Short Story - The Dog Defenders

The Dog Defenders

“The dogs have gone to their kin, the sons of dogs,” growled the Pathan scornfully.

He had reasons for his displeasure. The prowling pack of pi-dogs that patrolled the main portal of the fort ranged in colour from a dirty jaundice-yellow to the dull khaki of the native regiment that manned it. These animals made surprise attacks and incursions difficult.

A long time ago, a kindly cook from a bygone regiment had set out boiled leftover scraps from the cookhouse in a large terracotta plate for the dogs. This individual act of charity had since become a tradition set in stone. In the customary way of the Indian Army, cooks from the regiments that followed had continued the practice.

They had even extended it, by adding a crude trough that was periodically filled with the dishwater left after cleaning utensils used in the mess. The dogs, while not allowed within the precincts of the fort, were very grateful for this particular amenity. Especially during the blisteringly dry summer months, when the hot, dust-laden winds blew here and there...

Pariah dogs are surprisingly hardy and can survive conditions that would quickly kill off their pedigreed kin. The leavings of the fort might have appeared to be sparse, but successive generations of dogs had thrived on it. Without any training or direction, the animals had evolved a pattern of regular patrolling that would have shamed a squad of dedicated Chowkidars. 

This habit made the Pathans hate the dogs even more. They couldn’t get close enough to the fort to poison the animals without the pariahs raising the alarm and alerting the fort’s sentries. The tribesmen had to content themselves with taking random pot shots at the dogs from the cover of the distant hills with their long-barrelled jezails. However, doing this ran the risk of retaliatory fire from Indian Army sharpshooters.

The dogs, in turn, had become very adept at using every bit of natural cover. Their coloration blended nicely with the tan tones of the landscape, presenting harder targets to hit.  This stalemate continued till the day of the Cresswell patrol when the dogs finally got to grapple with their distant tormentors.

It all began when the adjutant and Intelligence Officer, Major John Frettleworth received a heliograph message that a punitive raid had been mounted against a nearby village. This hamlet was a favoured den of brigands who had been making a nuisance of themselves lately. It had already been bombed by Wapiti biplanes of the Royal Indian Air Force and machine-gunned by Humber armoured cars of the Tochi Scouts. Captain Simon Cresswell and a squadron of Guides Cavalry were assigned to mop up in the aftermath.

Captain Cresswell and his men rode out of the massive gates of the fort confident that it was mostly over, bar the shouting. They were right in that; the village was an abandoned ruin by the time they arrived there. The scorched mud walls were pocked with bullet holes and the thatch roofs blown in. Only a few meagre scattered belongings and drying bloodstains hinted at previous human occupation.

Captain Cresswell’s problems really began on the ride back to the fort. Cantering in the lead down a defile, a well-aimed jezail ball slammed into his chest, shattering his rib cage and pulverizing his heart and lungs.  Death was instantaneous.

Seeing his officer suddenly slump dead in the saddle and hearing the crack of the distant jezail, the senior NCO, a Jemadar reacted instinctively. He grabbed the reins of his officer’s mount with one hand and galloped onwards out of the killing zone as fast as he could, shouting for rest of the troop to follow him and return fire from their short carbines.

Cresswell’s patrol gave as good as they got, but they were both outgunned and outnumbered. They did account for the majority of their assailants but only two badly wounded survivors managed to somehow stagger on to within striking distance of the fort; Naik Rehmat Khan and Sepoy Hari Kishen Talwar.

Their mounts finally gave up within sight of the fort. Abandoning the dying horses, the pair continued as best as they could on foot. Naik Khan was bleeding heavily from a deep gash in his thigh, with Talwar supporting him despite his own wounds. 

The sentries on the walls of the fort had spotted the approaching duo in the gathering dusk. They also spied three surviving Pathans stalking them from afar, daggers in hand. It appeared the tribesmen had run out of ammunition and were resorting to more manual means of murder.

The poor light and the proximity of both parties made shooting the Pathans from range problematic.  The sentries tried anyway and fired some warning shots at the intruders, trying to avoid hitting the Guides. This had the unintended effect of arousing the dogs.

The dun-coloured landscape suddenly erupted a pack of snarling, snapping pariah dogs who attacked the Pathans with unrelieved ferocity. Their daggers might as well have been toothpicks for all the protection these weapons afforded their users against the canine onslaught. Torn and bleeding profusely, the screaming tribesmen hurriedly fled the field of battle.

The gates of the fort were hastily flung open and a relief party sent out to swiftly sweep the survivors to safety. They were ringed on the short journey back by an escort of dogs growling menacingly at the shadows.

Weeks later, Major Frettleworth reported that three Pathans in Darra Adam Khel had succumbed to rabies consistent with dog bites. It was conjectured that the animals had been able to distinguish between the surviving Guides and the attacking Pathans by the scent of highly polished boots and starched uniforms – even when tainted with sweat, blood and dirt.