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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ those mornings when we knew we would have to say goodbye to Kenneth later and I was keen to have some breakfast with him before he announced that he needed to be somewhere else to meet his friends. ‘What do you want for breakfast, son?’ his dad asked, as he was probably ready for something himself. The expected answer came back: McDonald’s.

      It wouldn’t have been everyone’s choice but it was always going to be Kenneth’s, especially as he knew he wouldn’t be tasting anything like that for a few months. At breakfast I discovered that it’s difficult to eat when your throat is so tight you can hardly breathe, and then all too soon the moment had come – breakfast was over and the goodbyes had to begin.

      Kenneth hugged all the family, then his dad and then me.

      ‘I love you, son,’ I said. He hugged me back. ‘I’ll write as often as I can and send parcels. Let us know if you need anything,’ I continued. He started to cry. ‘Now stop it or you’ll start me off,’ I scolded him. His hug tightened.

      ‘I just want you to know that I love you, Mam.’

      I’m not sure if that last hug was tighter than normal or that’s a trick my mind has played on my memory of that morning since then, but if I think about that moment I can still feel Kenneth’s arms around me.

      ‘Now just don’t be stupid and volunteer for anything’ I said. ‘Promise me you won’t volunteer and you won’t put yourself up front. Promise me, Kenneth.’

      I remember him walking away saying: ‘Right, Mam. OK, Mam …’ But as I watched him from behind I saw him drying tears, first with one hand then the next. My beautiful brown-eyed boy in his salmon-pink T-shirt.

      It’s my lasting memory of him.

      Of course, after that our contact was down to the usual and very welcome flurry of ‘blueys’. Those pale-blue airmail paper letters are still a lifeline in Forces’ families. I’m sure none of us knows what we would do without them. The emails and the phone calls are great – as long as they can be sent and received. As Kenneth said when he was in Afghan, ‘Emails … can’t get them in the desert. Still waiting on that terminal you plug into the sand!’

      Letters were always precious and there was a massive comfort in seeing a bluey drop onto the mat. Kenneth’s spelling was atrocious and he knew it. But it didn’t matter one bit because, to me, receiving a bluey meant he was alive, able to write a letter and thinking of home. Parcels and letters to Kenneth often arrived around five days after sending and some wandered around following ‘the dog handler’ as he moved between camps, including the main base, Camp Bastion, and the various Forward Operating Bases (FOBs). But there was never any doubt that the post would be delivered to him somewhere and sometime.

      Every letter was a window into our son’s world in Afghanistan and every anecdote came with a handful of sand.

      I remember in one of his letters he told his dad about how he had to ‘dig in’ to protect himself and the bomb dog he was working with then, Diesel, against yet another biting sandstorm. He had told us before how, after the blistering heat of the day, the storms blew in fiercely during the night ‘… like a blanket of sand hitting you for about six hours non-stop. We woke up looking like something from f…ing Kentucky Fried Chicken!’

      Kenneth was deployed on Operation Herrick 8 in March 2008 and whenever I read and re-read the letters, just to have him with me for a second, I realised that while I was here missing him he was there but always reaching out to home. If there was one thing Kenneth always made sure of, wherever he was, it was that we had his address. There were few letters that didn’t contain a shopping list but I soon realised that a shopping list was a way of guaranteeing that there would be a parcel to look forward to. Sweets, biscuits, baby wipes, boxers and … socks. I have no idea how many pairs of socks I sent to Afghanistan but then I had no real idea how important something as simple as a pair of socks could be out there.

       ‘Socks. Oh my God, socks. They are a f…ing life-saver, Mam. Pardon the language, like, but my feet might get some feeling in them now. Imagine 35–40 degree heat walking around the pissing desert for six hours at a time.

       ‘Tell Dad I got to throw my first live grenade the other day. Mint! Absolutely mint! I’ll tell you about it when I’m home. Ha! Ha! Ain’t had chance to let my rifle do any work yet but hey there’s 5½ months to go.’

      Looking back, knowing what I know now, I still understand my son’s excitement because this was what he wanted to do. This is what he had trained so hard for, and there he was, in his words, ‘living the dream’. And of course the dream job came with a dog.

      It must have been in his second bluey home that Kenneth told us that he had been taken off protection work and had, at last, been assigned an arms and explosives search (AES) dog called Diesel.

       ‘I haven’t got a complaint about him at all apart from he loves other dogs too much. I’ll have to watch that when we’re working coz the local dogs will kill him if he gets too close. What else can I tell you except, don’t worry … If anything was to happen to me you would be notified quickly enough. They would either ring your mobile or home. Not going to happen.’

      Every letter after that was signed off not just by Kenneth but with love from Diesel, too – never forgetting the mini paw print. My son was happy and so was I because now, wherever he was, he would not be alone.

      Through March and into April Kenneth was in Afghanistan but his letters betrayed that his mind was still at home. He had to post his mobile phone back to me and of course there was a bill to pay. I could tell that bit of admin was worrying him, and so for the same reason he authorised me to deal with all his post that came to him at our home. I didn’t mind, after all, as there was little he could do about all that from where he was. Trying to deal with a call centre from the comfort of your own home is frustrating enough but it’s near impossible when you have to book telephone and internet time at Camp Bastion on equipment that’s shared with several hundred other people. Besides, I liked to feel needed. That was normal, as a mum.

      I was already missing Kenneth’s constant cries of, ‘Mam, could you just … Mam, while you’re in town could you pick me up some …’ There was always something he wanted me to get for him, even when he was home.

      I’m not just saying this because he was my son, but he was a good-looking boy and he liked to look smart even when he was in casual clothes, which included his beloved Newcastle United football shirt. Kenneth liked specific toiletries so his shopping list would be pretty detailed and he wouldn’t be seen out of the house without hair gel. His sisters were always complaining that he spent too long in the bathroom and it was a family joke that if you didn’t make it into the shower before Kenneth you would be waiting forever!

      It was no surprise to any of us that his blueys almost always contained some kind of shopping list. It made me smile thinking of him sitting on his camp cot in the desert, paper resting on his knees – just as he did as a boy doing his homework – pen poised ready to scribble down all the things he had been saving in his head.

      April 2008, his first bluey after just being posted to Camp Roberts at Kandahar Airfield said:

       ‘Hi Parents … How are we today? I’ve been good since the last time we spoke and fully integrated with my battle group. That sounds quite scary really, “battle group”. Ha, ha. Me going into battle is probably never going to happen and I’ll never get a chance to get some rounds off as the Platoon I’m with will do all that for me. It would be an experience, I reckon, and nice to see how I would cope with it after all the training. Be СКАЧАТЬ