The Dog Who Could Fly (22 page)

Everything depended on the hiding place remaining undetected, Robert explained. Antis seemed at last to understand. When Robert went to leave, his dog didn’t try to follow, but instead settled down
on his blanket, throwing a trusting look at his master as he climbed the rough wooden steps and disappeared.

Two days passed with Antis remaining secreted in his subterranean hideout. On returning from night operations, Robert was able to take him out for a short walk, with Capka, Josef, Uncle Vlasta, and Ludva positioned as lookouts keeping watch for the enemy—the adjutant, or the Air Ministry police. That Friday, with C for Cecilia’s crew relieved of flying duties for the weekend, Robert moved into the cellar alongside his dog. The adjutant’s forty-eight-hour deadline was all but expired, but by Monday Ocelka, the squadron CO, was expected back at the base.

That Saturday afternoon Robert and friends got a tip-off that the adjutant was on his way. Robert, Vlasta, Josef, and Ludva were sitting on the farmyard wall as the adjutant, escorted by his orderly sergeant and a corporal, strode into the farm. The Czech airmen could hear the search going on inside their quarters as the three men rattled windows, lifted beds, and slammed cupboard doors. They could see the adjutant’s ramrod-straight figure striding angrily from room to room, searching for Robert’s renegade dog.

Ten minutes later he was back in the farmyard, his face crimson with rage. For a moment he stood resolute on the porch, as if torn as to his next course of action. And then, without a word to the Czech airmen—Robert included—he stomped out the gate and took the road leading back to the airbase, his minions trailing in his wake. Barely ten minutes later the corporal was back again.

“Sergeant Bozdech to report to the station adjutant’s office immediately!” he announced.

Robert slid off the wall. “Lead on, Corporal.”

The corporal paused for a moment, glancing all around to check that he wasn’t about to be overheard. “They’ve all come forward,” he hissed. “All four of ’em.”

“All four of whom?” Robert queried.

“The four crew who saw what the bleedin’ copper did to your dog.”

“So what did they say?”

“The truth. That your dog was provoked. That it was the copper’s fault.”

“My God, you’re in the clear, Robert!” one of the others exclaimed. “That’s what we’ve been waiting for!”

“That,” said Robert, “remains to be seen. Knowing the adjutant . . .”

He left the last part of the sentence unsaid and made his way to the adjutant’s office. The man’s face when he entered was a darker shade of puce than Robert had ever imagined possible.

“Sir.” He saluted. “You asked to see me.”

“Where is that damn dog?” the adjutant barked.

“Hidden, sir.”

For a long moment Robert feared the man was going to have a heart attack. “Hidden! What d’you mean, hidden? I ordered you to hand that dog over or have him destroyed!”

“Sorry, sir, that’s an order I cannot carry out.”

The adjutant’s fist slammed onto his desk. “Do you have any idea what you are saying! I will have you court-martialed for disobeying an officer!”

“If that’s what you feel you have to do, sir, so be it. But I could never obey such an order, especially in the knowledge that my commanding officer wouldn’t approve it.”

“That’s quite enough! Get out!”

Robert stood his ground. “Look, sir, if you’d known all the facts I’m sure you’d never have drafted that order in the first place. Four witnesses have come forward—”

“Oh yes, I know all about your witnesses!” the adjutant cut him off. “I daresay the entire base would back you and that hound of yours, he’s oh-so-popular. If you imagine for one moment I’ll risk losing the cooperation of the police over a dog—well, you’re sorely mistaken. Now, as I said, get out of my office!”

As Robert had suspected, the adjutant was far from done. Knowing that he was scheduled to fly a mission starting at nine o’clock that evening, the adjutant put a call through to the local civilian police force. He reported that a savage dog was loose somewhere on the base, and asked that they mount a search starting at precisely fifteen minutes past nine, when the dog was likely to be out and about and could be apprehended.

As C for Cecilia taxied toward the runway Antis must have heard her familiar engine noise from his hiding place. He let out an excited bark, and those acting as his chaperones during Robert’s absence had to try to calm him before his yelping gave them away. The candle in the cellar was kicked out, and in the darkness they waited for the crunch of boot on gravel that might signal their discovery.

