The Dog Who Could Fly (29 page)

Their favorite place was a water meadow near the farmhouse. Antis would lie on his belly as Jacqueline made daisy chains to string around his powerful neck. Robert had warned Antis never to let the little girl near the stream that ran through the meadow. If ever she strayed too close to it in search of flowers to string together, he’d take the hem of her skirt in his teeth and draw her gently away.

Returning from the meadow after a morning’s play, Antis would pause at the roadside, Jacqueline’s fingers knotted in his hair. He’d stand stock-still, his acute hearing checking for the approach of any vehicle in either direction. Once he’d decided the road was clear, he’d allow Jacqueline to cross. With her great protector by her side, the
little girl was quite safe, and her mother soon learned to entrust her to the dog’s care completely. As for Antis, Jacqueline’s company was a welcome distraction, for by now he could hear again the engine note of his aircraft—C for Cecilia—taking to the skies.

It wasn’t until late August that C for Cecilia had been deemed airworthy again. But on her first mission and three subsequent ones she developed serious engine trouble. On one sortie it was so bad that the crew had to jettison her bombs early, in the English Channel, in an effort to get the ailing bomber back to base.

All being well, Robert’s first combat tour of duty would finish sometime in early September, when they would top two hundred hours of flight time. But the last few combat missions were always the most dreaded. It was a case of so near and yet so far. Many a crew had lost their lives during their final few days of operations, when exhaustion levels were at their peak and dark superstitions had it that they were most vulnerable. Indeed, any number of crew had fallen at the eleventh hour of duty, failing to return from their very last flight over enemy territory.

As they faced those fateful last few combat sorties, Robert and the rest of the crew of C for Cecilia were conflicted. On the one hand, they desperately wanted their lucky talisman with them in the aircraft. On the other, Robert was adamant that Antis, the flying dog of war, should not take to the air. His war wound was the perfect excuse to keep his four paws on the ground. At least that way, Antis would not lose his life if C for Cecilia were to be shot down.

On September 1, Robert Bozdech was promoted to flight sergeant. On that very night he and his crew were in action again, but once more they were flying 8784-U—U for Ursula—Cecilia suffering from ongoing mechanical problems. Their target was Cologne. Two nights later they were sent out to hit the port of Brest once again, this time targeting the mighty German battle cruisers, the
Gneisenau
and
Scharnhorst.

East Wretham was again fogbound when their aircraft returned from the Brest raid. U for Ursula was diverted to the airfield at RAF Wittering, so it was doubly fortunate that Antis was banned from the airfield. The last thing the recently injured dog needed was a long sojourn on the flight line over cold September nights.

In the second week of September, Robert, Capka, and the crew were to fly their final mission of the tour, with Antis remaining safely on the ground. C for Cecilia took to the skies for—as fate would have it—one of the last missions she was ever to fly. Their target was a fitting one for their final combat sortie: the German capital, Berlin. But, as was now her wont, Cecilia developed engine trouble and Capka was forced to turn for home early. They opted to release their bombs over a target of opportunity—the German port city of Kiel—bombing the docks.

A little over an hour later Cecilia touched down at East Wretham, although once again gaping holes had been torn in her fuselage from enemy fire. At least they had made it back to base in one piece and their tour was finally over. It was a historic one for many reasons, but most notably—and tragically—because they were the first Czech aircrew to complete an entire tour without losing any members. Robert had completed 206 operational flying hours, many of which he had shared with his dog, and both he and Antis had been wounded in action.

The losses among the men of 311 Squadron were legion. Robert felt a mixture of incredible relief and regret when Cecilia touched down at the end of that final flight. He was relieved to have survived; but he was full of regret that he would be leaving—at least temporarily—others of his Czech comrades to continue the fight. 311 (Czech) Squadron had suffered enormous losses, and they had fallen upon a group of men who invariably knew each other well. Almost every death meant the loss of a close personal friend.

A day after that final mission Robert and Antis caught the bus
to the local railway station so they could go on leave. Ludva went with them—he who had kept Antis company at the Manor while both were recuperating from their war wounds. Ludva it was who had half strangled to death the guard outside the collaborators’ party in France, when they had so desperately needed to steal a vehicle. After all they had been through together, he, Robert, and Antis were the closest of friends.

Needless to say, the two men and one dog said a poignant farewell, their forced and cheerful smiles hiding their real feelings. Little did Robert or Antis know that this was the last time they would ever see Ludva alive.

But before that loss could hit them, there was more and worse to come.

Twenty

Operation Jacqueline. Seriously wounded by shrapnel during a sortie over Mannheim, Antis was grounded and given the duty of looking after a local widow’s daughter.

T
here was only one place for Robert and Antis to head for their leave: Wolverhampton, a town within easy striking distance of RAF Cosford, and Pamela. For fourteen blissful days Robert and Pam renewed their romance, and Antis and Pam their delicious friendship. Emotions were quickened by how close man and dog had come
to death during their tour, and thoughts of the long years of perilous struggle that lay ahead before the enemy might be vanquished.

But for those two magical weeks Robert and Pamela strolled through the autumn countryside, talked of the future and of peace and of love, and dreamed impossible dreams. As for Antis, he was in rabbit-chasing heaven once again, and even his recent injury didn’t seem to have slowed him down.

Man and dog came back to reality with a bump. Robert and Antis returned to East Wretham to say their farewells to their fellow aircrew. Robert had received his orders, and after a short Christmas break he was being posted to a gunnery training school, at RAF Evanton, in the Scottish Highlands. It was the last thing he wanted: in spite of the palpable dangers, he longed to remain with his brother airmen, taking the fight to the enemy. But someone had to train a new generation of bomber crews, and for whatever reason Robert had been chosen. Orders were orders and he was leaving 311 Squadron, possibly for good.

