Soldier Dogs #4

by Marcus Sutter

  This was what he deserved, he told himself. Punishment for his moment of shame, when he’d finally faced the mission and had let Jake down. Instead of jumping on his own, he’d backed away in fear, like some . . . some cat.

  He was so embarrassed.

  Scared of jumping. Getting blown off course. Having to be rescued by some human pups. Then getting captured by the enemy.

  He was so worried about Jake. The mission called for Ace to be doing all sorts of tasks for Jake right after they’d landed. First, Ace was going to check for any oncoming soldiers. Then Ace was going to suss out any enemy dogs and lead them on a wild chase before narrowly escaping them and returning. THEN he was going to lead the pack and notify Jake of any tripwires, mines, or other booby traps that the enemy had laid for them on the beach—all before they headed to the meeting point!

  What if Jake had gotten caught on a tripwire, setting off some booby trap? What if he’d stepped on a mine? Was he remembering to smell for carbine so he knew other soldiers were coming?

  And what about peeing? How was the enemy going to know that Jake had taken the beach if someone didn’t pee on it? He knew Jake would forget. He was a great guy, but really terrible about marking his territory. That was Ace’s job.

  But where was Ace?

  Ace was in some horrible little stone base, under the watchful eye of the enemy.

  Some soldier he was.

  The man carried Ace into the dark little room. Around them, other enemy soldiers stood in their black uniforms, like shadows with eyes and voices. They manned big loud guns like the ones Jake had trained Ace to dodge. Ace could smell anger and discontent on the enemy shadows. He wasn’t surprised. Through the short, wide windows in the stone wall, he could smell all sorts of wonderful things—wet grass, cows, and, off in the distance, the delicious saltiness of the ocean. Instead of getting to enjoy the country, these masters were forced to be in here, surrounded only by weapons.

  The enemy shadows yelled human words he didn’t understand and pointed to the pups who’d saved Ace. The shadow holding him laughed and dangled him over the enemy dog at his side. The enemy dog growled and snapped, and Ace had to pull up his butt to keep from getting bit.

  The pups, Elle and Henri, shouted from under the black hoods over their heads. One of the enemy shadows shouted back, and he swatted Henri upside his head as though he were a bad dog. Elle cried out, and she got swatted as well.

  Ace growled.

  Those human pups had saved him from that tree. They’d been nice to him. They had given him scratches behind his ears—the ultimate human-to-canine display of loyalty and affection. And they’d done nothing to deserve “bad dog” swats.

  Now it was personal.

  The enemy shadow carried him down a flight of stairs and into a basement even more damp and cold than the room upstairs. Another enemy dog was down there, chained to a wall and wearing a muzzle. The enemy shadow holding Ace tossed him into a little rusty cage in one corner and locked it. Then he shoved the pups into a taller cage—it was obviously meant for only one human, but he forced them to press tightly together. He used metal contraptions to lock their hands behind their backs, rendering them powerless. Then he locked the cage, put the keys on his belt, and left.

  Krieger, the enemy dog who’d caught them, stayed behind, and watched them attentively with her pointy face and hard, stony eyes.

  Ace surveyed the scene—and found it pretty miserable. Elle was crying softly. Henri was trying to say soothing things to her in the tone of Good girl and It’s okay, but he wasn’t very convincing. One horrible enemy dog was watching him, while the one chained to the wall . . .

  That dog was watching the boy.

  Something was up with that other enemy dog. Ace couldn’t put a paw on it quite yet.

  But he couldn’t worry about that now. He needed to get out of here. Something Jake had taught him was that when the mission changed, you had to come up with a new plan.

  So maybe the plan had originally been to help Jake and protect him—but now it was to help these human pups. They’d been kind to Ace. They’d saved his life, even though it meant getting caught and swatted by these horrible enemy shadows. And they might be able to help him further, if he could get them free.

  Time for Ace to do his part.

  They needed a way out—and that was Ace’s specialty. He’d snuck out of every room, kennel, and cage he’d ever been locked in. Heck, he’d snuck his way onto a plane and behind enemy lines. It was just about finding the weak spot.

