For all dog owners and ex military

[Ahamay]

This is a long read so have a break and a brew.
It is the funniest thing i've read in ages but then i am ex military, if you don't understand some of the expressions or phrases post up and i will try to interpret.

Penned by a guy who goes by the name of Auld Sapper.....I'd forgotten I'd got this till someone mentioned his guard dog the other day. Anway, as the man himself would say.."Pull up a sandbag, get a bre on" and enjoy this...



Guard dogs or 'Snappers' are the GSD's that joined the Army but were too aggresive to be trained as anything else. The best ones were kept for training the handlers at Melton and UK deployment. The psycopathic, croccodile on legs ,barely controlable death machine remainder went to Long Kesh to guard the Maze prison. These were'nt to be fucked about with and I doubt there's many GD handlers going about that don't carry some kind of souviner from the day thier Snapper decided he was going to be boss for the day.

Anyhow, I pitched up at the camp one day and saw there was something going at the footie pitch beside the kennels. The pitch was right on the edge of the camp and surrounded on all sides by six feet chain link and topped with the usual barbldee wire. There was as entrance by the kennels and in the far corner a thirty foot high block built sanger with a door at the bottom. The sanger was'nt used usually.

When I got there I found the ugliest Argyll in the world standing watching the Tube who was lecturing the four snapper handlers who'd arrived from Kesh for the weekends fun.

'Ut's ra same uvry weekend' he glottled when I asked, 'yon coont teechin the boyz hoo tae suck eggs. He'll be oaf in a meenit. Live baiting yon bear thair.' he indicated a particulary impressive killing machine who was balefully sizing up the Tube.

'Livebaiting' was a technique that Pet Corp trainers used for GD training instead of the full padded suit and helmet. They put themselves in a position where they could run from the dog and get to safety, say, up a tree or the like, before the dog got too you. It stopped dogs getting 'suit focused' but you had to use it with care.

'Aye, livebaiting, ra posin' coont' says the ugliest Argyll on the planet when I asked him, 'he'll start at yon half way line an' run like fook when the dugs released and hide in the bottom of yon sanger.T*at. Watch, hurr ee goes.'

Sure enough all six foot four of gangly Tube saunters out to the half way line and starts jumping up and down and baiting the dog which by this time was gnashing,howling and doing summersaults on the end of the lead,
'HALT,HALT,HALT !! OR I RELEASE MY DOG !!' click 'GERRUMMM!!!' and woosh !! the dog took off like a hairy guided missile and the Tube started legging it for the sanger. I glanced at the ugliest Argyll on the planet and saw a smile spread across his puss,
'What the fuck are you up too ?' I asked,
saying nothing he took his hand out of his pocket, opened it and there was a key !
'Don't fucking tell me !?!'
'Aye, key tae ra sanger door. Watch this !'

And we did, with a horrible fascination, as the Tube reached the door of the sanger and started tugging on the handle just sort of stiffly at first then more and more franticly as he gazed, horrified, over his shoulder at the ever closing death on legs. Giving up on the door he started legging it along the fenceline, arms going like pistons and his knees damn near reaching ear level. The dog, which looked as though it was about to go supersonic, tried to change direction, tripped, and went rolling arrse over tit which gave the Tube time to get half way along the fence before the pursuit was on again, Everybody was transfixed, including the handler who belatedly took off after his dog and joined in the chase.

The Tube gained the corner but instead of using the extra posts there to climb out of the way he careened round the bend and started tearing down the next straight. The dog, seeing this, took the direct route and headed to intercept him, there seemed to be a dreadful inevitablity about it, but, last gasp, the Tube saw him coming and did a most impressive full stop and volte face for such a gangly fucker and bolted back for the corner as the dog smashed into the fence where he'd been mere seconds before, recovered, and shot after him again. Christ my heart was in my mouth as we watched the Tube gain the corner and start scrambling up the post, a look of complete terror on his face as he watched the land based hairy cruise missle go airborne and...
'OOOOO, YA **** HE'S GOT HIM !!!!' as we all averted our gaze.
'Naw he's naw,' said the ugliest Argyll on the planet, who was grinning from ear to ear by this time, 'he's only nailed his combat jaiket.'

and sure enough there was the Tube, hanging on to the barbldee wire for grim death with 90lbs of snarling fur and fury hanging and jerking from the arrse of his jacket for the few seconds it took for the handler to get there and wrestle a now completely berserk dog off him.

Fuck me ! I was completely drained, but, the sniggers soon started kicking in,
'Rat'll teach ra posin' coont !' grinned the ugliest Argyll in the world, who, just too finish us off completely walked towards the red, sweating, shredded Tube as he approached and telling him,
'Haw, ****, yuu'll bay needin thus if yur livebaitin'
handed him the key !!!

Marvelous.


2) Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a green and boggy land not too far away when I was a stripling youth, I was the brainier half of a Wagtail team. As jobs went it was'nt too bad. Plenty fresh air, guns with real bullets, 50p a day danger money and sometimes we got to go to work in a choppper as we held apart the green,white and gold baddy tribe from the red,white and blue baddy tribe. Some days I could go out in 'mufti' and dressed in my plastic imitation Irvine flying jacket, brutus jeans, Derriboots with white welly socks and my riot helmet with the visor removed, I'd mount my ancient 250 Yam and head off to Lisburn for some hearts and mind action with the colleens that hung about Corkens or the like. Sometimes I'd head off for the Holdfast Disco at Castle D where the RE's had thoughtfully converted the stable next door into a Lurve Shack with blanket GS drapes and swamped mattresses from the SQMS.

It was during my time there that rumours persisted that THEY were there as well. No-one ever saw THEM. No-one had ever met THEM but the 'experts' reckoned you could tell one of THEM by the length of his hair, but, given that every squaddie there grew his hair long at the slightest excuse, you never knew whether it was actually one of THEM you had seen or just some civvy driver or other REMF. Still, the rumours persisted.

Now, one day, twas in the summer as I recall, we were out and about in a green,white and gold part of the land, spreading the peace and impartial goodwill message to the CivPop along with a section from the RHF, in shirt sleeve order, proudly displaying thier 'FOR GOD & ULSTER', RANGERS F.C.' & 'UVF,UDA,F*CK THE POPE AND THE IRA' tatoos for the delictation of the locals. Twas a feckin' long, long day I can tell you and we were mightily glad to RTB that evening.

Anyway, no sooner had I kenneled and fed the oppo, blagged some tinnys from the choggi and settled down for an evening with Gloria and UTV, and the tannoy goes'
'Wagtail to the ops room, Wagtail to the ops room. That is all.'
BA*TARD !!! so off I trots.

'Evening sir, what've got for me ?'
'Ah right. They want you at so and so in an hour. QRF are waiting to take you. Oh, and they want you in civvies.'
'Civvies ? who wants me in civvies ?'
'How the f*ck should I know. No one tells me f*ck all, I'm only the Ops Officer FFS. Now b*gger orf.'

So 'orf' I b*ggered and got into my finest 'I'm not a squaddie, I'm one of you's' outfit and went to get the oppo.

Now, my oppo was one of the finest noses ever to graduate from Melton in the late 70's but he'd been a troubled youth. Abandoned by his parents when barely weeks old he'd ended up being drafted into the Pet Corp as an alternative to the dog pound and after four months basic he found himself on the mean streets of Derry. He'd found that first tour hard. Friend and foe alike would mock him for his lack of stature for although he had the noble head and body of a golden labrador his dad had been a pit bull or some such and as a consequence he had little short legs and a big barrel chest. He was so short arrsed he'd need a bunk up just to get into the pigs. All this and the fact that the Pet Corp had decided that this war dogs given name was to be.... Stumpy !!FFS just made it worse.
Eventually the stress got too much and after a number of collapses on duty he was diagnosed as epileptic and RTU'd to Melton for the needle........


Now, as luck would have it, when my oppo was RTU'd to Melton he found that the chap who'd trained him was now the head honcho and he decided that the boy should get another chance. He decided to return him to a rural posting instead of an Urban one as it transpired that not only was he epileptic but he'd developed a psycopathic hatred of all things civilian. So, when I went to wake him that night, in my civvys, I should'nt have been overly surprised when he tore out the bed box and grabbed me by the feckin' leg !!!

'GOB CHA !! CIBBY BABBSTARD !!! he growled through clenched teeth.
'OW, IT'S ME YE STUPID WEE **** !!! LEMME FECKIN' GO !!'
'HUH, SOBBY ! WHABBA FUBB OO IB CIBBYS FO ? ****' he snarled,
'WE'VE GORRA FECKIN JOB YA MAD WEE SHITE. NOW FECKIN GERROFF MA F*CKING LEG OR I'LL F*CKING DOB YOU !'
'**** !' he huffed.
'Enough !! c'mon !'

When we arrived at so and so I headed for the Ops Room,
'Evening sir, what you got for us ?'
'Ah Wagtail, yes, you've been tasked by THEM for something or other, they'll pick you up in 15 minutes and why are your trousers all torn !'
'Long story, Well this should be interesting. Never worked for THEM before and we're not supposed to work in the dark. Still, whats the job.'
'F*cked if I know son, no-one tells me anything, I'm only the Ops Officer. Now b*gger orf.'

So 'orf'we b*ggered and awaited THEM.


Now, this place, so and so, had a very small base and because the locals had a habit of taking pot shots at any vehicle entering or leaving there was a sort of drill for getting in and out. Incoming would radio ahead and as they neared the gates they'd give a couple of toots and the guard would swing them open at the last second and in you'd blast, humping on the brakes as you did to stop you ending up in the cookhouse. I know this now. Did'nt at the time tho'.

Me and the boy were sitting at the unloading bay having a fag when all of a sudden all hell appeared to break loose. A distant toot, the guard running to open the gates and in roared this f*ck off big Datsun which screeched to a halt beside me. Down came the passenger window and out looked the scariest f*cker I'd ever clapped eyes on.
'Wagtail ?' he growled through the droopiest bandido 'tache on the planet,
'get in the back, quick !!'

They'd caught me by surprise, I'd just about s*** myself. I tried to be cool and flippant,
'Mum said I should never get into cars with strange men !'
'Gerrin the f*cking car arrsehole, now !' snarled the strangest man in the world.

We got in. A screeching three-ish point turn, a toot and a crashing of gates opening and off we shot, up the road and into the darkness.
'My first job with THEM eh? How cool is this ?' I thought.
'F*cking civvy f*cks are gonna get it !!' growled der hund as he stared at the back of thier heads.

