Mustang Report # 13 - The Dog Lab at Fort Bragg

FM 31-21, Guerrilla Warfare and Special Forces Operations, published
in September 1961, shows in Figure 8, Operational Detachment A, two
medical specialists are authorized in a standard A Team, one as an E-7 and the
other an E-6. What it doesn’t tell the reader is that an operational A Team
engaged in counter-insurgency operations may find itself in a position of
providing on the ground medical support to a large number of people that is
over and above the to-be-expected treatment of combat casualties and routine
medical needs of the fighting force itself. I commanded US Army Special Forces
team A-424 in 1966 with a counter-insurgency mission that saw my two NCO
medical specialists responsible for our men, the Vietnamese Special Forces in
our counterpart A Team and the 792 men who served in our six companies of
civilian irregular fighters. To stretch this limited resource even further, as
you will discover in my book Expendable Elite, these same two
Sergeants did their utmost each day to treat 100+ local civilians in medical
patrol situations out in the many and widespread hamlets of An Phu District, a
delta area with 30 kilometers of common border with Cambodia.. A total of
64,000 local villagers of the Buddhist Hoa Hao Sect and slightly less than 200
Chams depended on my men for their medical and dental emergencies particularly,
along with those local men and women whom they had trained as medics, nurses
and midwives. It was our goal not to leave too much of a gap in this type of
support available to the people when the time came for us to leave the area.
The Special Forces medics were perhaps the greatest good will “ambassadors” to
ever enter our area in South Vietnam.
It was because they cared and proved it by being there for the people 24 hours
a day, that they were loved by the people and helped more than anyone else on
our A Team to develop loyalty amongst them.

Most people are ignorant of the fact that few doctors want any part of the
Special Forces organization as a whole and NONE that I’ve ever met wanted to be
out with the operational A Teams where the greatest need exists. Our situation,
with regard to the people of An Phu District, was exacerbated by the fact that
there were no civilian doctors in the entire district. If you hunger for more
detailed knowledge of what our two medics did to care for the people of An Phu,
watch for the Victory Edition of Expendable Elite- One Soldier's
Journey Into Covert Warfare in your bookstore or library. For a sneak
preview, an opportunity to preorder an autographed copy, or a way to contact
the author, go to our website at   
www.ExpendableElite.com

One of the unconventional aspects of training for the Special Forces medics
that helps to prepare the individual medical specialist to function well
without a doctor is conducted in a rather unique facility at Fort
Bragg, North Carolina.

In May 1988 I had the opportunity to record on audio tape a description of
the Dog Lab provided me by a quarter-century veteran of medical specialist
service in the US Army’s Special Forces who, for fear of retribution, asked to
remain anonymous.

In his words, this field-tested and combat proven medical specialist told
me, “Dog lab was a little place located in the old hospital complex at Fort
Bragg. The SF medics that were attending
dog lab lived in two nearby wards. With the new [post] hospital open, the
mostly vacant wooden buildings of the old facility, away from the mainstream
traffic now, were well suited for conducting a ‘covert‘ course.

“There were two classes going through at one time. The Dog Lab consisted of
two months. The first month was the academic phase, the second the surgical
phase. It was very prestigious to make it through Dog Lab. We started with 61
people and graduated 11 of the original class. It was a tough and demanding
course.

“The academic phase consisted of differential diagnosis, study of different
diseases. We had a lot of homework at night, a lot of written and oral exams.
Lab work, dental procedures, and pharmacology were all involved.

“The first week in school you got a dog. The funny part about it was they
had three pens with 50 to 100 dogs, all trying to bark but not a sound coming
from them! Dogs received by the Army contracted kennel would be anesthetized,
its vocal cords cauterized and delivered to the Dog Lab mute. Of course the
sound of a hundred barking dogs would have alerted the SPCS, an especially
worrisome thought to the Special Warfare
Center. It was a secret place and
they wanted to keep it that way. We were told our dogs were rejects from
universities with medical programs; we had to take the ones they wouldn’t take.
Clemson and the University of North
Carolina were mentioned as sources for rejects.

“We had to pick our own dog, identify it just like a human: color of eyes,
hair, build, etcetera. We recorded the dog’s temperature, respiration, and all
that sort of stuff. We visited and cared for our dogs daily, maintaining a
complete record of all findings.

“During the surgical phase each student would rotate between the various
tasks: surgeon, assistant surgeon, anesthesiologist, scrub technician,
operating room circulator; sometimes detailed outside, sometimes in the
anatomical surgical room, sometimes in Central Materiel Supply where you
learned how to sterilize and pack instruments. To graduate you had to be
familiar with each job.

“The sad part about the whole thing was when the time came for you to learn
the surgeon’s role. You knew that’s when you would have to shoot your dog.
Inside the place, behind a heavy steel door was a soundproof bunker, like a big
tank, with a table you secured your dog to. First, you put it down with sodium
penethol and ether. They had a Russian-made bolt action rifle all bore-sighted
and loaded for you. I had to close my eyes when I pulled the trigger, it had to
be done to get a wound to work on, but I sure didn’t like doing it.

“Then you would bring it into the operating room, the anesthesiologist would
intubate the dog using a drip technique to keep it down. As the surgeon I would
then debride (cut away damaged tissue) the wound, close off all the bleeders
and all, and await inspection by the instructor and the veterinarian. Then you
would close it up, pack it up real good, take your patient to the recovery room
and wait until it was time to bring your dog back to the pen, to nurse it back
to health.

“The last phase was the anatomical phase, when you would bring in your dog,
cut it open, and learn all about its innards. You learn how the heart runs, the
blood circulates, the kidney and other organs function and where they are
located. That was the most traumatic time of the course because your dog died
while serving as a warm cadaver in your hands, an object to dissect and study.
At the time we all felt callous and sad, but thought it was important and necessary.
Now, after I’ve had 25 years to reflect, I feel much remorse. Those poor
animals really suffered, couldn’t even cry out with the pain they felt. They
trusted their masters only to die in their hands and by their hands. That’s the
really sad part and the part I can’t forget.”

— Anonymous Special Forces Medic, May 1988

I was told that the prohibitive cost of medical officers and the low
probability of a sufficient number volunteering for duty with Special Forces
operational units were the factors that brought about the development of this
“quasi-doctor” course for Special Forces medical personnel, which included the
“Dog Lab.”

[Edited by Jeanne Calabretta]

Copyright 1988 & 2007 LTC Daniel Marvin, USA Ret'd