Still, the crackle of gunfire and the thwoom of explosions thumped in his chest.
A thin shriek made his skin itch.
He didn’t slow, though. He’d delivered his message; that job was done. Now he had a new mission. He needed to lead the boy and the wounded light-haired marine to safety, to the tent called “hospital” where his wounded packmates gathered.
Stryker chose the path over the ridge and then downhill toward the beach, favoring his injured leg. He zigged to the left, away from an exposed treeless knoll, then waited for the humans to catch up. He zagged to the right, away from a patch of earth that stank of acrid explosive and harsh metal: a land mine.
The underbrush abruptly ended. He caught a glimpse of the ocean and turned away, waiting for the boy and man to reach him.
The boy looked drawn but determined. The man looked half-dead.
Somehow, they stayed on their feet.
At the bottom of the hill, an explosion deafened Stryker.
His ears buzzed like a thousand bees. He shook his head, but the silence remained. He still smelled shattered wood and overturned earth, but he heard nothing.
He shook himself again.
A faint hum sounded. The barest whisper of explosions. He smelled the boy and man move noiselessly beside him. He felt the boy’s hand in his fur; he felt his warmth and his trust.
Stryker leaned against the boy’s skinny leg. Together, they picked their way through the brush toward the sharp, chemical smell of the hospital. He didn’t need his hearing: the scents would guide him.
His nostrils flaring, he trotted through a smoky stretch of jungle and past abandoned foxholes. The ringing in his ears faded, and the racket of the world returned, engines roaring and machines grunting.
And there! The scent of the wounded. The antiseptic stink of bandages and medicine filled the air. Stryker pushed forward.
“The field hospital,” the boy said, heading for the urgent chatter of the doctors and the sobbing of injured men.
The light-haired man groaned in reply.
“Almost there,” the boy said. “One more minute.”
Stryker heard urgency in the boy’s voice—and Mitchum’s weight collapsed on his narrow shoulders.
Chapter 26
Bo almost wept with frustration. He couldn’t keep Mitchum on his feet!
But he refused to fall. He gritted his teeth, his arms burning and his legs trembling—and Mitchum somehow found the strength to straighten.
When Bo spotted the field hospital through a cloud of smoke, his heart almost burst with relief.
“We’re here!” he told Mitchum.
Mitchum gritted his teeth and took one more step.
Bo’s back ached from bearing the marine’s weight. Still, he held him tight. Mitchum shuffled one more step. Then another.
As they staggered onward, Bo felt Mitchum’s determination in his wiry, exhausted body. He felt Mitchum force himself forward by willpower alone.
Somehow, that gave Bo strength. That and Stryker’s endless courage and energy. The dog never wavered. He’d crossed through enemy territory without hesitation, leading Bo and Mitchum to safety.
Except Stryker suddenly stopped, his ears pricking at some sound.
Bo’s blood ran cold. He knew that look; he knew it meant trouble.
Before he could react, two marines jogged toward them, carrying a stretcher for Mitchum. Stryker didn’t respond to them, he just peered into the distance. The danger was farther away. The marines spared a glance at Bo, but they were too focused on Mitchum to pay him much attention.
In a flash, they were carrying the wounded marine into the field hospital. Bo tagged along, rubbing his own aching shoulders and wondering what had alarmed Stryker.
Inside the tent, dozens of wounded soldiers lay on the cots lining the walls. Everywhere Bo looked, he saw another bloody bandage or open wound. The air stank of sweat and iodine—and worse.
Bo felt his knees weaken. He almost fainted before he felt a muscular, furry shoulder rubbing against his calf. He took a breath and stroked the fur on Stryker’s neck. Okay, now that Mitchum was in the hospital, he needed to find his sister. He needed to ask someone how to find her. He needed—
A sweaty marine burst inside and ran to one of the doctors. Bo frowned as they talked in urgent undertones. What was that about? What was happening? First Stryker had pricked up his ears, and now this.
“Hey, kid!” one of the stretcher bearers called. “Your buddy wants you.”
Bo crossed the field hospital to stand beside Mitchum. “Are you okay?”
