Renni the Rescuer (21 page)

“If we keep on advancing and advancing,” Karger reasoned, “I figure we're winning. But we don't know a thing about it. We can't find out anything. We just grope around in the dark. We really ought . . . ”

“The Chief of Staff really ought to keep Corporal Karger better informed,” cried Marly.

The others laughed, and they laughed again when Karger said, “It would be a pretty smart thing for him to do.”

“And you—” Nickel nudged George—“haven't you anything to say?”

George drew a deep breath. “I wish we were all back home.”

A troop of prisoners marched past the windows. The men inside scarcely noticed them. They went back to sleep. Only George went out on the street. The prisoners were marching steadily along. Under their tan they were pale and thin. Some seemed completely sunk.
They looked sad, or desperate, or almost insane. Others made no attempt to conceal their relief. You could read on their faces how happy they were to have escaped the dangers of war.

One of them, a man about forty, stepped over and patted Renni. “I've a dog like that at home,” he said to George. Renni wagged his tail in a particularly friendly way.

George asked, “Do you think often of your home?”

The man looked at him in astonishment “Well . . . no . . . can't say I do . . . but . . . ”

He ran back to his place in the ranks, turned around several times and waved his hand. The soldier on guard had ordered him, “Don't stop there. March on!” But it had not sounded harsh. Rather like a gentle warning. George smiled at the soldier, who saluted him.

“This prisoner,” he thought, “probably has a wife and children. But still he doesn't think of home. War cut him off from all he knew and cherished. He was face to face with death, ready to suffer it . . . and only Renni reminded him that he had once lived a life of his own.

“And I?” George felt a sudden shock of surprise, for he had forgotten home too. The wish he had expressed to Nickel had come without thought or will or feeling. He had not been thinking of his mother or of Tanya, of his garden or his fields. He felt ashamed. Was this man a warning to him? But why should he need warning? He stooped down and slapped Renni on the back. The dog looked up at him, frankly, cheerfully, gratefully.

“We've been used to something better than this, old boy, haven't we? Now we've got to put up with it as best we can. Thinking and remembering won't do us any good.”

Renni swung his tail in vigorous agreement.

George looked into the dog's clear eyes. “All we must think of is this: with every wounded man that we rescue we do some good. Whether he's a friend or a foe, it's all the same to you, partner, isn't it? And to me. We have no enemies.”

He let the dog slip to the ground. Renni gave a leap or two to show his love and joy, but quickly controlled himself and took his regulation position by his master's side.

George went on to himself: “Memory leads to longing and makes a man unfit for service. This war business swallows up memory completely. Thank God for it.”

But the cataract of events which roared around him soon diverted his thoughts. He had walked to the central square of the town. The poor inhabitants had been in hiding. Some of them had been chased from their hiding-places and others had come creeping out of their own free will. They stood now huddled close to one another in their anguish—old men, women, girls, weeping children—and they trembled at the unknown fate which their fears painted for them.

Standing on a box, a captain addressed them in a loud voice. “People! Have no fear! No harm will be done you. Your property will not be disturbed. Is your mayor here?”

Silence. Then a woman's wild, broken cry: “He ran away.”

The captain nodded. “Thank you.” He went on, sternly now, “You must give up your weapons, firearms, swords, knives. Any attempt to hide them will be
punishable by death. Also, any hostile demonstration against the troops and any disobedience of military orders. Is that understood?”

Another short silence. Then again the woman's wild, broken voice, pitched a little higher this time: “Yes, sir! Oh, yes!”

A few men also called out, “Yes! We understand!”

Again the captain nodded. “Dismissed. All of you who behave yourselves are in perfect safety. You can depend on that. Open your shops. We'll pay cash for everything we buy from you. But business houses that are deserted will be confiscated, and all that is in them.”

He made a gesture of dismissal with his right arm. “All right now. Go to your homes and be perfectly calm.”

Once more the woman's voice was heard: “Our homes! Half of them are in ruins. Our homes!” There were bitterness and suppressed sobbing in her tones.

Shrugging his shoulders, the captain stepped down.

* * *

Meanwhile Nickel had joined George, and Fox had left his side to go sniffing among the people. Fox did it
carefully and thoroughly. When he came back, he sat down beside Renni and looked on attentively as the crowd dispersed. He had made up his mind.

George picked up the wriggling little tike and held him in his arms. You're right, Foxy. Stick to Renni and me.”

Suddenly, in some distant street three shots barked out, close together.

“Shotguns,” Nickel decided.

They listened. Another shot.

Nickel said, “One of our army pistols.”

A crowd was approaching. Soldiers shouted angrily. Women screamed and wailed. The crowd came on.

“They'll be shot without ceremony,” came the words, and then: “It would be a fine idea—to let them murder us—wouldn't it?”

Someone called out, “They're crazy, simply crazy. It's the craziest thing ever.”

“Fanatics,” said Nickel to George. “The thing's perfectly clear. They shot at our men from some house.”

George saw two soldiers led by, supported by comrades.
One was bleeding from the arm, the other from the shoulder. They staggered a little as they walked. Their faces were pale, and fear and astonishment were written on them. They were being taken to the dressing-station. Behind them came the snipers, in chains. Three men, one a hunchback, the second a greybeard with wildly rumpled hair, the third perfectly bald. Then a young girl and a pretty little boy. Their faces were the colour of ashes, their eyes dead, their expressions dazed. Only the boy looked ahead with eager eyes as though he were going through a fascinating adventure. The escort of soldiers, guns at the ready and bayonets fixed, surrounded them like a moving hedge, shutting them off from the swarming mob. Despite the confusion and excitement, the crowd kept solemn silence. Now and then a low moan, a wailing sob, nothing more.