  Ace laid down on the dirt floor of his cage and thought . . .

  Oh, of course!

  A dirt floor. These masters had been too lazy to cover the floor of this little bunker’s basement, and his cage was planted in the floor with long spikes, so it had no bottom. He’d just dig his way out, and—

  The enemy dog, Krieger. That would be an issue. She was big, strong, and mean. The minute he started digging, she would hear him with those big pointed ears and push her big head into his cage, and . . .

  Just like that, the new plan came together in his head. Ace couldn’t help but wag his tail a little at the thought. If it all worked out, this would be fun.

  Ace barked at the front of his cage and made the first few scrapes with his paws at the bottom edge, creating a little gap between the bottom of the cage and the floor.

  This got Krieger’s attention—she stood and growled low in her throat.

  Now Ace had to work fast! He began digging quickly, scraping up big pawfuls of dirt and making a noticeable little tunnel under the edge of his cage. He needed to make the hole big enough, but not too big.

  Krieger began barking loudly. Ace could smell her anger at him.

  That was good. He wanted her angry. The angrier she was, the less she would think. The less she thought, the easier it would be to trick her into falling for his trap.

  The hole was just big enough, Ace thought. He ducked down and put his head into it, peeking out at Krieger from under the bottom of the cage. He panted, wagged his tail, and yipped at her. Come and get me, stupid. I’m about to escape.

  Krieger snarled and lunged at Ace’s face. At the last minute, Ace pulled his face back and leaped to the side—just as Krieger shoved her pointed muzzle into the hole. Now her head was all the way into Ace’s cage, snapping and snarling.

  When it was obvious she couldn’t get Ace, Krieger grunted . . . and froze.

  She tried to pull back out of the cage—but her head and ears weren’t as pointy as her snout, and they caught on the bottom bar. She pulled twice, making the cage rattle, but couldn’t go anywhere. She was stuck!

  Ace’s tail wagged like crazy. The trap had worked perfectly!

  Quick as a flash, Ace dug another hole on the other side of his cage. Then he got down on his belly and crawled under it. Bam, he was out! Krieger barked angrily, but with her head stuck between the cage and the ground, she wasn’t much of a threat to Ace.

  Ace turned to face the other enemy dog . . . but once again, she didn’t seem very interested in him. All she did was stare at the boy, the way Ace might stare at Jake. What was going on? She could just be an especially bad enemy dog, but Ace thought there might be something else . . .

  Never mind. Not important. He could solve that mystery later—for now, he needed to get the human pups out of this room.

  Ace thought back on his training. First step, trap or disable the enemy. Good, done. Second, escape. Bingo, done. Next, help your crew. The human pups were locked in their cage with a big, heavy padlock. He needed to get those keys that were dangling from the enemy shadow’s belt. That would be easy enough—and then all he had to do was send them on a chase.

  He crept up the stairs stealthily, doing his best to keep his toenails from clicking on the metal beneath them.

  At the top of the stairs, three enemy soldiers stood around talking. The two who’d brought them here were still dressed in their shadow-wear, but the third and fourth were dressed like typica
l soldiers, in green uniforms with tall black boots.

  There, from the one enemy shadow’s belt, hung the ring of keys.

  Ace looked around the room. This was something he’d always impressed Jake with—using the room to help him escape. There was always a way out that only Ace saw.

  After a few seconds, the plan came to him. It would be tough, and timing was essential—but if he played it right, this plan would be spectacular. Maybe the greatest escape he’d ever pulled off.

  First, the easy part.

  Ace darted across the room to the enemy shadow with the ring of keys on his belt. For a split second, the enemy shadow’s face twisted up, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing—and then Ace grabbed the keys and ripped them from his belt. The enemy shadows had barely enough time to shout before Ace leaped up to one of the thin windows in the stone wall and squeezed out into the open air.

  Now the tricky part!

  The minute Ace hit the grass, he laid down as low as he could—belly on the ground, limbs out flat, head so far down that the grass crunched beneath his chin. Then he waited.