“Epstein said . . .” Mitchum pulled himself higher on his cot. “If you tell the pup, ‘Report to Dawson,’ . . . he’ll take you to his handler.”
“He will?”
“But you have to say it firm, like a command,” Mitchum continued. “And his handler will know where that message came from.”
“You mean—”
“The one your sister wrote. He’ll know where your sister is.”
“Oh, thank God!” Bo felt jittery with relief. “I’ll tell her everything. Then she’ll tell the Americans—the marines! And I’ll come back here, I promise, I’ll—”
“The Japanese broke through!” the sweaty marine shouted. “They’re coming this way. And if they get past us, they’ll be in position to retake the entire peninsula.”
A hubbub erupted in the field hospital. One of the doctors started handing rifles and pistols to injured patients. Bandaged marines who’d looked like they couldn’t raise their heads suddenly pushed themselves from their cots and checked their weapons. Bo watched wide-eyed until Mitchum grabbed his arm and roared, “Scram! Bo, now. Call the pup and run, before they get here!”
Bo didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t hesitate. He just obeyed.
“Stryker!” he shouted, running toward the tent flap. “Come!”
He raced outside. Mortar shells exploded fifty feet away, digging chunks out of the earth. He could hear the crack of nearby rifles and the chatter of machine guns moving in their direction.
Bo dove behind a fallen tree. A heartbeat later, Stryker slammed into him and the two of them crouched there, barely hidden from the enemy.
He could hear the howls of the Japanese soldiers as they made their way toward the field hospital. The crashing and shrieking reminded him of that wild boar attacking Two Ears in the jungle.
Bo felt himself tremble. Okay. He got scared. So what? He’d stay scared, but he’d do his best. Like Mitchum said, that’s what tough was.
Stryker nudged Bo’s blood-smeared arm. Huh. Maybe even Stryker got scared.
“Don’t worry, boy,” Bo whispered. “I’m right here.”
Stryker nudged him again, and Bo felt his heart break for this loyal, brave dog . . . and for himself. He’d never reach his sister, not now. Not with so many troops swarming onto the hospital grounds. He’d never see his parents again. He’d never warn the Americans about those machine guns.
Still, he needed to stay strong for Stryker.
“I-I’ll take care of you,” Bo said in a shaky voice.
A splatter of bullets ripped across the other side of the tree, shredding the wood into splinters.
The enemy forces were too close. Grenades exploded, and screams tore the air. The big navy guns boomed in response from the ships off the shore.
A star shell burst in the early evening sky, casting a harsh light down on the battlefield.
Stryker snarled as the Japanese soldiers rushed toward the fallen tree hiding them.
Bo grabbed a branch from the ground. “W-we almost made it,” he told the dog, tightening his grip. “We almost made it.”
Stryker growled again.
Bo hunkered down and braced himself.
“You and me,” Bo said, tears in his eyes. “Together till the end.”
Chapter 27
For one heartbeat, Bo thought he was dead. Then he realized that the bullets were coming from behind him. From the f
ield hospital.
He looked over his shoulder and gasped at the sight.
The wounded marines were fighting off the Japanese. A bunch of men covered in bloody bandages leaned against makeshift barricades, holding rifles. Others on crutches aimed a mortar, a portable tube for launching bombs.
A shock of red hair poked out from under one of the rifleman’s bandages. It was Mitchum! He bellowed at Bo, but his words were lost in the gunfire.
Still, Bo understood his gestures. He was showing Bo how to escape!
As the wounded marines held off the Japanese attack, Bo crawled in the direction Mitchum had indicated, away from the firefight.
Stryker stayed with Bo, guarding his back as they wormed along behind a fallen tree, then crept past a row of crushed bushes to a ditch a few hundred yards away.
Together, they followed the ditch as the battle raged behind them.
Bo almost fainted from relief and exhaustion when they climbed from the muddy trench, far from the chaos. Instead, he wiped dirt from his face and said, “Hey, Stryker.”
The dog kept gazing toward the fight. His coat twitched in a way that meant he was listening.