That night Robert was set to fly a sortie over the German port city of Hamburg, bombing the docks. But all through that mission half his mind was back at Manor Farm, in a darkened cellar. The police who had been called out soon learned the nature of the supposedly savage dog for whom they’d been tasked to search: it was Antis. Everyone in the East Wretham area knew the dog well, and they didn’t believe for one minute that he was capable of savaging anyone. After a perfunctory search of the base, the policemen were soon home and tucked up in their beds.

At midday on Monday Wing Commander Ocelka returned to East Wretham. News reached Robert almost immediately that the CO was back. Pausing only briefly to reassure Antis that his imprisonment would soon be over, Robert cycled over to the base at top speed. He made straight for the adjutant’s office.

Robert lifted a salute to the man he had learned to hate. “Permission to see the CO, sir.”

“Refused,” the adjutant shot back at him, his eyes hard and cold as ice. “He’s only just back and is far too busy—”

“Is that bloody Bozdech?” a friendly voice called out from the
CO’s office. His door was half open. “And if it is, where’s my best friend, Antis? I’ve got something for him.”

“Yes, it is, sir, it’s me,” Robert replied.

“Well, come on in, and bring your dog with you,” the CO called.

“Thank God you’re back, sir,” Robert blurted out, saluting smartly. “I’m in bad trouble.”

“Nothing new.” The CO smiled. “More importantly, where’s the dog? I’ve got him a new collar.”

“In hiding, sir.”

Ocelka glanced up at him sharply. “What d’you mean, in hiding?” He was twirling a shiny new collar between thumb and forefinger. “How can I give him this if you’ve hidden him?”

“I’m sorry, but I had to hide him, sir . . .”

A stiff figure appeared at Robert’s shoulder. “Let me explain, sir. You need to hear this, anyway. While you were away this man’s dog attacked an Air Ministry policeman . . .”

Ocelka shook his head. “Impossible. Antis wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a fellow human being. Well, not that he’s human, of course, but he practically is, squadron mascot and all that.”

“I’m afraid the policeman’s report is very clear,” the adjutant continued stiffly. “ ‘Savaged by a ferocious Alsatian’ is how he describes it. I had no option but to order the dog to be removed from the base, or if not, destroyed. Sergeant Bozdech has unfortunately done nothing to comply with my order. In fact, he ripped up my letter of orders and—”

The CO waved the adjutant into silence. “Yes, yes, that’s as may be, but it isn’t my chief concern. My chief concern is this: I have spoken to you every day while I have been away, by phone, so why didn’t you tell me what was happening?”

The adjutant bristled. “It’s a straightforward case, sir. Sergeant Bozdech has no permit to keep the dog on camp. I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered by such a minor—”

“You’re my adjutant,” the CO cut in. “Anything concerning the
personnel who serve in my squadron concerns me, and it’s your duty to report it to me.” He turned to Robert. “Now, let’s hear it from your side, Sergeant, and hold nothing back.”

As Robert related the story he could see the CO’s demeanor getting darker and darker. It was only his presence that was preventing Ocelka from unloading with both barrels on the adjutant. It was clear as day that the man had seized the chance when the CO was away to try to get rid of the squadron’s mascot. For a man like Ocelka—both a dog lover and a gentleman—it was unforgivable.

Once Robert had finished speaking, Ocelka called for a file copy of the adjutant’s letter. When he read the order for the forty-eight-hour deadline, after which the mascot of 311 Squadron was to be destroyed, he couldn’t contain himself any longer. He turned and dictated a short letter to his typist, to be rendered both in English and Czech.

It read: “Permit for German Shepherd Antis, 311 Squadron’s mascot, to remain at RAF East Wretham Airbase. Access: unlimited. Time limit: none. The dog is of a friendly nature and it is considered unnecessary to keep him on a lead.”