'What the f*cks up with the mutt ?' says the strange man in the passenger seat.
'He hates civvys.'
'Well, get a grip of him. I hate f*cking dogs and stop him dribbling on the seat !'
'I'll rip his cunting head off' snorted the Stump as I held him in his seat by the harness.

Fortunately the scary, grumpy dude in the passenger seat did'nt say much after that and the no less scary, but slightly less grumpy driver briefed me en route. THEY'd been watching some place for the baddie to come and pick up a weapon but he'd failed to trap so they wanted to recover said gat before they pulled out but could'nt pin point it. Thats where we came in. The plan was for them to take us to an RV where we'd be collected by the patrol,
'When the car stops and the lights are out they'll come to the door and get you. Just do what they say, OK ?'
'Sure, no probs.' I said, more confidantly than I felt.

Nice and easy, do as your told, dead simple, no hassle, nothing to go wrong.

Well, so much for the theory.

'I'll bite thier fucking c*cks off !!! growled the Stump.

Right where were we ? oh aye,
so anyway, there I was, cruising through the dark lanes of Bandit Country with the hound growling under his breath beside me and the two scary men growling under thier breath in front of me and me, rocking back and forth, humming softly to myself and trying to find a safe, warm place in my mind as I could see this first op with THEM going completely breasts skyward when without warning the engine and lights were cut and we cruised slowly and quietly to a halt in the pitch dark.The Stump and the scary men had stopped growling at each other and the silence was feckin' eerie.

Now, as I said, I'd been briefed as to what would happen when we stopped, but, when after a few seconds the door beside me opened, I feckin crapped myself and stifled a girly squeal as this bush materialised from the dakness and whispered, tactically,
'Wagtail ? This way' and then reached in to grab my arm.
I had barely enough time to think 'Oh fu...!!!!' when 40 lbs of snarling fur and fury leapt across me and siezed the bush by the arm.
'F*CK BOSS !!! A BUSH ' CHOMP !!! 'GORRECUNT !!'
'OHYAH F*CKER !!' hissed the bush painfully.
'OH F*CK !!' hissed the two sacry men in the front.
'OH F*CK !!' I thought and wet myself.

'GET YOUR F*CKING DOG OFF MY ARM YOU ****' hissed the bush, urgently.
'TAKE THAT YA FECKER !!' rumbled the dog, manicly
'OH FUCK !! ' whispered every body else.

'LET HIM GO YA DERANGED LITTLE ****' I commanded,
'WHO ARE YOU CALLING A DERANGED LITTLE ****' threatened the bush,
'NOT YOU !!! THE FECKING DOG !!! ' I whispered, desperately.
'OH FUCK !!' whispered the scary men, groaningly
'GNARR, GNARR, GNARRR' growled the culprit, determindly.

The only way I could convinve the little f*cker to release the bush was to squeeze his eyeballs with my thumbs
'OHYAH **** !!!!' he yelped as he flew back in his seat after letting the bush go.
'OYAH **** !!!!' hissed the bush as he went the other way and landed on his arrse on the verge.
'OH FUCK !!' moaned the scary men in the car.

I did'nt have time to think or say anything before I was grabbed by the collar and hoiked bodily out of the car swiftly followed by the dog courtesy of the lead I still clutched and we landed in a bundle of legs, arms, paws and curses beside the Datsun's rear wheel which just about ran over my head as the scary men. who'd obviously decided enough was enough, sped off into the night.

'**** !! get it sorted and follow me !!' hissed the bush, menacingly,
'COME ON THEN B*STARD !!!' challenged the dog, aggresively.
'What the fuck is the problem with that fcucking animal ?' asked the bush, equally as aggresively.
'He does'ny like civvys' I replied, miserably, 'or bushes either it would appear.'
'***** !' muttered the bush as he headed off through the hedgerow, 'C'mon, follow me !'

So we did. The epileptic, psycopathic canine dwarf and his miserable, doom laden handler.



So, after a whiley, staggering through the ooloo, we stopped and another couple of bushes emerged from the darkness. The sight of them even shut the nutter up and the chief bush came over and whispered, tactically, in my ear'
'What the fuck happened to your trouser leg ?'
'EH ?, oh that, look it's a long story. Could we just crack on with this feckin job my nerves are shredded as it is !'

'Righ-ho' whispers the chief bush,
'here's the story ....whissy ....whissy....whissy... and we think it's over there.'
he announces, pointing into the darkness where I could see the sum total of fuck all.
'Right' said the chief bush, when I pointed this out, 'we'll take you down to that gate. It's just beyond there.'

So away we went, the chief bush, followed by me with the dog in front of me choking and gagging, as the only way I could keep him quiet was to grip him by the back of the collar and lift his front feet off the gound.

We stopped at the gate and I tried to calm the psycopathic hoo-er down before we started searching. I did this by whispering the most blood curling threats I could think off in his lug hole and, getting him as calm as he was ever going to be, got him in a full lift and leaned over the gate to drop him on the other side to start the search.

'CRACK !!' went the top spar of the gate as it gave way under my chest.
'CRACK !!' went the second spar as my chest hit that on the way down and pitched me and the dog arrse over tit through what remained of the gate.
'OOOOHHHHHYYYYYAAAAAA FFFFFCCCCCUUUUKKKKKEERR!!' howled the dog as I landed on his soft bits,
'BOW WOW WOW, HOWL HOWL HOWL, BARK BARK BARK !!!' replied every dog in the feckin' neighbourhood,

'**** !!!' hissed the chief bush in my ear as he gripped me by the scruff of me neck, 'ARE YOU FCUCKING PAIR DELIBERATELY TRYING TO MAKE A **** OF THIS, YOU'VE WOKEN UP THE WHOLE FUCKING COUNTY !!'
'IT'S NO OUR FAULT' I hissed back 'WE'VE NEVER FUCKING DONE THIS BEFORE AND IT'S FECKING DARK !!! WE'RE NO SUPPOSED TO WORK IN THE FUCKING DARK. !! IF YOU COWBOYS WANT DOG SUPPORT YE SHOULD GIVE US SOME FUCKING NOTICE.' desperation was making me brave !
'COWBOYS, FUCKING COWBOYS !!!!' even in the dark I could see the viens popping in his head, 'YOU'RE A PAIR OF USELESS T*ATS. I SHOULD SLOT THE FUCKING PAIR OF YOU NOW AND BURY YOU HERE !!'

As the chief bush and I traded whispered insults the Stump had recovered his composure and wandered off,

'SSSSTTTT !!! LOOK !!!' hissed another of the bushes and pointed at the dog who had his nose down at the base of a stack of bales not twelve feet from where we crouched. As we watched he snuffled back and forth a couple of times and then stuck his nose into a gap in the bales and then the tail started going ten to the dozen!! He paused for a sec and looked back to check if we were paying attention then whacked his nose back into the bales,
'BOSS, BOSS, BOSS !! A GUN, A GUN, A GUN, A GUN, A GUN, A GUN LOOK,LOOK,LOOK, LOOK, A GUN, A GUN, A GUN !!!' he excitedly indicated.

I gripped him by the harness and pulled him off,
'BOSS, BOSS, BOSS, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN ISSAGUN !!!!' I could hardly keep hold of him.

One of the bushes stuck his hand into the space between the bales and pulled out a wrapped bundle and to a cacophany of howling and barking local dogs he slowly unwrapped the top of the thing and there its was,

'FUCKING TOLD YA, FUCKING TOLD YA, FUCKING TOLD YA, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN !!! GIMME IT, GIMME IT, GIMME IT !!!' the Stump was beside himself. The bushes were chuffed too,
'GOOD BOY, GOOD BOY, FUCKING RESULT, GOOD DOG, GOOD DOG.!! they hissed delightedly as they patted the dog.
'I KNOW I AM, I KNOW I AM, GIMME THE GUN, GIMME THE GUN !!' replied the Stump.
Me ? I watched this unbridled scene of joy, reflected on how we had snatched a win from the jaws of certain disaster, and nearly fainted with relief !!!

The RTB was pretty uneventful and even finding that the soap dodging RHF porridge wogs had proffed my tinnies and the choggi was shut, it could'nt spoil the result. I gave the poison dwarf a treat and let him kip in the room that night and as I lay in my scratcher and watched him chew on the remains of my jeans I thought ' you're pretty good when ye wanna be ye wee fuck'.
'Fuckig right I am,' he looked back, 'and I hauled your sorry arrse out the sh!te tonight, eh ?'


The End

At the time I was with the ADU every handler had to do guard dogs,Snappers, first as a sort of probation before you went onto the specialist role, Wagtails or Groundhogs. You did two weeks at Melton and then ended up at Kesh/Maze. We were supposed to do at least six months there with the Snappers but I, luckily, only did about three before I retrained. I say luckily because apart from the daily risk of being chewed to fack by some grumpy hound, the job intself was mind numbingly boring. We did 24 'on' patrolling the inside and outside of the big wall round the Maze, 24 'standby' in camp when ye did training, admin and the like and 24 'off' when you could sign out of camp after 0930 to go..ahem..shopping, and then go on the screaming p!sh in good old Lisburn.

When I arrived at Kesh I was teamed up with a dug called Shadow, a veritable feckin horse of an animal . I'm no joking ! you could have saddled this facker and riden him round on patrol. Anyhow, after I'd taken him to a quiet place with his muzzle on and leathered the fack oot him with an aluminium feed bowl, he accepted I was the boss and I never had much of a problem with him. In fact I did quite well in trials with him too. But, after I'd been told I'd got my Spec Dog place Shadow went to a new guy and I did the last shift with one of the 'pool' dogs.

The pool dogs had thier own 'ward' in the canine looney bin that was the Maze kennels and you could tell thier history by how many little red 'handler with a cross through' tallys they had painted on the kennel. The one with the most tallys was Khan which is arabic for 'Flesh rendering,bone crunching,
blood supping, bringer of death'.The big, mad, hairy, people eating f*cker had only ever had one handler ,an even bigger, even madder, much hairier, people eating Royal Hampshire f*cker who'd been RTU'd for biting some handbags from HQNI in Kesh disco. Khan would lurk in the bed box at the back of the kennel and if he even suspected that someone was near he'd come charging out and literaly throw himself against the fence and go into such a frenzy of barking and aggression he's make himself puke. Stone mad. They even had his feed bowl on a chain so's they could feed and water him and if the Vet needed to see him they had to put knock out drugs in his grub ! Why they did'ny just shoot the poor f*cker I'll never know.

