DOG TEAMS AND PUP TENTS

Jack was quietly plodding behind the company commander and assessing the situation. He had just been designated the Local RTO for the CO and was absorbing his personality as well as the other leaders of the unit.

It was extremely hot and humid and water ran in rivulets down his neck and face as he responded to calls from the separate platoons as they fanned out in what was clearly Indian Country.

Earlier in the day, as the company had broken from its NDP, the final chopper arrived bringing a dog handler and his charge. It was a Shepherd but rather thick and short for the breed. The handler said his primary job was spotting for mines and booby traps but he was also trained to act as a scout.

The CO, aware that his platoons would be operating somewhat independently this day, chose to retain the dog in the command group until he could determine where the team best fit. The handler placed himself just behind Jack in the march file. This meant that the dog was occasionally brushing against Jack’s leg as they progressed in a staggered file through Kunai Grass and alternating sunshine and shade.

During the day’s march, whenever the column halted to take reports, the dog would lie next to Jack’s leg and look at him as Jack worked the radio. The deep brown eyes and panting tongue seemed more focused on Jack than the handler.

Jack, as a boy who had grown up with dogs, gained an appreciation for the dog and fed him small bits of water from his canteen using his cupped hand to hold. The handler, clearly unused to the heat and march, was almost faint with exhaustion. In his mind, Jack began to gain a sense of responsibility toward the dog who clearly reciprocated with the many ways in which a dog imparts loyalty.

In this way, the group moved in a slow but methodical way all day traversing the low hills, open brush and occasional canopy dotted land of their AO. With each stop to gain Sitreps of the platoons, the dog would drop his head on Jack’s knee as his handler dropped in exhaustion. By nightfall, the company regrouped around a small hill that was on the edge of the canopy.

Upon halting in the intended NDP, the CO was handed the phone by Long Distance. There was a brief conversation with the CO taking notes on his map case. He then directed Jack to tell the platoon leaders to dig in for the night. This was highly unusual but apparently a warranted requirement.

Jack dropped his radio and ruck next to a large rock and began to dig a shallow prone position. The dog and handler, now somewhat revived, developed a shallow scraping on the other side of the rock. Everyone was having a difficult time getting any depth to positions due to the massed roots and rocks that dominated the ground. In time, with the coming of darkness, the position settled.

Shortly after EENT, the air was rent with the sounds of an incoming UH1H. This was an unannounced visit that announced the position to anyone in the area. Not a good thing.

Immediately off loading was the brigade commander and four staff assistants. While the commander went to the CP, his staff erected a pup tent next to the LZ. The commander made a loud greeting as he found the CP oblivious to the requirements for noise discipline though that was moot with the helicopter landing.

He walked by Jack and placed a hand on the CO’s shoulder and said in a loud voice; “I am here to spend the night with the best company in my brigade.” The CO shook his hand in a somewhat bewildered manner. He walked the brigade commander back to his pup tent which was now erected. The tent had an air mattress, GI blanket and mosquito net. A waterproof duffle bag contained iced Cokes and Beer. A B Ration had been set aside-Beans and weenies and a package of Swiss Miss next to it.

The rest of the NDP made various noises, phrases and low whistles as they hunkered down for an anticipated mortar attack. In time, in the now silent night, the position began to have a thankful shroud of silence.

Suddenly at 0200, the position was awoken with a scattering of rocket firing. These did not explode on impact. Rather they had timed fuzes that had aerial bursts largely neutralizing the positions with no overhead cover.

Jack grabbed his helmet and got as low as possible in his position. He could distinctly hear shrapnel rattle and spark across the rock that was astride his scrapping. He also heard a breathy howl from the dog on the other side.

The FO called for illumination in anticipation of a ground attack. The brigade commander, in the midst of the attack, stood up and collapsed his tent and ran immediately to the CP. Jack could see the combination of abruptly uplifted tent and the contents of the interior quickly spill out.

The Colonel ran breathlessly to the command group, grabbed Long Distance and called the firebase. He flopped on the ground, relinquished the handset and sat down with more of a crash than a coordinated movement. The illumination had popped in several locations overhead, bathing the position with a wandering green and yellow light.

The rockets, perhaps more than twenty, had expended themselves and the position was quietly alive with muffled breaths and furtive conversation. The loudest sound was the constant hissing and death of the steady diet of flares. In less than fifteen minutes, a helicopter appeared and did a full power stall on the position.

The brigade commander, saying nothing to the CO, sprinted to the bird and was loaded and gone. The unit settled into a furtive anxiety and awaited the dawn. The CO asked that all elements report casualties from the rocket attack. All reports were negative.

Jack, on intuition, got up with a red-filtered flashlight and checked the other side of the rock that separated himself from the dog team. He shined the light on the position and attempted to discern the team’s status. He audibly sucked in his breath and used the flashlight beam as a probe to confirm his immediate impression.

He first saw the dog. It was lying on its side with a protruding shard lodged between its eye and jaw. The tongue was laying on the ground with a pool of blood surrounding it. A dark eye was looking up, already covered in small flies working on the soft flesh of the orbit.

Jack grit his teeth and moved toward the handler. The light showed an open brain cavity. The handler had buried his face in the ground but without a helmet. The shredded jacket was rent with numerous chunks of shrapnel. These were the only casualties of the rocket attack less the Colonel’s demeanor.

At first light, the two bodies were brought to the LZ for pickup. Jack, acting on his own, made a personal decision and brought the dog back to his position. Without discussing with anyone, he dug his position to a depth of almost three feet, a feat amongst the rocks and roots of the place. He took out his prized old rain poncho, wrapped the dog in it, kissed his ear and placed the bundle in the hole. He carefully shoveled dirt onto it, tamping the earth routinely. He finished the grave by collecting rocks and fully covering the site. He took out a piece of his green notebook and wrote A Good Dog in bold letters, ran it through a pencil and then stabbed the pencil in the earth at the head of the grave.

Jack went back to the CP, sat down next to his radio and looked into the distance. He didn’t want to see dogs or Colonels in the perimeter again. Some things are just too hard.