with a touch of “gallows humour” at Pirbright (the Army training centre) – one of the guys dressed up as the mum or girlfriend, the chaplain is present and we practised for what seemed like a week for something you think you are never going to do for real. I never thought I would do it in my own unit. But there we were, with just two days to get it right for Ken and now Sasha, too. It was bloody heart-breaking.’
Ken and Sasha would not be returning alone. Corporal Jason Barnes, of the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (REME), had been killed two days before Ken and would be on the same flight. The Paras had been practising the repatriation drill although they were, sadly, used to the format now. Afraid that they would look amateurish beside the Para bearers, Frank spoke to their Sergeant Major and it was agreed that the bearer parties would approach the C17 in line rather than the usual side-by-side.
Selecting the bearers was no easy task. The honour of carrying a fallen colleague has its mix of practical (for height) and emotional (who could hold it together long enough). Everyone volunteered for the job but only six could be selected – amongst them was Sasha’s previous handler, Andy Dodds, and, to steady the coffin at the rear, Frank Holmes. Army Chaplain Paul Gallucci knew the unit well – and he knew Ken, too. He had served with them all in Northern Ireland and was well aware of the value of the dog soldiers in theatre and the deep bond that exists between the dog unit and the infantry on the ground. To complete the proper send-off, Marianne Hay was chosen to carry Sasha’s ashes onto the plane. It was the last thing she could do for the dog she loved, trained and served alongside.
Camp Bastion: 11pm, Sunday 27 July
Someone from the REME produced a hip flask. It was a welcome start to the proceedings and broke a little ice. Gazing into the darkness it looked like a disappointing turnout at first, despite there being two men making the return home. The cavernous hold of the C17 gaped open, its ramp down ready to accept the two flag-strewn coffins that sat in the back of the waiting field ambulances. As the lights came up to illuminate the runway the beams caught the truth of the scene. Row upon row of uniformed personnel were waiting in silence. It seemed as if the whole of Camp Bastion had turned out.
Certainly Frank’s wish to get as many dog soldiers there as possible had been granted and the Engineers at the Joint Forces EOD (Explosives Ordnance Disposal) had performed miracles. They had worked with Ken and Sasha and were used to the job split: the dog soldiers locate the explosives and the bomb squad blow them up. It was a good relationship and they felt the loss as keenly as Frank and the rest of his team. Using all their powers and man-management skills, the EOD had successfully brought in all but three of their teams from the various FOBs to attend the ceremony. These were the faces, many tear-stained, shining out of the darkness.
The bearers took the strain of the weight of the coffin first in their hands and then on their shoulders. The practice weight was lighter than this but the responsibility was heavier. Frank Holmes took the rear position, ready to instruct and push up as the party took the slow and careful incline up the ramp and into the body of the plane. Sasha’s former handler, Sergeant Andy Dodds, took front left position: ‘The concentration was immense. The plane is meant to take cargo so the ramp is designed to be smooth underfoot and as I looked ahead to prepare for my first step up I couldn’t help noticing the number of people present and the dogs, too. As I took that first step onto the ramp I became very aware of my legs and feet. I only wanted them to do what my head was telling them. I’m sure all of us were feeling the same. Marianne was walking alone behind us, her arms around the shell casing containing Sasha’s ashes. I’ve no doubt she was trying her very best to hold back tears right to the point where she placed the casing at the head of the coffin.
When Marianne Hay accepted the honour of carrying Sasha’s ashes onto the plane at Camp Bastion she did it to ensure that the dog she trained was repatriated in the way of a hero, to sit at the feet of another hero, her friend and fellow search dog handler, Lance Corporal Kenneth Rowe. With tears welling in her eyes for the loss of the dog she considered closest to her heart and the man she considered to be one of the most talented handlers in the team, Marianne held the brass casing close to her body. As she walked through the soft sound of stifled sobbing, passing colleagues lining the route, she managed to keep her head.
Step by slow step she followed the bearer party up the steep ramp and into the darkness of the body of the plane. It was hard. Hard to do and hard to let go. After setting down the coffin the party paused a moment and hugged each other.
Sergeant Dodds added: ‘Getting through the formalities just as we planned and setting Ken down on the plane was the easier bit. It was saying our personal last goodbyes, the prayers and the group hug that gave most of us the licence to let go of our feelings. The darkness robbed us of a view of the giant C17 lurching into the sky above Bastion but we could hear it loud and clear and knew that it would dip its wings for the final farewell – that was the hardest part. Then, for Ken and for all of us, we had to get the teams back on the ground and take the fight right back to the Taliban.’
Chapter 3
For Queen and country – The Troubles
Ken’s death in July 2008 had highlighted the growing need and respect for the dog soldiers within the wider Army. The demand for search dogs in Afghanistan had massively increased. The patrols appreciated the reassurance of having a search dog with them making safe their route ahead, so the pressure weighed heavy on the RAVC and specifically the men and women of 104 MWD unit to supply the demand. As a Combined Forces operation the pressure radiated out to the Danish and the Americans to provide additional search dog cover too. But the Brit dogs, from the Army and the RAF, were working hard to rise to the challenge. Trouble was, they couldn’t get enough of them on the ground.
Ken Rowe had volunteered to stay on and pick up his R and R later because his replacement had fallen ill and would be out later than expected to support 2 Para. He had been working closely with the unit and was well embedded with them at FOB Inkerman, which was a small but highly volatile spot. Ken was their dog soldier and Sasha was their dog. They already knew that Ken was thorough, trustworthy and a cheeky Geordie and they knew Sasha was a lean, keen and effective search dog. Their relationship had been forged while they lived in sun- and rain-blasted holes in the sand and waited and waited for the attention of the enemy that they knew would show itself – they just didn’t know when. Sasha’s ability to locate deadly devices and hidden weapons and arms had been a literal lifesaver. There was no way Ken was going to leave the men vulnerable. He was staying – and so was Sasha.
Operation Herrick 8 was proving the toughest yet. Death and serious injury were daily occurrences and the regular procession of hearses carrying flag-draped coffins through Wootton Bassett was educating the public in the extent of the sacrifice. The media coverage was also responsible for delivering the emotions attached to the loss into everyone’s home in a very visual way. Even for families untouched by a death or disfigurement, the impression of what was actually happening in Afghanistan was real and almost tangible.
For many of the senior members of the RAVC dog unit this was a reminder of the past and, at some level, the continuing threat in Northern Ireland. Many of the Commanding Officers in Afghanistan had served during The Troubles and others, like Ken Rowe, had later cut their teeth in the Province.
The Army Dog Unit, Northern Ireland, was formed on 1 May 1973. From its base in Ballykelly, County Londonderry, the unit provided critical support to the British Army who first posted troops to the Province in 1969. Only expecting to be needed for a few weeks to support the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC), the Army quickly realised that it would take more than short-term peacekeeping activity to quell the violent and ongoing clashes that had broken out between the Protestants and Catholics. By July 1973 the Army Dog Unit found itself at the heart of The Troubles when it lost the first of four of its number to terrorist activities.
Corporal Bryan Criddle, BEM, was the first of their fallen. He was patrolling the border at Clogher in County Tyrone with C Squadron, The Royal Tank Regiment, when his search dog, Jason, indicated (pointed out explosives) on a milk churn, one of several set out in a horseshoe formation. Bryan was working in recognised ‘bandit