It was a late October morning when Robert packed his meager possessions in preparation for their departure. By the time Antis had seen the blanket on which he slept, plus his dog bowl and his lead being packed away, he knew this could be no normal parting. He lay in the doorway to their room, ears pricked forward and watching his master’s every move.

Robert glanced over at him. “Sorry, lad, none of us wants this . . . But I’m afraid we’ve got our orders and we’re to go.”

Antis banged his tail on the floor in a couple of desultory thumps, as if to say:
Why would anyone want to leave this place
? Robert glanced around their room at Manor Farm and out the window at the autumn countryside. The wind was gusting, blowing clouds of leaves from the trees, and he could sense winter only just around the corner. With roaring fires lit, the Manor would be a fine place to last out the cold and bitter months, and there was no better company than his fellow Czech airmen with whom to do so. But it was not to be.

Robert and Antis made their way to the airbase so they could bid their farewells to Capka, Ludva, Adamek, and the others. But there was shocking news awaiting them. Their cherished Wellington bomber had failed to return from her last mission. On just her second flight with her new crew, C for Cecilia had been shot down during a bombing raid over Berlin. Fellow aircrew had seen the venerable old lady fall from the sky in flames, and she was most definitely lost. As for those who had been flying her, all six were feared killed in action.

It was a deeply sobering moment for Robert. From Antis’s hangdog expression he reckoned his dog also knew that some dark calamity had befallen C for Cecilia, and that his chariot of the air was no more. Robert had completed forty-odd sorties in the battle-scarred Wellington; by contrast, her new crew had failed to last even two. It was a chilling reminder of the transient nature of life, especially for those tasked to fly missions in the teeth of enemy fire.

Having said a somber goodbye to the remaining aircrew—and vowing to meet as promised for Christmas in London—Robert went to see Wing Commander Ocelka. He found him in his office, but before he could even begin to thank him for all that he had done, Ocelka waved Robert into silence.

“So, I hear you’re on your way out of here,” Ocelka remarked, speaking as much to Antis as to Robert. The dog had bounded over, and Ocelka was giving him a good rub around the ears. He fixed Robert with a piercing gaze. “Tell me, how d’you feel about being sent away for a bit of a rest?”

“To tell you the truth, sir, I’d far rather be staying.”

Ocelka nodded. “We’re sad to see you go, the both of you. What’s 311 going to do without its mascot, eh, Antis? Any suggestions, Bozdech?”

Robert shrugged. “Not a clue, sir.”

“You’re damn right. How could we ever replace Antis?” He glanced at Robert thoughtfully. “Seriously, though, we’d like to keep
you, but this is just the way it is. Air Ministry knows best and all that.” He paused, and threw a play punch at the dog at his feet. “No chance of you leaving Antis with me, is there?”

Robert laughed. “Not a chance, sir.”

“Bloody typical. Well, all that’s left is for me to wish you good luck. Where will you be spending Christmas?”

“With Pamela is the plan, sir. Maybe a quick trip to London as well, to catch up with the boys.”

Ocelka laughed. “You’ve got one hell of a girl, you’ve got the dog to die for, plus a fine bunch of friends. And you’re off to a training squadron . . . There’s not a lot you’re going to miss about East Wretham, is there? Well, anyway, get away with you, Sergeant.”

As Robert turned to leave, whistling for Antis to follow him, he reflected on Ocelka’s question. The answer was simple. The one thing that he would really miss was the most important of all to him—the fellowship and the shared struggles of his brother warriors of the air.

As things transpired, Robert’s plans to spend Christmas with Pamela didn’t quite work out. For some reason—maybe the shock of the loss of C for Cecilia; maybe that, coupled with being sent away from his squadron—Robert felt restless and ill-tempered, as if something vital were missing from his life. For the first time he and Pamela quarreled. Sensing that their Christmas wasn’t quite shaping up right, Robert decided to split. He took Antis and they caught a train to London.

Robert booked a room in a hotel close to the Czech National House, which had been opened a few months earlier by the Czech president in exile, Dr. Beneš. Sure enough, he ran into some of his old comrades carousing at the bar. There were Uncle Vlasta, Jicha, and many more of the old stalwarts. For a while Robert seemed unable to get his mind off the girl he’d left behind, but as brandy followed brandy he found himself being swept up in the party mood.

By the time Robert had started to sing, Antis was getting seriously
worried about him. He’d witnessed many a rowdy evening at the local pubs around East Wretham, and he knew that when his master started to croon in his cups he was seriously well oiled.

Antis curled up on a chair in one corner, watching closely. It was well past midnight by the time the party broke up. Still singing away, Robert decided to escort his friends to the nearby subway station. By the time he’d seen them off he’d forgotten both the name of the street on which he and Antis were staying and that of the hotel itself. Still, with a confidence born of inebriation, he set off in the general direction, with Antis trotting happily by his side.

For an hour they wandered through streets thronged with partygoers. Finally, the crisp December air began to clear Robert’s head a little. He’d realized by now that they were lost, but he didn’t want to admit as much to his dog. Antis had been throwing his master suspicious looks, for they’d passed the same London landmarks several times now. Robert knew that Antis knew they were lost, but he wasn’t about to own up to anything.

Robert had a stubborn streak—the same that had led him to desert Pamela at Christmas, as opposed to making up with her—and his stubbornness even extended to his dog. It was only when they were halfway down the same street for the third time that he finally gave in. Antis had an almost sardonically triumphant look on his face as Robert slumped onto a wall in defeat.

“All right, damn it, I’m beaten,” Robert remarked. “But let’s see if you can do any better.”