“Report,” Bo said. “Report to Dawson.”
Stryker spun toward him, his eyes brightening and his ears pricking up. His dirty, stubby tail wagged happily, and Bo was pretty sure that he smiled.
Despite his aches and fatigue, Bo laughed. “Go on, Lemmai. Find Dawson.”
Stryker gave him one last grin, then started trotting along a wide dirt path.
Bo followed until they came to the outskirts of the American base. A minute later, a bunch of marines ran past. They looked like they were heading toward the field hospital to reinforce the troops. One of them almost tripped when he saw Bo, who must’ve looked like a ball of mud with legs.
Other marines called out questions as Bo trailed Stryker through their camp, but he didn’t stop to answer. He was afraid he’d lose Stryker.
He shouldn’t have worried, because even from across the camp he would’ve heard the man yell, “Stryker!”
Stryker took off ahead. He flashed past a mound of engine parts and into a field of tents. Bo jogged between the tents, trying to keep sight of Stryker’s tail. When he raced around a corner, he saw a marine on his knees outside a low tent, hugging Stryker.
“I thought I’d lost you, buddy,” the marine said in a choked voice. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Stryker wagged his tail like a puppy and licked tears from the marine’s face. So that was Dawson.
After a minute, Dawson noticed Bo standing beside him and jerked in surprise. Then he shook his head. “For a second, you looked like my little brother, Matt.” He grinned. “After falling into a swamp. Are you okay? Do you—” He looked between Stryker and Bo. “Oh. Stryker knows you.”
“Yeah, um, I brought him across the island. I mean, he brought me. Well, I guess we brought each other.”
Dawson whistled, still hugging Stryker. “That sounds like some story. All the way across the island? You look beat, kid. Sit down and I’ll see if—”
“Thanks but, um—Epstein said that you know my sister?”
“Miss Cruz?”
Bo nodded. “Yeah. Carmen. I’m her brother, Bo.”
“I knew you looked familiar!” Dawson glanced at Stryker. He must’ve wanted to clean him and tend to him—but whatever he saw in Stryker’s face made him look back to Bo. “Let’s find your sister.”
“Please! Yes. Thank you.”
Dawson rummaged in his pack as he led Bo across the camp. “I bet you’re hungry.”
“Starving. Stryker ate all the fruit we found.”
“Greedy dog,” Dawson said, and gave Bo a chocolate bar.
“Dangkulu na si Yu’us ma’ase,” Bo said. Thank you very much.
“Um, boon prochebu?” Dawson said, heading past one of the larger tents. “Is that right? Your sister taught me how to say ‘you’re welcome,’ but I’m sure I got it wrong.”
He’d gotten it completely wrong, but Bo liked that he’d tried. “Nah,” he said, “That’s perfect.”
“So where did you find Stry—”
“Bo!” Carmen raced past a startled marine and swept Bo into her arms. “Bo, Bo! What are you doing here? Where’s Dad? You should have stayed with Dad! I’m so glad to see you! Look at you! You’re filthy! You’re embarrassing me in front of the marines.” She hugged him tight and started crying. “Thank God you’re okay!”
“You—you need to tell them!” he said, wiping tears from his own eyes when she released him.
“Tell who what?”
“The officers!” Bo said. “Tell them that the Japanese herded us into a camp in the middle of the jungle. They’re surrounding thousands of Chamorros with machine guns!”
Carmen’s smile faded. She looked at Dawson over Bo’s shoulder. “Did you hear that? We need to tell someone.”
“The colonel,” Dawson said. “C’mon. This way.”
He led them into a big tent bustling with marines. Scary, important, busy marines. “Colonel,” he said to an older marine. “This is Bo. There’s something you need to hear.”
Bo suddenly felt very small and very young. Still, he said, “Sir?”
The older marine glanced at Bo. “Get this kid somewhere safe.”
“No,” Bo said. “You need to listen to me!”
The old marine looked closer at the brave, grimy boy standing there with a brave, grimy war dog at his side.
“Y’know,” the old man said. “Maybe I do.”
