Will Barrow - Buster: The Military Dog Who Saved a Thousand Lives

Buster, where the bloody hell are you?

I had no idea why I said that. I knew that Buster would be no more than a whiskers width away from me. I heard him sigh as if to say, For goodness sake, mate, just calm down. Were out for a ride thats all. But thats Busters view on the world. Even in this inky blackness, as we sat in the belly of a Viking armoured vehicle, he would be thinking he was just out on a trip with his friends and, if he was lucky, one or two of them might have a bit of food to share. After all, this dog was already a veteran of two tours of Bosnia. If the journey ended with a long walk, then this boring sitting-still bit would have all been worth it.

It was early in our relationship, and I realised how jealous I was becoming of Busters simple logic. That morning we were up at 0300. An hour and fifteen minutes later we were kitted and booted, and rooted to the spot by the sound of something very solid heading our way. The earth shook under our feet, and while Buster sat in a Sunday morning kind of pose, wondering if the early start meant a second breakfast, I studied the dark horizon for clues. Suddenly, the entire perimeter of Forward Operating Base (FOB) Price was blindingly illuminated, and for a few seconds Buster and I stood like a pair of startled rabbits. We were witnessing the arrival of the Viking troop of the Royal Marines.

The convoy had driven for two hours overnight from Camp Bastion. Relying entirely on their night vision goggles to cover the distance, the drivers brought the vehicles through the darkness to the bases main gates before switching to full beam. Winding down to the harbour, the Vikings came to an ear-splitting halt with the screech of their metal tracks.

Vikings are huge, ugly, tracked armoured vehicles. They come in two parts. The front has a can for the driver, commander and gunner. The gunner is stood with his head out of a hatch in the top and armed with a general purpose machine gun (GPMG or Gimpy) or a .50 calibre heavy machine gun (HMG), both of which will ruin your day. Behind this is a powerful engine that propels it along at speed. The rear compartment is for troops or supplies. It will seat six people, but any more than four is pretty uncomfortable. As usual, everything is covered in sand and dust, which has to be constantly cleaned out.

At this time, the Vikings were feared by the Taliban, and this mornings had come to collect me and Buster and deliver us to our unit in the field. True to form, Buster sprang into action, meeting and greeting the guys who clearly looked a lot less boring than me. Panting and wagging his stumpy tail, he leapt into the Viking ready for another mini-adventure packed with fresh smells, noises and voices.

Despite the gloominess inside, I knew Buster could see me, but his focus would be on getting a seat. As the engine rumbled away I quickly dealt with the practical side of things such as storing our bags. My bulging Bergan was full of Busters food, but the marine sergeant lifted it onto his shoulder as if it was a childs lunch box. Tearing open the rear armour-plated door he dropped my stuff into the main compartment.

I crouched down before stepping in to join the heaving, breathing bodies of two hefty Royal Marines in full body armour. I was given a headset so I could hear all communications between the commander, driver and gunner above the noise of the engine in the front can. Buster was already in there somewhere but I couldnt see him on any of the seats. After a little jostling with bags, rifles and body mass, I sat and shuffled my feet to create some personal space and some Buster space. No one knew how long the journey to the patrol area was going to take. Christ it was getting hot and I knew Buster must be feeling the heat too. Its OK pal dont worry, I said, hoping my voice was steady. But I think I needed the reassurance more than he did.

After a short while we joined Highway 1, a decent proper road by local standards, which encircles Afghanistan. Suddenly I realised that this was it. I couldnt escape now, even if I wanted to. And I admit that there were times as I packed, unpacked and re-packed my kit for the umpteenth time that I had thought of taking an immediate career break.

OK, where are you Buster? I pushed my right foot in front of me: it connected with something soft but solid Buster. Buster didnt like sitting on the floor. In fact Buster never sat on the floor. He preferred to commandeer a seat next to the guys not necessarily next to me I might add.

I bent down and whispered in his ear, Just checking in case you have found the only clever dick in this sweaty space that has a ham bone or a chew stick about his person. I know what youre like, I ruffled his ears, you think Im just a thick human being, but I know what youre thinking and whats more I thank God for you, you great daft dog.

Those who arent dog lovers probably think that talking to our four-legged friends is a step too close to crazy, but sometimes theres no better conversationalist than a dog: if you are afraid they sense it and calm you without uttering a word. If you are making a fool of yourself they draw you to one side and give you that look that says you know, you can be a real prat sometimes. And if you are lost for words they fill the silence by giving you a big kiss. As Buster leant his warm spaniel body into my leg I felt a swell of reassurance wash over me. I knew that if I died tonight I would not be alone because my best pal would be watching over me.

We drove for some time, the light slowly coming up. I was at the back and had a small window to look through. Most of the time there was nothing of interest to see, but occasionally we would pass through a small town.

Ping! Ping! Ping!

A hail of metal-on-metal shots splattered against the Viking.

Spat, spat, spat!

I stayed low and arched over Buster, who was panting like crazy. I put my hand to his chest and I could feel his heart pounding. For what was probably only seconds I left my hand where it was, so I would know if he was hit. While I knew in my head that there was no need to worry, as there was no way that normal bullets would penetrate the beast that was the Viking, my heart still made me pull him close to me to protect him.

Is everyone OK? The drivers voice came through the headset loud and clear. I opened my mouth to answer but thats as far as I got before another voice interrupted.

You cheeky bastards. Have this you shitheads. You wont like it but youre getting it! The vehicle shook as the gunner let off a burst of rapid fire from his Gimpy.

We were blind to the action, holed up the Vikings belly, and captive to whatever happened next. Drive on, damn it! The commanders voice boomed down the headset to the driver, but the gunner, in the most vulnerable position with his head and shoulders well above the single turret, was determined to give as good as the vehicle got.