  Sure enough, the enemy soldiers came bumbling out, shouting at the top of their lungs and pointing off into the distance. Ace couldn’t understand their words, but he knew what they were saying. He’d seen Jake’s officers act the same way in the past during training exercises. He went that way! they were yelling. See, look at the grass? Quick, we need to catch up with him!

  Ace watched as one by one, the enemy shadows went running out into the night, looking for him. He wagged his tail. Making them chase you was easy, but making them chase you when you never went anywhere? That was a skill.

  And look, they didn’t even close the door behind them! Ace had been worried about hopping back up into one of the windows, but those silly masters had made it easier for him.

  As Ace trotted back into the building, he felt mighty proud of himself . . . until he got back to the basement and saw the human pups with the bags over their faces. The Krieger dog was grunting as she began to inch her head out from the crevice in which it was stuck.

  There was no time to be proud. He had to get the pups out of there now. Their lives depended on it.

  Chapter 11

  OUTSIDE FROBERVILLE, FRANCE

  TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 1944

  1:05 A.M.

  Henri wasn’t sure which he felt more: fear or confusion.

  On the one hand, he was very scared—for himself, for Elle, for Mother and her companions, for all of war-torn France.

  On the other hand, what was going on out there?

  With the hood over his head, Henri was living in a world of insane sounds. First, there was barking in the room around them—and then that stopped, and there was only the sound of a dog whining and grunting. Suddenly, from upstairs, he heard all sorts of shouting and the stumbling of boots. Then the whole commotion moved outside and went quiet.

  “Henri, what’s happening?” whispered Elle from under her own hood.

  “I don’t know,” Henri whispered back. He wished he had an answer for her, but he was clueless. What sort of commotion had overtaken the bunker? Had the Allies landed nearby? It certainly sounded like a battle.

  Suddenly, Henri felt something cold and metal being pressed against his thigh. He turned so he could touch it with his cuffed hands, and his fingers felt out the shape—and found a ring of keys!

  Could it be?

  Excitement surged inside him, but he did his best to keep it at bay. Part of the training he’d done with Mother and Monsieur Tardivat was to keep his head about him, both when things seemed too terrible or too good to be true.

  But they had also taught him how to get out of handcuffs. And if there was a key small enough on this ring, then . . .

  Carefully, so as not to drop them, Henri felt his way through the key ring and found a small key. He twisted his wrists, wincing as the metal of the cuffs bit into his skin.

  Almost there . . .

  The key entered the cuff, and with a twist his one wrist was free!

  Quickly, Henri unlocked the other cuff and yanked his hood off.

  He’d expected to see a lot of things . . . but he hadn’t expected this.

  They were in some moldy dirt-floor storage basement beneath the bunker, lit by a single dismal bulb. The walls were lined with concrete and stacked high with crates of ammunition and crates of rations. A short ways away, Krieger, the scary Doberman who’d chased them down, was crouched with her head stuck underneath a small kennel attached to the floor, while another dog was muzzled and chained to a wall across from them. And up against the bars of his own cell stood . . .

  “Ace!” cried Henri with a laugh. He reached through the bars and petted Ace’s chin. “How’d you . . . what did you . . . I can’t believe this!”

  “What’s going on?” asked Elle.

  “Ace saved us,” said Henri. He quickly unlocked Elle’s cuffs and then got to work on the large padlock holding their cell shut. The first key didn’t work . . . the second didn’t work . . . but the third slid right into it and clicked the lock open. And just like that, they were out, with Ace dancing around their feet, yipping excitedly.

  “Come on, we need to get out of here while the soldiers are still busy,” said Henri. He and Elle walked between the two Nazi dogs toward the spiral stairs.

  The muzzled dog chained to the wall moved to Henri with a whine and nuzzled his fingers. Henri instinctively yanked his hand away, worried the enemy dog was trying to bite him.

  Then he saw her eyes.

  Those eyes.

  His mind was playing tricks on him. It . . . it couldn’t be.