“Are you going to shoot the child, too?” A man's voice screamed the question. The wailing rose. No answer.

Two officers came up and stopped near George, a colonel and a lieutenant.

“It's a terrible shame such an idiotic thing had to
happen,” the colonel growled. “Take them out beyond the lines. Over there at the edge of town. The third battalion is on guard there. Take them a few hundred steps beyond the pickets and get it over.” His voice sounded tense, hoarse. “Oh, yes. Set the boy free first. Don't let him see what happens.” He paused. “Somebody'll look after him all right.”

In a queer, unnatural voice, the lieutenant asked, “And the girl?”

“Clear case with her.”

“But it's perfectly plain she's innocent,” stammered the lieutenant.

“But she's of age.” The colonel choked out the words. “Adult. I can't spare her. I dare not. It's really neglect of duty to let the boy . . . . ” He spoke from between clenched teeth. “You know the law. Two of our men have been wounded . . . short shrift . . . nothing to be done about it. Go, Lieutenant. It's hard on you, and hard on me too. Go and may God help you!”

“At your orders, Colonel.” The lieutenant staggered a little as he saluted and withdrew.

At the same moment the colonel started off in the other direction, but Renni stopped him, dashing around him, waving his tail, trying to leap up on him.

“What! What!” sputtered the colonel. Then he recognised the dog. “Why, Renni, is it you? My old friend and rescuer, God bless you!” Renni, his body arched in joy, felt his back slapped and licked the hand that caressed him.

The colonel looked about. “Corporal, you remember me? I had an accident last year during manœuvres.” He pointed to his ankle. “I was a major then.” He smiled wanly. “It's good to see you again.”

George, shocked and shaken, could not say a word.

“Renni remembers me,” said the colonel. “Yes, Renni, you're a fine old dog.” And he stroked the beautiful head. “You, Corporal, I suppose you've forgotten me.”

“Certainly not, Colonel,” George got out with an effort . . . . His eyes followed the firing squad as it marched off in the distance. “Renni's lucky. He doesn't take this in.”

The echo of a volley rolled past.

T
HE FORTUNES OF WAR CHANGED, for a while at least. They had to evacuate the little town. Swift retreat. So far as there can be order in such a situation—and the staff maintained that the withdrawal went according to plan and in the best of order—the operation was made without overmuch confusion. Still, enemy planes spattered the close-packed masses with bombs. They would be driven off by anti-aircraft, but ten or twenty bombs exploding in the dense ranks were enough to
cover the field with dead and wounded. Screams and shrill cries, moans and groans mingled with the roar of the crashing bombs. When a plane was hit and plunged to earth, it would bury the soldiers who were not quick enough to get out from under its blazing ruins.

In his eagerness, Renni ran into one such spot. The moaning of the men on the ground called him. He ignored the missiles raining from the air, the shell fragments falling back from the fire of the anti-aircraft batteries. Fox darted after him. George ran out to bring them both back from the danger spot. For the first time Renni refused to obey until the command had been repeated. Even then he did it grudgingly. And for the first time George had to speak sternly, even harshly, to his dog. He was himself in danger but thought little of that. His fear was all for the dog. He ran as fast as he could with Renni on the leash. Fox galloped cheerfully along beside them.

Once in the shelter at the dressing-station, George heaped Renni with reproaches. Humbly, unused to the
rough tone, Renni crept on his belly to his master's feet. Fox sat upright, put his forepaws together and moved them up and down as if he were praying forgiveness for his friend.

George couldn't help smiling. “All right, little Foxy. I'm not angry any longer.”

Fox hopped confidently to George's lap where he curled up comfortably while George spoke more gently to Renni. “What made you do that? You got in too big a hurry, old man. Much too big a hurry. What would have happened if a bullet had hit you? You'd have dropped dead as a stone. And then you never could have helped again.”

Renni straightened up, sat down on his haunches, wagged his tail eagerly, looked George straight in the eyes, and listened attentively. “You're brave, old boy, very, very brave. But you must wait till I send you out. Then you can hunt. Hunt as much as you please. I'll have to lead you on a leash if you're going to forget, and I can't let you run free any longer. I have so much confidence in you, Renni, and you know how I love you.”

“Why, that dog understands every word,” said Nickel.

Renni let out a whine of joy and threw himself on George who could not dodge the attack and fell over backward.

At once Renni and Fox were all over him, washing his hands and face.

* * *

The heavy artillery and the armoured cars got mixed up with the infantry and the supply trains, and wild confusion was about to result. Higher officers took a hand to avoid panic. Lines were reformed, and the episode, which might have spelled disaster, passed over harmlessly.

Nickel said to George, “You see . . . discipline's needed more when you're losing than when you're winning.”

“Oh,” cried Marly, “we're not beaten yet!”

Nickel laughed grimly. “But we can't say we're on top now.”

“See here,” Wier protested. “I differ with you. We licked them once and we'll lick them again. We've been thrown back a little, but that doesn't mean a thing.”

George said quietly, “Lucky the enemy planes didn't attack during the mix-up.”

“Right!” Marly agreed. “You can tell from that that the enemy's not in good shape.”

* * *

When they halted early in the evening for a new disposition of their forces, the Sanitary Corps had reached the ruins of a village which had been repeatedly stormed, lost and recaptured. They were to be stationed here. The handlers and their tired dogs enjoyed the peace of this hour under the open sky. The trainers sat apart from one another, without speaking. This interlude of idleness did them good. Tense expectancy, the excitement which had endured up to now, gave way to sleepy relaxation of nerve and muscle.