Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (60 page)

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Specialized Search Dog - Gretchen J538
Afghanistan 2010–2011
Helmand Province, Sangin Valley, Afghanistan

“This is the crew chief. We should be arriving in Cherry Point in about twenty minutes. We have just enough time for everyone to wake up and pack up.”

The voice over the speaker woke me from my sleep on the floor of a C130 cargo plane. Relieved to return to the U.S., I rubbed my eyes as I sat up and leaned against one of the 26 dog kennels lining the middle of the aircraft, the remaining space occupied by the Military Working Dog handlers. Farther down the aircraft, my dog was still asleep in her kennel. Gretchen, a six-year-old Labrador, was assigned to me by the Marine Corps for her third deployment (Iraq-2, Afghanistan-1). As I looked up at the red light that illuminated the aircraft, there was no stopping the memories.

Back in Afghanistan, I was tasked with assisting a Reconnaissance unit in the Sangin Valley. We moved to a secondary position and were settling in for the night. Gretchen and I were in a Marine Mine Resistant Ambush Protectant (MRAP) vehicle with two other Marines, chatting idly. Suddenly a massive explosive shook the vehicle.

Gretchen began to whimper. The blast originated from the direction of one of our positions, but we were unsure if it was a patrol. The Marines jumped on the radio and attempted to get hold of the others when a voice came through the radio. “We have a casualty. One of our night patrols stepped on an IED.”

Our vehicle responded and arrived within five minutes. Three Marines had been on patrol when the IED went off. Because of the midnight hour, we were told we’d have to return at dawn since a Marine’s rifle was still out there. So, the next morning, we drove out in three vehicles and stopped 100 yards from the detonation site.

I told the drivers, “Tell everyone to stay inside the MRAPS until I give the okay.” Gretchen and I stepped out to search the area covered with small gray rocks and not 200 yards from a river. After she finished, I gave the EOD techs a thumbs-up. We continued in the direction of the blast area with Gretchen always 50 feet in front. I turned around and asked, “Yo, do you have a VALEN?”—the metal detectors used by the Marines. The tech replied, “What does it mean when your dog sits?”

I spun around, calling Gretchen to me. She had responded 20 feet from the original blast. It wasn’t uncommon for the Taliban to put two or three explosives in one area. Binoculars up, the Marine said, “Well, looks like your dog found our rifle.” I was glad we found it because that meant we could leave. Then I walked up to a piece of M4, now a broken, mangled piece of metal camouflaged amid the rocks. After checking for booby traps, the EOD technician retrieved the weapon.

Gretchen and I continued to search, then arrived at the blast site—a four-foot by three-foot deep hole in the middle of a dirt road that divided two fields of rock. As I continued to observe the area, I saw it: a red, purplish liquid. Blood.

I walked up to the puddle and found wrappings of emergency medical equipment, pieces of uniform, and trash. Angered, I began to pick everything up—the pieces of uniform, the trash, and … the flesh? I didn’t realize that in my rage I was also holding a piece of flesh.

Horrified, I continued searching and found a shoe. Another Marine found a helmet. When I discovered an ID card blown in half, I put it in my pocket. The rage that ran through my body was unbearable. I wanted to fight. I wanted to kill. I wanted revenge. In my truck, the tears began, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the mission. Couldn’t stop the hate. Exhausted, I dozed off … only to be interrupted when Gretchen jumped on my lap and started licking my face. “Gretchen don’t lick me,” I said with a laugh. “I’ve seen what you do with that mouth.”

When the airplane finally landed at Cherry Point, Gretchen and I made our way onto the runway. All 26 dog teams were lined up, awaiting the order to march to the building. A loud explosion made me cringe and look around in a panic.

The sky lit up with an array of magnificent colors. Fireworks. I hadn’t even realized it was the Fourth of July. Relieved, I looked down at Gretchen and couldn’t help but feel saddened—in only six months, I would return to California, and she would continue her mission without me.

COMING MAY 2014

The Quiet Professionals

They’re going full black!

You’ve met the hard-hitting Special Forces group ODA452, but now they’re going full black in their own series, The Quiet Professionals, and operating under the new designation: Raptor Team.

Raptor 6
—Captain Dean “Raptor Six” Watters
always accepted he might die in the line of duty. But he’s never met anyone, besides his team, he’d actually lay down his life for—until now.