And Bo told his story, standing straight and unafraid.
Epilogue
TWO WEEKS LATER
After the day’s second patrol, Dawson led Stryker toward the veterinary tent.
Halfway there, Stryker caught the scent. His heart leaped in his chest, and he dashed in an excited circle.
“Yeah,” Dawson thumped his side. “I feel exactly the same.”
Inside the tent, Stryker strained at his leash. He gave a few playful barks even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to. He dashed past Ramirez and lowered onto his chest with his butt in the air, inviting Boomer to chase.
Because Boomer was alive! He smelled weak, but he was alive.
When Stryker barked again, Boomer huffed at him. The bigger dog was too well behaved to bark . . . but his tail wagged wildly.
Stryker sniffed his packmate.
Boomer sniffed back.
Stryker gave him a sidelong look. Poor sluggish Boomer. Too slow to dodge a bullet.
Boomer tilted his nose in the air. Poor Stryker, too weak to shrug off a bullet.
After a happy flop of his tongue, Stryker rubbed his head against his friend. Boomer licked Stryker’s muzzle.
Then everything got even better.
Stryker’s boy stepped inside the tent, followed by another human child. And the boy was holding a delicious-smelling pot.
“How’d you get in here?” Dawson asked Bo. “They give you the run of the camp?”
“He’s our lucky charm,” Ramirez said.
“This is my friend Teresita,” Bo told the men. “That’s Dawson and Ramirez.”
“You can call me Eric,” Dawson told Teresita. “Nice to meet you.”
She shook his hand. “You’re the marine with the dog!”
“And you’re the girl Bo met in the camp?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“How are your sisters?”
“Better now. Thanks to the marines. You got there just in time to save us.”
“After Bo told us what was happening. He’s the real hero.”
“Eh, he just did one thing,” the girl said, nudging Bo with her elbow.
Stryker’s boy flushed with pleasure. He raised his pot of food. “My mom sent us with this. It’s red rice. For Mitchum.”
“That lucky dog,” Ramirez muttered as he patted Boomer.
Stryker and Boomer licked and nuzzled each other while the people talked. Then Dawson led the
boy and girl away, to the other veterinary tent. The one for humans.
“Oh!” Bo said, setting his food down beside the light-haired marine.
The light-haired marine smiled. “Hi.”
“Oh!” Bo finished, with a laugh.
The marine clasped Bo’s hand. They didn’t say anything, but Stryker understood: they were packmates.
“These are the guys who stopped the Japanese attack,” Bo told the girl. “A bunch of injured marines, the walking wounded, held off the enemy.”
“That was the end of the line for the Japanese,” Dawson said.
“Really?” the girl asked, looking around, wide-eyed. “That’s when you won?”
“Well, it’s not completely over yet,” Dawson said. “We’re still mopping up a few Japanese hiding on the island.”
“With all the caves and jungle nooks,” the light-haired marine said, “we have to make sure we get all of them.”
“Luckily we have war dogs to root them out,” Dawson said. “That’s our next mission. Clearing caves and tracking the enemy through the jungle.”
“Good puppies,” the light-haired marine said.
“There should be statues to them,” the boy said.
“What about you, Bo?” the light-haired marine asked. “Do you want a statue?”
“Nah,” the boy said. “The only thing I ever wanted was a banana.”
Stryker didn’t understand the words, but the humans’ laughter pleased him.
He let the warmth soak into him, the fondness and friendship. His stumpy tail wagged with happiness. He enjoyed every scrap of affection, like licking meat off a bone.
Because these were the moments marines lived for. These were the moments they fought for.
Picture Insert
Did Dogs Like Stryker Really Serve During World War II?
Yup! When the war broke out, many Americans wanted to help—including the furry ones. Families across the country donated their dogs to a group called Dogs for Defense, who trained the brave pups to do important military tasks.
In boot camp, canine trainees learned to search for folks lost in fires and under rubble, carry cables and supplies, and alert their handlers to enemy sneak attacks. They were taught to respond to spoken commands like “FIND!” and “ATTACK!”
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