'That'll be your dog 'til you leave Jock' says the Sec Cmdr, indicating Khan who was hanging from the ceiling and bending the wires of the cage apart with his teeth.
'You ARE f*cking joking right !?!' I says as Khan slams against the fence and covers me in flecks of frothy spittle.
'Yeah, just kidding, your's is down here, he he !'
Sphincter relaxes.

We left Khan puking his load up and then attacking it, just 'cos he could, and went to a kennel at the end where there was a dog called Rinty. No tallys on the kennel, no kamikaze "am gonna kill ye" antics, just a rather bored looking GSD sitting in the middle of the run watching the world go by and humming to himself.
'Whats the story with him then Sarge ?'
'Dunno Jock, just arrived from Melton the other day. Seems ok tho''
'Right, he'll do.It's just for a couple of days anyway.'

Anyhow, I pitches up to collect Rinty for our stag and goes into the run
'Hello son, who's a good boy ? Wanna go on stag..blah..blah...blah'
The dog just looked at me blankly and yawned.
'F*ck me.' I thought ' got a real live wire here.'
So, I clipped him up and and with a 'Hurumph' from the dog we headed for the first stag which was round the outside of the nick.
F*ck me I've never met a more boring dog in my life. I chatted to him, told him me best jokes,offered him a ball and showed him the tadpoles in the puddles.
Nothing.
Tickled his ears, showed him some rabbits, promised him a bitch and tried to get him involved in a peeing competition.
Nothing. Nada. Zip.
I got back to the office after the stag,
'Fuck me, that Rinty's the most boring dog on the planet !' I said to the rest of the guys who were sitting round the table playing Risk.
'Mmmm, s'that right.' they muttered. Bored.
'Kin'ell.' I thought ' maybe it's me.


So, a whiley later we goes out for the second stag and this time its internal. The army was responsible for the security outside the nick and the first 'catwalks' which were an area beween the inside of the wall and the first fence. Just bare earth areas about tweny feet wide and a mile long. Mind numbingly boring.

I'd given up trying to engage the dog in conversation and I was blethering to meself as we were wandering along and, without really thinking about it, I checked the dog by giving his lead a tug to get him into heel.
'FUCK ME !!!' he turned and nailed me quicker than a fecking rattlesnake !! He only missed me arm because of the loose sleeve of my waterproofs but he got a fecking big mouthful of that and started tugging backwards like a barsteward.
Thinking 'Hmmm, this is an interesting little situation ?' or some such I tried to choke him off with the collar but the **** just pulled harder, growling like a maniac. I could'nt get the baton oot me flak jacket so thinking 'This is getting fecking serious.' I whipped out the pistol and whacked the **** right between the eyes. That make him let got !. He took three steps back, shook his heed and with the most blood curdling fecking snarl I've ever heard, he launched himself at me again.

'AAARRRGGGGHHHH YAAA CCCUUUUNNNNTTTTT' I squawked as I stepped back, tripped over a rock and landed on my arrse.
'AAAAIIIIIEEEEEEE !!!!' I squealed as I dogded my head to the side and the jaws slammed shut beside my ear. The **** had missed my heed but had got a grip on the hood of my waterprofs and was snorting and grunting in my ear.
Panic ? Me ?
Yer fecking right !!!! Squealing like a girlie about to lose her knickers I got the twa*t in a head lock and we started rolling about the ground is a scrap that a far as he was concerned was to the death. I'd lost my grip on the lead and dropped the pistol when I'd fallen and I was getting desperate. I got a hand free and started trying to get a grip on the **** anywhere I could when, as I got a hand underneath him, I found them.....


Doggy bollox !!!...

'YESSS!!!' I thought and got a grip on his nut sack and did my best to seperate them from his body !!

'OOOOOHHHHHHYYYYYYAAAAAAAFFFFUUUUCCCCKKKKKEERRR !!!' howled Rinty and leapt off me like a scalded cat, or a near debollocked dog I suppose, and started running in circles as he tried to get a look at his scrotum. I scrabbled about and retrieved the pistol and as I went to c0ck it I tripped over the rock, again and landed on my arrse, again. In what I can only descibe as a blind panic I crawled to the wall got my back against it, cocked the pistol and in a voice that sounded just far too shrill yelled,
'COME ON YA FUCKER !!! MAKE MY DAY !!!' or some other Clint Eastwoodish bollox!
But, by now the dog was sitting whinging and licking his nuts and, thinking that shooting the tw*t might spoil my Spec Dog chances, I pounced on the fecker, wrestled a muzzle onto him and tied the **** to the fence.
Once the hoo-er was secure I sunk to knees and whimpering like a pussy tried to get a fag oot.
'Oi, Jock !!' came a shout. I was completely confused. I looked around.
'Oi, Jock !! Up here ye daft **** !!' I looked up. Two beaming Sapper faces were looking down from the watch tower.
'That was brillant Jock, gonna do it again ??'



Fucking Engineers. I fucking hate them !!


Down on the Border near so and so there was a HGV search facility where the RE Search Teams could while away a shift ripping trucks too bits. Some days they wanted dug support some days they did'nt. I personally liked the days they did'nt because the job was ball bustingly boring.

So, this day me and the boy had drawn the short straw and were at the search station with a REST, watching the a paint dry. We'd been at it for few hours, the usual routine, wagon in, order/convince/threaten a bored out his tits Wagtail to give it the once over and then watch as the oggies delicately and profesionally dismantle the thing with thier hammers and crowbars.

As usual, after the first few trucks had been through, the word had gone round and the other traffic had diverted or put off thier trip 'til we were gone and the only stuff coming through were local cars. We were standing about shooting the sh!t when this battered auld Ford Cortina came chugging and rattling down the road heading for the South spewing smoke and sagging at the back.
'Fuck it' says the RESA 'we're doing fuck all anyway, give it a pull'
and so the car was brought in and a very 'rural' looking local got out.

'Noi, whad yea's want tay bay stopping may fur ? Oi'm a baysy man ye know. Oi've nathin yea'sub bay unterested in.' he brouged ' so hoy abite oi jerst toddle on me way, hey ?'

'Eh ?' says the RESA, who had'nt understood a word,
'He's a busy man and wants to go' one of the others, who spoke colloquial Paddy, helpfully translated.

'I'll decide who goes and who does'nt.' huffed the RESA 'now tell him to open the boot up.'
'HE can understand you, sarge.' said the helpful translator.
'Oh, right ! Right come on sir, open the boot, let us check it and you can be on your way.' says the RESA reasonably.
'Ah noi, oi dohnut tink ye wanme toi bay do-in dat, so oi dohnut, sorr. oi'm a baysy man yer know'
'Open the boot, sir, now !' more firmly this time.
'Oi dohnut tink.....'
'I don't fecking care what you think, OPEN the fecking boot. NOW'
'And on who's awtority should I be openin de boot den sorr' enquired the local.
'Her Majesty the fucking Queen, !' exagerated the RESA, 'now open the fucking boot or I fucking well will !'

While this facinating cultural exchange was going on the dog had wandered over and shown some interest in the back of the car. He stuck his nose to the line of the boot lid and sniffed very deliberatly a few times then moved along and did the same at another bit. It was'nt a proper indication but something in the boot was tickling his olfactory senses. I pointed this out to the, by now rather annoyed, RESA.
'RIGHT YA FECKING AULD TWERP !! OPEN THE FUCKING BOOT NOW OR I WILL !! he exploded and beckoned over a true troglodite of a Sapper armed with a fuck off big crow bar.
'Oil roite, oil roite, oi'll opun ut,' relented the local,' don't say oi did'nt warn yeas tho'
'OPEN THE FUCKING THING !!'

So he did.

The boot lid swung up and..
'FUCK ME !! WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE !!!' yelped a startled Stumpy as two pigs stuck thier heads and trotters out of the boot !
'AAAIIIIEEEEE !!! A DOG !!!!' squealed the paddy pigs in unison, 'RUN AWAY !!!'
and leaping out of the boot, bowled the dog over, charged through the gate and belted off down the road towards the border.
'WOO HOO !!' barked the Stump,'A FUCKING CHASE !!! and tore off after them.
'FUCKING H'ELL !!' exclaimed everyone else as they started to develop the giggles which quickly developed into gales of laughter as they watched me leg it out the gate screaming the most blood curdling threats at the top of my voice in a vain attempt to retrieve my dog.
'Oi'll jest be away now den, to recover may pigs eh ' grinned the local.
'Aye, paddy, fuck off and if you find an army dog with them, sent it back please !'

I'd gotten down the road a short distance and had too stop yelling about ripping the dogs c0ck off and shoving it up his arrse as it was upsetting the parishoners coming out of the near by church.Fortunately Stumpy had realised that, being a short arrsed little **** of a dwarf, and no lurcher he was never going to catch the pigs and was slinking back with that 'Ok,ok, sorry, let's get the bollocking over with' look he always gave you when his insticts got the better of him.

Since I was still under the critical gaze of the worshiperers I thought better of kicking his **** in there and then but made him a promise that'd he'd get it later for making me look like a t*at and we walked towards the gates of the search centre where the REST were rolling about in hysterics.

We finished the stag then and had a brew in the camp cookhouse while we waited for the transport. The RE's were full of it,
''...kin brill, funny as fuck....'
'.....you should have seen the pigs...'
'..should have seen Jock there, screaming like a banshee...'
'...Stumpy was fucking brilliant......
and so on and so on and the dog was lapping it up knowing full well that having got away with it he was'nt going to get a doing later.

''You know something' piped up one of the quieter,more serious RE's suddenly and we all pawsed to listen.
'I've been thinking. If I had something to transport across the border in a car and I wanted to distract the search team and a dog. I'd put a couple of pigs in the boot !'

THAT fucking thought haunted me for weeks I can tell ye. !!


Stumpys 7D's or the Disgustingly Dirty, Demeted and Derpraved Disco Dancing Demonstration.

