The Dog Who Could Fly (21 page)

Their concern was all for the squadron’s dog. Throwing a few choice insults at the stocky policeman, who was still struggling to get out of the ditch, they grabbed Antis by the collar and moved off toward the airfield. Antis knew that he’d lost precious time during the confrontation, and that C for Cecilia might already be getting airborne. Head down and legs pumping, he raced for the dispersal area, resisting the temptation to take a shortcut across the runway.

He got there just in time, and was able to nuzzle a wet nose into Robert’s hand as he listened to the final briefing prior to takeoff.

“What kept you, boy?” Robert whispered. “You’re late!”

There was no way that Antis could relate what had just happened. It was good enough for him that he’d made it to his position to see his master into the air on another mission. The target tonight was Osnabrück—one of the first German cities to have been bombed by the Allies during the war. It lay in the direct flight path of Bomber Command squadrons heading for Berlin and central Germany’s industrial heartland, so it was a stepping-stone in the process of familiarizing aircrew with that route.

Tonight’s raid was to be one of the first flown by the crew of C for Cecilia into Germany itself. With their radar-controlled searchlights and integrated air defense systems, the defenders of most German cities were able to vector both ground fire and fighter planes onto Allied aircraft far more effectively than their counterparts in the rest of occupied Europe—hence bombing missions flown into Germany itself were rightly seen as being by far the more risk-laden. Antis had been right to insist on getting to the airfield in time to see his master off, for there was every chance of losses on tonight’s mission.

As matters transpired, the enemy fire over Osnabrück was less fierce than expected. C for Cecilia was able to drop her bombs and return to base well before dawn, as were the rest of that night’s aircrew. Antis met the returning aircraft with his now-familiar war dance for joy, and after a quick breakfast man and dog retired to Manor Farm for a much-needed sleep. It wasn’t to prove very restful, however.

Robert hadn’t long been asleep when he was shaken awake. “Sergeant Bozdech, you’re to report to the adjutant’s office,” the orderly sergeant told him.

“What, now? I’m off duty. I was on operations last night.”

“The adjutant wants to see you at eleven sharp.” The man glanced at his watch. “It’s five past ten now. You’d better get a move on.”

Hurriedly, Robert shaved and dressed himself. It wasn’t usual to deprive an aircrewman of much-needed sleep after a night operation, especially as he might be needed to fly again that evening. But the sun was out and Robert was feeling remarkably contented as he cycled into the base with Antis trotting beside him. He reached the main gate and called out a cheery “good morning” to the policeman on duty. All he got in return was a sneer, plus a scowl for his dog.

He headed for the main building, made his way down the polished corridor, and knocked on the adjutant’s door. It was five minutes to eleven, so he had actually arrived early. He was called in and came to attention. The adjutant was sitting bolt upright in his chair, arms folded, an expression like thunder on his features.

“You sent for me, sir?”

“I did.” He threw a glance at Antis, who was standing obediently at Robert’s heel. “That dog of yours—he has to go.”

“Sorry, sir? Dog? My dog has to go? Go where, sir?”

“He must be removed from the camp forthwith!” the adjutant snapped.

“But he’s the squadron mascot, sir. Why would he have to go?”

“It’s simple. It’s come to my attention you have no official permit to keep a dog on this camp. Ergo, the dog has to go.”

“Group Captain Pickard never asked for one, sir. He knew the dog was here and was happy . . .”

“Group Captain Pickard is no longer the station commander,” the adjutant cut in. He was right. Pickard had been promoted and moved on to other duties.

“But Wing Commander Ocelka is equally—”

“Wing Commander Ocelka is away at present. That leaves my good self having to deal with a very unfortunate matter that has arisen.” The adjutant picked up a sheet of paper lying on his desk. “I have before me a report from the Air Ministry warden on the gate that your dog tried to savage him last night. The report outlines the laws that exist in this country to deal with vicious dogs.”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of any of this. Antis would never go for anyone—”

“Are you accusing a British policeman of making an unfounded allegation?”

“No, sir. But it doesn’t make any sense. Antis isn’t a vicious dog, or savage. Can I speak to the wing commander about this?”

