team alongside them; this was exactly what Kenneth was out there to do with his dog alongside him.

Never a lover of vehicle searches – although he would always do a stint on the gate – Kenneth was happier away from the patrol and search role at Kandahar Airfield and was soon firmly embedded with 2 Para at FOB Inkerman. The Paras took to his dog partner then, Diesel, too, and maybe too much as Kenneth often had to remind them that he was a working dog, not a playmate! A difficult call when home comforts are in such short supply.

Through April and May 2008 the dogs and handlers had to get used to moving around. The demand was constant and came from all bases: Kabul, Kandahar, Sangin, Inkerman, Kajaki, Musa Qala, Lashkar Ghar, Combat Logistic Patrols and Camp Bastion. It was a huge operation to manage, as R and R (Rest and Recuperation) was as important to factor into the mix as deployments if combat fatigue and the stress of being constantly posted from one situation to another were to be kept at bay.

While Kenneth had been at Kandahar and then FOB Inkerman, Sasha had been fighting her own war against the Taliban at Musa Qala. Lance Corporal Marianne Hay had trained her well and with Sergeant Andy Dodds Sasha had become the RAVC’s most capable search dog at the time. She was hot property, but no one would have grasped that from just looking at her.

Small, slight, fine-boned and pretty – that was Sasha. A lovely creamy-toned yellow Labrador with the sweetest nature but with high drive and nerves of steel. Dog soldier Marianne Hay had trained Sasha as a bomb dog in Northern Ireland. The pair had been the last Army dog team to leave the Province when the Army Dog Unit relocated to North Luffenham in 2007, but Marianne had used their time there to add a few skills to Sasha’s CV. While the girl and dog team had successfully supported the police and the engineers there, Marianne had also worked hard on preparing Sasha for ops in Afghanistan. Sooner or later she knew her dog would need it.

It’s an Army dog’s life and a dog soldier’s one to bear that the team that works together does not always stay together, and this was a hard truth for Marianne. She had formed a strong bond with Sasha but she had also prepared her well for theatre (action on the front line) and brought her on to the point where she could hit the ground running. And run she did.

Sasha was deployed to one of the most dangerous places in the world at the time; Musa Qala was known to be a hotbed of insurgent activity, and fighting was desperate and fierce. The Taliban considered the town to be their spiritual home and they wanted to take it back. Danger lurked on every corner, in every house, and on every street. Its labyrinth of underground tunnels that ran beneath the community hid a multitude of sins and sinister activities. It was the place where any arms and explosives search dog, even one of Sasha’s calibre, was going to be challenged.

In no time at all Sasha was notching up ‘find’ after ‘find’. It had been designated a ‘high-activity’ area and Sasha’s skills were proving that classification was justified. Hidden weapons, mines, mortars, motors for rocket-propelled grenades, suicide vests … the list was endless. Sergeant Dodds felt safe working with Sasha, the dog who was earning herself a reputation: ‘If it’s hidden, Sasha will find it.’

Kenneth already knew Sasha was highly skilled. He had served with Marianne in Northern Ireland and the competitive friends had often verbally sparred over training techniques. Both were passionate about their dogs and there was mutual respect for each other’s skills. It was what they were there to do but the work was intense and achieved in temperatures that could hit a relentless 40–50 degrees during the working day. The soldiers could look forward to going home on R and R, but the dogs were doing it all to be rewarded with a tennis ball, a meal and, if they were out in the desert, a good rest alongside their handler. The dogs were soldiers the same as the handlers – but the rewards were different. It was the ability to maintain the high drive to work and search without wavering in efficiency and success that put Sasha in a class of her own.

Sasha was holding her own against the heat and the workload. It was the height of summer – the period recognised as the ‘fighting season’ – with just 14 dogs to service regiments operating in seven locations. Everyone was under pressure. IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) were now the preferred weapon of the Taliban and just weeks earlier Ken and Diesel had been thrown from an Army Snatch Land Rover. Ken crawled out of the overturned vehicle covered in dust but unhurt; Diesel had injured his paw in the explosion and was taken back to Bastion for treatment and rest.

While Diesel recuperated, Reece became the dog in Ken’s life, but it wasn’t long before the dynamic duo were back on the front line protecting and saving life and limb.

Andy’s new role was imminent and Kenneth was writing about going home but he was still waiting for confirmation of the date. Trouble was, with everything that was going on, the chances of it happening were looking increasingly slim. The intensity of the work was starting to show on Diesel and Ken had to report his concerns to his Sergeant Major, Frank Holmes. Diesel was seeking shade, and not just when he was on his downtime. He knew his dog was a tough cookie who had survived IEDs and being thrown from a Snatch, but if he was fading in the heat he would fail to detect. It was time for Diesel to take a rest.