  “Henri?” asked Elle. “Henri, please, we need to get moving.”

  But Henri couldn’t look away from the dog’s huge, soulful eyes. Eyes he saw in his memories, in his dreams. Eyes that he’d missed for months.

  “Bri?” he whispered. He dropped to one knee and held her face in his hands. “Brigette, is that you?”

  She whined at him and nuzzled his face. The leather of her muzzle scraped against his cheek.

  “Henri, come,” hissed Elle. “That dog could be dangerous! It could—”

  But Henri wasn’t listening. His hands shook as he grabbed the muzzle’s buckle and unlocked it, letting it fall to the ground in front of him—and instantly, Brigette’s tongue was all over him, giving him countless kisses on his face and neck! It was her!

  “Oh, Brigette!” cried Henri, feeling tears come to his eyes. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in. All this time later, she still smelled the same. “I knew I’d find you! I knew you’d come back to me!”

  “Henri!” said Elle.

  Henri forced himself to think clearly. Elle was right, they needed to leave at once. But he wouldn’t do it without Brigette. He unbuckled her collar, freeing her from the wall. She walked forward with a bit of a hobble, her one front paw bandaged. He noticed that the Nazis had given her an Iron Cross and a stupid war name—BLITZ, German for lightning. Under hers, though, was a paper tag, handwritten in German:

  Disobedient—injury sustained during training. Terminate when convenient.

  His skin crawled as he read the tag again, to make sure he’d seen it right.

  Henri felt anger burn behind his face. Monsters. The Nazis were nothing more than barbaric monsters trying to take over the world in the name of evil. They couldn’t even leave his dog alive.

  “Let’s go,” said Henri. He slapped his thigh, and Brigette and Ace followed close behind him as they tiptoed up the stairs.

  The top floor of the bunker was exactly as Henri had imagined—full of ammunition crates, with a huge swastika flag hanging from one wall. A mounted heavy-artillery machine gun with a long metal barrel was aimed out of a wide, thin window along one wall, facing toward the ocean. This must be one of the Nazis’ gun emplacements, he realized—a miniature base along the coastline where German soldiers could pick off any incoming attacks from the Allies.


  Henri glanced at the crates along the walls—MG42 bullets, antiaircraft rounds, Stielhandgranate grenades. Whatever the Allies had in store, the Germans would be ready for it.

  The more Henri stared at the weapons, the more he swelled with anger.

  These bullets would be used to kill Allied soldiers trying to save France. They would be used to kill any French people who got in the Nazis’ way. If it hadn’t been for Ace, they would’ve been used to kill Brigette . . . and maybe Henri and Elle.

  He wouldn’t let them do any more damage.

  Henri went to the crate marked Stielhand-granate and opened it. Stacked on top of each other were German hand grenades. Each one had a broad, cylindrical body and a long handle like that of a rolling pin. Dangling out of a hole in the bottom of a handle was a string.

  Monsieur Tardivat had taught him about these. All he needed to do was pull the string . . .

  Henri picked one up. He was surprised at how heavy it was in his hand. He’d have to throw it hard back through the door . . .

  From down the stairs, there was a loud bark. At his side, Ace and Brigette crouched and growled.

  “Come on!” Henri yelled, lugging the grenade in his one hand. As they ran out the door, he could hear the sound of toenails on the metal steps below.

  They were at the door when Krieger came charging up the stairs. Having her head stuck beneath the cage must’ve made her angry, thought Henri, because the Doberman looked scarier now than she did when she had first caught them. Her lips were peeled back in a toothy snarl that trailed foam behind it as she ran.

  Henri cried out as Krieger launched herself into the air and leaped right at him.

  Chapter 12

  OUTSIDE FROBERVILLE, FRANCE

  TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 1944

  1:17 A.M.

  A white blur flashed in front of Henri and knocked Krieger out of the air.

  The Doberman tumbled to the ground, rolled on her back, and regained her footing.

  In front of her, Ace crouched with a snarl, squaring off against the dog twice his size.