No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone (18 page)

It turned out the medic liked cats. He cleaned the kitten's wound, applied some antibiotic ointment, and bandaged the leg. With another week of antibiotics and bandages, my feline roommate was well on the road to recovery. I was amazed she was going to pull through. Miracles in Iraq are few and far between.

The day she literally dropped into my life, I didn't expect the kitten to live, but she made it clear she wasn't giving up. By proving me wrong, she filled me with hope. She was a lot like the local people. In spite of the difficulties in their lives, they hadn't given up either. As the power plant got closer to completion, it gave the local people hope for a better future. That's why I decided to name the kitten "Hope."

I used to sit and watch her, wishing my little friend would let me pick her up again but didn't want to push my luck. She had already made it clear that keeping some distance between us made for better living arrangements, so I went along with it. Then one night that changed. Startled awake by something that felt like a warm wig draped across my head, I suddenly realized what it was. Hope has been sleeping there ever since. I call her my "cat hat."

I never planned for Hope to enter my life, but she did, and now she is a part of me. We have a strong bond between us, and I'm her only family and provider. If I left Iraq without her, it would be like abandoning my own child. I want her to be a part of my family in the States, not just another dead cat in Iraq.

I'm no soldier, and Hope is definitely not a pup, so I don't know if she qualifies for your program. I have worked hard to help this war-damaged country build a future and made many Iraqi friends. In that sense, I have played an important part in the peace process in the Middle East. If there is any way your organization can help me to bring Hope home, I will be forever grateful.

-Bruce Bousquet

Until I read Bruce's story, I hadn't really thought about what it must be like to live and work in Iraq as a civilian. I felt bad that people such as Bruce weren't recognized enough for the important role they play in promoting democracy and providing services that help citizens recover their lives after their country is torn apart, especially when much of the destruction was done by American military weapons. Soldiers enjoy the camaraderie of their buddies, but often contractors such as Bruce are terribly alone. My heart went out to him, and I e-mailed Bruce back, saying I'd be glad to put his cat on the active rescue list.

On the same day that I received Bruce's request for transporting Hope, I also got a call from Matt Kincaid of Pet Relocations with our second cat. Matt explained that his company specializes in transporting animals all over the world, but one of the few countries where it cannot operate is Iraq. Matt asked us to help a U.S. Marine who had contacted him, and was desperate to get his cat to Virginia. I told Matt to tell the cat's owner to send me an e-mail. Two days later Captain Thomas Liu's e-mail landed in my inbox and told a remarkable story of love and commitment.

My platoon was originally stationed at a forward operating base about 50 miles west of the Iraq-Iran border. We provided security for convoys, cleared IEDs, and patrolled the area surrounding our base, always on the lookout for insurgents. We had over 230 Marines in six platoons, and I commanded one of those platoons.

The terrain in that part of Iraq is harsh, and the people are dirt poor. Iraqi farmers migrate into the area at the beginning of the rainy season to plant crops. They live in small huts built out of mud bricks. After harvesting their meager crops, the farmers return to where they came from.

During one of our patrols, we came upon one of these abandoned huts where the walls and roof had collapsed. I certainly didn't expect to stumble upon a kitten there. A scrawny little thing, she was sitting in the rubble all on her own. Her pitiful meows confirmed that life at that moment couldn't get much worse. I gave the rubble a quick once-over, and there were no signs of any other cats.

It was a tough call to make. Do I leave the kitten behind, knowing she's too young to survive on her own? Or do I break the rules and take her back to camp? I'm a Judge Advocate, meaning I advise and enforce military regulations, including General Order 1A, which prohibits military personnel from befriending stray animals in a war zone. If I flouted the very regulations I make others uphold, I could get into serious trouble.