“And that,” announced Ocelka, “is that.” He turned to the adjutant. “Good day, Adjutant. Sergeant Bozdech, if you’ll stay behind so we can have a few words.”

Robert and Ocelka chatted for a while as the Czech airman brought the CO up to speed on all the squadron’s news. Then Robert was dismissed, and he pedaled back to Manor Farm at top speed, a copy of the precious “dog permit” jammed in his pocket. The first thing he did when he got home was release Antis from the cellar, and thank old Colly profusely. Antis bounded up the steps, took one sniff of the afternoon air, and did a quickstep version of his war dance for joy.

•  •  •

A few days after Antis had gained the formal permit giving him the freedom of RAF East Wretham, the war in Europe shifted seismically.
On June 22, 1941, Adolf Hitler launched 187 divisions of the Wehrmacht against Germany’s eastern neighbor Russia, and so opened a new front in the war to establish the thousand-year Reich.

In the 311 Squadron briefing room the mood was electric, just as soon as news of the invasion had filtered through to them. Russia lay directly to the east of the Czech airmen’s homeland, and with war opening in that direction Germany was now fighting on two major fronts, west and east—as long as the bombers from 311 Squadron and the other RAF aircrew could keep up the pressure of their nightly raids.

In answer to the new German aggression, 311 Squadron was tasked to bomb the railway yard in Hamm, in the west of Germany. Winston Churchill was eager to aid Britain’s new ally in the war by whatever means possible, and vast quantities of rolling stock were known to be passing through the terminus at Hamm, en route to the newly opened Eastern Front.

It was not the best of nights for such a mission. An impenetrable bank of clouds lay low over the base, and even at ground level visibility was poor. Regardless, the trusty Wellingtons—C for Cecilia included—were bombed up in preparation for the coming sortie. As dusk fell the aircraft trundled along the perimeter track, each waiting for clearance from the control tower to get airborne. As C for Cecilia followed the string of aircraft climbing into the low clouds, little did a German shepherd waiting on the dispersal area know what lay ahead of him.

“He’ll be back soon enough, old boy.” Adamek comforted the dog as he gazed into the now-empty sky. “Come on, into the shelter, and not to worry, eh?”

Antis trotted after Adamek and flopped down in the entrance to their tent. Now and again as the men played cards he wandered out into the open, his ears tuned to the night noises all around him. He’d gotten into the habit of chasing rabbits, to make the long hours of his
vigil pass more quickly, but tonight nothing seemed able to tempt him from his watch.

It was approaching one o’clock, and the Wellingtons would be well on their way home, when Antis awoke from a long doze as if with a sudden shock. With head raised he moved outside the tent and stood, limbs quivering and muzzle thrust toward the south, the direction from which the squadron was expected to return.

“What’s up with him?” Kubicek, one of the ground crew, asked nervously. “Is Jerry paying us a visit, d’you think?”

Adamek moved over to the dog, who was standing statuelike in the same pose. He crouched down beside him. “What’s up, boy? What’s troubling you?”

In answer, the dog neither stirred nor growled, but remained stock-still and one hundred percent focused on the distant horizon.

Adamek turned to the others. “That’s not the way he warns of Jerry, and it’s too early for Cecilia to be back. I wonder what it is?”

“Well, come on in,” one of the others replied. “It’s your deal.”

Adamek shook his head. “You play on without me. There’s something up.” He tried to get the dog’s attention, but Antis seemed unreachable. “I tell you, boy, it’s too early yet. Too early. Come back inside and get warm.”

As Adamek watched him worriedly, he noticed Antis had begun to shiver. It was a June night and it wasn’t overly cold. Adamek knew instinctively that the dog was shivering out of fear. Then quite suddenly the big German shepherd threw his head back at the dark heavens and began to howl. It was a sound that the men had never heard him make before: it was hollow, full of loss, spine-chilling.

Instinctively, Adamek understood. “Cecilia’s in trouble!” he called to the others. “Antis can sense it! God knows how, but he can.”

There was a battered old alarm clock hanging in the tent. Its hands pointed exactly to one o’clock in the morning.

Fifteen