“As I said, he is presently away on a visit to the Air Ministry, but I am certain he will back my decision. You are to report to the station warrant officer, who has an official letter for you, outlining what you must do. You are to read and sign that letter, then continue as instructed. That is all.”

Robert made his way to the SWO’s office, his mind a whirl of thoughts. He didn’t believe for one moment that Antis had attacked anyone. Even if he had, there had to be a reason, and there was no way that Robert was going to take this lying down. It was all very convenient that this had blown up just when Ocelka—a man who had formally accepted Robert’s request that he adopt his dog should Robert be lost in combat—happened to be away from the base.

Robert smelled a rat. His fears were more than justified when he collected the letter. It gave him forty-eight hours in which to find an alternative home for his dog. If he wasn’t off the base by then, Antis was to be “destroyed.”

The letter was penned by the adjutant, and it was almost as if he had signed Antis’s death warrant.

Fourteen

R
obert stared at the letter with unseeing eyes. It was as if his mind was incapable of processing the words he had just read. One thing stood out to him above all else, though: it was the adjutant’s signature at the bottom of the page. Robert returned to the man’s office in one more effort to make him see sense.

“Sir, if I might have a word, please?”

The adjutant barely glanced up from his desk. “Not now, Sergeant. Can’t you see I’m busy? Anyhow, you have your written orders. See that they are carried out.”

For a long moment Robert stared at the balding head of his tormentor. The man was a coward. He was a desk-bound pen pusher, a man who never once had flown into danger as had Robert and his fellow airmen. His lack of backbone was typified in his decision to let the station SWO deliver the letter to Robert, instead of having the guts to face him. Robert despised the man.

“Sir, now see this,” Robert announced.

As the adjutant glanced up in surprise, Robert began to slowly and methodically tear up the letter in front of his face. He took a step forward and placed the shredded remains on the adjutant’s desk.

“I’ve never known such insubordination!” the adjutant exploded. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets as he stared at Robert’s handiwork. “You know the consequences of what you’ve just done, don’t you, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

His actions had been incendiary, but also very deliberate. Nothing was more likely to see him go before the CO than what he had just done—tearing up his orders. Come what may, he’d get to say his piece before Ocelka.

“I should by rights put you under arrest. But you are operating tonight, so I shall desist from doing so. But, and mark my words, when the wing commander gets back I shall ensure he deals with you. In the meantime, you know my orders concerning your dog, even though you have had the temerity to tear them to pieces. Make sure those orders are carried out. Now, get on your way.”

With Antis at his heel, Robert made his sorry way to the mess. By now word of the adjutant’s orders had spread around the base, and he was greeted by a posse of airmen whose anger and indignation were clear for all to see.

“We’ll form a delegation and put it to that bloody despot,” Uncle Vlasta exclaimed. The father of the Original Eight was never one to lose his cool, but the adjutant’s orders had really stirred his ire. “The CO’s away and this happens—it’s a bloody frame-up!”

“Vlasta’s right,” added Cupak, who served as Ocelka’s rear gunner. “It would never have happened were the ‘old man’ here!”

“Antis is one of us,” Ludva added, “and if anything should happen to him . . .”

All present knew what Ludva was driving at. Like airmen everywhere they were a superstitious lot, and each carried with him some form of lucky charm or talisman to keep him safe in the air. Capka, the pilot of C for Cecilia, had his unwashed maroon underpants that were first issued to him in the French Foreign Legion. Gustav had a
set of miniature ivory elephants without which he would never fly. And Antis was the squadron mascot, the lucky charm that arguably kept them all safe in the air. For many it went even deeper than that. For the surviving members of the Original Eight—and for many others who’d listened to their stories—Antis was the miracle dog who’d gotten them out of war-torn France alive. It was unthinkable that some puffed-up outsider like the adjutant might have the power of life and death over such a dog.

“Come on!” exclaimed Ludva. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go! All for one, and one for all! Antis is one of us, and no one’s getting rid of our dog!”