We'd been out on the border with the RE's doing a clearance on a car that had been hi-jacked and then dumped blocking the road. It was an obvious come on and the SF had left it to soak for a week or so before we approached it. Me, the RESA and the ATO were following the dog as he cleared an area in an adjacent field. He'd cleared down this hedgerow and I'd stopped him at the end so we could catch up so's I could see him work the next bit.
'Seek on son !' and he did and disappeared round the end of the hedgerow. We followed and as we walked round the corner there he was, not six feet away, standing on top of a three foot square patch of disturbed earth digging furiously with his paws.
'ISS HERE, ISS HERE, !!! AM GONNA FETCH IT, AM GONNA FETCH IT !!' he furiously dug.
A backwards glance at the RESA and the ATO who were legging it back the way we'd come confirmed that they agreed with my take on the situation but the hound was so focussed he ignored my pleas to
'GERROFF THAT YA STUPID WEE **** !!'
Reluctant to got forward,I crouched down, tho' what fecking difference it would have made at six feet I don't know, and thought furiously.
Ha ! got it. I whipped out the Browning and with a 'HEY STUMPY !! WASSIS THEN !! ' threw it back the way we'd come.
'HO YA **** !! ISSA GUN, ISSA GUN !!' realised the Stump and with a 'AH'LL
FETCH IT, AH'LL FETCH IT !!' he tore passed me after the gat.

I legged it after him, got a lead onto his harness and dragged him, complete with pistol clamped firmly in his jaws, back to where the others had taken cover in a ditch. After I wrestled my, by now doggy slaver covered, pistol off the **** we watched the ATO do the bizz and dismantle what turned out to be an exceedingly well placed AP mine.

As was normal the ATO kept a sample of the ANFO contained in the thing and decided to dispose of the rest in situ by detonating batches of it in a nearby ditch.

'STAND BY .......FIRING........KA FUCKING BBBOOOOMMMMM !!!!!!'

The ditch erupted in a huge spout and as we lay there cowering with our hands over our heads,we were spattered by clods of mud and ditch water. We all turned startled eyes to the ATO who, standing with a fuck off big divot on top of his helmet, announced as only these cool, mad feckers can,
'hhhmmm, seemed to have miscalculated that one slightly.'
Mis-fucking-calculated !??!, I'd sh!t meself for the second time that morning !
After he'd fininshed destroying the ditch I went over to have a look at the pressure plate he'd recovered and kept.
'Lucky it was a dud eh boss ?' I enquired.
'Dud fack all son,' he replied ' if that mutt of yours had been thirty pounds heavier we'd have been mince !'

My shreddies got it for the third time that day !!

Next.. I'd been 'persuaded' into taking over one of the farthest flung corners of the boggy empire and we were going through a change over. At the time units were on four month tours and they seemed to come and go really quickly. Some were keen to use the dogs others not so. Some would seek us out for the local knowledge we had, some, usually the ones with a keen, young Intelligence Officer (there's an oxymoron for ye !) who'd fuck off in civvies and 'Winthrope' all over place, seemed to think we did'nt exist.

We were a fortnight or so into the tour with some planks and despite constantly heckling the Ops Room we were getting feck all except some spin off work from the RE's and it was getting boring.

Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good skive as much as the next idle fucker, but in a base the size of a couple of football pitches with the UDR club being the only boozer in the place, doing nothing started to wear thin.

So, this night I was in the cookhouse proffing some of the egg banjo kit left out for the night sentries. I had a fair cowp on as we'd managed to bribe the Choggi, Wullie, into giving us more than the two cans per man per day ration. Twas desperate measures, getting ratarrsed on Tartan Special, but as we'd been banned from the UDR bar, it was our last recourse.

Anyhow, in comes this plank section cmdr and starts asking me about what the dog can and can't find weaponswise,
'Ra Shtum ?? Wee bashtard can find feckin anyshing. Facking awshum shearsh duggle, how ?'

It transpired that one of his section had lost a mag on a patrol in the sticks earlier in the day and the BSM had promised not to hang the guilty plank by the nadjers if they could recover it.
'Nae fackin bother for ush !' I bragged, 'me an ra boy'll find it fer ye'sh.' I boasted and a date was set for first light.


So, next morning at the helipad, with the effects of the slavvering juice wearing off, I met up with the section and listened while the sec cmdr regaled his chaps about how me and the Stump were the answer to thier prayers.
'Bollox !' I thought, 'me and my big gob.

A dog detects a weapon because of the cocktail of smells that come from it, human scent, oil, traces of cordite. A magazine, even full of bullets, is really just a tin box to a dog, especially if it's not been on a weapon thats been fired or if its not been oiled etc. An extremly difficult traget for a dog.
'Feckin Tartan. Feckin Wullie, Feckin feck !' I reflected calmly.

We dropped off and traced the route the section had taken, up hill, down dale, through hedges, to where they'd finished. Fuck all. Nothing. Zip. There was dark mutterings starting. We headed back to the PUP.

Now at one point on this fecking odyessy we went though a hole in the hedge. Nothing particular about it and we'd been through it already. There was a puddle of muddy water at the bottom and, don't ask me why, but I stuck my hand into it as I bent to go though the hole and lo and fucking behold !! One SLR magazine c/w twenty rounds !! I glanced around. No-one had noticed. I dropped it back into the puddle.
'Stumpy ! Wassis then ?!' I called him over and indicated the puddle.
'Issa a fecking puddle innit ?' he looked quizzically.
'No, IN the puddle, IN the puddle ye feckin eejit, !'
'Eh ??' he just was'nt getting it.
'Oh FFS !' I reached into the puddle and lifted the mag just enough for him to see it, 'Warra fuck is THIS then ?' I hissed.
'Fucked if I kno...OYAH **** !! ISSA BIT O A GUN, ISSA BIT O A GUN !!!' he barked in eventual feckin recognition. 'Thank fuck !'

His racket got the attention of the planks,

'Hey lads !! I think the dogs got someth.......OW MA FINGERS !!!' the Dwarf had decided to play this for what it was worth and snatching the mag from me hand took off at the canter like some posing tw*t, head up, mag in the gob and tail going in a real 'look how clever I am' routine.

Needless to say the planks were delighted and rained plaudits down on the head of the shameless little ****.
'Brill dog, Jock !! he's the bizz !!! blah feckin blah !'
'Yeah,' I muttered sourly as I nursed my fingers. 'True fucking hero !'

The jobs picked up a bit after that, still not hugely busy, but enough to get out with the boys and start forming some bonds.

A week or so later I was robbing the night shift egg banjos again when the Ops Officer came in.
'Ah dog handler !' he observed, as I stood there with egg yolk and brown sauce dribbling down my front thinking in my stupour 'O fuck, wonder what the penalty for robbing the night shifts egg banjos is !'
'I hear your dogs just the man to find missing magazines,eh what ?'
'Er, aye sir, we've found one.' I mumbled through banjo.
'Splendid. One of the patrols thats out has lost one. I've arranged for you to nip out and find it for them. OK ?'
'What, right now, sir ?' I banjoed.
'Gawd, thats what I like ! Keen to get right on with it !!' he wrongly concluded, ' no, no, first light will be fine.Good Chap !.'

'Aw, bollox ! ' I thought,
as I smeared the egg yolk into sweatshirt. Thoughtfully.

Later that morning we flew out into a typically grey shitty dawn which matched my mood exactly.
'We're gonna get caught out this time Stump.' I whinged to the mutt,' no way we'll be jammy twice.'
'Dum dee dum dee la la ....I love helicopters !' cared the Stump not a fig.

The pilot came on the headset and explained that he was dropping us off in the same spot that he'd dumped the patrol,
'Out the door and head for the edge of the field. They'll be waiting for you.'

The Lynx bumped down and we did as instructed. We ran to the hedegrow and as I knelt down,
'OUCH ! what the fucks that ?' I looked down, and I'm no shitting ye here, there was the mag !!
'Stumpy wassis !?'
'It's yer knee'...clack...'OOWW...OH ISSA ANOTHER BIT OF A GUN !!! etc etc.'
He did'nt get my fingers this time and as the patrol came over too meet us I was able to, rather smugly I have too admit, present them with the mag.

Fucking A. Shortest search in history !! Even the Lynx was still in the area and came back to uplift us. Splendid, job done and back to base for tiffin.

We did'nt do particularly well findswise for the rest of the tour but our reputations were complete and, fortunately, the planks stopped dropping mags all over the shop. Thank fuck, I doubt our luck would have held.

Aye, sometimes it IS the good that get the luck.



And next..


My first exposure to the Household Division came at the hands of the Welsh Guards who took over the TOAR for the winter tour and had thier HQ in The Mill. They were very active and the demand for dogs to help with the searches led the Bde Sgt to volunteer me and Stumpty as the extra bods to beef the section up. I'd dispatched the dog and me MFO box down to The Mill in a van and I followed later on on the motorbike resplendant in my pseudo easy rider outfit and dully arrived at the main gate where I was confronted by a six foot three, sheep shagging Blodwyn, who looked me up and down and threaten 'Oi, fack off paddy !' as he brandished his SLR at me.
'FACKIN PADDY ! A'LL GIE YE FACKIN PADDY YA FACKIN WELSH OAF ! A'M SO AND SO THE NEW DUG HANDLER AN IT'S FACKIN CORPORAL TAE YOU !!' I ranted at the **** who looked quizzically at his mate and told me to 'Fack off Paddy' again ! So I gave it too the **** again, but this time remembed to remove my full face helmet !
'Oh, right you are corp, sorry 'bout that. You did'nt look like a dog handler tho', is'nt it ? No dog you see.'
'**** !' and I rode into The Mill on me trusty steed that was'nt to see the light off day for two bloody months.

No sooner had I got the coat off and spoken to the guys than the tannoy
went,
'New dog handler too the ops room, is'nt it, boyo.'
'Fack that was quick, wanting to welcome me already, hey ?' I enquired,
'Yeah, summit like that,' said the Para, knowingly, but did'nt elaborate. So off I toddled to the Ops Room.
'Who the fuck are you!?' six foot six of incredibly shiny WO1 enquired when I wandered in,
'Cpl so and so, new dog handler, pleased to meet you sir.'
'I FUCKING WELL DOUBT THAT !!! ARE YOU THE FUCKING COWBOY THAT JUST RODE INTO MY CAMP OF A FUCKING MOTORBIKE !!!???' he had some set of lungs on him this **** !
'Erm, yessir.' I thought I better keep it short,
'A FUCKING MOTORBIKE, DOWN HERE ??!! ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID ???!! WHAT FUCKING REGIMENT ARE YOU FROM ??!!'
'Erm, no a Regiment sir, a'm a Royal Engineer.'
'FUCKING CORPSMAN, SHOULD HAVE FUCKING KNOWN !! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING RIDING ABOUT DOWN HERE, ON A FUCKING MOTORBIKE, FUCKING UNARMED AS WELL, ARE YOU A TOTAL TOSSER ??!!'
'Erm, I was'nt, sir'
'WAS'NT FUCKING WHAT ??!!'
'Erm, unarmed sir. I, erm, had ma pistol. Tucked into the top o' ma wellies.' I added, helpfully. I really should have just shut up. He went facking ballistic and missed fack all. I got it. The length of my hair. My bumfluff 'tache. My Corp. The marital status of my parents was questioned and he finished his ear bursting rant with a'
'...AND IF I CATCH SIGHT OF THAT FUCKING MOTORBIKE I'LL SHOOT THE FUCKING THING MYSELF. PERSONALLY !!!! NOW FUCK ORF !!!!'

