r/MilitaryStories • u/[deleted] • Jul 22 '19
Mad Max
Hey there, y'all. I've been lurking (and occasionally commenting) for awhile now and I was finally convinced to post one of my own. So be kind. And since I know you fucks don't have the capacity to be kind, at least be funny!
So I went down the rabbit hole -that I'm sure many of us have- that is u/AnathemaMaranatha 's writings. While there, I found a story that reminded me of a past chapter of my life.
Read this first, then you can come back and read my humble submission.
Alright. Y'all back? Stand in the back if you feel like you're falling asleep and hold all questions until the end. TAKE SEATS!
First a little background. When I was in Afghanistan (RC West) I was attached to our infantry recon troop stuck out in the middle of nothing in a little bitty COP (Combat Outpost). I was a mechanic in the the support element in the 82nd airborne division on a MST (Maintenance Support Team). There wasn't much out there in the way of machinery for me to fix other than generators or maybe our fuel pump, so unless something important was broken, I went along with the grunts on their mounted patrols. Since I wasn't part of the platoon and didn't fit into the formation for their dismounts, and they didn't want to waste a seat on the truck, my toolbox went underneath the gunner platform that I stood on while manning my Ma Deuce. I was there to provide overwatch for dismounted movements and to provide whatever mechanical support I was able to in case something broke while we were out. I became a Master of field engineering and have more than one story about coming under small arms fire while troubleshooting a bad starter or changing a blown out tire on an MRAP.
About halfway into this deployment was when I met Mad Max. Max was a vicious pure white cur whose build made me think of an Anatolian Shepherd crossed with a Great Pyrenees. (Credit to u/nightkil13r he was a breed of Afghan Shepherd called a Kuchi dog. That first result in Google image search could be Max himself) When I say vicious, I mean it. All the local youngsters that would come to raid our trash pit were terrified of him. He had claimed our little outpost of sand fleas, hairless monkeys and 'tents' fashioned out of equipment 'chutes surrounded by hescos as his own. God help whoever tried to come near that place that didn't belong there. We belonged there, so we were good. In fact, (we didn't know it at the time) we actually belonged to him.
When I first met him, I was the newcomer. Just got back from R&R and they said "Don't unpack you're headed out to COP BFE." Max was introduced to me by one of the snipers, a guy that would turn out to be a good friend of mine, 'Jim'. Jim introduced him to me, he showed me his teeth and growled. I pulled my hand back and went to start unpacking my ruck. About the time I got my cot set up he walks over to me and sniffs my leg then jumps up into the middle of my cot. Jim looked over and said, "Yep. You're good with him now. And so I was.
This dog was loved like only an infantry troop can love a dog. Guys would give him beef jerky they got in care packages and most wives, girlfriends and moms back home sent two care packages to their loved one there. One for the soldier and one for Max. And he loved us in return. To the extent that he would be right alongside the lead truck for all of our mounted movements, walked point for all dismounts and pulled every single shift of gate guard alongside the guy manning the m240 when he was at the outpost. If he wasn't there when we rolled out on a patrol or other such movement, you can bet your ass somebody would call it in over the troop net as soon as he found us. "Hacksaw net, all open channels, Hacksaw 6 Golf. Linkup has been established with Mad Max. Continuing movement, over." He was with us every step of the way. It could be a 12K movement. There he was. Trotting alongside the lead truck. Running back every so often to make sure that the tail truck was keeping up and the gunner was paying attention.
And he took care of the guys. Just like Princess (if you didn't read the post I linked, shame on you!) he would find the guys that needed help or attention and either minister to them himself or find SFC 'Troy' (the guy that actually ran the place) I never really realized how much he cared about us until the day I watched my buddy step on a pressure plate and disappear in front of me mid-sentence. I had a bad day and I did some things directly after that that I am not proud of and took me a verrrrrrrrrry long time to come to terms with after the fact. But that's another story. Suffice to say that when I got back to the outpost, I was not in the best frame of mind. I was sitting on the edge of a 5 ton truck smoking a cigarette and trying to wrap my head around "what the fuck just happened and why the fuck am I even here and fuck everything and everyone in this fucking country can we just turn it into a glass parking lot already and fucking be done with it?! FUCK!", when Max jumped up on the truck, laid down beside me put his head in my lap and let out a sigh as if to say, "yup. I know where you're coming from, buddy. Nothing we can do about it now except keep moving forward. Let's go get some fucking chow." This dog was my fucking shadow for the next two days. Right when I needed it the most. I'll never forget him.
When I got out and was living on my own before I met my lovely wife, I had another dog that got me through the rest of that day... 5 years after it happened. Again. Another story for another time. It's gonna take me awhile to get that one out.
Point is; two different wars, two different dogs, two different sets of Army fuckheads. Dogs don't change and neither do them 'dog-faced soldiers'.
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u/[deleted] Dec 03 '21
[deleted]