The Victory Dogs

by Megan Rix

  Sheba also taught them to hunt as a team, corralling the rats to trap them. The first few times they tried this Bark and Howl moved too swiftly and the rats escaped, and when a confused rat raced towards Howl by mistake he was so surprised he jumped back and the rat ran on past him to safety.

  As the weeks passed, Bark and Howl grew used to their new life without their mum. They never forgot her though, and would often wake up whimpering for her. Then Sheba would lick them with her rough cat tongue that tickled much more than their mum’s soft, comforting tongue ever did, and soon they’d be playing again.

  For Bark and Howl, a toy could be anything from a piece of string to a pigeon feather. When Howl found a broken, discarded shoe, he clamped on to it with his sharp puppy teeth, shaking it for all he was worth, making little growling sounds as he subdued the ferocious shoe beast.

  When Bark saw the new toy, he wanted to play too and grabbed the other end of it, and soon the puppies were in the middle of their first tug of war. First Bark took the lead and dragged Howl down the access tunnel, then Howl pulled him back the other way. They yipped and yapped with excitement as they lost themselves in the game, completely unaware that they were being watched.

  Stanley had sold newspapers outside Wood Green Underground Station for more than fifty years. All day and long into the night, in all weathers, he stood in his box and called out to passers-by: ‘Read all about it! Read all about it!’ But nowadays the cold winds and frosty mornings wormed their way into his old bones and stayed with him all day, and this December it seemed worse than ever. He longed for the sun and an easy chair and a bucket of hot water to soak his feet in, but most of all he longed for the bombs to stop so he could get a good night’s sleep.

  The morning of Christmas Eve was bitterly cold and Stanley slipped inside the station to get a bit of warmth. As he was blowing on his frozen fingers, he heard the yips and yaps of puppies playing. It was a sound he hadn’t heard since he was a boy.

  Stanley groaned as he crouched down and looked through a broken grating, a smile spreading over his wrinkled face. Two puppies, who couldn’t have been more than three months old, pounced on an old shoe and rolled around on the ground, trying to take it from each other before one or other of them got it and ran off with it with the other chasing him.

  The sound of a train whistle startled them both and the first puppy suddenly let go of the shoe to join in with a howl. The second, who’d been pulling the shoe as hard as he could, suddenly had nothing to hold him and flew backwards, landing on the ground with a bump and a look of surprise on his face.

  Stanley couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud. The puppies stopped playing and froze and Stanley clamped his mouth shut. He should have remembered that a dog’s hearing is much better than a human’s. He held his breath and waited.

  A few seconds later Bark put his paw out to Howl and they were off again.

  Stanley stood stiffly back up. Those newspapers weren’t going to sell themselves. His eyesight might be good, but his knees felt every single one of his seventy-three years. As he stretched, he noticed a cat watching him.

  ‘Hello, puss,’ he said.

  It was an old, scrawny-looking cat with one ear missing. Been in more than a few fights by the look of it.

  ‘Puss, puss.’ He held out his hand.

  But the cat didn’t come to him. Ragged tail held high, Sheba stalked away.

  Stanley shook his head and laughed out loud. ‘My hand not good enough to stroke your royal fur then?’ he called after her.

  He went back out into the cold again: ‘Read all about it! Read all about it!’ he shouted to passers-by.

  Most of the news was the war of course, and the nightly bombing raids that had started in September and hadn’t stopped ever since, not even once.

  It was mid-morning when Mr Ward walked past Stanley on his way into the station.

  ‘Oh good, you’re here,’ Stanley said, seeing his NARPAC uniform.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Mr Ward asked him, slightly bemused.

  ‘Underground’s no place for puppies to be playing,’ said Stanley.

  ‘Are there puppies here?’

  ‘Yes, I thought that’s why you’d come,’ Stanley said.

  Mr Ward shook his head. He’d been called in by the station staff, but not about puppies. There was a pack of feral dogs that were making a nuisance of themselves at the entrance to the station and there had been complaints. It had started with just three or so at first, but with winter coming the number had gradually increased, and now the stationmaster wanted the dogs gone.

  ‘Those puppies can only be a few months old,’ Stanley said.

  ‘I’ll see that they’re removed too,’ said Mr Ward. Puppies were just one of the consequences of having a pack of feral dogs in residence.

  ‘I’d take one myself, only …’ Stanley shrugged. ‘The war and all …’

  Mr Ward nodded and went into the station where he was met by the stationmaster who was very concerned about the pack of feral dogs.

  ‘They could cause an accident on the road and they’re a health hazard at the very least, and what if one of them bit someone? What sort of Christmas present would that be?’ the man said.

  ‘So they’ve actually been going up to people?’ Mr Ward asked him.

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But I’ve no doubt they will soon. Better to sort them out before an incident occurs.’

  Mr Ward went round to the back of the station, where the dogs were often to be found, to see for himself. He saw the rump of one dog as it slept by a pig bin and the skinny body of another that slunk away at the sight of him. He didn’t see any puppies.

  Mr Ward sighed. It wasn’t the dogs’ fault, but the stationmaster was right. They could easily prove to be a nuisance especially as it got colder and their pack size increased. Mr Ward told him the pack would be removed that afternoon.