So, orf I fucked, somewhat wiser and not a little deaf, and thought'
'Jesus, this is gonna be some facking tour !'

Anyhow, I got meself settled into one of the broom cupboards that passed for the Dog Section accomodation, hid the bike in the electricity switch room, and vowed too keep the heed doon and just stag on.


Now, to get to the cookhouse from our broom cupboards we had to pass through the front doors of The Mill where there was a guardroom. In the corridor beside the guardroom was a huge table with the most awesome dispay of Regimental silver you ever clapped eyes on. Now why anyone could be arrsed humping all that lot from Pirbright just to decorate the corridors of a commandeered mill for four months is beyond me, but what the fack do I know. I'm only a facking Corpsman after all. My self pledge to keep the heed doon lasted a few weeks until someone in the Section produced some joke plastic dog shites ( I know, don't ask !!) and I'm afraid I just could'nt resist it.

It was all a bit childish I suppose, but hey ho, twas a bit of fun. Anytime we passed the silver table I'd slip one of the plastic turds amongst the silver and then we'd hide up the corridor by the phones and watch as the Provost or some such would notice, with some horror,the offending item nestling amongst thier treasures and run away giggling like wee lassies when they realised, after some prodding with pace sticks, that it was'nt real. This went of for a couple of days until I'd run out of plastic tollies so, in the finest traditions of my Corp, I improvised.

I saved one of Stumpys curlers and put it aside to cure. After a few days it's surface had dessicated enough that it could be handled and it was dully placed amongst the gleaming trophies. Taking up position at the phones to watch the fun unfold we were horrified to see that the first one too approach the table was the RSM !!
'Fack this,' I thought, 'a'm aff !!' and as we buggered off to the cookhouse I thought to myself, 'Oh dear this could be bad !'

It took five minutes for us to find out that it was badder than I could have imagined. It started with a roar that reverbarated through The Mill and ended up with the complete Dog Section in the office of one extremely hacked off Welsh Guards Rass Man.

As related to us later by the guard commander, the Rass Man had arrived at the table and loudly announced his discovery of the turd amongst his silver. At this the Provost had appeared at his side and informed him that it was another of the stupid plastic dog sh!tes that, dog handlers probably, had put on the table over the past couple of days,
'Oh fucking really ?!' the Rass Man had responded and with a '***** !' had whacked the turd full on with his pace stick. The effect, as they say, was explosive.

On contact with the pace stick the turd had detonated and not only did it spatter the surrounding Regimental silver, but, it got the Rass Man and the Provost too !

'WHICH ONE OF YOU FACKIN W*NKERS IS RESPONSIBLE !!???' he roared like a wounded bull elephant as he stormed into the office.
Silence. We stood firm, shoulder to shoulder, mano et mano, Unit solidarity in the face of this verbal onslaught.
'IF I DON'T GET THE FUCKING CULPRIT RIGHT FUCKING NOW, YOU LOT WILL BE STAGGING ON IN THE SANGERS FOR THE REST OF YOUR FUCKING MISERABLE LIVES. NOW WHO THE FUCK WAS IT !!!??????'

'IT WAS HIM !!' the b*stards denounced me with one voice, 'IT WAS HIM , SIR, WE TOLD HIM NOT TO, SIR !!! ' Grassing ***** !

'YOU, YOU FUCKING W*ANKER. I MIGHT HAVE GUESSED !!! GET YOUR FUCKING GEAR AND REPORT TO THE PROVOST. YOU'LL BE IN THAT FUCKING SANGER SO OFTEN YOU'LL THINK THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD IS SQUARE AND BLACK !!!'
'But I have'ny got a gun, sir, ' I whinged desperately, 'I've only got a pistol, a canny dae a stag wi' jist a pistol.'
'FUCKING GUN ??!!, FUCKING PISTOL !!?? YER LUCKY I DON'T HAVE YOU PATROLLING CROSSMAGLEN IN YOUR SKIDDIES ARMED WITH A CATAPULT, NOW FUCK OFF AND IF YOUR NOT IN A FUCKING SANGER IN TEN I'LL GET FUCKING ANGRY !!!!!'

He'd get fucking angry ??!! Christ, I would'ny have liked to see him angry. I was changed and into a facking sanger in under five.

Two facking weeks that went on for, and, the sanger they put me in was'ny even one of the ones that was used. It guarded fack all. I had plenty time to reflect on the error of me ways I can tell you.

The Bde Sgt heard about it and, after the tw*t let me stew for a fortnight, and after a whole lot of 'You owe me big time for this, Jock' bullshit, he extracted me, the dug and my motor bike from The Mill that had now become my fackin prison. What a relief ,and, I was pleasantly surprised on my release to find that world was'nt square and black after all !




Next..



The Sgt who had the dubious distiction of commanding twenty odd dug teams in the Brigade was obviously Pet Corp but essentially a decent spud. All he really wanted was a quiet life and seemed to work on the premise that " If I can keep these fackers busy they've less chance of causing mischief." and it was these charactaristics, not wanting hassle from above and inventing things for us too do, that probably led to the 'Bacon Tree' fiasco.

A number of us were summoned up to H.K. (Head Kennels ! What else ?) for a 'Future Ops' briefing about something or other. We'd half been expecting it as we'd been up the week before to explain why we'd been barred from all the UDR clubs in the area for refusing to stand for the National Anthem at the end of a do we'd been invited too.

Now, I will say, in our defence, that the do in question was a Country and Western Dance and the sight of a crowd that looked like the cast of Paint Your Wagon, standing rigidly to attention amongst the hay bale seats to the strains of God Save The Queen played in the Rawhide style by a full blown 'Yar-hoo' cowboy band from Belfast struck us a terribly funny and the more p!ssed off they got, the more ridiculous and hilarious we found the scenario until we were set upon by the James Gang and run out of the hall by a posse led by thier CSM who was dressed as Wyatt Earp.
Proddie cowboys !! Nae sense of humour !!

Anyhow, after a 'Idle hands' lecture from the Bde Sgt he tells us that he's been talking to the new Ops Officer from the, recently arrived, Light Infantry and he's got an interesting 'project' for us.
We all groaned inwardly because 'project' was Pet Corpese for 'some other nonsense I've managed to get you fackers lumbered with.'

'.....so,' he continued, 'you fackers are going to be doing Bacon Trees! First ones this weekend !'


'Bacon trees ?? What the fuck ye on about, sarge ?'
'Bacon trees ! Ham bushes ! 'am bushes, gettit ?' he was really pleased with his joke, ' you're all going out on ambushes. With the Infantry. On the Border. 2 to 3 days at a time. In the field. Good eh ? Any thoughts ?'
We had plenty !?!
'We canny do facking ambushes, sarge !'
'Why not, you're fucking soldiers int you ?' he resisted, 'Gimme a good reason why you should'nt go on them, come on, I'll listen to you.'
We all started..
' Well, firstly were no trained for it....'
'Secondly it's fackin dangerous.......
'..am no a soldier a'm an Engineer...'
'..the dogs canny work at night....'
'..what the fack do they want US with them for ?'....and on the whinges went...
'..and fifty secondly, it's fackin dangerous !!'

'C'mon, sarge, geeza break, we're sorry we upset the UDR, but fackin ambushes FFS ??!!'

'Ok, Ok,' he held his hands up, 'this has nothing to do with you lot upsetting the UDR,' he lied, 'this is all about us providing the best dog support we can,' he bulls!tted, 'and anyway the Yanks used ambush dogs in Vietnam !' he added, helpfully.
'They lost !' grumbled the Chunkie, ' what are we supposed to do on ambushes. It's search dogs we've got !'

'Look !' the BdeSgt continued, ' yer dogs have all got the same senses. They'll be able to detect targets coming into the area well before humans can and indicate that fact silently.' I seriously doubted that !! 'and if it does kick off, your right on scene to do clearances and detections.'

I tried to visualise how calm the Stump would be for searching after a couple of sections of the LI had 'kicked off' an ambush with gunfire, shermulys and all the other fackin ordinance they took with them on these things.

'And anyway' he continued, ' I know for a fact that some of you fackers have already been out on ambushes and some of you have been training for it. Well, you have have'nt you ?'

All eyes turned on Taff, who was Welsh and from the RWF. He was a good mate but a complete fecking war monger. He'd been the **** that had taken himself out on ambushes and patrols, but, he'd not taken the dog. Just wanted to 'keep the old hand in, is'nt it ? Maybes bag a few Provos like, bach, boyo, is'nt it ?' and the 'training' we'd been doing was an effort to get some of the dogs used to sneaky beaky type work in the wake of the 'THEM' debacle with me and Stumpy.

We tried to explain !

'LISTEN !! ye war dodging fackers ! Yer going on these fackin ambushes and thats that. First ones are on Friday and you two fackers are first up for it !!'

'****. Typical, ' I muttered, ' 2 Paras, a war mongering Welshman and a Queens Own Highlander and the **** picks a Wedgehead and a Chunkie for this bollox.'
'What was that ??'
'Nothing sarge. We're onto it.' I glared darkly at the grinning grunts and wondered how the fack I was going to cam up a torn faced yellow labrador.


Friday came soon enough and, earlier in the day, I'd gone down to the base where we were starting this nonsense from. I'd met the patrol commander and got all the gen on how this ambush cobblers worked and, with the help of one of our resident Paras, set about getting me kit sorted out for what was to be a 24 hourer.
'Whats this for ?' he asked as he held up my neatly packed mess tins,
'Washing and shaving kit, boot kit, spare socks and shreddies.' I said proudly, having packed my CEFO as per some Inf training stuff I'd done eons ago.
'oh FFS !' and they landed on a pile of my gear he'd already extracted and lobbed into the corner, ' it's a fackin ambush yer going on, no 10 days fackin manouvres ! And whats this FFS ?'
'Erm, a book. Case I get bored !'
' Jesus Christ !'
Guess where it ended up !