No matter what a Marine's specialty is, we are all trained to kill if that's what it takes to protect our country. No training can replicate the carnage of war, however, and prepare men for what they'll face on the front line. In Iraq, life is as cruel as I've ever seen it. When I found that innocent kitten, it tore me apart realiz- ing one more life was about to be wasted. I didn't want to add to the brutality of her world. Maybe I just wanted to make reparation for all the horrors that war brings. I couldn't turn my back on her and let the poor thing die.

That was the beginning of my covert operation. I snuck her into my trailer and gave her some tuna from the chow hall. I was determined to keep the other platoons from finding out I had a cat. But keeping secrets isn't easy, especially when you need to find kitty litter. People started noticing me wandering around in the middle of the night, carrying my little shovel and a trash bag, looking for patches of sand. They must have thought I was really strange.

I refused to name the kitten at first. I'd push her out the door in the mornings, hoping she'd learn to fend for herself, but every night when she heard my boots coming, she'd beat me to the door and wait to be let into my room. Over time the Marines in my platoon got to know her. Eventually I gave in and named her "Jasmine." She knew the difference between my Marines and the ones from the other platoons, and she stuck to her own men, doing the rounds every day, accepting everything they offered.

Rivalry between platoons is a part of life on a military base. Jasmine became the target of a prank instigated by some of the Marines from the 4th Platoon. They were on a mission to kidnap Jasmine, but her feline instincts foiled their repeated attempts. After two weeks of dodging their traps, she had a moment of weakness and walked up to them purring. They nabbed her.

The next day I was the last of six Platoon Commanders to give a status update during a staff meeting with our Commanding Officers. Using a PowerPoint presentation, I stood in front of the room and detailed our operations. When I was almost through, I got hit with a surprise that I thought would cost me my job. Somebody had slipped a video into my presentation.

Two Marines, dressed up like jihad fighters in a classic Al Qaeda ransom video, held Jasmine up in the air and were dancing around chanting, "Allah akbar, Allah akbar, Mohammed Jihad! Durka, Durka, Mohammad Jihad!" Her legs dangled as they swayed her around, proving she was totally relaxed and enjoying the experience of being held captive. The video ended with a ransom message, demanding me to pay two cans of Copenhagen Long Cut chewing tobacco to the 4th Commander and to deliver it to the Sons of Allah if I wanted Jasmine back.

My secret was out. I didn't know whether to plead ignorance or beg for forgiveness. It turned out I didn't need to do either. When the video started, the Commanding Officers were curling over themselves chuckling behind their hands, but by the time it ended, the whole room had erupted in guffaws of laughter. I let out a sigh of relief. I think the prank actually worked in Jasmine's favor because every time she crossed paths with the Commanders after that meeting, they smiled and looked the other way.

I couldn't stop thinking about taking Jasmine home. I asked around to see whether anyone knew how I could get her out of Iraq. Master Gunnery Sergeant is one of those crusty old Marines who can figure a way through just about any predicament, and he's tough as hell. I was reluctant to admit to him how attached I had become to a kitten, but in my desperation I decided to ask him anyway.

He was the first one who gave me any hope. "Don't be ashamed about loving an animal," he said. "You may be surprised to hear it from the mouth of this old salt, but back in the days of the Beirut war, I befriended a dog. He followed me everywhere I went; the best buddy I've ever had. I tried to send him home, but before I could, somebody shot him. If I knew who the bastard was, I'd probably have killed him."

Master Guns said that Baghdad was our best bet for getting Jasmine out of the country, but our camp convoys didn't go anywhere near there. He suggested taking her up north to where we were soon scheduled to move. From there we might find someone willing to smuggle her to Baghdad on a supply convoy. There was only one problem with his plan. We were going to our new location by helicopter. I'd have to find a way to hide Jasmine in the bird.

It took some doing, but I managed to locate a cat carrier. While I was carrying it back to my room, one of my Commanding Officers (CO) belted out from behind, "Liu, you are not bringing that cat when you move out!"

