The Bomber Dog

by Megan Rix

  By the time Otto had managed to force an unwilling Grey back towards the railway gun the battle for it was almost over.

  ‘Noooooo!’ Otto shouted in horror as a gunshot rang out. Everything seemed to happen in horrible slow motion as he watched Wolf leap in front of Fritz and get hit by the bullet, just as Fritz let go of the dog’s lead and ran for cover.

  Chapter 18

  Wolf gave a howl as the bullet hit him. He stumbled and fell, but then started crawling on his belly, painfully and slowly, away from the battle area towards the beach.

  On the battlefield it was chaos. The air was full of the sound of guns and shouting and the smells of gunfire and smoke.

  The kommandant couldn’t bear to let the British capture the railway gun he’d been put in charge of. It was better that no one had it.

  ‘Destroy it!’ he shouted, ‘Destroy the Bahngewehr.’

  The German soldiers ran to obey him and blow up the massive weapon as more gunfire burst around them and hand grenades were thrown.

  ‘Retreat, retreat!’ the kommandant yelled, as more British soldiers arrived, so the German soldiers ran and Otto ran too, dragging a struggling Grey with him.

  As they drove off, Otto looked behind him at the beach Wolf had crawled towards. Wolf had been a good dog and had done his duty but this was war. Hard choices had to be made.

  When they regrouped he asked the kommandant if he could drive back and check on Wolf. The officer said he could so long as he was careful not to be seen.

  ‘And if the dog’s alive but not fit for duty then shoot him,’ the man added.

  Otto had expected to find Wolf close to the edge of the beach, not far from where he’d been hit. It had looked as though the dog had been badly injured. Had someone found him? Had he been taken by the British soldiers? He felt an awful sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. What if the British soldiers had shot him?

  Grey put his nose down and sniffed at the spot where Wolf had been lying.

  ‘Find him, Max, find Wolf …’ Otto urged the dog. Grey whined. As well as a strong smell of Wolf there was also the smell of Nathan.

  ‘Find Wolf,’ Otto said again, pointing at the place where Wolf had been, and Grey followed the scent trail Wolf had left behind. His smell was strong on the ground and easy to track. As well as Wolf’s scent there were spots of his blood. Grey could sense the other dog’s pain and fear and he half ran in his eagerness to find him, with Otto close beside him, urging him on.

  From where he was hidden in the sand dunes, Nathan watched the German soldier and his dog kneeling beside a second dog that was lying on the beach. The dog that was uninjured licked the wounded one as if he were trying to wake it up.

  Nathan had bandaged up his calf as well as he could with the first-aid kit he had, but it would need proper treatment as soon as he could get it. Stifling a groan of agony he crawled through the sand dunes with his rifle at the ready.

  As he leant over the dog, Otto could see that Wolf was bleeding and badly injured but not dead, definitely not dead.

  As he got closer, Nathan thought that the uninjured dog looked very much like Grey. Remarkably so. And as Nathan edged nearer the dog looked directly at him with his distinctive bright blue eyes and wagged his tail so hard that his whole body seemed to be wagging.

  Grey whined and tried to go to Nathan, but Otto had a strong hold on his lead.

  ‘Halten!’

  ‘Grey?’ Nathan said. ‘Grey, is it really you?’

  Grey whined again.

  Otto turned his attention away from Wolf to find himself staring at the barrel of a British soldier’s gun, and he reluctantly raised his hands in surrender.

  ‘His name’s Max,’ Otto told Nathan in halting English. ‘My dog …’ Otto said, looking back at Wolf, ‘needs help.’

  ‘You have my dog,’ Nathan said, nodding at Grey. ‘Release him.’

  Otto let go of the lead and Grey ran to Nathan and jumped into his arms as if he were no more than a little puppy. In his enthusiasm he knocked Nathan over and a split second later Otto was the one holding the gun and aiming it at Nathan.

  The two men stared at each other, hardly daring to breathe. Neither of them had ever shot anyone before. Neither of them truly wanted to have to do so now.

  Wolf whimpered in pain.

  ‘I have bandages,’ Nathan offered. ‘I can help him.’

  Otto nodded and he and Nathan bandaged Wolf’s bullet wound together, united by their desire to help the dog despite being soldiers on opposite sides.

  ‘He is your dog?’ Otto asked, nodding at Grey.

  ‘He is indeed,’ Nathan told him.

  ‘You could go now,’ Otto suggested as he put down the rifle. ‘I did not see you.’

  ‘And I did not see you,’ Nathan agreed. ‘All I saw was a man caring for his dog.’

  Otto nodded again. He watched as Nathan and Grey headed off back up the beach. Then he lifted Wolf in his arms and carried him to the jeep, talking softly to him all the time. He felt sorry for the military dogs that were injured or shot or blown up. How were they supposed to know they should hide when a man aimed a rifle at them? All they’d see was a big stick. They might not even realize that what came after the loud bang could hurt or even kill them. How could they know?

  Otto recalled the Dubois family and the day he had taken the German Shepherd puppies from their farm. Now it was time for him to return Wolf to them.