After he'd stripped me down to the bare essensial, he even took me doss bag FFS, he rummaged about in the gun box,
'Here, I orginised these for you.' and handed me four Browing mags full of bullets, 'these are all I could get I'm afraid.'
'What the fack do I need these for these for, I canny hit b*gger all in daylight with this thing let alone at night !!'
'Christ ! ye can always use them to top yerself if yer captured.'
'What ? Shoot meself ?'
'Naw, swallow them in a oner, you'll choke quicker than you can shoot yerself, ****. Now stand still and I'll cam ye up,'

Now, whilst all this was going on the Stump was curiously watching from one of the bunks as he idley chewed on someones shoe. I'd decided to keep him indoors prior to the off seeing as how he was such a grumpy fuck if ye woke him up. So after I'd had me 'full face' applied it was his turn.
'Come 'ere son, get yer cam on.'
He slinked off the bed and wandered over with a sort off 'What the fack are you pair up too ' look and when he reached us the Para gripped him by the collar and I started applying liberal ammounts of cam cream over him.
'What the fucks this shite !?!' he whinged, ' gerroff me ya ***** !!'
'Stand still ya wee fuck, it'll only take a mo !'
'Gerroff ya fuckers !! look at the facking state ye've got me in ! ' he struggled.
Job done we let him go and he bolted to the other side of the room and gave us the big glare as we laughed at the state of him, wish I'd had a facking camera I can tell ye.
'Fack! this tasted horrible !!' as he tried to lick it off, ' and it'll gimme fackin plukes !!'
'C'mon ya whinging midget, let's go too war boy !!' I clipped him up and dragged him out the door as he tried to get the cam cream off his tongue
'Fackin maniacs !!' he spat.

I met up with the rest of the patrol at the gates and thanks to our resident Para me and the Stump looked just as mean and warry as the rest of them.
'Jump !!' says the patrol commander
'Eh ?'
'Jump. Up and down !'
'What the fuck for ?'
'To see if you rattle you **** ! Now jump !'
So I jumped. Hah ! No rattles.
He stood looking at Stumpy who, still with a monk on, sat staring back.
'If ye can get him to jump up and down your a better handler than me sarge !'
'****, I don't want him to jump, it just I've never seen a dog with cam cream on before. It looks fackin weird !'
'It'll be the last time ye see it too,' grumbled the Stump, 'pair o' barstewards !'
And with that we mounted the chariots that would whisk us to war and climbed into the back of a pair of scabbie civvy Sherpa vans and headed out the gates.





So, off we heads, all crammed into the backs of these vans. It only took about twenty minutes but it seemed like an eternitey. The Stump had done his usual 'Im just a little hungry labrador, gimme some grub and I'll be your friend for life' routine he always did when he met folk for the first time and, getting fack all, was sitting in a huff at the back of the van. I was bricking myself and hoping against hope that we could pull this off without a repeat of our previous night time fiasco.
We were told when it was couple of minutes from the drop off and, for me, the silence in the back of the van was ominous. The atmosphere was like shagging under canvas, fucking in-tents, but everybody else just seemed focused, well, for bar the Stump who was sulking about 'fackin cam cream, fackin barstewards and no fackin grub' but he was'nt as wound up as I'd expected which was a plus.

The vans dully came to a halt and, except for the racket the hounds claws made on the van floor as he tried to get out first and his grunting and snorting as I held him back, the first bit went well.
One of the LI ambushers had been allocated as cover man for us so we just followed him and did what he did and we eventually stopped and took up position in this bit of woodland.
'This is the LUP dog handler' whispered the boss LI ambusher 'OK ?'
'Erm, aye, erm whats a LUP ?'
'Oh FFS !' as he explained ',..and this is where you come too between stags and where we RV if theres a bug out.'
'Eh, right, RV's, bugs eh, yeah fine.' I actually knew what he was on about but sounded like a right tube as my mind was going ten to the dozen, twas a combination of the sort of tension being on these things brings anyway, a rising sense of panic that it would go t*ts up and just bricking it anyway. The dog was up on his toes as well. He was used to getting out of camp and getting on with things and he wanted to get on with it, sitting thier with the ears up and trembling with the tension, still he held it together and did'nt start coming the ****.

First off half the ambush went off to get everything into place. You should have seen this, a few extra Gimpys, trip flares and what looked suspiciously like a couple of Claymores, I sh!t you not ! Claymores FFS, I thought we were out to catch a couple of welly wearing Paddys armed with Armalites, this lot could have dealt with the whole Chinese Army and still had stuff to spare at the end. Still, twas a bit of comfort to know that there was no facker going to out shoot us this night.
Me and the canine early warning system were to go into the ambush about an hour or so later, once I'd made sure the dog was settled enough.
I was really looking forward too it !!
I briefed the dog while we waited.
'You ARE fucking shitting me, ain't you ?' he glared at me in the darkness, ' you're facking barking you are !' he huffed and flopped himself down on the ground, 'completley fackin barking !'

Then he was up on his toes again, growling, as we heard someone approach.

So, I've got the Stump by the muzzle trying to keep him quiet and out of the gloom appears the head LI ambusher,
'Ready Jock ?'
'Naw, am fackin no, but lets go anyway. Come on you, lets go and be fackin quiet.' I hissed.
'**** !' grumbled the dug and of we crept after the head LI ambusher.

It was only a couple of hundred yards to the ambush position but it seemed to take ages and the pair of us must have sounded like a herd of fackin elephants. I swear I walked into every branch, stepped on every fackin twig and tripped on everything there was to trip on. Half the problem was the mutt who, thinking he was on walkies, was pulling ahead on the lead like a tractor but we eventually got there and plonked ourselves down where the head LI ambusher had indicated.

Now I knew where I was supposed to be as per the briefing, somewhere in the middle of this ambushy thing but I could have been on my tod in the middle of nowhere.
'Fack this for a game of soldiers.' I thougt miserably.
'What now, ya **** ?' figeted the canine early warning system.
'Shut up and lie still or yer for it.' I gave him a tug on the lead to reinforce the point, 'this is fackin dangerous so be quiet.'
'****.' he huffed.


Ten minutes passed.
'I'm bored boss !' he rustled as he moved about.
'Fack sake, be still ya ****. Here huv a biscuit.'
'Oo ta ! chomp chomp chomp.'



Another ten minutes.
'Is it time to go yet, boss ?' he tried to get up and I forced him back down beside me.
'Oh FFS, here huv a biscuit.'
'Oo ta ! chomp chomp chomp.'



And so it went fackin on...
'Bos......'
'Biscuit !'
'Ta, chomp chomp chomp.'




'Bo....'
'Biscuit !'
'Don't wanna biscuit, wanna drink.'
'Fack sake ! here !'
'Ta glug glug glug'


'B.....'
'Biscuit !? drink !?'
'No.'
'No ?!'
'Wanna pish !'
'Jesus Chri...eek !!' I stiffled a squeal as the head LI ambusher's hand came down on my shoulder'
'Look, if you can't be fackin quiet, fack off back to the LUP will you !' he whispered loudly.
'It's no me, it's this impatient little **** here !'
'Eh ?, it's fackin well you I can hear rabbiting on about fackin biscuits ! Now if you can't be quiet, fack off !'
'Right !' I huffed, 'a ken where am no wanted ! Come on ya little pest.' and we crept back towards the LUP concentrating like b*ggery so's not to waken the dead.



Now, I dunno if ye've ever tried 'ghost walking' through a wood with a fackin maniac on a lead, but it's no easy let me tell you. However we were fairly quiet and it was all going well until,
'Oh fuck ! Where's the tape ?' I'd been concenrating that much on avoiding branches and twigs I'd missed one of the turns marked with mine tape and I could'nt see it.
'Wassup boss ?' as he was jerked to a halt,
'We're fackin lost thats what !' I told him with a heart that sank as quickly as me sphincter tighted. 'Oh, sh!t ! This is bad !'
'Ooo, what ye gonna do then ?' something in me voice must have let him know I was serious and he sat down beside where I was crouched, peering through the gloom in a vain attempt to see the tape. Nothing..
I tried a few desperate 'PSST ! PSST's' into the darkness. Nothing.
'Fack sake, what are we gonna do ?' I whinged.
'Dunno, your supposed to be the fackin brains of this outfit !'

I knew we could'nt be very far from the tape or the LUP, but...

I thought about seeing if der hund could sniff his way back, but.....


...there was a dozen or so Light Infantrymen in the very near vicinity, armed to the teeth and hunting for bear !

I sat on the ground and put my head in me hands, all I could think was. 'Oh, fuck, this is bad !'
'Ye ain't fackin kidding !' sympathised the Stump as he slumped down into the prone position, 'got any of those biscuits left ?'



We really did seem to sit there for ever. I dunno, probably ten minutes or so, but, fack me !! Sitting there with brown adrenalin running down me leg every sound seemed to be amplified a million times. The pair of us were sitting there and feeding off each others paranoia,

'Rustle, rustle !!'
'Wassat !!' he'd stiffen
'It's a bird or summit. Stupid wee ****.'

'Snap !'
'Christ, whats that ?' I'd start.
'Issa hedgehog, ye windy tart.'

and so it went on..

'PSST !'
'Fuck !!' we both jumped
'PSST, dog handler, you there.'

Oh !! blessed relief !! I'd have hugged the LI ambusher that found us, but that would'nt have been very tactical or, harumph, manly. But !


'What the fuck happened ?' enquired the head LI ambusher as we arrived back to the safety of the LUP.
'Oh Jesus, I missed the tape on the way back, could'ny see a thing, did'ny want to go wandering about, thought it best to stay put 'til someone missed us...etc, etc......' I wittered like a busrt arrse.

'Yep, tw*t got us well and trully lost. He was crappin' himself !' confirmed the shameless little **** of an early warning system, 'got any biscuits mate ?'


We spent a truly miserable 6 or so hours laid up in the LUP, bribing the dog with biscuits in an attempt to keep his boredem at bay. It started raining and it was fackin freezing. Initially my admiration for the grunts was complete,
'Anyone who can do this as a job's got my admiration.' I confided in the Stump.
But the wetter and colder I got it changed too,
'Anyone who can do this as a job's a complete fackin eejit !! '
'Fackin right ! Geeza a biscuit.'

We had to wait until just before it got light before we were to be extracted. It was'nt the dogs fault really but, Christ, he was hard work.

