Читать книгу: «Dog Soldiers: Part 2 of 3: Love, loyalty and sacrifice on the front line»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

7 Letters home – Lyn

8 Stay safe. Love you loads, son xxxx

9 Take one soldier and his warrior dog

10 The man and his dog

11 In the line of duty

12 Not again?

13 Repatriation: the final journey home

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About the Publisher

Chapter 7
Letters home – Lyn

I could always tell when Kenneth was unhappy because his letters gave him away. If he was happy he would be all chatty and newsy and asking for all kinds of treats things to help him and Diesel be more comfortable. When he was unhappy I would read the letter and picture him sitting in the dirt, knees raised, writing paper resting on his legs. I could feel his words. I know he enjoyed a good whinge and moan, but then who doesn’t? The thing is Kenneth’s moans didn’t last long. Once he had let them out, they were gone.

I remember one of the letters he wrote to me in April, about a month after he arrived in Afghanistan. It was a great letter because he had written it in diary style. It took me, it took us all, to a dirt hole in Afghan. I was with Kenneth and 3 Para in the desert. He took me through two days from the early morning into the night, so I knew when he was sleeping, washing, feeding Diesel, watching DVDs, waiting for things to happen and thinking of home. For the first time I saw a side of my son that really didn’t get a chance to materialise day-to-day at home, in Newcastle.

For someone who I don’t think ever bought a pen, Kenneth suddenly thought it was worth mentioning the bargain price of the pens and paper he was using. Very funny, as he was always taking my pens and paper and never thinking about the cost! And asking me to pass on the letters he sent to other members of the family, asking me because ‘it’s good manners’, because as Kenneth would say: ‘I was brought up, not dragged up!’ It was nice to know that some things I had said stayed with him, even in the desert thousands of miles away.

Saturday 19 April

07.50hrs: Breakfast was a boil-in-the-bag sausage omelette and beans with another really shite cup of tea …

08.05hrs: The temperature’s really starting to pick up now so will write more later … By the way, I’m starting to like drinking water now without the cordial. Honest! Mam, tell Dad we might have to get a fridge in the garage with one of those water dispenser thingies for when I get home. Now that’s what I call proper English, like!

10.20hrs: Hi, back again. Just been mortared. Two mortars missed the location by 100–150 metres. The Taliban really should practise more, plus the bastards woke me up! It’s really hot now … even in the shade. That’s all for now folks! xxx

I’m back again … We have to stand-to every night and morning at 05.05 and 19.10 just in case the Taliban decides to attack – 200 squaddies with 40 vehicles, 10 .50-calibre machine guns, 10 grenade launchers, let alone about 10,000 rounds of 5.6s, but, hey, that’s the Army for you!

It’s long days here but some are longer due to not moving around a lot. Can you and Dad remember a picture I sent Dad on his mobile of my lil room on exercise? Well, this is worse than that. Ha! Ha!

Dug in about two feet with three rows of sandbags stacked up. Desert basher on top to give me and Diesel some protection from the sun. Got my roll mat that’s broken and won’t inflate and my sleeping bag then my Bergen to one side with my rifle and body armour positioned for easy access. This is my home.

Sunday 20 April

06.00hrs: Good morning Afghanistan! I’ve been asleep for four hours, just went to the toilet, picked up my daily rations and to my amazement at 06.35 some guy came round to my little house on the prairie and handed me two parcels … I think they have been sitting here a while. That’s what happens with all the moving around. I will make sure you have the right addresses as far as I can. Love ya! xx

07.30hrs: That’s scoff eaten, baby-wipe wash done, teeth brushed, parcels opened, letters read and all packed away in my Bergen … waiting out on either another attack or orders to go and do some real work … meanwhile I’ve got a small fascination with reading. I’m onto The Golden Compass a second time and it doesn’t ring true with the film, which is such a pity …

Tell Steph to hurry up moving out so I can have my old room back. Ha! Ha! Only kidding really … Talking The Golden Compass again. It’s the only book I’ve got with me. I left Jeremy Clarkson’s at Bastion.

08.12hrs: Me again. Hey, who else would it be really? I was just going to read chapter eleven of The Golden Compass, after cleaning my rifle, and wondered what kind of daemon I would have. Then I thought, well, I have Diesel with me so perhaps he would hold my soul and be my daemon? I wonder if other people would think a dog would be the right daemon for me.

10.10hrs: I’m fed up of the desert now. And I’m really pissed off. The 3 Para lads asked me if there was anything I needed as they had to do a run to pick up rations, water and ammo. All I asked them for was dog food. So what did they forget? Yes, the f’ing dog food!! I’ve only got enough now to last me until tomorrow. It’s f’ing shite and it really pisses me off. I have enough in my kit to sustain him for another two days but it ain’t the right thing to do or the best thing for him to be honest. Can’t believe it’s so hard to do something so simple. It’s the British Army for f’s sake!

12.30hrs: Sand storm now and has been for twenty minutes. Kicks in dust from everywhere and covers everything. Diesel’s water bowl is already full of wet dust. Quite fitting that I’m having such a problem with dust as I’m reading The Golden Compass! I wonder who has the most problems with dust – me or Lord Asriel? Ha! Ha!

I’m hiding in my doss bag with a head torch writing this and waiting the storm out. D is curled up in the corner with my second basher draped over him to keep as much off him as possible. Hopefully it won’t last much longer. xxx

15.30hrs: Well I fell asleep in the storm and woke about an hour ago. It went really hot but it has clouded over again now so bet it will rain next. Very gloomy. Still no work and told not moving anywhere until the 24th (April) hopefully getting a hele back to KAF.

Christ this sandstorm keeps coming and going and it’s just been pissing down. And we’ve had some thunder and lightning which would probably have been pretty dramatic without the sandstorm at the same time! I’ve blocked my basher up to try and prevent as much wind and rain coming in as possible – like that’s going to happen!

17.30hrs: Just had my evening meal of chicken tikka, rice and a cup of crap tea. Got a Yorkie bar – it has to be sweets for pudding! That’s what I miss most about Army life to civvie is being able to eat almost anything you want to eat without having your food dictated to you day in and day out. But I was just thinking how much I could down a good family Chinese or egg and chips with fresh bread … things like that.

Sorry my writing’s gone all funny due to the sand clogging the end of my pen and Diesel trying to get between me and the wall and still trying to fit on my inflatable roll mat – which no longer inflates.

19.00hrs: OK, best go and stand-to as the Taliban are literally that brave that they will attack us head-on in a fire-fight!

21.00hrs: Hey just realised I’m on page 10 of this letter … Now tell me I ain’t just bored the tits off you?

What I would do for a cheese scone right now is not worth thinking about!

Six days to the planned push … I hope it happens …

When I read the letters back now I can see that Kenneth did a lot of growing up in Afghanistan. There’s a seriousness on the page and over the four months it’s there more and more. He mentions his favourite book, The Golden Compass, many times but I suppose there’s a lot of down time in the desert so reading about a fantasy world where good is pitted against evil … it was bound to make Kenneth think about the story in a way he probably never had at home. Whenever I read the letters over now I can see why the book provided some escapism from what was happening all around him. After all, who wouldn’t have wished themselves somewhere beyond the sand-blasted hell of Helmand?