  ‘You’ll be safe there,’ he told him as they drove off.

  Grey was over the moon to be back with Nathan and almost danced with joy along the beach beside him. As for Nathan, he could hardly believe that they’d found each other. It was a miracle. A total miracle. He needed to have his leg treated properly but he could wait a little longer for that.

  All the time Grey had been gone, Nathan had carried his ball with him and now he took it from his pocket and threw it.

  ‘Fetch, Grey!’ he shouted, and Grey raced along the sand after it.

  ‘This is my parachute dog,’ Nathan said as the two of them finally reached the British camp, after a slow and painful journey for Nathan who had limped badly all the way.

  ‘Good to have you back with us,’ the major told Grey.

  He stood with the dog as the medics ran over to clean and bandage Nathan’s calf wound. Grey whined when they put Nathan into the ambulance. He didn’t want Nathan to go anywhere without him and he tried desperately to get in the ambulance too, memories of the way he’d lost Molly crowding into his mind.

  ‘We can’t have a dog in here. It’s not hygienic,’ one of the medics said.

  But the major didn’t agree. ‘This isn’t just a dog,’ he told them. ‘This is a paradog and he could end up saving all our lives before this war’s over.’

  ‘Almost home,’ Nathan told Grey, two weeks later, as the seagulls screeched above them and he saw the majestic white cliffs of Dover just ahead.

  His right hand rested on the top of Grey’s furry head as they stood together on the ship’s deck. His left hand held on to the crutch that he’d need to help him walk for a few more weeks yet. Nathan and Grey had been inseparable ever since the day Nathan had been shot and Grey had found him. Grey had even been allowed to sleep in Nathan’s tent each night. And Nathan might not have been able to walk far, but he’d still been able to throw a ball for his beloved dog to chase.

  On the docks, Penny and Nathan’s mum and grandparents stood waiting for them to reach home.

  Grey looked up at Nathan and wagged his
tail.

  Afterword

  This book is partially inspired by the moving true story of nineteen-year-old Emile (aka Jack) Corteil and his parachute dog, Glen, who both died on D-Day and are buried together at the Ranville War Cemetery in Normandy, France.

  I tried to imagine what might have happened had they not been killed but separated on that fateful day.

  However, the fictional Grey is definitely not Glen nor the fictional Nathan, Emile. In fact, I do not know where Glen came from or how he and Emile ended up working together.

  I do know that their commanding officer was Major Parry, but the Major Parry in the book, and his actions, are fictional. I wanted to include him because the real Major Parry insisted that Emile and Glen share the same grave as they were so devoted to each other. I think Major Parry must have been a good man and a dog lover as this seems like the kindest and most right thing to do.

  In the book no one knows where puppy Grey comes from and during the Second World War, according to the local newspapers, there were an awful lot of stray dogs in Britain, plus 200 French and Belgian messenger dogs that were sent over during the Dunkirk mission, and about whom I haven’t been able to find out as much information as I would have liked.

  The threat of imprisonment or worse for Sabine, Claude, Luc and Madame Dubois for being part of the French Resistance was also very real. In one French village 600 people were killed in retaliation for the murder of an SS officer.

  One of the many ways the French Resistance helped the Allies to free France was by hiding soldiers. One inventive French family even adapted a rabbit hutch so it had a much larger room hidden behind it where soldiers could be hidden.

  The German talking-dog school in the book is not fictional. It was called the Tiersprechschule Asra.

  Adolf Hitler was very fond of dogs and had two German Shepherds. In the First World War he adopted a Jack Russell terrier from the trenches that he named Little Fox. He was devastated when it was stolen.

  German Shepherd dogs became known as Alsatians in the UK during the First World War because of anti-German feeling. The name remained until 1977 when the British Kennel Club allowed the breed to be registered once again as German Shepherd dogs.

  The dedication at the front of the book – ‘For Gallantry, We Also Serve’ – is taken from the PDSA’s Dickin medal. Fifty-four medals were awarded to honour the work of animals during the Second World War.

  But countless dogs help each other, plus other animals and people, during man-made conflicts, natural disasters and peace-time, every single day. I didn’t have to look far to find a host of real-life examples, from all over the world, that were very similar to that of Grey saving Molly in the book.

  I’ve never met a dog that didn’t love to play, be it hide-and-seek, find the toy, tug or ball. In fact, one of my dogs, Bella, thinks that a walk without a ball isn’t a walk at all. At home her favourite game is taking it in turns to hide one. When it’s her turn, she’s been known to hide the ball in the bin, toilet, washing machine, saucepan cupboard, old and new suitcases, wellington boots, a wide range of assorted human clothing and beds. She usually gives her hiding place away, though, by staring at where she’s hidden it.

  My other dog, Traffy, who’s recently started coming into schools with me, although not as ball obsessed, has been known to try to catch one in her paws.

  Like Nathan in the story, I cannot imagine my life without a dog, or two, in it.