I couldn't disobey a direct order. Now I had a problem that required more help. I was tutoring a First Sergeant in statistics at the time, so during one of our sessions, I explained my dilemma to him. He works for the Commanding Officer who caught me with the carrier. I asked him if he would talk to his CO and explain that I had grown real attached to Jasmine and that I had a plan to bring her home, but in order to carry it out I had to get her up north first. It was her only chance to survive.

First Sergeant had a word with the CO and reported back to me that my request was being considered. The only hitch was that I had to be present for the verdict. We have several Commanding Officers, and most of them are pretty reasonable. This one wasn't too bad, so I hoped for a good outcome. I had never begged for anything until the day I stood in front of that CO, but beg I did.

"Which night are you and your men leaving?" he asked. When I gave him the date, he said, "Just make sure I don't see anything."

I wasn't out of the woods yet. There was an Executive Officer (XO) on the base who worried me because he hates cats with a passion. There was no way he would ever allow Jasmine to fly with us, especially not in a troop helicopter. I had to be extra careful not to let him get wind of my plan.

So, picture this: It's a cold night in March, and thirty Marines in full body armor, wearing backpacks and carrying weapons, run head down like charging bulls toward the landing zone. It's lightsout. Copters are coming in with their engines roaring so loud, the noise is deafening. Sand is blasting from a whiplashing wind that nearly knocks you over. I'm shouting at my men, "Get on! Load up! Quick!" While doing this, I'm carrying all my gear, with my weapon in one hand and Jasmine's carrier in the other. She, in the meantime, is going berserk, fighting to get out of her carrier. Suddenly she rips a hole in the mesh, and I'm scared she's going to escape. Before she can get away, I grab her and hang on, while she's fighting me for all she's worth. All the time I'm praying we don't get caught by the Commanders. God knows how I managed to get Jasmine safely stowed away on that helicopter.

A good Commander always sees his men off. Ours were no exception, including the one I was hoping to avoid. My CO and the cat-hating XO always made a point to stand together and watch the Marines deploy, making sure the men got off safely. In all the time I was stationed there, they never missed a single departure. All I can say is, that night, my Commander really stuck his neck out for me because he and the XO were conspicuously absent when our helicopters loaded up and took off.

By the time we reached our location to the north, the war was heating up. Recently there have been increased ambush attacks and IEDs on the Baghdad road, and Mother Nature has been throwing in some blinding sandstorms to make matters worse. Getting Jasmine to Baghdad is getting less likely, and our time for redeployment is getting closer. I'm worried sick about Jasmine. At our new location, there are packs of wild dogs and jackals. They will hunt Jasmine down if she is left behind. I've been so desperate to find a solution, every day I go to the chow hall and ask all the contractors if they have a way of getting her out, but so far no luck.

To complicate matters more, Jasmine went into heat. She has been yowling, and every time the door opens, she tries to escape. Sure enough, we lost her for two days. My men and I looked for her everywhere.

I printed up one of her photographs and took it over to Vector Control. They are privately contracted to keep the base free of all animals. I walked into their office with Jasmine's photo, and this slack-jawed guy was sitting at the desk, half the buttons on his shirt missing. I showed him her picture and asked, "Have you seen my cat?" He said if one of his guys had seen her, they'd have shot her. Spitting on the floor, he laughed and said, "She's probably meat by now."

I was carrying my weapon and had grenades and my knife hanging from my belt. A feeling of rage filled me and it took a lot of self-control to walk out of there and leave that unsympathetic, dim-witted jerk behind.

A few hours later a familiar voice crackled on my two-way radio. "We found her! We've got her cornered."

I ran to their location. When I got there, four Marines guarded each corner of the small building, looking as if they'd caught the enemy.

"She's under here!"

I got down on my knees and had a look.

"Sorry, guys. It's not Jasmine. We have to keep searching."

Next to our base is a fenced construction area belonging to a private contractor. My Marines found a weak spot in the chain link, and a hole appeared as we stood there. We crawled through and began a reconnaissance of the construction property.