And that was how Ken Rowe and Sasha came together. Ken needed a good reliable dog, and Andy was heading for a new role of Ops Sergeant, leaving Sasha up for grabs. Matching the right dog with the right handler in the right location wasn’t Ken’s decision but he put in a request for Sasha anyway. Frank Holmes felt it was a good match and Martyn Thompson headed out to FOB Inkerman to deliver Sasha to Ken. Moving the dog was considered easier than moving the man – all they needed was the change of dog for the intense weapons and search work ahead. It wasn’t long before they were considered the best team in the area at the time, and Sasha continued to locate weapons, ammunition and IEDs, giving Ken plenty to call in to his commanding officer.

By the time Ken’s July leave was confirmed, he and Sasha had been supporting 2 Para for over a month and the pair were very much part of the team. It had been a particularly hazardous operation from the start and it was taking its toll on the troops. The new threat, suicide bombers, had taken the lives of three of their men. Until then small-arms fire and the RPG had been the insurgents’ weapons of choice but the arrival of the IED and the suicide bomber had made the fighting game more sinister and blurred the rules of engagement. It made the job of the dog and the soldier harder, too.

Ken was happy that Sasha was still providing consistent cover even during operations that could last ten to twelve hours in searing temperatures. She was just as enthusiastic as she had been on her first day, which meant Marianne Hay’s training and the dog’s own determination and intelligence were paying off. The bond that Sasha and Ken had formed in the relatively short time they had been paired was clear for all to see, and the men of 2 Para were relieved to have the dog and handler head their patrols.

Twenty-four hours before he was due to go on leave, Ken Rowe put a call in to Bastion for a situation report. The handler who was due to replace him was sick. This wasn’t the news he was hoping for and it wasn’t good news for 2 Para either. Ken didn’t like the thought of the patrol going out without the support of a search dog. They were in bandit country and everyone was very much aware of the value of having a dog on the ground. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave them. He lobbied his unit to allow him to stay until the changeover could take place. Then he could go on his R and R with some peace of mind.

His request to stay on was granted.

Throughout that fatal day the patrol had been shadowed by a group of insurgents. Sasha was already known to them; they were aware of the ‘yellow dog’ and her ability to locate their deadly weapons. She must have foiled hundreds of their plots and discovered tons of explosives and ammunition and it was no secret that having a bomb dog on duty reassured the troops.

The patrol was just three kilometres from FOB Inkerman when the enemy struck from three angles. As Ken and Sasha made for the roadside ditch, Sasha was blown off her feet – she had been targeted by RPG direct fire – and separated from Ken. Eyewitnesses reported that the brave dog rose out of the dust, shook herself down and ran towards her handler. Ken gathered her in to take cover with the others behind a low wall but a second RPG found them both. Man and dog fell together.

The exchange was fast and furious, with visibility restricted by the gun smoke, dust and debris kicked up by the enemy RPGs. In the kind of silence that creeps in when the battle subsides came the cry:

‘Man down! Man down!’

The medic was already rushing to where Ken lay on the ground. A stretcher appeared alongside and the bearers lifted Ken swiftly and cleanly into it with Sasha’s body at his side. It was a race against time to get them both to an area of safety before the team was spotted and picked off by an opportunist sniper.

Out of the chaos a Land Rover screeched to a halt. It was out of sight but just hearing the urgency of the engine was a comfort of a kind as the stretcher was hurried in its direction. ‘Come on, lift! Let’s go, go go!’

The Land Rover took off in a cloud of dust in the direction of FOB Inkerman, with everyone on board hoping they were still dealing with a casualty and nothing worse. The vehicle was jolting from side to side trying to cope with the scattered rocks which littered the dramatic rough terrain. Everyone was holding very tight onto their precious cargo.

Suddenly the vehicle lurched and Sasha slipped from the stretcher. The loud gasp from the back alerted the driver to a problem but it was too risky to stop and Ken had to remain their priority. It was clear he needed urgent medical attention. They already feared when they loaded her onto the stretcher that it was too late for poor Sasha.

The enemy was still out there and no doubt watching every move. They would have seen Sasha’s limp and lifeless body lying stranded and out of reach. The men could not risk more casualties: they had no choice but to leave her.

Frank Holmes and Martyn Thompson waited at the hospital in Bastion for the helicopter bringing Ken in from Inkerman. They knew what they had to do when it arrived, but right at that moment, as Frank says, it was the constant stream of casualties that added to the fear and trepidation:

‘The Paras had had another bad time of it and, from what I can remember, there seemed to be a whole lot of casualties pouring off the choppers. It must have been a hell of a day and I admit it was quite unnerving sitting there wondering what devastation we still had to go through.’

Frank heard another Chinook arrive and hoped it would be the one they were waiting for and for this part of the proceedings to be over.

Frank and Martyn went in to ID the body. They confirmed that it was Lance Corporal Kenneth Michael Rowe RAVC.