  ‘Couldn’t be soon enough for me,’ the stationmaster said. ‘Nasty brutes!’

  Sheba didn’t trust the pack of feral dogs either; she remembered the dog who’d tried to attack Misty at the pig bins. Sheba tried to keep the inquisitive puppies away from the pack that now lived on the other side of the station. Bark and Howl, snuggled up together, could heard them at night, growling and barking and fighting.

  Chapter 12

  The NARPAC team wore thick protective gloves and carried dog-catching sticks with wire hoops on the end. No one expected the feral dogs to leave the station area willingly. Mr Ward supervised the three-man team and Michael went with him.

  The first problem they faced was that there were even more dogs than Mr Ward had originally thought. Second was the fact that now the stationmaster wanted not only the dogs but the feral cats removed as well. Everyone knew cats were even harder to catch!

  The leader of the feral dog pack was a German shepherd who’d once been a guard dog, until her owner had gone off to war, leaving the dog to fend for herself as best she could.

  Life as a guard dog had been tough and so life as a feral dog suited her. She didn’t want to be removed from her new home and she certainly didn’t want a man from NARPAC putting a wire hoop round her neck. Mr Ward was sweating from the effort of trying to catch her.

  Bark and Howl had heard the commotion through the tunnels and came to see what the fuss was about. Bark put his nose to the grill bars of the ventilation tunnel and peered out.

  He watched as the German shepherd turned and ran along the length of the platform and Mr Ward ran after her and cornered her. She turned and bared her teeth at him and growled, then lunged towards him, barking as Mr Ward effectively lassoed her with the hoop on the end of the stic
k. Now the German shepherd really didn’t stand a chance of escaping.

  Bark was so busy watching the big dog and the man that Michael managed to grab him before he even realized what was happening.

  ‘Got you.’

  Bark struggled and squirmed and nipped at him. It was the first time he’d ever been touched by a person and he didn’t like it. But Michael didn’t let go. He held the puppy to him. Its heart was beating very fast and it was obviously terrified.

  ‘Hush now,’ he said soothingly. ‘Hush now, you’re OK.’

  But Bark didn’t want to be soothed and he wriggled desperately to get free. From the shadows Howl watched. Sheba had taught him the art of waiting silently and now he did so, although all he wanted to do was run and bark at the human who had his brother.

  Michael watched through the grill as more dogs from the feral pack came running along the platform, led by a great slavering brute of a dog. More men from NARPAC ran after them and tried to round them up. The leader, crazed and determined not to be taken, bit out at the dog poles and at the men holding them. But it was a hopeless battle that he couldn’t win as more of the pack were taken to the dog van and more men were left free to try and catch him.

  As he clasped the puppy to him, Michael knew he couldn’t hand it over. What chance would it have in a pack like that? And the chances of anyone adopting it, adorable as it might be, were practically nil. No one had the time to take on a puppy during wartime, not when folks didn’t know what tomorrow might bring or even if they’d have a home to go to.

  He couldn’t let the puppy go with the other dogs to the animal shelter. And he wouldn’t.

  Bark whined and Michael heard a faint whimper in response. So there was more than one puppy!

  He didn’t relax his hold on Bark, but slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out some dog biscuits. He gave one to Bark and scattered the others across the ground far enough away from him that a hungry puppy wouldn’t be too scared to take them.

  For Howl the smell of the dog biscuits was almost irresistible. Michael was turned away from him and seemed to be paying him no attention at all. Howl raced forward, grabbed a dog biscuit, gulped it down and raced back into the shadows. Michael didn’t even seem to notice he was there and there were more biscuits on the ground. More biscuits waiting for Howl to crunch.

  He crept forward, braver this time, coming closer to Michael, almost within reach of his hand, but, just as Michael was about to try and grab the second puppy, Bark yapped a warning and Howl skittered away as Bark struggled to escape too.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Michael said, holding the wriggling puppy more firmly. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  He watched as his father came on to the platform. Michael was still hidden behind the grill and so Mr Ward couldn’t see him and had no idea where he was.

  ‘Michael, we’re heading back,’ he called out. ‘There’s supposed to be two puppies, but we can’t find them. Must have moved on.’ Then Michael heard him mutter, ‘Where is he?’

  ‘OK, Dad, I’ll see you back at home,’ Michael called and grinned as the older man looked round, but still didn’t spot him.

  ‘I’m taking Sky to Ellie’s training class,’ Mr Ward called out. Now not only was Ellie running the general dog-training classes, but she was training the dogs for their search-and-rescue missions too.

  Usually Michael would have wanted to go with him. There was a lot of work involved. But he couldn’t go today. At least Ellie should have Amy there to help her.

  ‘OK, see you later.’

  The puppy wriggled in his arms, but this time Michael didn’t speak. Another NARPAC official called Soames had come on to the platform to join Mr Ward.

  ‘Rough pack,’ Soames said. ‘And not a collar or ID tag among the lot of them.’

  ‘Rum times,’ said Mr Ward.