'Boss !!'
'What the fuck now !?!'
'Need a sh!te boss !'
'Well, fackin have one then !'
'What !?, with all these fackers watching me !?!' he looked around at the resting stag who were no more interested in him having a dump than fly in the air.
'Right ! Come on then.' I made to get up,
'Where the fack do you think you two are going ?' growled the head LI ambusher.
'Just gonna take the dug for a sh!te. Just over there a bit.'
'Hang on a mo, I'm not losing you pair of ***** again.' and with that he picked up a reel of mine tape and tied the loose end to me fackin webbing !! The fackin shame of it !!!
'Hah, that's you on a lead too then, eh boss ?' gloated the now completely redundant early warning system, ' c'mon will ye I'm bursting !'

'So ! how was the 'bacon tree' then boys ?' says the Bde Sgt who was waiting for me and the Chunky when we got back, 'Bit of an adventure was it ?' he asked breezily.
'Fackin bacon tree, fackin bacon tree !! I could've fackin died !!........' I let him have it with both barrels.
'...AND !!' interjected the Chunky, who'd had a similar crappy experience,
' you're fackin ambush dogs in Vietnam ??? They accompanied patrols !!They were for DETECTING the fackin ambush, not being part of the fackin thing !!'
'Oh FFS, calm down !' bristled the Bde Sgt, ' You can always expect a few teething problems with anything new like this. It'll be fine the next time.'
'The NEXT fackin time !!??!!' we chorused.
'Yeah, it's not your turn again for another month or two. You'll have it sorted by then, eh ?' and with a 'Must fly !' he facked orf before we could get any further into his mince.

'Christ what are we gonna do about this bacon tree nonsense ?' I asked the Stump as we stood in the shower trying to get rid of the cam cream.
'Dunno about fackin bacon trees but, if ye don't let me out of this shower right now I'm gonna bite yur fackin balls off !!'


Despite our protests the bacon trees went on and with no more success.
One of the Paras dogs got spooked, bolted and hit a trip flare wire.
The Planks dog, which was actually a Lab but, as he had no tail, looked and acted like a Doberman, attacked one of the Gimpy gunners when the guy would'nt give up the Gimpy that the dog had 'found'.
Another Engineer dog was sacked for snoring too loudly and, the Welsh war mongers dog fucked off when he was sleeping and was returned three days later by the RUC.

Twas a complete fiasco that only stopped after a dreadful tragedy down on the border that, fortunately, did'nt involve any dogs.

Aye, fackin bacon trees !! Fackin Pet Corp and thier mad plans !! Mind you, we did stand too attention every time the National Anthem was played thereafter. So we'd been out in the sticks for an overnighter. It had'nt started that way but we got redeployed after the first search was over and ended up in the arrse end of nowhere and, with no prospect of getting a lift back, had nipped into the Spar shop in this wee Republican village, surprised the owner by shopping instead of turning the place over and got some grub for the tea. We then patrolled to a ruined castle not too far distant and at the picnic tables on the lakeside there had a rather marvelous little picnic too ourselves. Then, with the sh!t shot and the tinnys finished we camped out in the ruins and spent a rather nice night under the stars. Even the torn faced dwarf was happy having eaten until he was sick !
What is it with fackin squaddies ? An order to 'Don't feed the fackin dog !' seemed to be taken as a challenge and as soon as me back was turned they, and the dwarf as well it has too said, would conspire to get as much shite down his neck as was possible.
'Oh, I think I've eaten too much boss !!' he'd whinge, fart and belch.
'Serves ye right ya wee gannet ! Nae sympathy !'
'**** !'

At first light-ish and we were getting our sh!t together and preparing to trog back to camp when the Section Commander gets word that we're to be picked up by helicopter at such and such a time at so and so a location ! Brill ! So off we sets for the PUP gets there in plenty time, settles down in the hedgerow and gets a brew on.

Now, those of you that have worked with choppers will know, but you soon learn to recognise which ones are which by the noise they make. Each one has a very distinctive sound. So we're all sitting about and we hear this chopper approaching, but it's got a sound that I'd never heard before and I was just getting my head round this fact when the Lynx burst from behind a tree line and circled over us.
'What the facks that ?' some said, some thought.
'Dunno, but it's a cabby looking facker.' someone remarked.
'Is it one of ours ?' remarked some brightspark, tho' who's else he thought it was I never found out.
'It's a Lynx ! Army's newest helicopter.' piped up the section plane spotter, 'twin engines, 10 passengers, 200 mph and it has rigid rotor blades so it's the only helicopter in the world that can fly upside down.' he added, helpfully. 'Really ?' we all piped back at him, 'How interesting !'

Anyhow, this things was obviously going to land and, although it did look cabby, it had two side doors, same as a Puma, so it should'ny be a problem getting on board, 'Pop the smoke !' says the Section Commander,' and form two sticks !'

So, the Lynx bumps down, side on too us, and we all jogged across towards the bird. I was about half the distance away from it and I was thinking, 'Fackin load master must be sleeping, he's no opened the doors yet.' when the head of the sticks in the shape of the Section Commander arrived at the door and having had the 'Don't touch fackin anything !' lectures from the RAF and RN, stood there waiting for it to open.
Hah ! nae loadmasters on a Lynx.
We all dropped to one knee to see what was going to happen next.
The pilots gesturing to the, rather, non plussed Section Commander,
'Open the fackin door yourself !' he gesticulated and eventually the boy got the message, stood back and looked at the door then grabbed the handle in front of him. The one in the middle of the door under the window. The one that jettisons the door in case of an emergency.

As the door came away from the helicopter with the section commander still gripping the handle we all thought,
'Oh,fack, thats done it !! He's gone and broken it !!' or some such.
He stood there no doubt thinking,
'Oh ya ****, I've broken it !!' or some such and, apart from the fact that there was a Lynx roaring away, you could have heard a pin drop, so too speak.
The crew broke the spell. They revved up, took off and left us and thier, probably, rather expensive door standing in the middle of the field wondering 'What the fack do we do now ?'
'Be a fackin long hump back carrying that facking thing !' remarked one wag, but the Lynx was circling and it seemed obvious that they wanted the bit for thier aircraft back.

Now I don't know what was said in the cockpit, but ye can imagine !
'I say Woger, that bwutes just wipped the doewer orf aar choppa ! Whateva shall we do !'
'Fack knows, Woopert, neva had me choppa vandalised by damn gwunts before ! D'you thinks it's best we go wetrieve it ?'
'I'll say ! Neva a bwoody mechanic awound when you need wun !'

Now bear in mind this is at a time when the only ground to air comms ye had was jumping up and down and waving or firing mini flares at them to get thier attention. So there we were, waiting, crouched in the field while the Lynx came round again and landed a bit further away this time. We all got up ready to run towards it when the door opened and one of the pilots jumped out. He gave us a wave that sort of said 'Any of you fcakers advance an inch towards this helicopter and I'll shoot the feckin lot of ye !' and stomped over to the Section Comander who was sitting on the door by this time as he was scared it might blow away. After much gesticulating and finger pointing the pair of them hauled the door over to the chopper and did whatever they had to do to get the thing attached. Then after a very pointed display to the Section Commander as to where the proper handle was and how to use it we were waved aboard and eventually set off. During the flight the section commander, poor bast*rd, had to sit with the spare headset on and, although you could'nt hear what was being said, you just knew he was getting the bollocking from hell !! He did'nt half get it tight from us as a well. Later on, in the bar, we ribbed him mercilessly, all of us blithly ignoring the fact that we would all have done the same !!

The next time we saw a Lynx there was black and yellow tape markings all around the offending handle and a fuck off big red arrow pointing to the proper one.

Now, why did'nt they do that in the first place, eh ? Air Corp arrses !

Prior to joining the Dog Unit I'd never clapped eyes on a pistol let alone handle and fire one. I'd had the usually UK based RE fare. The good old SLR was the main one and, whilst a fine gun, it was a bitty fragile as an Engineers weapon. The butt tended to split when used for hammering pickets into the ground and the flash eliminator would bend out of shape if you made use of this facility to burst the metal banding on stores crates. I had an SMG for a while when I was Tp wally op and while this was a handy, fold away thing for excersices, it was rubbish on the ranges. Mind, it was while I was using this gat that I got my first 'Marksman' qualification on the range. Well, it was for the five minutes it took the range staff to realise that three of us had been firing at the same figure 11 traget and then they were mightily unimpressed that even three of us firing at the same target could only get a 'Marksman' score by one shot. My favourite gun was the venerable LMG which I'd volunteer to carry on every excersice just so's I could be the one too blat off a s*** load of blank ammo from the hip,Captain Commando style, during the section attacks. I'd also lugged a feckin Charlie G around often enough when ever I drew the short straw and that was nae fun. Really ! in ten years in the Engineers I never even saw so much as a drill round for that thing, I suppose we could have always jammed the tracks of enemy armour with the thing or maybe snucked up behind and clubbed the commander if he stuck his heed out the hatch. Nope, the Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistol was as unknown and mysterious to me as being able to complete a present arms without cutting myself with a bayonet or having the magazine come clattering off when you gave the gun a good slapping. Pistols were the weapon of issue for dog handlers and I first laid hands on one when I started as a guard dog handler at Kesh.

Now the ADU being the ADU they did'nt bother with such pesky, waste of time and rescourse nonsense like weapons training or familiarisation, oh no, you pitched up at the Ops Room inside the jail and signed for a pistol and a mag of ten before you're stag and handed it over to your relief a couple of hours later. Mere details such as 'How diz this work ?' and 'Whats this furr ??' were passed on by your mates and given that I'd arrived there a few weeks after the Annual Personal Weapons Test I never even fired one of the things before I left to retrain as a Wagtail. Mind the state these gats were in I'd have had serious thoughts about doing anything as rash as trying to fire a bullet through them. They were so worn that they looked chrome plated and if you shook them too hard the top slide would fall off. Still the common consensus was that if you were in a situation where you needed to fire one of the things then you really were right up sh!t creek withoot a paddle and you'd be as well surrendering. Things changed a bit when we returned to Kesh after the Wagtail course when we were issued with a personal pistol that was a least the right colour, but you still had the impression that we were the poor relations that were given the cast offs. I mean the one I was initially issued with was one of those Canadian made things with a ramp sight that went too 600 yards FFS !?! and a slot at the back for clipping in some kind of butt thing which I suppose would have been handy for hitting anything over ten feet away and might have helped me hit something during the APWT's we did on Brigade. But then with the Bde APWT's accuracy with the pistol was rather academic as tests usually consisted of signing out the required ammount of ammo, blatting it down the 30m range and then falsifying the results. No one ever taught us how to fire the things properly and it was a year or so later, when some RUC coppers I was sharing a range with took pity on me after they'd stopped pishing themselves laughing, that gave me some instruction and reduced the chances of me shooting myself, the dog or anyone standing beside or behind me. But still, as Steamywindows was saying, it was a pretty cabby thing to have as a teenager and they also issued us with shoulder holsters !How cool ? How James Bond ? How special agent ? How fackin stupid ?