Glancing around the sea of flushed faces, Robert could well imagine what was going to happen if they went en masse to confront the adjutant. His fellow Czechs were by nature a solid and mellow bunch, but only until their ire was roused, whereupon they’d fight like the best of them. The situation was heated enough already and he could easily see it coming to blows. It was bad enough having one of them—himself—facing a court-martial, let alone the entire squadron.

Robert quieted the men down. “We’ll find another way. All we need to do is hold out long enough for the CO to return, and then Antis will get his reprieve.” He checked his watch. “Come on, there’s an air test scheduled shortly. Let’s get it done, then work on our battle plan.”

The route to the airfield took them through the gate manned by the policeman who was the cause of all the present trouble. As the group of airmen approached with Antis trotting happily in their midst, the blue-uniformed symbol of authority stepped out of his little hut and stood blocking their way.

“Do you have a permit to keep that dog on Air Ministry property?” he demanded. “If so, I need to see it.”

“You know I haven’t!” Robert retorted as he clenched his fists with anger.

“Take it easy, Robert,” Uncle Vlasta warned. “He’s only trying to provoke you.”

The policeman held out his stubby fingers. “The permit, if you please? Otherwise he cannot pass.”

“You listen to me,” Robert rasped. “You may think you are a very fine policeman, but you are actually a complete fool. We are airmen on duty, flying missions against the enemy, and all the while you remain here in your cozy little hut. You’d best get out of our way and stay out of our way, if you know what’s good for you!”

“You’re headed for that ditch a second time,” Ludva added, “only now it’ll be head bloody first!”

“Come on,” urged Capka, “on we go. Don’t take any notice of him.”

They hustled past the red-faced policeman, Antis growling at him from their midst.

“There’s going to be hell to pay,” muttered Josef as they headed for their aircraft.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” replied Robert grimly, the germ of an idea forming in his mind.

How many times now had he been all but forced to abandon his dog? There was the time at the French farmhouse in no-man’s-land, when Robert had slipped the tiny puppy inside his flying jacket instead. There was the time at the quayside in Gibraltar, when a trick with a bucket on a rope had reunited them. There was the time when a dog hidden in a mountain of luggage had evaded British customs. Then there was the confrontation at RAF Honington with a SWO who was an unredeemable hater of dogs.

Together, he and Antis had survived it all, and Robert had a good idea how they might do so again.

Once they were back at Manor Farm, Robert went and sought out Colly, an old man who lived in a nearby farm cottage. Over the months Robert had struck up a friendship with him. He was a natural-born rebel, as well as a dyed-in-the-wool countryman. Robert had gotten
into the habit of bringing him an ounce of tobacco, for he didn’t have much, and listening to his stories of the “olden days.” Colly had been an arch poacher in his youth, and Robert loved the tales he told of midnight fistfights with gamekeepers and subsequent escapes across moonlit fields.

Colly was also an ardent admirer of Robert’s dog, and he felt certain the old boy would have an answer to the adjutant’s cruel diktat. He found him digging potatoes in his back garden.

“Do away with your dog!” Colly exclaimed, once Robert had explained things. “That’s criminal, that is. Bloody mindless authority. We’ll soon see to a way to fix ’em.”

Colly thrilled to the idea of sticking it to the adjutant, not to mention the policeman. Authority was there to be resisted, in the old boy’s view. He showed Robert to a set of steps at the rear of his cottage that led into an old cellar. It was half hidden with brambles and it looked as if it hadn’t been used for many a year.

“Still dry she is,” Colly told him as he lifted the ring set into the trapdoor. “Many a crop of ’taties we’ve had stored in there. We’ll clean her out a bit, and your Antis’ll be quite safe in there. I’ll take him food and water when he needs, and let him out at night for a minute to see to his needs. And none of them fools will ever think of looking in there.”

Robert helped Colly clear one end of the cellar, which seemed to run the entire length of the cottage. Then, with the help of his brother airmen, he carried whatever they felt Antis might need down there, including some of Robert’s things, in an effort to make him feel more at home. That done, Robert went and fetched his dog. He led him down to his new home, settled him on his blanket, and spent a good deal of time talking to him, explaining that they were in real trouble and that Antis needed to stay hidden here until it all blew over.