  ‘I thought that big mutt was going to have my finger off,’ Soames said ruefully. ‘Shan’t be sorry to see him go.’

  Michael knew what the fate of the feral dogs would most likely be – death. The sad reality was there were just too many stray dogs and not much chance of them being rehomed during wartime. He didn’t want the puppy to be put down. He could not let that happen.

  If only he could get the other puppy too. It was still there, hidden in the shadows. But it would be hard to keep hold of two wriggling, biting puppies. Maybe it’d be best to smuggle them home with him one at a time.

  Michael didn’t really like leaving the second puppy, but if someone from NARPAC saw him with them both there’d be questions asked. He didn’t want his father to be in trouble and he didn’t want to be forbidden from helping with the rescue missions.

  The Underground grew quieter and Michael left with Bark, whom he’d named Henry, hidden under his coat.

  ‘All right, lad? The rest of them have already gone,’ Stanley, in his newspaper box at the entrance to the Underground, said when he saw him. Michael hurried on.

  As soon as Howl realized Bark was being taken away, he ran after him through the Underground station, unseen. Every now and again worried whimpers came from him unbidden.

  He gave a single bark from the entrance to the ventilation tunnel. But Bark didn’t come back and Howl wasn’t brave enough to leave the only home he’d ever known and follow them outside.

  Head hanging low, Howl made his way back, barely aware of his surroundings. They’d been together for almost every moment of his whole life and he’d never been without his brother before.

  Suddenly, from the shadows, there came a low, menacing growl. Howl jumped and looked up to find himself staring into the great muzzle of the feral dog that had tried to attack them at the pig bin. The dog’s eyes were crazed, drool dripped from his mouth as his growl grew louder. His lips curled back to reveal a set of razor-sharp teeth. Howl looked around and would have run, but the huge dog was blocking his path.

  Most older dogs don’t attack puppies, but Howl knew this dog was different. And, now that he had escaped from the NARPAC team, the great beast was clearly frightened, angry and desperate – a very dangerous combination. He wanted to attack the men who’d trapped him and tried to force him into the van – but they weren’t here and Howl was.

  His hackles were raised and he loomed over the puppy aggressively. Howl crouched low, his tail tucked in and his ears flattened in a submissive pose. He offered his paw to try and placate the much larger dog, but it didn’t work. Howl’s heart was beating very fast and he gave an involuntary cry of terror as the big dog crouched down, ready to pounce.

  Howl was less than half the other dog’s weight and had only ever play-fought with his brother before. He flipped on to his back, showing his tummy, another show of submission to the great hound and a final attempt to stop the attack. But it was no good. A second later the older dog sprang at Howl, teeth bared.

  Howl yelped as the much larger dog’s teeth sank into his tender puppy flesh. Before Howl could wriggle free, the larger dog clamped his jaws round Howl’s little throat, going in for the kill.

  Just at that moment, both dog and puppy were startled by a high-pitched yowl that echoed down the tunnel. Sheba had heard Howl’s cry. At the sight of one of her puppies being attacked she now hurled herself on the back of the huge dog, who released Howl in surprise. The vicious dog spun round, trying to remove Sheba from his back. But Sheba clung on and dug her sharp claws through his fur and into his skin.

  She didn’t let go as the dog reared and shook himself vigorously. She clung on, knowing instinctively that if the dog removed her from his back she’d become his next victim, and she had to protect her puppy.

  As he bucked and reeled in pain, the dog an
d cat came out of the hidden tunnel and on to the platform.

  ‘What in the world …?’ one of the station-cleaning crew said. He started to go towards the dog and its cat rider, but saw the dog’s slavering jaws and thought better of it. He’d assumed the men from NARPAC had taken all the dogs, but they’d obviously missed this one.

  He blew his whistle sharply instead, and for a split second the cat and dog froze at the shrill sound. But then the dog clamped his teeth round Sheba’s left front leg and she let out a howl of pain as the bones gave way. Her right paw raked across the dog’s eyes and temporarily blinded him so that he fell over the side of the platform on to the rails.

  The station cleaner yelled, ‘Look out!’ but it was too late and there was nothing he could do to stop the emergency train as it raced along the rails, not stopping at the station. The dog didn’t stand a chance.

  The shocked station cleaner sighed, breaking the silence, and went to alert the stationmaster before another train came through.

  From the platform there came a quiet cry. Sheba had been thrown from the dog’s back, moments before he fell on to the tracks. Bleeding heavily, she slowly dragged herself on her stomach to Howl who was shaking and whimpering in the ventilation tunnel. He nuzzled his face to hers and she licked his head and purred softly to him. Then she closed her eyes and didn’t open them again.

  Howl lay beside Sheba’s still body. He too was bloodied and battered; his breathing faint, he slipped into unconsciousness and didn’t stir as hands lifted his limp body and carried him away.

  Chapter 13

  Michael tried to smuggle Henry into the house and up to his room, although he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do with him then.

  He should have realized his plan could never work. The other pets in the house immediately alerted Michael’s mother to the fact that something was going on. Heggerty barked and wagged her tail. The cats circled round the lump under Michael’s coat and even the kitten they’d recently rescued came to see what was going on.