The issue shoulder holsters were awful things. They were made of some kind of leatherette PVC and the bit where you stuck the gat was big enough to take a bazooka. This, coupled with the fact it was held shut by a big plastic clip of the type you'd find on a bergen, meant that you needed twenty minutes and three hands to draw the barsteward, but, there was other holsters available from the handlers who were finishing thier time and RTUing. These were the proper American jobbys that had been privately purchased and passed on from guy to guy. They looked brand new, I later found out why, and were totally cool with white canvas strapping and brown, tooled, leather for the holster part. Just like ye saw in the cop movies and just like in the cop movies they were of a open front, quick draw design, with the pistol held in place by a spring clip around the middle of the holster. So, gear aquired and a handy full length mirror, and we were quick draw practiced and raring to go in short order ! It only took about three or four weeks to realise what a usless piece of junk we'd been conned into buying. Open front, quick draw holsters are all very well for American detectives, but these things were obviously designed for much lighter gats than yer standard Army 9 milly lump. Move suddenly, jump or even just sit down and out would plop the Browning. Reach out to select an LP from the record counter in Woollies in Lisburn and out would clatter your side arm onto the tiled floor. Oh dear ! That and finding yourself the only clown sitting in the pub sweating like a rapist in a hood because ye can't take your jacket off, because you've got your James Bond rig on underneath, and the novelty soon wore off and you reverted to what everyone else did and stuck the gun anywhere handy.
Still, I got me money back by flogging the damn thing to some dreamer idiot who was starting on Bde when I was leaving. Hey ho, what comes around goes around, eh ?
I did buy another holster to use when I Wagtailing, a '44 patt webbing one that was a decent buy. I looked like a feckin holster and with a few mods suited the Browning fine. It was bought to replace the issued '58 patt one which was complete abortion of flaps and clips and as much use as t!ts on a bullock. The '44 patt one did the job and kept the pistol nice and secure and handy for whenever it was needed.

Like the time the Stump decided too go scrapping with one of the locals.

Now while me and the boy were charging about the green place the Army was busy building a couple of new bases down on the border. Well, when I say building 'new' bases they were sort of rebuilding the original ones which had been fairly bog standard RUC barracks until the current round of the 'Troubles' had started. The extra demands of having the Army camped there and the fact that the locals lobbed mortars onto them occasionaly meant they were undergoing fairly major reconstruction at the hands of the British Armies very own Whimpey, Her Majesties Corp of Royal Bodgers and Wreckers. All good and well but Wedgehead the Constructor needed sh!t loads of stores and materials and as there was a 'No Driving' rule within twenty five miles of these places, due to the annoying habit the locals had of blowing the roads up, shifting enough gear down when Bob the DPM Builder called for it was a major operation. The stores ops did'nt happen that often, well, usually every four months or so when a new Squadron moved in and the whole show would kick off with the Infantry moving out and digging in along the whole length of the route. Stage two was the RE search teams with a Wagatil each searching and clearing the routes which, to save time, was searched from either end with the teams meeting in the middle. Once searched and secured the convoys would rumble down and keep rumbling down until everything was delivered. A couple of the ops that happened when I was there went on for two days ! Like I say, major operation.
I knew there was one of these stores runs due when I arrived back after a couple of days off. They were never a problem for me or the boy but I was facking annoyed to find that the fat fuck, op dodging hoo-er in the Section
had managed to get himself onto the reserve list and that me and the hound were scheduled to fly out that night to stay with the REST in one of the sh!te holes to cover the sharp end of the serch the next day. I made sure the tw*t knew what I thought of his antics, but headed off. I did'nt mind going at all because the Squadron that had moved in was my old one and it was a chance to catch up, it was just the principle of the fat fuck dodging another op. Still, I got me gear and the dog together and spent a pleasant night catching up with the auld mates and had the hangover from hell the next morning as we left the camp and headed for the edge of town to start the clearance.

So, anyway, we gets to the start point and I gets Stumpy harnessed up and away we go. We'd hardly started and were passing the bottom of this driveway when I hears this snarling and looking across sees this fack orf big Alsation advancing down the drive. Now I knew the locals did'nt have much time for us down there but from the way this hound was advancing towards us, teeth bared, hackles up and giving it nanty I'd guessed he was a probably a Republican sypathiser and was'nt best pleased to see us either. I looked back to check where the Stump was as it was becoming apparent that the focus of Shamus the slavvering Alsation was our very own Brit barstewrd Labrador who suddenly realised we had some company, stopped searching, got the lips and the hackles up and adopted 'the pose'.
Now any mutt the size of the dwarf, faced with opposition the size of the Alsation, and with half an ounce of sense would have facked orf in the opposite direction. Not Stumpy. Like any typical short arrsed squaddie who thinks he's invicible, he snarled a 'Right, Paddy, want some do ye ?!' charged the other dog and before I could do or say anything the pair of them were rolling about the middle of the road in snarling, gnashing heap.I went to move to help him and froze when I heard two SLR's cocking behind me !!
'FFS ! DON'T SHOOT YE'LL HIT THE WRONG FACKIN DOG !!' I squecked and making sure they got the message, drew the browning, gripped it by the barrel and brandishing it like a tomahawk, jumped in to help my oppo who was doing a fackin good impression of coming second.


Now I don't know if you've ever done it, but getting between two dogs that are scrapping is something I don't do as a regular pastime of choice. There was teeth gnashing and biting, growling, grunting and snorting and the howl and yelp as one or the other managed to nail each other. The Dwarf was rolling about underneath biting at any ankle or leg that was near him and the Alsation was hopping about and getting the odd bite onto the boy before he rolled out of the way again. It could'nt last much longer before Stumpty got badly hurt so, with a swift boot in the ribs to wind him, I gripped the enemy by the collar and brought the pistol down on his head to deliver the c'oupe de grace'. Except he ducked, I missed the tw*t and clobbered the Stump instead. Not any glancing blow either, oh no, twas a full on, 'Take that ya bast*rd !' skull splitter. ! Oh sh!t !!! The Stump staggered back three paces, rolled his head and collapsed into a leg jerking, body twitching, mouth foaming, full blown grand mal epileptic fit, I completely lost it and with a roar of curses got laid into the fackin Alsation, lamped the hoo-er with a couple of belters and them left him to the tender mercies of the half section that had got waded in, the other half section being busy with the owner of the culprit who'd arrived on the scene and was being arrested for 'damaging Army property' or some such. I dashed over to the Stump, praying to God that I had'nt killed the poor facker, and set about administering first aid.

I was'nt the first time I had to deal with the him throwing a fit, it was the first time I'd caused it , true, but the treatment you give a dog is the same as you'd give a human. Airways clear, shove something in thier gob to stop them biting thier tongue, try to get them into a quiet, darkened place and give reassurance until they come round, so after getting his tongue out the way, shoving a first field dressing between his teeth and not having a quiet, darkened room to put him in I whipped of the jacket and covered his head. Then carrying him onto the grass at the side of the road I sat down with him and talked as soothingly as I could until he came round,
'Aw fuck I soo sorry mate !'
'I did'nt mean to hit you !'
'Please don't die !'
and so on until the fit subsided and he started to come round.
As he came too, rolled off his side and into the prone I removed the jacket,
'Oh fuck son ! you're alive, thank God !!'
'Duh ! what the fack happened there !?!' his head lolled a bit and his eyes rolled in thier sockets, ' that fackin Alsations got a kick like a mule !!'
It was then that I noticed the blood that was congeling on the back of his head. Oh fuck ! I gave him a quick check and discovered a three quarter inch laceration where I'd gubbed him with the pistol. 'Oh sh!t, this just gets worse !' I moaned as the saracen from the camp arrived and out jumped two medics who immediately headed towards us.
'You OK, Jock ?' they enquired urgetly as they both dragged me to my feet, 'how many fingers am I holding up ?!'
'Eh ? What the fuck ? Eh three ! Why ?'
'Erm no, it's two actually ! We were told you'd had a fit and collapsed, you OK ?'
'Eh ? Aw naw, no me, the dug ? The fackin dug had the fit !' and I filled them in on what had happened.
'Oh well, he looks OK now, eh?'
'Aye, I know, but, erm, there's something else.' and I showed them the lump I'd taken out the dogs bonce, 'can ye do anything for him. I'll have to take the poor sod all the way to Kesh otherwise.'
'Well, I've only ever sutured blokes before but why not ? Get him into the Sarrycan and we'll sort him out back at the camp. There's a chopper on it's way for you anyway.'
and with that we went back to the base where I held Stumpys head while the boy did the business. Cracking job although the dog was far from the ideal patient and it saved me from explaining to the Pet Corp why I'd pistol whipped the dog ! But, good grief, I felt guilty as sin !

We piled on board the chopper and flew back to our base where, waiting to board and fly in to replace me and the Stump was the fat skiving fuck,
'Heard yer dog was badly hurt !' he whinged as we came past, 'does'nt look very badly hurt to me. I'm having to go down to replace you !'
'Hah, he is hurt and he's on light duties ! Tough titty ! Get yer fat arrse doon tae the sharp end the boys are waiting for ye. Stag on ya fucker!!'

'Thats a bit of a result,' I says to the dog as we walked back to the accomodation, 'that tw*t having to replace us, eh ?'
He looked up at me as we walked and gave me the look,
'Aye, but your gonna have to go some to make up for gubbing me ya tw*t !'
he accused.
'I know, I know,' I replied guiltily, 'tell ye what, you up for a night at the Holfast disco at Castle Dillion ?'
'Facken A !' he brighten, 'that'll do, no done any dirty dancing for ages !' he wagged,
'Now, feed me something nice and be good too me and I'll see about forgiving you, ya arrsehole !'

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[HACKLE]

Tho I didn't understand some of the "special" words I understood the rest. What a great read. Cheers Ahamay.

 

[saphena]

Bloody hell John, I thought I already knew most variants of English

 

[Ahamay]

Anyone who did a tour in NI will get it, tell us what you didn't understand maybe some of the military acronyms i will elaborate.

 

[Firstpeke]

I think I recognise one of them with the moustache...... if it is the one I think, I met him in a field on a small British island in '82........