  Acknowledgements

  As ever I would like to express my huge thanks to the many people who gave their time and shared their knowledge with me while I was writing this book.

  The personal stories, both memories of life during the Second World War and animal anecdotes, were invaluable.

  When I was much younger, my grandfather, Sergeant William Cloves, enthralled me with stories of his time in the Army Air Corps, for which he received the Military Medal, during the Second World War. He never mentioned parachute dogs, but he was a dog lover and I’m sure he’d have loved Grey.

  On the dog side big thanks must go to Julia Surman and her German Shepherds, Jake and Rosie, for letting me delay their walks so I could stroke them and ask endless questions.

  I’m also especially grateful to the search-and-rescue service whose volunteers spend many hours practising hiding and finding with their dogs in all weathers – in readiness for when they might need to find someone for real.

  The staff at Dover Castle need a special mention as they helped to bring that part of the story to life for me. And Ruth Rose’s vivid recollection of seeing the bombers flying overhead on D-Day turned a routine train journey into an unexpectedly interesting research trip.

  On the writing side I’d like to thank my editor, Anthea Townsend, whose passion for the character of Grey was unfailing; super sharp-eyed copy-editors Samantha Mackintosh and Beatrix McIntyre; proofreaders Jane Tait and Mary-Jane Wilkins; and my agent, Clare Pearson, for her continued enthusiasm for my stories.

  I’ve also been very fortunate to work with PR and Marketing executives supreme Hannah McMillan and Julia Teece, as well as animal-loving Tineke Mollemans from the Penguin sales team, and the many wonderful booksellers and librarians who’ve been so encouraging.

  They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but I think Sara Chadwick-Holmes’s design for this one is just stunning.

  Most of all I’d like to thank my husband for his support, his help with the research and his willingness to dogsit, provide delicious meals for a frazzled wife and tell stories of life growing up with German Shepherd dogs.

  Thanks also to our two golden retrievers, Traffy and Bella, who I like to think would have been great friends with the exuberant Grey, if he were not a fictional dog.

  Finally, I’d like to thank my readers who make it all worthwhile and in particular the boy who asked me if I was writing a book about the Second World War that showed it from more than one side.

  I told him I was – and this book is it.

  Turn the page for an extract from

  by Megan Rix

  AVAILABLE NOW

  Chapter 1

  On a steamy hot Saturday morning in the summer of 1939, a Jack Russell with a patch of tan fur over his left eye and a black spot over his right was digging as though his life depended upon it.

  His little white forepaws attacked the soft soil, sending chrysanthemums, stocks and freesias to their deaths. He’d soon dug so deep that the hole was bigger than he was, and all that could be seen were sprays of flying soil and his fiercely wagging tail.

  ‘Look at Buster go,’ twelve-year-old Robert Edwards said, leaning on his spade. ‘He could win a medal for his digging.’

  Robert’s best friend, Michael, laughed. ‘Bark when you reach Australia!’ he told Buster’s rear end. He tipped the soil from his shovel on to the fast-growing mound beside them.

  Buster’s tail wagged as he emerged from the hole triumphant, his muddy treasure gripped firmly in his mouth.

  ‘Oh no, better get that off him!’ Robert said, when he realized what Buster had.

  ‘What is it?’ Michael asked.

  ‘One of Dad’s old slippers – he’s been looking for them everywhere.’

  ‘But how did it get down there?’

  Buster cocked his head to one side, his right ear up and his left ear down.

  ‘Someone must have buried it there. Buster – give!’

  But Buster had no intention of giving up his treasure. As Robert moved closer to him Buster danced backwards.

  ‘Buster – Buster – giv
e it to me!’

  Robert and Michael raced around the garden after Buster, trying to get the muddy, chewed slipper from him. Buster thought this was a wonderful new game of chase, and almost lost the slipper by barking with excitement as he dodged this way and that.

  The game got even better when Robert’s nine-year-old sister Lucy, and Rose the collie, came out of the house and started to chase him too.

  ‘Buster, come back …’

  Rose tried to circle him and cut him off. Until recently she’d been a sheepdog and she was much quicker than Buster, but he managed to evade her by jumping over the ginger-and-white cat, Tiger, who wasn’t pleased to be used as a fence and hissed at Buster to tell him so.

  Buster was having such a good time. First digging up the flower bed, now playing chase. It was the perfect day – until Lucy dived on top of him and he was trapped.

  ‘Got you!’

  Robert took Dad’s old slipper from Buster. ‘Sorry, but you can’t play with that.’

  Buster jumped up at the slipper, trying to get it back. It was his – he’d buried it and he’d dug it up. Robert held the slipper above his head so Buster couldn’t get it, although for such a small dog, he could jump pretty high.

  Buster went back to his hole and started digging to see if he could find something else interesting. Freshly dug soil was soon flying into the air once again.

  ‘No slacking, you two!’ Robert’s father, Mr Edwards, told the boys as he came out of the back door. Robert quickly hid the slipper behind him; he didn’t want Buster to get into trouble. Michael took it from him, unseen.